One-Knight Stand

by Barbara Devlin

  Lance gazed at the floor. “You are correct.”

  “Forgive me, brother, but you make about as much sense as a berserk mule,” Jason said in an uncertain tone.

  “I beg your pardon?” Lance snapped to attention. “Do you claim some special insight into my predicament because you sailed my ship and availed yourself of my hospitality?”

  “I need no such advantage.” Jason pulled on his ear and crossed his legs. “Because your argument holds no water.”

  “What do you know of it?” Lance scowled. “You spout witty quips and toy with Alex’s affections, while I seek a permanent commitment.”

  “Leave Lady Seymour out of this, as I will deal with her a far sight better than you have managed Miss Douglas.” Jason smirked. “Now then, you expect me to believe you willingly ruined a woman you claim is a lifelong friend, someone for whom you care, on the spur of the moment? That you have not lusted after her since you were a randy young lad who had just discovered a rather beneficial quality of soap while bathing?”

  “What is your point?” Lance inquired through gritted teeth.

  “There is more to this scenario than you admit.” Jason thrust his chin. “So what are you hiding?”

  “I have nothing to hide.” Now Jason’s tack had Lance confused. “I have thoroughly compromised Cara, and she refuses to marry me.”

  “But you would not have taken her were there not some unrequited passions involved.”

  “There were none.” Of course, Lance lied.

  “Then she slighted you as a child.” Jason pinned him with an inquisitive stare. “You have never forgiven her.”

  “That is preposterous.”

  “Perhaps you were angry with the Admiral?”

  “Not by a long chalk.”

  “Were you foxed?”

  “The fact is she seduced me.” Lance bit his tongue against further spontaneous confessions.

  The study grew silent as a tomb.

  “Now I am befuddled.” Jason stood, walked to the side table, grabbed the crystal decanter, and poured a brandy. “And I need a drink.”

  “Make it two.” Yes, it was early, but Lance didn’t give a damn. In that instant, he needed a healthy dose of liquid courage. “And I would have your word as a gentleman, you will never divulge my secret to anyone as long as you live.”

  “You have my solemn vow, if you reciprocate.” Jason handed Lance a glass. “You know, in some respects, you and I are in the same boat.”

  “How so?” Lance resituated his waistcoat and adjusted the lace trim of his sleeves.

  “Alex has charged me with the force and determination of an entire brigade. She has coveted my sword as if going into battle.” Jason resettled in the overstuffed chair near the hearth. “What on earth makes the Brethren women so bold?”

  “Careful, brother.” Lance chuckled and shook his head. “Else Damian will feed your most prized protuberance to the fishes.”

  “Again with the Jolly Roger jokes.” Jason winced. “I told you my intentions are honorable, where Alex is concerned. And one thing is certain. You may take some comfort in the knowledge that Cara would not have given herself to you if she did not want you, and since women require commitment of the heart to share their bodies, unless they are a doxy, you may also assume she cares for you.”

  In that moment, Lance froze.

  “What is it?” Jason shifted his weight. “What did I say?”

  It was as though he had plunged into the icy waters of the Baltic. A shiver of awareness traipsed his spine, and Lance shuddered. “I had not thought of it that way.”

  In his brain, the inquisition commenced in rapid succession.

  Was it possible?

  Did Cara love him?

  Was that what he had missed?

  If so, why the charade?

  Why did she not tell him?

  “How did you think of it?” Jason asked.

  “I do not know.” Lance needed advice, and he knew just where to seek counsel. “I guess I had not considered the implications.”

  “But you had to have noticed something. Cara must have hinted at her affection.”

  “We have been friends all our lives.” Lance checked the mantel clock. If he was lucky, he could gain valuable guidance at White’s. “Of course I knew she cared for me.”

  “Hold on, old boy. I am not referring to friendship.”

  “Blister it, Jason. I swear I never knew Cara saw me as anything more than a friend until she stripped at the foot of my bed.”

  “She stripped? Miss Perfect?” Jason looked his shock. “Were there veils?”

  “Forget I said that.” Lance could have slit his own throat.

  “Not a chance.” Jason grinned. “Was there music?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Did she dance?” Jason waggled his brows. “And is she indeed perfect?”

  “Collingwood!”

  “All right.” Jason held up both hands in mock surrender. “I concede, Raynesford. I just can’t imagine our demure Miss Douglas enacting an impersonation of Bathsheba--though I am doing my best to picture it in my head.”

  “One more word about that, and you are a dead man.”

  “Calm yourself, Lance.” Again, Jason laughed. “As I have already promised, you have my word, as a gentleman, I will not speak of it again, though I may dream of it. So what is the plan for this evening?”

  “As you require, we stay the course.” Lance grasped a pen from the inkstand and a sheet of parchment. Sketching a directive to his solicitor, he said, “You continue your pursuit of Cara, and I shall chase Alex, but this is the last night of our charade.”

  #

  Later that afternoon, Lance walked through the reading room at White’s. Navigating the sea of high-back chairs, he nodded acknowledgements to the various members of his set and surreptitiously ambled toward the rear wall. Six great men, friends all, noted his arrival. To his left gathered the bachelors: Dalton, Damian, and Blake. To his right huddled the husbands: Trevor, Dirk, and Everett.

  At the banks of his Rubicon, Lance realized he was about to make a declaration from which there would be no retreat. While he dreaded the implications of his actions, and the relentless ribbing that would, no doubt, ensue, he wanted Cara more than he valued his pride.

  When Dalton waved a greeting, Lance dipped his chin in blithe salute, inhaled a deep breath, and steered for his quarry in the opposite direction. Yes, Lance had made his stand, which had not escaped notice, as evidenced when Blake, shock investing his features, leapt to the fore, and Damian, ever the voice of reason, quickly yanked him to his seat.

  “Trevor. Everett. Dirk.” He hoped his attempt to appear nonplussed was convincing, because he was damn near quaking in his Hessians. “How are you this fine day?”

  “Lance. Good to see you.” Trevor sported a wide grin, to which Lance would’ve taken exception under better circumstances. “Do you wish to join us?”

  “If I may.” Lance swallowed hard and shuffled his feet. “And I am not interrupting anything of significance.”

  “Nonsense.” Dirk smiled. “Pull up a chair and weigh your anchor.”

  “Will you have a brandy, Raynesford?” Everett motioned for a refill.

  “I believe I shall pass.” Having polished off a bottle of his best stock in anticipation of the impending accidental meeting, Lance shook his head, as he clung to what little remained of his faculties. He reclined and tried to relax. Just as quick, he reversed course, leaned forward, and propped elbows to knees. Then he stretched tall and folded his arms in front of him.

  “What is it?” Dirk inquired. “What troubles you, old friend?”

  “As if we cannot guess,” said Everett, as he glanced at Trevor. “And I would wager you have muddied your rudder where a certain female is concerned.”

  “Bloody hell.” Lance rested his chin in his palm. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Oh, brother.” Everett chuckled. “Were you wearing skirts, I should prepare to liste
n with mock enthusiasm as you bemoan the increasing width of your waistline.”

  “Or the unfairness of morning sickness,” Dirk added.

  “Garters.” Trevor rolled his eyes. “Caroline swears they were invented by the French to torture our women.”

  “And thereby torture us as we suffer their complaints.” Everett shook his head. “Women. Can’t live with them--”

  “--Can’t make heirs without them.” Trevor raised his glass in toast.

  “Damn, Lockwood.” Everett slapped a hand to his thigh. “But I like that.”

  “Am I not witty?” Trevor clipped the end of a cigar. “I just thought of it.”

  “You are too clever by half.” Dirk chuckled.

  Trevor nodded once. “Praise, indeed.”

  The three men erupted in uncontrollable laughter, and Lance wondered if fate intended the same destiny for him. In that case, his friends seemed genuinely happy, so he resolved to push forward with his plan.

  “Brothers, while I am loathe to halt your play, I must impose on your cordiality.” Lance tugged at his cravat. “My situation is dire, and I must act in haste.”

  “Of course, Lance.” Trevor poked Everett in the ribs, and Sabrina’s husband ceased his incessant chuckling. “How can we be of service?”

  “Well.” As nerves got the best of him, his rehearsed oratory evaporated in a hairsbreadth of a second. “I find myself in need of your insight.”

  “To what purpose?” Everett queried, with an arched brow.

  “I have a problem.” Lance stretched his booted feet and scrutinized the shine.

  “All right.” Trevor scratched his chin and grinned. “Not faring any better since last we spoke of your lady?”

  Lance froze. “What makes you think this involves a woman?”

  “Oh, brother.” Trevor shrugged. “I have spent too many days behind the look you are sporting.”

  “He’s got it bad.” Dirk chortled. “It is sad to watch another man fall prey to perfume and petticoats.”

  “He does, indeed.” Trevor nodded his agreement. “Yet, in the end, I suppose it happens to us all, if we are lucky. And you must admit it is worth the effort. Don’t know what I would do without Caroline, little Welton, and the one on the way.”

  “Tell me about it.” Dirk pointed for emphasis. “I am nothing without my Becca.”

  “I know precisely what you mean.” Everett wrinkled his nose. “Can’t imagine my life absent Sabrina--even if she does drive me crazy from time to time. But if you ever confess as much to our wives, we will kill you, because although it is perfectly acceptable to enjoy your marriage, it is never wise to admit such lunacy to your mate.”

  “Oh, I say.” Lance gulped. “You may rely on me, as I hope to join your set.”

  “So.” Trevor cast Lance a quizzical stare. “What seems to be the quandary, aside from the uncooperative Miss Douglas?”

  “Miss Douglas? You are courting Cara?” Dirk choked and almost spilt his brandy. “But she is like a sister to us.”

  “Not to me,” Lance replied, quick as a wink. “And I would know what would cause a prospective bride, who truly cares for a man, to refuse his offer of marriage, in your collective opinion?”

  “Upon my word, Rebecca told me there was more than friendship between you two, but I thought her spy instincts at full sail.” Dirk downed the contents of his snifter and signaled for a refill. “I never suspected you.”

  “Do you not remember our conversation at the Douglas dinner party, at the start of the winter season? You had your answer then.” Caroline’s husband narrowed his stare and smirked. To Everett, Trevor said, “And I believe he ignored our sage advice, Markham.”

  “More’s the pity.” Everett sat upright. “Because we are, for all intents and purposes, experts in our field, and we could have spared you endless torment, if only you had heeded our warning.”

  “Brothers, I have slept since then.” Lance searched his memory but recalled only bits and pieces of their exchange, none of which made any sense. “I swear, I cannot recollect your recommendation.”

  “My fellow leg-shackled sympathizers, and veterans of three wicked tours of duty, what is the one statement guaranteed to right all wrongs in the merciless brand of warfare society has the unmitigated audacity to call courtship?” Trevor asked with a snort and a countenance of unutterable supremacy.

  In unison, Everett and Dirk stated, “A declaration.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Lance squirmed as he pondered the prospect, as no member of the male sex worth his salt willingly professed such maudlin sentiment. “Is there not an easier solution? Perhaps, a gift, of some sort, that would suffice? Money is no object.”

  “You might think so--but, no,” Everett said with grim finality. “Yet I would caution you not to avoid what could be described as the single most important achievement of your life.”

  Confused, Lance paused to examine their logic. “How so?”

  “It is a singular phrase uttered in a seemingly nondescript fragment of time that could define your future, for good or ill, in ways you cannot imagine, until you take that step.” Trevor cast a ghost of a smile. “However, were I you, I would not miss the chance for anything.”

  “Brothers, you have lost me.” Nagging guilt resurfaced with a vengeance, as Lance thought of Thomas. Had his cousin survived, Cara would have married him, because the original heir to the marquessate of Raynesford was the better man. So Lance owed his happiness to the untimely demise of his best friend. “Why should I attempt such madness?”

  “Because to seize the ultimate prize, you must bet it all without promise of success.” With his brow a mass of furrows, Dirk pinned Lance with a potent stare. “You see although I existed in the world prior to meeting L’araignee, I did not truly live until Rebecca set foot aboard the Gawain. And when I thought I had lost her to Varringdale’s treachery, I could not comprehend my future without her in it.”

  “Damn nasty affair, brother. But I get your meaning.” Trevor averted his gaze. “When Cavalier threw Caroline from the Black Morass into the Thames, I vowed I would not leave the river if I could not save her, because I am a man if only I can count her as my woman.”

  “And although my countess was not threatened to such degree, I cannot convey the depth of my despair when I returned to Beaumaris and discovered her gone. Yes, I had the money, the estate, and the title, but they meant nothing without my wife.” Everett paused, sighed, and swallowed hard. “Love makes you feel you can conquer the world, if only to deliver the spoils to the lady who holds your heart and have her share your devotion, in kind. It is a priceless treasure, unparalleled in its fragility and its strength, if you can claim it.”

  “Therein lies the risk, as it is the most courageous advance you will ever make, but it is worth the effort. Given my lady spy’s instincts, it is safe to assert that Cara cares for you, so you may be assured of her affection.” A peaceful but poignant calm fell over the group, and Dirk checked his timepiece. “Gentlemen, Becca should rouse from her nap in the next half hour. I believe I will go home and make love to my wife, until dinner.”

  “That is an excellent notion, Wainsbrough. Likewise, our topic has moved me.” Everett stood. “I miss my Brie and would do the same.”

  “And our discussion has worked on me in similar fashion. I should hug my son, kiss my bride, and share her bath.” Trevor rose from his chair and halted. Resting a hand on Lance’s shoulder, he said, “My friend, you know what must needs. Now go to it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  As Cara ran through the trees, a low-lying branch snagged her hair, and she shrieked. The black night enveloped her in matching melancholia, as clouds shrouded the moon’s silvery glow. Hiking her skirts in a most unladylike fashion, she wound her way deeper into the gardens of the Huxley’s palatial estate located just outside London proper.

  With her heart beating a rapid salvo in her chest, her pulse raced. As she fought panic and persistent nausea, she struggl
ed to breathe, and the chilly wind stung her face as she fled.

  For a moment, she sheltered beneath the canopy of a large oak and trained her ear for any sign of her tormentor. The absence of footfalls gave her hope that her persistent pursuer had ceased the chase. To be sure, she took two tentative steps. When an unknown assailant grabbed her from behind, Cara tried to scream, but a hand over her mouth muffled her call of alarm.

  “Shh! It is Alex.”

  For a few seconds, Cara mumbled incoherently until she found the good sense to pull free. “What on earth are you about?” she whispered.

  “Evading Lance,” Alex answered in a hushed tone. “I swear he has gone insane. And you?”

  “Fleeing Jason,” Cara replied. “And I believe he suffers the same malady.”

  Just then, Cara’s name carried on the wind, and she threw her arms about Alex’s shoulders. “I beg you, shield me from the insanity.”

  “It is Jason,” Alex said in a low voice.

  “I know.” At the thought of facing more of his amorous but unwelcome attention, Cara inhaled a shaky breath and shivered. “Quick--we must hide.”

  “We will do no such thing.” Alex wrenched loose and turned in the direction of Jason’s call. “He has been avoiding me all evening, and I am more than ready to enact a scene in the privacy of the garden.”

  At that very instant, Alex’s name danced on the breeze as a flirty summons, and she reversed course and flung herself at Cara. “It is Lance. Please, do not let him find me.”

  “Where can we go?” Cara glanced left and then right. “I am not acquainted with the Huxley’s grounds.”

  Lightning flashed, and the ominous rumble of thunder soon followed. Amid nature’s herald of impending doom, familiar voices grew near, and Cara and Alex hunkered behind a thick hedge. Cara pressed a finger to Alex’s lips, and a few tense minutes passed, as Cara feared discovery.

  “Lance? Is that you?”

  “Jason, what are you doing out here?”

  “I was searching for Cara,” Jason stated.

  “What a coincidence, as I am looking for Alex,” Lance replied.