Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) (16 page)

“Sorry about your toes, Lord Lockwood.”  Sabrina cast him a knowing smile.  “Can’t imagine why Caroline imperiled you so.  Everyone knows I dance with the grace and ease of a cow with its hooves stuck in the mud.”

The mental fog was beginning to clear, and Trevor chuckled.  How could anyone not admire such frank honesty?  “Do not fret, Miss Douglas.  You’re doing fine.”

Her guileless admission told him she had been an unwitting accomplice in whatever game his fiancée was about.  Making a note to pair her with Everett at the first opportunity, he trudged forth.  Upon his deliverance, he went in search of his charming future wife.  But his angel was noticeably absent.

The dinner bell sounded, and he decided to adjourn to the dining room without his bride-to-be.

“Lord Lockwood.”

Trevor turned to find Sabrina’s elder sibling waiting for him.  “Yes, Miss Douglas?”

Cara inclined her head and smiled.  “Caroline asked me to accompany you into supper.”

Suspicion nipped at his heels.  “I hope she is not unwell?”

“Oh, it is nothing like that.”  With consummate grace, Cara accepted his proffered arm.  “She is taking a breath of fresh air and will join us in a moment.”

A brief scan of the thinning crowd in the ballroom confirmed his intended was not present.  He wondered what Caroline was planning next.  “I am at your service, Miss Douglas.”

Trevor soon found he was also at Cara’s mercy.

Seated at the head of a long table, he was flanked by the Douglas sisters on one side, Alex and Elaine on the other.

In rapid succession, they hurled question after question at him.  And to his dismay, theirs was the sort of interrogation designed to bring a man to his knees--or to the brink of insanity.

“How old are you?” Elaine inquired.

“Have you ever been in love?” Cara asked.

Alex leaned forward.  “Do you like to dance?”

“Are you a fisherman?”  The last query came from Sabrina.

He shuddered.  Were he aboard his ship in the middle of a raging storm and faced with such an examination, he would swim for shore.  Movement at the opposite end of the table caught his eye.

With a gloating smile, Caroline raised a glass in what was no doubt a mocking toast.

Trevor realized this was her way of throwing down the gauntlet.  Lucky for his bride-to-be, he was more than ready to pick it up.  He shook his head and laughed.  With the patience of a saint, he answered each and every inquiry.  Then, he retrieved his balloon of brandy and saluted his fetching fiancée.

Let the games begin.

#

A week later, Trevor had reached the end of his tether.

His stubborn future wife had resisted his every effort to woo her.  How in bloody hell was he supposed to romance a woman he had not danced or dined with in a sennight?  He had tried everything he could think of to put their relationship back on track, had even solicited Everett’s assistance in cornering his quarry.  But regardless of his attempts to curb Caroline’s rebellion, she remained a step ahead of his game.  Consequently, their courtship had digressed to a comedy of errors.

Determined to strike an accord with a certain chestnut-haired termagant, he trudged up the stairs to Elliott House with a peace offering and raised a hand to knock on the door, when it suddenly opened.  Faced by a rather stiff looking character, he suppressed a smirk and handed his card to the butler.

“This way, my lord.”  The voice held as much personality as a tabletop.

Trevor was shown to the drawing room.  He stopped in the doorway where the duchess stood, as chaperone.  She turned and flashed him a dazzling smile.

Even at her age, Her Grace of Rylan was a striking woman.  As if by magic, the visage he studied transformed into that of an older, more mature Caroline.  The duchess spoke, the image of his intended faded, and he snapped to attention.

“Lord Lockwood,” she whispered.  “I thought it best to maintain appearances in allowing these gentlemen to pay call on my daughter.  You need not worry, I daresay she has shown greater enthusiasm when faced with having a tooth extracted.”

Smug satisfaction welled in his chest.  Perhaps he had been mistaken, and it would not be so difficult to win her over.  But what if Caroline was planning another trick?  Peering into the room, he spied the source of his confusion dressed in lavender and seated on a sofa.

One of her callers--and a clumsy buffoon at that--recounted a harrowing tale of hunting and horsemanship so utterly unbelievable as to make the stories by the Brothers Grimm pale in comparison.  Trevor remained rooted in the doorway, positive he might be ill at any moment thus necessitating a quick escape, and endured a truly painful ode to Caroline’s blue eyes.  As he struggled to ignore the syrupy sentimental ravings, he took note of the floral bouquets, offerings to his soon-to-be-wife’s beauty no doubt, perched atop various pedestals around the room.

The unfortunate suitors did not stand a chance.

Caroline was his.  Already promised.

So why was he wound tight as a clock spring?

Glancing at the small box he held in his hand, he wondered self-consciously if he had erred in his chosen gift.

Thankfully, before another embarrassing and overzealous oratory could begin, she met his stare.

“Lord Lockwood?”  Caroline rose from the sofa.  “What a wonderful surprise.”

All eyes settled on him as he entered the drawing room.  “My lady,” he said as he bowed.

With noticeable aloofness, she inclined her head.  “Do join me, my lord.”

Did she intend for him to crouch on the floor?  “I would love to, but every seat appears occupied.”

“Why do you not take a position next to Caroline,” Her Grace suggested.

In that instant, Trevor decided he rather liked his future-in-law.

“Of course.”  Caroline averted her gaze, resituated herself, and patted the cushion at her side.

A warmer reception would have done wonders for his grating nerves.  The other hopefuls shot him sullen glares, as not one of them had been given such an honor.  However, he was feeling quite confident as he handed her the little box.

Her eyes grew wide.  “For me?”

“Indeed.  While I did not think of flowers, my present is one that has brought me many fond memories.  I hope it does the same for you.”  A chill shivered down his spine as she raised the lid and peeked inside.  Holding his breath, he exhaled only when her face colored with a charming blush.  He would wager she knew precisely to which memories he was referring.

“Oh, my lord, it is lovely.  What a thoughtful gift.”  Caroline lifted the delicate wooden miniature, complete with sails.  In fact, the ship was an exact replica of the
Hera
.  “Thank you.  I shall treasure it always.”

Bursting with pride, Trevor could summon no words of response so he merely nodded his head.  No doubt their war of wills was at an end.  Caroline would once again welcome his suit.  Yes, for a man who had never courted a woman, he was doing quite well.

#

Two weeks later, Caroline stood amid her group in Lady Northcote’s ballroom, pretending to listen as Alex shared some new bit of gossip.  In reality, she was mulling over her--or should she say Trevor’s--agenda for the night.  Since embarking on her war of retribution, she had reveled in success after success.

The previous night had been her crowning achievement.  She had managed to seat Trevor between the Hogart twins, commonly referred to as the braying asses, at supper.  Even now she laughed as she recalled the expression of abject horror on his face as they returned to the ballroom after the meal.  She had also noticed he had not eaten much.  The Hogart twins had that effect on people.

What amazed her, however, was that he took her tortuous enterprises in stride.  With good humor, he met every dance partner--even Brie.  He answered every question with a smile and managed to charm every single female in her lifelong group of friends.

Including Caroline.

She thought it the worst insult that she should be falling in love with Trevor all over again.

Of course, the replica of the
Hera
holding pride of place on her bedside table was not helping matters.  Whenever she looked on the precious miniature, guilt wreaked havoc on her conscience.  Perhaps she could relent just a bit.  Perhaps she should grant him one waltz.

Glancing at the full dance card hanging from her wrist, she smiled as she considered her sudden popularity.  Brie had teased her mercilessly that it might have something to do with the radiant glow on her face since she returned from Jamaica.  Of course, Brie also intimated it had nothing to do with the sea air and everything to do with a certain sea captain, a fact Caroline denied to no avail.

But she did not want to glow with happiness.  She did not want to hope.  She did not want to believe Trevor had any real interest in her.  Caroline feared the minute she invested the minutest amount of faith in him he would disappoint her once more.

And how he had disappointed her.

She loved him.  Never would she have shared her body with him, given herself to him, had she not first committed her heart.  That made his betrayal more grievous.

“You are woolgathering, my lady.  Dare I ask if your thoughts are of me?”

Forcing a smile, she gazed from beneath her lashes at Trevor.  “You may ask, my lord, but I shall never tell.”

“I believe this is our dance.”

Her resolve weakened, she stepped forward without checking her card.  “I believe it is.”

Instead of taking her hand, he hesitated.  “My back has been bothering me today.  But I do not want you to suffer because of my malady, so I took the liberty of procuring an alternate partner, Sir Kleinfeld.”

Caroline gulped.

Even Sabrina could not rival Sir Archibald Kleinfeld’s talents on the dance floor.  The mere mention of his name was enough to strike terror in the heart and feet of any young lady.

“My lord, I would be willing to sit this one out.”

Wearing a fuchsia coat emblazoned with large gold buttons, Sir Kleinfeld appeared at Trevor’s side, held out an arm, and shot her a toothy grin.  “It would be an honor, my lady.”

Knowing it would be an unforgivable breach of decorum were she to refuse him, Caroline forced a smile to her lips and said a silent prayer for her toes as she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

It was a useless endeavor.

One after another, the less-than-graceful males of the
ton
--all substitutions for her supposed partners--had approached and claimed her dances.  Her feet were still throbbing when the dinner bell sounded.  She knew without doubt her husband-to-be was exacting recompense for her shenanigans of late and resolved to bear his abuse in the same sporting fashion as he had suffered hers.  She supposed he was owed one good turn.

Caroline soon discovered Trevor’s revenge was just beginning.

While considering the selection of sweets offered after the meal, six full portions of lemon custard suddenly appeared before her.  She had always thought lemon custard the ideal dessert to encourage moderate food consumption.  With a consistency similar to the phlegm that pooled in one’s throat when cursed with a wicked cold, and a taste to match, it was better suited to punishment for a recalcitrant child.

A glance over either shoulder revealed various smiling dance partners from earlier in the evening.

“W-what have we here, gentlemen?”

“Lord Lockwood told us you have a particular affinity for lemon custard,” Sir Kleinfeld stated with youthful enthusiasm.  “Eat up.”

Determined to persevere, and refusing to allow Trevor a measure of victory, Caroline clutched a spoon, shoveled a large amount of the vile concoction, and sucked it in.  The clammy congeal stuck in her throat.  She closed her eyes and shuddered as she swallowed.

“She must be chilled,” one of her admirers remarked.  “I will get her some ratafia.”

That was insult to injury.

Her eyelids flew open.  “No!”

With every consecutive bite, Caroline reminded herself she had asked for this.  It was obvious Trevor was on to her scheme and engaging in combat of his own.  She had cleared the last dish of custard when he appeared at the other end of the table.  As she had done to him that first night of battle, he raised his glass in toast and smiled.

She was about to return the gesture in kind when a sick feeling came over her.  With a hand to her mouth, she fled the dining room.  Her slippers skidded on the polished marble as she navigated the ballroom.  Running through the double doors, she hit the flagged surface of the terrace and just reached the hedge.

In the bushes, Caroline bent and revisited all six portions of lemon custard.

CHAPTER TEN

After the infamous lemon custard affair, Caroline made a concerted effort to blend into the background of the Lester’s formidable ballroom the following evening.  She had learned her lesson and had no desire to attract attention to herself.  When fencing with one rogue sea captain, she was out of her league.  If she were lucky, Trevor would accept the dessert disaster as suitable recompense and punish her no further.

Should he wish to commence a courtship, he would get no argument from her.  As far as she was concerned, they had reached a tenuous détente.  Pressing a palm to her still shaky belly, she prayed he felt the same.  Hugging the shadow of a large bust seated atop a pedestal, she almost jumped out of her skin when the devil in question tapped her shoulder.

“Come, take a turn about the room with me.”

Caroline’s first instinct was to run.

“I warn you, I shall brook no refusal.”  As if reading her thoughts, Trevor clutched her elbow and anchored her at his side.  “Any rejection will be considered a call to arms.”

“Rejection, indeed.”  Though his smile conveyed his threat was in jest, Caroline could not muster sufficient confidence to gainsay him.  “I should be honored to walk with you, my lord.”

They strolled, unhurried and nonchalant, nodding acknowledgements as they weaved through the crush.  Conscious of the pointed stares and whispered comments, she wondered at the gossip spreading among the
ton
.  Was it inconceivable that an earl would be interested in the daughter of a duke?  Perhaps the curious spectators believed her familial connections were her most promising assets.