The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6)

by Barbara Devlin

  “Thank you, again.” With a squeal of delight, Daphne jumped into the rig and hollered, “To Randolph House, and hurry.”

  #

  “Desolation, they name is Dalton.” Draped across a high back leather chair, with one leg dangling over an armrest, he swirled the amber liquid in his brandy balloon, downed the contents in a single gulp, and huffed a breath. “Everything has gone to the deuce. What am I to do, brother?”

  “You know, for the first time in your life, I believe you are truly contrite.” Dirk swiped the decanter before Dalton could pour a refill. “And you have enough problems, without getting foxed, in the process.”

  “Ever since we were in shortcoats, you have always reacted the same whenever you have unfortunate news to impart. So what is your big revelation, which requires an intoxicating overture?” As if the situation could get any worse. Dalton set his empty glass on a side table. “Out with it. What have you heard?”

  “Word has spread of your ménage à trois.” Dirk stared at the flames in the hearth. “When I stopped by Howell’s to collect Rebecca’s order of chamomile tea, as she could not wait for their standard delivery, I overhead a rather fatuous conversation, which devolved to gossip of your liaison with Lord Sheldon and an, as yet, unnamed woman.”

  “Bloody hell.” He shot to his feet and paced, a habit he never indulged. “Well that is that. I have lost her. There is no way Daphne will ever forgive me.”

  “Do you think her so fickle?” With her hand resting on the doorknob, Rebecca loomed in the entry. “Then you know Daphne not at all, as she is a vast deal stronger than you apprehend, and you would be wise not to underestimate her.”

  “You support me?” Dalton stiffened his spine, as he had anticipated a lethal reproach from his sister-in-law. “You would champion my cause?”

  “Yes.” Rebecca nodded once, as Dirk stood. “Because I know how it feels to carry past encumbrances into a relationship and enjoy an unconditional pardon from the one you love.”

  “But yours were born of service to the Crown, while mine are of my own making.” She could have knocked him over with a feather. “Why should you advocate my suit?”

  “Do you recall our discussion, en route to the church, on my wedding day?” With a regal air, Becca glided across the room, into her husband’s waiting arms. Hugging Dirk about the waist, she rested her head to his chest. “You may not have realized it, at the time, but you betrayed your true nature, and you have never fooled me, since. While you might portray yourself as the black sheep of our family, and you have done your best to fulfill that role, you are, in actuality, just like your elder brother. So I know what occurred with Daphne has wounded you.”

  “What?” Dirk withdrew, ever so slightly, to look his wife in the eyes. “You can’t mean that. Dalton and I are as night and day.”

  “That is what he wants you to believe, and he has done an excellent job of supporting that assumption.” Rebecca snickered. “But I know otherwise.”

  Tugging on his cravat, Dalton shuffled his feet and shifted his weight, as Rebecca’s abrupt character assessment had, for all intents and purposes, just stripped him bare, and he knew not how to rebut her assertion. For years, his reputation had functioned as invisible armor, shielding him against the cutting remarks and cruel treatment of the ton.

  “I would argue you have read too much into a brief interaction.” Relying on an old habit, he drew his lucky coin from his pocket and flipped his familiar talisman, as he mustered unimpaired aplomb. “And I am like the wind, carefree and ever changing direction.”

  “Just what did you two talk about, prior to our nuptials?” Dirk kissed the top of her head. “And why have you not mentioned it before?”

  “Because it did not signify until now.” She drew Dirk close and suckled his bottom lip. “And I will tell you the whole of it, tonight, in our bed.”

  “And then you will distract me.” Dirk arched a brow.

  “Yes.” She spread her fingers over Dirk’s chest. “But for now we should turn our thoughts to dinner, as the meal is ready, and I would have Dalton join us.”

  “But what of Daphne, as she is your guest?” Dalton asked. “I would not upset her. Well, anymore than I have already.”

  “She has taken her evening meals in her chambers, since your contretemps, so you would disturb no one.” Clutching Dirk’s elbow, Rebecca flicked her fingers, and Dalton positioned himself at her left. “And you would not want to disappointment me, given I had Hughes situate your place setting at the end of the table, in our informal family seating.”

  “Rebecca, you could charm candy from a babe.” Ignoring the despondency seeping into his veins, Dalton managed a smile for his hostess, as they navigated the hall.

  “Brother, you have no idea.” Dirk chuckled.

  “Is that a complaint?” Rebecca inquired.

  “Never.” Dirk growled. “As I am rather partial to your brand of persuasion.”

  In the foyer, Hughes stood at the entry.

  “Expecting company?” Dalton glanced beyond the open doors and came to an abrupt halt.

  “Oh, dear.” Rebecca gasped.

  As Daphne crossed the threshold, she pulled off her gloves and passed them to Hughes. It was then she spied Dalton. For a scarce second, she simply stared at him. Then she mouthed his name and charged.

  “Daphne.” With arms splayed, Dalton caught her and lifted her from her feet. “My angel, how I have missed you.”

  “I am sorry.” She kissed him hard and fast. “I am so sorry. At the first test of faith, I wavered. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Darling, I am blame, as I should have told you of my past.” Now Dalton claimed her mouth, as he ached to taste her.

  “Er, Dalton.” Dirk cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should move your reunion to the drawing room, and we shall await you in the dining room.”

  It was all he could do to carry his lady across the foyer and into the chamber, away from prying eyes. As he kicked the oak panel shut, he paused to savor her tender flesh, and dank desolation yielded to desire. At long last, they came up for air, and he rested his forehead to hers.

  “I owe you the apology, love.” He could not help but squeeze her. “But in my defense, I tried to tell you of my shame, that evening in the park, when I proposed, but you would not hear it. I would have you know my character, if you intend to wed me.”

  “It is of no importance, in the grand scheme, because you knew not of Daphne Harcourt, when it occurred.” She framed is face. “And I know your character, sir. As we have spent the better part of the last two months together, I know you quite well. You could have left us, in Portsea. You could have walked away, but you stayed. You gave me your protection, shielded my brothers, when you could have turned them over to the authorities, stocked my community pantry, and financed a ball, so I could feed the more stubborn Portsea citizens. If that is not noble, then tell me what constitutes such attribute?”

  “Do not be fooled, as I am not a good man, Daphne.” He rubbed his nose to hers. “But you make me want to change. I want to be good for you.”

  “You need alter nothing, because you are my gallant savior.” She caressed his cheek with her thumb. “You are my one true knight.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I am—”

  “Listen to me.” When she met his stare, he caught his breath, as the strength of her conviction shone bright as the sun. “I wore the brooch.”

  “What brooch?” And then it dawned on him that she referenced the family heirloom. “Sweetheart, that is nothing but lore.”

  “No, it is not.” As if to emphasize her point, she favored him with a potent kiss, parting her lips to tickle his tongue with hers.

  Everything inside him tensed, as he poised to take her in the most elemental fashion, right there beneath his brother’s roof. Some invisible but powerful force stayed the beast within, so he held tight to the reins of lust, as she was his lady, and Dalton resolved to respect her virtue. When he returned
home, he would take a cold bath and put four fingers and a thumb to excellent use, as the cannon in his crotch had loaded for battle.

  “Daphne, you know not what danger you court.” Gritting his teeth, he summoned unimpassioned thoughts, but nothing provided serviceable results. At last, he set her feet on the floor and retreated behind the sofa. “And I have made other mistakes, which I would catalogue for you.”

  “Promise you will honor our vows, and your commitment, and I will believe you.” She moved in his direction. “Because you are my match. I napped with the artifact pinned to my dress, prior to returning the antique to you. I was desperate for a solution to my family’s troubles, and the brooch offered the possibility of an answer, so I availed myself of the bauble. Do you know what it showed me?”

  “What did you see, love?” He had not the courage to trample her confidence, so he indulged her. “Of what did you dream?”

  “A gold coin, with a rather questionable image on one side, tossing in the air.” With a half-smothered sob, she pressed her clasped hands to her chest. “I knew not the owner of the curious item, as the visions gave me no other clue. But I wanted it to be you. I prayed it was you.”

  For several minutes, he searched his memory, and various confusing moments fell into place. Then he snapped his fingers. “That is why you flung yourself at me, aboard the Siren, after you were caught in my cabin, when I had thought you might flee?”

  “Yes.” And he suspected she would have repeated the maneuver, had he not taken refuge near the chaise, as she stalked him. “It was the first time you wielded the token in my presence, and I was shocked and elated, at once. So you see, we are fated to be together. Our destinies are intertwined, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise. If you will have me, I will be your wife.”

  “I do not deserve you, but, heaven help me, I want you.” When he gave her his back, she almost knocked him down, as she hugged him tight from behind. “Daphne, the road ahead will be difficult, as the rumor is out, and I am marked by scandal.”

  “What care I for scandal, when I have you?” She sniffed. “And I would just as soon go home, as I find London society lacking.”

  “But I cannot abandon my responsibilities, so our only option is to weather the storm.” How he regretted tainting her with his disreputable activities. “We must make the rounds, accept the invitations issued, and endure the scrutiny. Trust me, everyone will watch us. And Lord Sheldon and Lady Moreton will haunt our every move, seeking to tear us apart, as our happiness is their misery.”

  “Then why not just marry me, now?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Because I would court you properly, as rushed nuptials would yield additional unfavorable gossip, which would cast a cloud over you, and that I will not tolerate.” He turned in her embrace, but another scenario brought him to the overstuffed chair. How often he had walked in on his brother and Rebecca, sharing a single seat, and Dirk insisted such positioning was without equal for heartfelt discussions. So Dalton situated himself and then slapped his thighs in invitation. “Come here, love.”

  At first, Daphne blinked. Then she stepped about his knees, descended to his lap, and rested against his chest. “Are you afraid?”

  “Yes.” He held her close, cupped her head, and sighed. The urge to protect her, almost violent in intensity, invested his frame. “Never before have I suffered weakness, as I cared not for my safety. But my enemies may strike me by hurting you, and the prospect terrifies me. There are those who will ridicule us, those who will shun us, and we must bear it.”

  “Stuff and nonsense.” She nuzzled him. “I believe in you, and as long as I am your lady, they cannot injure me.”

  “If you would agree, I would ask you to ignore spurious rumors, and heed nothing that is not confirmed by me, as I vow to hide nothing from you.” Yet he knew not what more to reveal, as he scarcely knew himself.

  “My gallant Dalton, you have my solemn pledge.” Her certitude rendered him renewed confidence.

  “So we will stay the course.” He tipped her chin, bringing her gaze to his. “We will fight.”

  “My one true knight, we will borrow from Shakespeare, plot our attack, and give society an exchange such as it has never seen.” Daphne smiled. “And if that foul woman comes near me again, I shall cry, ‘havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Well I heard Dalton Randolph woos the backwater girl, because no one in London would have him.” An anonymous disparager chortled. “After all, he is a second son.”

  “But he possesses a vast fortune and excellent connections.” Another unknown belittler snickered. “I could put up with quite a bit of mischief for such benefits, given he is easy on the eyes, but my father requires I marry a titled gentleman.”

  “Ladies of quality do not tolerate such devilment, regardless of money or familial ties.” A third detractor scoffed. “But he would be fun for a night of naughty recreation, if you take my meaning.”

  The three hens broke into a fit of cackles, and Daphne clutched her beau’s hand and squeezed his fingers, in a show of support. Dirk frowned and compressed his lips, while Rebecca craned her neck, as the foursome enjoyed tea and sweetmeats at Pâtisserie François, a quaint establishment where the notables converged to see and be seen. Were they in Portsea, she would have taken the detractors to task over their rude comments, but so-called polite society, which were anything but polite, played by its own rules.

  A sennight had passed since the initial disclosure of Dalton’s discreditable act, along with Lord Sheldon’s part in the debauchery, and the ton was rife with speculation regarding the woman’s identity. Some had suggested Daphne completed the titillating triumvirate, but as she had just arrived in the city that spring, the rumor had not gone far.

  “I am sorry, Daphne.” Dalton leaned near and imparted in a low voice, “If you would prefer to leave, I can have your selections packaged.”

  “Nonsense.” After choosing a tempting lime-blossom madeleine, Daphne winked at her man, as nothing could spoil her afternoon with Dalton. “I am a proud provincial, and those self-professed ladies are nothing to me, so what care I for their good opinion?”

  “Be that as it may, I shall remove their names from the guest list, for our fall gala.” Acting as chief-chaperone-in-charge, Rebecca folded her arms and humphed. “If they can be rude, then so, too, can I.”

  “Darling, I love it when you are ruthless.” Dirk whispered in her ear, and Becca giggled. “What say you, sweetheart?”

  “My randy lord, great minds think alike.” Rebecca fed her husband a small bite of shortbread. “And I shall don the new burgundy, again, just for you.”

  “Promise me something.” Resolved to persevere, Daphne admired the viscount and viscountess, as they flirted without restraint or shame.

  “Anything, angel.” Dalton scooted his chair closer. “What would you have of me?”

  “Once we are wed, you will adore me, in public, as Dirk does Rebecca, and as the admiral does Lady Amanda.” Now that Daphne had made her decision, she would accept nothing less than her fantasy, and she wanted everything. And as she had delved into charitable work on Portsea Island, and management of the governorship in papa’s absence, she dove into courtship with her gallant knight, embracing all manner of social outings, musicales, and balls. Most of all, she desired a match based on affection. “Since I was a little girl, I have dreamed of being cherished, and I would never complain or grow tired of it.”

  “My dear Miss Daphne, I would not even have to try to fulfill that request.” Now he favored her with his dimpled grin, and she could not help but laugh. “In fact, I may spoil you, as I cannot wait to make you mine.”

  “But I am not asking you to buy me things, because you have done so much for me, already.” A now familiar fluttering in her belly distracted her, and she brushed crumbs from the skirt of her pale blue dress. “And I am so grateful.”

  “I hesitate to remind you, because a gentleman wo
uld never do so.” For a scarce second, he studied her mouth, and then he met her stare. “But I am not interested in your gratitude, my lady.”

  “Then take my heart, as it is yours.” And then Daphne bit her tongue, as she had not planned to make her declaration at that moment. There, amid the pink and white chintz wall coverings and matching tablecloths, she had made her stand for the future she desired. To her amazement, the surroundings seemed to fracture, her ears pealed, and she only had eyes for Dalton. For a while, her future husband simply gazed at her, shock investing his boyish features. When she could bear no more, she blurted, “I love you.”

  “I know you do. Why else would you accept my proposal? And I believe I love you, too.” Furrowing his brow, he glanced surreptitiously about the crowd, as he rested her palm to his thigh and caressed the delicate flesh between her fingers, through her gloves, and she shivered. “At least, I think I do, but I am unfamiliar with such emotions. Yet I care for you, more than you realize.”

  “Will you tell me when you know for certain?” Yes, she was disappointed by his not so ardent attestation, but she recalled the brooch’s mystical powers, her visions, as well as Lady Amanda’s assurance, and in silence Daphne pledged to persist. “As I would know when you share my devotion.”

  “You have my word, although I am not sure I will recognize such attachment.” Despite his prosaic proclamation, she remained resolute. “Never have I experienced that singular sentiment, but if I could ever love anyone, it would be you.”

  “Well, that is something.” No, his was not the commitment she had sought, but her circumstances had changed, and so she had to alter her expectations, but she had not ceded the fight.

  “My, my, what a fetching sight.” With a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, Lady Moreton stared down her nose at Daphne. “If it is not the black sheep and the rustic ragamuffin.”

  “Better that than a low-rent doxy.” The soul of feminine deportment, Rebecca daubed the corners of her mouth, and Daphne could not stifle a snort.

  “Well, I never.” The troublemaker humphed and drew herself up with regal hauteur.