The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6)

by Barbara Devlin

“Stand down, Mr. Shaw.” Dalton cursed under his breath, as two of the thieves jumped the railing. After unleashing a second barrel, the last of the criminals escaped.

  “Hell and the Reaper.” The cook blanched and scratched his chin. “I presumed you were joking, but they had a woman in their midst.”

  “Sorry, Cap’n.” The first mate tucked the firearm in his waistband. “Had I known of the lady, I would not have fired.”

  “No worries, as their theft consisted of nothing more than food from our stores, and I do not believe you hit anyone.” Standing a-larboard, Dalton smiled, as the brazen crooks eluded capture via a small rowboat. Then a scrap of red caught his attention. The velvet pouch, which he bent to retrieve, had protected a valuable artifact, but now it sat empty. “Did our uninvited guests invade my cabin?”

  “Aye, sir.” Mr. Shaw nodded. “That is when I roused the villains.”

  In that instant, Dalton frowned. “Then the nameless scoundrels are not harmless, and their cause is not so noble, as I had thought, given they have taken something invaluable to my family, so we shall meet again.”

  “But how will we find them, sir?” The cook hugged his cast-iron skillet. “As they have disappeared around the bend.”

  “Fret not, old friend.” Dalton lowered his chin and flipped his familiar coin, which landed, however apropos, on tails. “They don’t call me the lucky one, for nothing.”

  #

  The beautiful spring morning dawned with nary a hint of the wicked tempest that had struck Portsea Island two days ago. Stretching her arms, Daphne Harcourt gazed out the window, which boasted a spectacular view of the Channel, and reminisced of the carefree existence of her youth, when she often ran through the grassy meadow that flanked Courtenay Hall. But that time had long since passed, which had been emphasized by recent harrowing events, the dark nature of which she had yet to untangle, so she drank the last of her tea and pushed from the dining room table.

  In the main corridor of her childhood home, which doubled as the governor’s official residence, as was her father’s post, she paused before the oval mirror and checked her appearance. At the age of three and twenty, she was, for all intents and purposes, a spinster. A bluestocking. On the shelf. Oh, there were endless names to describe the seemingly hopeless despair of maidenhood to which she had resigned herself, in the wake of unforeseen incidents that had left her scrambling to maintain her family and property, with no possibility of a future of her own or the fantasies she had coveted.

  With a sigh of lament for the misspent dreams of her early years, she adjourned to papa’s study, settled in the leather chair behind his desk, and opened the account ledger. After twice calculating the sum of the month’s expenditures, she collapsed in the seat and vented a plaintive cry. Growing ever more desperate with each successive week, she could discern no escape from her perilous predicament, despite many sleepless nights in search of a solution.

  “Excuse me, Miss Daphne.” Hicks, the butler, cleared his throat. “There is a gentleman just arrived to see your father.”

  “Oh?” Sifting through the various logs, she located the appointment book, flipped to the current date, and frowned. “There is no scheduled meeting.”

  “Shall I make your excuses?” the servant inquired, with an expression of sympathy.

  “No.” She stood and smoothed the skirt of her pale yellow morning dress. “To turn away our caller would rouse unwanted suspicion. Show him in, at once.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” Hicks dipped his chin.

  With a quick assessment of the surroundings, she nodded at no one and strolled to the window, which overlooked the rose garden. How many afternoons she had enjoyed, tending the plants her mother had pruned with love and care.

  “Miss Daphne, allow me to present Sir Dalton Randolph.” With very proper airs, which she found rather amusing, given his usual affable mannerisms, Hicks made the introductions. “Sir Dalton, this is Miss Daphne Harcourt, Governor Harcourt’s eldest child.”

  It was then she spared a glance at her visitor—and almost fainted.

  At well over six feet tall, the imposing figure of a man would have intimidated her under any circumstance. With sun-kissed brown hair, amber eyes that harked a comparison with papa’s brandy, chiseled cheekbones, and a patrician nose, his masculine aura bespoke raw power mingled with sinful beauty. And when he smiled, gooseflesh covered her from top to toe.

  Wearing an evergreen coat, a tan waistcoat, a crisp white cravat, fawn-colored breeches, and polished hessians, the tailored noble’s garb had done little to temper the enormity of his frame or dispel the danger he exuded. Even in the dim light from his cargo hold, and later, above deck, she had thought him quite stunning, as he had chased her. But looming as the specter of doom in her midst, he well nigh took her breath away, for more reasons than one.

  “Sir Dalton—”

  “Oh, let us dispense with the formalities.” With brazen immodesty, he surveyed her, and she swallowed hard. “It is just Dalton. And may I be so bold as to address you informally?”

  “Of course.” With a casual wave, she dismissed Hicks and then extended her hand. “What can I do for you, Dalton?”

  “You may begin by telling me why I have never had the pleasure of your charming company in the ton’s ballrooms.” Then he grasped her fingers, bent, and pressed his lips to her bare knuckles, lingering a tad too long by her estimation, and she shuddered. Although she had uttered a silent prayer he had not noted her reaction to his otherwise innocuous kiss, his arched brow and devilish grin belied her hope. “Are you unwell, my dear?”

  “Why do you ask?” Panic wreaked havoc on her senses, when she attempted to withdraw, and he held firm. She had heard of his sort, the kind of superficial seducer that was more than happy to avail himself of her attributes but had no interest in her heart, and she girded herself with that knowledge. “And I have never journeyed to London.”

  “How exceedingly cruel, as you deny us one of England’s brightest flowers.” The rake had the audacity to wink. “And now might I have a word with Governor Harcourt?”

  “You pay me a great compliment.” Still, he would not relinquish her hand. “And I am sorry to disappoint you, but my father is not in residence.”

  “What time do you expect him?” Dalton drew imaginary circles in her palm.

  “He is away.” She inhaled a shaky breath.

  “When will he return?” His voice poured over her, like honey on a hot scone.

  Clinging to her wits by a thread, Daphne struggled to relax. “I cannot say.”

  “Where has he gone?” Why could she not tear herself from his clutch?

  “He is on the mainland.” Because she had not wanted to incite any alarm, she acquiesced.

  “You are curiously vague.” He shifted his weight.

  “And I might charge you are quite intrusive.” She shuffled her feet.

  “I beg your pardon, my dear.” He pressed her palm to the crook of his arm. “And who has the Crown appointed to serve in Governor Harcourt’s stead?”

  She blinked. “I do not follow.”

  “No doubt your father notified the King of the temporary absence, as required by his station?” Bereft of compunction and any semblance of polite conduct, he gazed upon her as if he knew how she looked in her chemise, and she cursed the burn of a blush. “As someone of singular authority must supervise the territory and safeguard the governor’s fascinating daughter.”

  “Portsea is a small community. We are, in every respect, an extended family.” Goodness, the dimpled man was lethal, and she ignored his last statement. How many bloody questions would he ask, as she had to get rid of him? “And I often assume my father’s duties, sir. Daresay he saw no reason to concern the King.”

  “Given we are at war, and the advantageous location, Portsea Island is of vital importance to the Crown’s military interests.” Dalton led her to a Hepplewhite chair, and then he occupied the mate. “Never would His Majesty abandon the superior
landscape to a mere wisp of a girl.”

  “You insult me, sir.” Daphne folded her arms and found safe harbor in his effrontery. “I would have you know I have had no need of a governess for some four years.”

  “Four years?” He whistled in monotone. “You are a regular Hester Stanhope.”

  “And now you make sport of me.” It was too late, when she realized she had taken his bait, and she averted her stare. “Let me assure you, Sir Dalton, that I am quite capable of managing the daily functions of my father’s office, as I have often helped him, with his tutelage, encouragement, and blessing. So how may I serve you?”

  “What a provocative proposal, and I vow to weigh your offer with due consideration.” He chuckled, a rich throaty rumble that had her curling her toes in her slippers. “But, for now, I wonder if the governor has mentioned a rogue band of vagabonds stealing from docked ships, in the area?”

  “Why—yes.” Daphne almost swallowed her tongue. “But they are, to my knowledge, harmless, as they seek nothing more than food. Would you raise such a ruckus over a few missing potatoes?”

  “How remarkable that you seize upon some of the precise missing items, as I said nothing of what the thieves pinched from my stores.” Dalton caught her in a steely glare. “Can you explain your extraordinary powers of divination, my dear?”

  “Actually, my father has apprised me of the situation and the complaints.” So enthralled by his bold behavior, she almost betrayed the truth. “But no one has pursued charges, as their loss was minimal, and hunger thrives in these difficult times. Do you lack a measure of compassion for those less fortunate than yourself?”

  “I take issue with your characterization, as these particular criminals are not so virtuous as you have been led to believe. Indeed, they stole a priceless family heirloom from my cabin, and I will not cease my hunt for the villains, until the item is surrendered to my custody.” In that instant, the curious agitator stood and rested hands on hips. “Do you condone such theft? Is lawlessness the standard in these parts?”

  “No, of course not.” The implications of his words struck her as a bucket of icy water, and she shivered. “But—are you absolutely certain of your accusation? Perhaps you lost the item.”

  “The invaluable bauble had rested on my desk.” At that moment, her mesmerizing guest produced a red velvet purse and held it for her inspection. “It was a lady’s brooch fashioned of solid gold, etched with a lotus and bearing a large oval sapphire and four rubies, and it was contained in this pouch, which the scoundrel dropped as he fled my ship. Given to my ancestors, for services rendered to the Crown, in the fourteenth century, it is more than a piece of jewelry. It is an irreplaceable part of our history, and I will not stop until the artifact is recovered and the unknown miscreants are captured, brought to justice, and punished.”

  “Sir Dalton, you are angry, and I understand your ire.” Daphne prayed for calm, as her mind raced in search of a response to placate her new nemesis. Then she would confront the source responsible for the significant complication, reclaim the article, and somehow restore the precious gem to its rightful owner, without discovery. “But there is no reason to overreact, when I might intervene on your behalf, with favorable results. If you would allow me to make some discreet inquiries, I am positive I can retrieve your expensive keepsake.”

  “You pose a compelling, if not altogether satisfactory, proposition, Miss Daphne.” Then Dalton lowered his chin, and she gulped. “What have you to persuade me not to notify the Crown of your father’s dereliction of duty and to accept your approach to our conundrum?”

  “I do not comprehend your meaning, sir.” She would have taken issue with his unflattering and unfair assault on her father’s character, but she could ill afford to insult the unwelcome interloper. Lost in her musings, she started, as he drew her from the chair and escorted her to the window. Her first instinct was to run in the opposite direction. “What would you have of me?”

  “You are blessed with the bluest eyes I have ever seen.” For a long while, he simply met her gaze, and the air sizzled with a foreign intensity she tried but failed to identify. But all of a sudden, he cupped her jaw in his hand, turned her left and then right, and his expression sobered. “Have dinner with me.”

  It took her several seconds to realize he had spoken, and even longer to discern his overture, which left her wondering at his motives. “You, sir, are without doubt the most presumptuous man of my acquaintance.”

  “And without doubt, I shall take that as a compliment.” Now he trailed his thumb to her lower lip, and some strange but alluring sensation unfurled within her, fanning comforting heat, spreading slowly, suffusing her muscles from the pit of her belly to her limbs. “And what a tempting mouth you possess. Really, it is a masterpiece, and what I would do with it, were you mine.”

  “Upon my word, but you are too bold.” Myriad recriminations and rebukes formed in her brain. Yet, to her chagrin, Daphne burst into nervous laughter. “Oh, Sir Dalton, I wager you are a favorite among society ladies, but I am too wise to dice with you. So what do you require for your cooperation?”

  “You know my terms.” Then he inclined his head. “Did you know that when the sun catches your blonde hair, you look quite angelic, as though you wear a halo?”

  “I can assure you, Sir Dalton, I am no angel.” She couldn’t help but snicker at his absurd statement. “So you wish me to dine with you? Simple enough—”

  “Unchaperoned.” He grinned, and his dimples all but beckoned her to accept his request.

  “Are you planning to make advances?” She bit her tongue against further spontaneous conjecture.

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “You sound disappointed.” He chortled.

  “Well it would have been nice, not to mention flattering, if you had exhibited the tiniest bit of interest.” Her spirits flagged. “Then again, I am not sure I would have recognized it, if you had.”

  “Is there no local dandy to pay call on a lovely woman, such as yourself?” To her delight, though she could not explain why his action thrilled her, he trailed a finger along the curve of her cheek. “And who says I am not interested?”

  “Now you compliment me, but I am not fooled by your feigned blandishments.” She gazed at the horizon. “My cousin has expressed a desire to wed, but it is only because he seeks my father’s office and presumes I present the shortest path to that goal.”

  “That does not speak well for the swains of Portsea Island.” Again, he scrutinized her, and she bore the weight of his attention as a sumptuous down counterpane. “Then it is safe to assume you remain unspoken for and are, therefore, unattached?”

  “Yes.” Not entirely true, but she could pretend, if only for a few days.

  “Then I insist you accept my invitation.” In play, he tapped the tip of her nose. “And I will brook no refusal.”

  “Has any woman ever refused you anything?” Despite her earlier apprehension, she would give an untold bounty to know him better, to revel in the comfort and security of an estimable specimen of means and persist as his lady. Had she ever savored such stability and happiness more, in her lifetime? Then again, such men often eschewed monogamous relationships, as had her father, in regard to her mother, and Daphne would settle for nothing less.

  “Not that I can recall.” The rake rocked on his heels, and in that simple gesture she discovered his lure. The boyish innocence coupled with the confidence of an elder proved a potent appeal, as he evaded her usual stalwart defenses.

  “Then who am I to buck the popular trend?” They strolled to the door, and to her chagrin, she rued his departure, as he provided fortuitous distraction.

  “Wonderful.” Now he steered her into the hall. “Since I have taken a suite at the inn, I shall book a private dining room for tomorrow night, at seven.”

  “I look forward to it, Sir Dalton.” They paused in the foyer. “And what is the attire?”

  “Formal, of course.” In the
grand entry, he again brought her knuckles to his lips, but then he surprised her, when he flipped her hand and pressed a kiss to the inner side of her wrist. “Until next we meet, I would have you think of me with fondness.”

  Daphne’s knees buckled. “I shall endeavor to fulfill your expectations and would bid you the same, of me.”

  “No worries, angel.” He released her. “As scarcely a second will pass that you do not occupy my thoughts.”

  His declaration, which she suspected was more facetious than serious, touched her more than she was willing to admit, to herself or anyone else. “My, what an elegant coach.”

  “I summoned my traveling equipage from London, when I estimated the extent of the damage to the Siren.” A liveried footman leaped to open the door. With one last glance over his shoulder, Dalton saluted and said, “I shall send my rig to collect you, tomorrow.”

  “And I will be ready.” With a light heart, she curtseyed and ran into the house. Giggling, she hugged herself. Then she jolted to reality, when it dawned on her that Dalton posed the greatest threat to her secrets and, thereby, her family. In a flash, Daphne glared at the landing and marched up the grand staircase. On the second floor, she veered left, navigated the passageway, and charged into the third room. “All right. Which one of you stole the brooch?”

  “What brooch?” Robert, her nineteen-year-old brother, dropped a model ship to the floor and jumped to his feet. “I gave you my rucksack, and you know I took only some ham, cheese, and bread.”

  Huddled on the carpet, Richard, the youngest, at ten and seven, lingered in uncharacteristic quiet. When he refused to meet her gaze, Daphne’s spirits plunged to heretofore-unimagined depths. Until that moment, until that very instant, she had clung to some scrap of hope that Dalton’s accusation had been unfounded, and her brother’s were innocent.

  “Richard, where is the brooch?” She knelt at his side and took his hand in hers. “Please, you must give it to me. Whatever your reasons for taking it, the owner visited me, just now. It is a precious family heirloom. If I do not restore the item, posthaste, he will notify the King of father’s absence, and I cannot allow that.”