Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) (13 page)

“Lord Lockwood must bear some of the responsibility for what has happened.  As you have made it clear, you did nothing against your will.  While Lockwood’s reputation with women is notorious, and you were indeed an innocent, I must say I hold you equally culpable for what happened
after
he abducted you.”  He stood tall and inclined his head.  “I know you, Caroline.  You are no weak simpleton to be easily led.  I believe you when you tell me he did not force himself upon you, that you allowed yourself to be compromised.  As such, you must accept the consequences of your actions.”

She felt the blood draining from her face.  Her heart was pounding, and her mouth tasted dry as desert sand.  “You want me to marry him.”

“My dear, it is no longer a question of what I want.”  Blake knelt before her chair, covered her hands with his.  “You were not meant to live alone.  I wanted a love match for you, as our parents had.  Hell, it is what I want for myself.  But in truth, Lord Lockwood is your only option.  I know him; we served together in the Navy.  Despite his recent actions, I remain convinced he is a man of honor.  Given the chance, I believe he will make a fine husband and who knows, in time, you may come to love one another.  However, I will not force you to wed.  The final decision is yours to make.”

“I need to think this through.”  Caroline tilted her chin and avoided his knowing gaze.  “Please be assured I will endeavor to restore your good opinion of me.  You shall have my answer upon our return to London.”

“I had best leave you to it.”  Blake chucked her shoulder.  “But remember this.  No matter the path you choose, you are still my sister, and I love you.”

“Despite my ruin?”

“Of course.”  He grinned.  “It is one of the perks of being a duke.  I can tell everyone in polite society to go to the devil, and yet the laws of etiquette demand they bow at my every entrance.”

“You are incorrigible,” Caroline said to his back as he made for the door.

“I am an Elliott.”  Blake cast her a mischievous glance.  “As are you.”  Then he exited the cabin.

In the silence of her sanctuary, hours ticked away, signaled by the mantel clock in her quarters.  The sun was setting when she ventured to the poop deck for a breath of fresh air.

Glorious streaks of orange and gold cut the encroaching night sky in a dazzling display of nature’s omnipotence.  But on her, the beauty was ill spent.  Her thoughts centered on the ship following theirs at a close but safe distance.  No doubt because her brother had declared he would blow the
Hera
out of the water should she stray from the
Tristan’s
wake.

Caroline had made her decision; she knew what she had to do.  She would make Blake proud and that was important to her.  She would accept responsibility for her actions--but she would do no more.

Long ago, she had vowed never to give her heart to any man.  Never again would she fall prey to love.  That was a mistake already made and a lesson obviously not learned.  Caroline had trusted Trevor.  She had gifted him her body and soul.

She had fallen in love.

And he had used her to avenge the loss of his mistress.

He thought you a whore
.

Her brother’s words rang in her ears as a humiliating refrain.

“How could you, Trevor?  I told you of my past, of my humiliation,” she spoke into the wind.  “Yet it did not dissuade you.  You did not alter your course, you played me false.”

Imaginary walls barricaded her in a formidable defense.  The door shut tight, the bolt slid home.  She could almost feel the rasp of steel in her chest as the impact of his betrayal eclipsed her in desolation and despair.

A cool breeze penetrated her light gown, drawing her from her melancholy meditation.  Shivering, she wrapped her arms about herself and made her way to the companion ladder.  At the top rung, she paused and glanced over her shoulder.

“Well, Lord Lockwood, you shall have a wife.  One who will serve you well.”  Tears pooled in her eyes; Caroline swallowed a sob and lifted her chin.  “But you will not have my heart.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

A fortnight later, Damian informed Caroline they had just passed the North Foreland, the famous headland on the eastern coast of Kent marking the entry to the Thames estuary.  In a flurry of activity, she packed the little trunk her mother had sent with a few belongings to see her through the trip home.  Soon the
Tristan
would dock in London and she would embark on her new life, the one inadvertently set in motion with a night of passion.

Her emotions flip-flopped as she wrestled with the decision she had made.  One minute Caroline could not wait to see Trevor and announce their wedding date, the next she was determined to do whatever necessary to ensure she never laid eyes on him again.  And whenever she slipped into a moment of weakness, allowing herself to believe he desired her, in truth, she reminded herself that his ardent attentions had been based on a ruse--on a lie.  There she found strength in anger.

All the while, Caroline was plagued by the unshakeable certainty that once among the beauties of the
ton
, Trevor would no longer find her alluring--not that he ever did.  And then she wondered why she cared.  If he found another bride, her problem would be solved, and she would be free.  Resolved to stay her course, she folded the last of her garments, closed her trunk, and joined her brother and Damian on deck as the ship put in at Deptford.

“Our carriage is here, my dear.  We will drop you at Elliott House and continue on.”  Blake offered his arm.  “By the by, Mama is at Pembroke.  She let it be known about town that you were ill and convalescing in the country.  I will send for her posthaste and, upon her return, we shall discuss how to proceed--provided you have made a decision.”

“I suppose she will have to be told everything?”  They navigated the gangway with Damian in tow.

“I do not see how we can avoid it.”  Blake handed her into his carriage.  “Her nose for trouble can best my finest hound.”

“More’s the pity.”  Caroline sank into the squabs and gazed out the window.  “I had hoped to spare Mama any unnecessary torment.”

“I think, perhaps, it is a tad late for that.”  He took the seat beside her, followed by Damian, who sat opposite them.  “And you will have to explain the situation compelling you to act without delay.  That is, if you have chosen your path.”

“I have.”  Caroline bit her tongue.  “Of course, you are right.”

“Aren’t I always?”  Blake settled his greatcoat, then cast her a frown.  “About what?”

“Despite my trepidation, I shall have to be quite frank with Mama.”  She shrugged.  “Therefore, I will heed your advice.”

“An excellent notion.”  He slid an arm around her shoulders and nudged her close.  “We need to maintain the pretense of your condition.  Remember?  You are supposed to have been gravely ill.  And do not forget, there is much to be planned--depending on whether or not you have accepted Lord Lockwood.”

“I understand.”  Caroline glanced at Damian, who smiled.  “I believe I have considered every option.”

“My chief concern is your continued happiness.”

“I know, Blake.”

“Your future is of paramount importance.”

“Yes, Blake.”

“It is my most fervent hope that you do not feel bullied into a precarious position.”

“No, Blake.”

“Because if you
do
feel pressured--”

“I do not feel pressured.”

“Caroline, will you be serious?”

“I am being serious.”  She spied skepticism etched in his dour countenance.  “I have considered the situation, from every angle, and know what must be done.”

Blake arched a brow.  “Well?”

“Well--what?”  Panic rang clear in her voice.  Caroline paused and attempted to calm herself.  “I should think the answer obvious.  If Lord Lockwood will have me, I shall marry him.”

“Are you certain?”

“No.”  Why did he have to ask the one question guaranteed to unnerve her?  “I have never felt so uncertain in my life.  But as I said, I know what must needs, and I shall not fail our family.”

Blake dipped his chin.  “I promise to do everything in my power to protect you.”

“Thank you, but, no, thank you.”  She covered his hand with hers and squeezed.  “I am not a child, and this is not a simple matter of a scraped knee for you to kiss and make better.”

His expression softened at the reference to their relationship.  For as long as she could recall, Blake had always been her champion.  And it was evident he remembered, too.  “Caroline, while I admire your determination, you should know Lord Lockwood is no babe in the woods.”

“Be that as it may, considering how you found us, I hesitate to point out that neither am I.”

At her side, her brother stiffened.  “My dear, Lockwood is no boy to be trifled with.  When it comes to women, he is a past master.  And there is a vast difference between taking a woman to bed and courting a wife.”

“Oh?”  Caroline narrowed her stare.  “Just what do you know of marriage?”

At that moment, Damian, who had remained silent as the dead for the past half-hour of their trip, succumbed to gales of laughter.

“Care to share what you find so amusing?” Blake inquired with unveiled agitation.

She elbowed her brother in the ribs.  “Don’t rip at him.”

“It appears your little sister is not so little anymore.”  Damian wiped a tear from his eye and slapped a hand to his thigh.  “By God, but your mother could not better the look she shot you.”

“Mind your own business.”  Blake folded his arms and scowled.  “I hope Alex gives you equal measure when it is her turn to wed.”

“Haa,” Damian snorted.  “My Alex is an angel.  I daresay she will set her cap for some boring viscount, move to the Lake District, and I will have nothing to do but whittle away my days recalling fonder times.”

“You should be so lucky,” her sibling grumbled.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt.

Caroline peered beyond the window to the comforting sight of Elliott House.  Located in Grosvenor Square, the elegant home, with a red brick façade and Corinthian columned entrance, was a grand gem among the more fashionable London residences.  A trio of footmen sporting powdered wigs and the ducal colors hurried from the front door.

“In any case,” Blake said as he disembarked, “I will speak with Lockwood and dictate our terms.”

“Don’t you dare.”  Caroline frowned as her brother helped her down.  “I have a plan and will handle Lord Lockwood myself.”

“Are you sure that is wise?”  With an arched brow, Blake appeared unconvinced.

“Indeed.  If I am to marry, I intend to start out as I mean to go on.”  A passing carriage caught her eye, and she was positive Trevor was seated inside.  Caroline craned her neck and stepped back to get a better view.

It was her captain.

A funny feeling blossomed in her belly, salacious images danced in her head, and a host of delicious sensations shivered over her skin.  She retreated once more, tripped, and landed hard on her bottom.

“That, my dear,” Blake said as he lifted her from the pavement, “is precisely what I am afraid of.”

#

After a morning visit from a tailor, Trevor spent his first full day in London going over estate affairs with a small contingent of agents and solicitors, each offering curious stares whenever he fell victim to unexplained chuckles.  No doubt his household staff thought their lord and master bordered on lunacy, because once he concluded his business, he indulged in a fit of knee-slapping hilarity that echoed in the foyer of his home.

In his lifetime, Trevor had been accused of propelling many a faint-hearted woman into a melancholy state, a pit of despair, or an abyss of misery depending on the female penchant for hysterics.  Never, at least to his knowledge, had he ever been charged with upending--in the literal sense--the fairer sex.  But he could not deny what his eyes had seen.

After securing his ship and transferring command to George, he had boarded his carriage for the ride into London proper.  As his equipage neared Mayfair, he had taken note of an impressive coach in the lane ahead.  The ducal coat of arms emblazoned on the side had brought him alert in an instant.  It had been his hope to catch a glimpse of his bride-to-be and gauge her demeanor.

Throughout the remainder of the journey home, Trevor had wondered if Caroline would still possess the effortless effervescence he found so appealing, or if she would conceal her guileless nature behind a bilious curtain of conventional conduct.  The mamas of the
ton
had a way of stifling any inherent qualities in young ladies that most men deemed conducive to a pleasant union.  To his infinite thanks, it seemed his intended would suffer no such deficiency.

Because the minute they locked gazes, Caroline had fallen flat on her derriere.  Perhaps when next they met, he should offer to soothe what he considered a superior posterior.  Staring out the window overlooking Park Lane, he chuckled.  The chime of the mantel clock heralded the evening hour.  After checking his appearance in the wall mirror, he headed for White’s.

The private rooms were filled by the time he arrived at the popular gentlemen’s club.  Locating an empty chair in a quiet corner, Trevor procured a copy of
The Times
, ordered a brandy, and lit a cigar.  He was half finished reading a lengthy article detailing the latest events from the front when a familiar baritone rang in his ears.

“Good God, my eyes must be deceiving me for I have yet to take a drink this night.”

Peering beyond the edge of the paper, Trevor smiled at the friendly face of the lone person he could always count on to be happy to see him.  “Markham, you devil, how are you?”

“So it is you, Lockwood?”  Lord Everett Markham glanced left, then right.  “I am not hallucinating?”

“Aye, it is I.”  They shared a vigorous shake.  “And in the flesh no less.”

“Come now, how long has it been?  Five years?  Six?”  Everett pressed a fist to his chest.  “I say, I think I will have a drink.  The shock, you know.”