The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) (26 page)

At a double-door entry, Conrad set wide an oak panel. “Continue to the other end of the sitting room, where the opposite portal opens to the bedchamber, and I shall await you, here.”

“Thank you.” Her padded footfalls, muted by the thick burgundy carpet, sounded a dirge, of sorts. When she found herself face to face with her doom—an enormous four-poster fit for a king, everything seemed to spin out of control. Draped over the footboard, a sheer nightgown and a matching robe almost mocked her.

As long as you live, you will never satisfy him as I satisfied him
.

Covering her ears, Daphne closed her eyes. “No.”

But her shaky belly paid no heed, as it rebelled in the worst way. She jerked alert, scanned the area, located the washstand, hiked her skirts, sprinted to the back corner, bent, and revisited her wedding feast. After a series of wicked bouts of retching, she leaned on the edge of the bowl and gasped for breath. When she stretched upright, she swayed.

“Careful, Mrs. Randolph.” Providing unfailing support, Conrad conveyed her to a
chaise
and then wet a cloth, which he pressed to the back of her neck. “Relax, while I retrieve your lute, as the maid put it in the adjoining dressing room.”

“I am so ashamed.” She unfolded the towel and wiped her cheeks. “You will not tell anyone, will you, Conrad?”

“Never.” Carrying her instrument, he smiled. “Your apprehension is quite normal, if I may be so bold, Mrs. Randolph. Daresay you are not the first newlywed to suffer such malady in advance of your wedding night. Now, there is fresh tooth powder and soap, and I shall have the maid empty, clean, and replace the basin, with none the wiser.”

“Mr. Conrad, I could kiss you.” Refreshed, to an extent, she made quick use of the opportunity to calm her nerves, as she cleaned her teeth and washed her face. Later, poised and confident, clutching her lute to her chest, she returned to the dining room.

“There you are.” Dalton vacated his chair and approached, and intense terror reared its ugly head. How could her greatest ally have become her worst fear, when all he had done was feed and clothe her and her family, restore Courtenay Hall, pay papa’s debts, and give her the security of his name? “I had thought, perhaps, you had got lost in the castle.”

“Oh, no.” She forced a laugh. “I could not locate my lute, and I had to search my things.”

“So you are going to serenade me, again?” He rocked on his heels and winked. “I should like you to do that, someday, in the privacy of our apartments. But I shall content myself with tonight’s performance. So what will you play for us, love?”

“I had thought an old folk ballad, “The Knight and the Shepherd’s Daughter,” appropriate for the occasion.” Of course, Daphne neglected to mention the song had seventeen verses.

#

“Oh, Daphne, you look wonderful.” As Alex placed the silver-backed brush on the vanity, she smiled and admired her handiwork. “Dalton will fall at your feet when he sees you.”

“As well he should, which is a good place to keep him.” After hanging Daphne’s wedding dress on a peg in the armoire, Rebecca folded her arms and inclined her head. “Now then, do you remember everything we told you?”

The previous evening, while the men congregated in the village of Penhurst, the women had gathered to impart the detailed history of the Brethren of the Coast, a secret order of nautionnier knights descended from the Templars, after Dalton’s haphazard explanation, which had left Daphne filled to the brim with numerous unanswered questions. She had assumed there had been more to his character than he had admitted, and she had been correct, but she had never fathomed a jaw-dropping narrative of daring deeds and military prowess that counted Vice Admiral Nelson among the ranks.

“Given this is your first time, you should let him set the tone and pace.” Toying with her diamond necklace, Caroline averted her gaze and sighed. “Trevor was wonderful on our honeymoon, so thoughtful and patient. It was a far cry from my deflowering, when he thought me a practiced courtesan, and he came at me as if he had just returned from a long voyage.”

The Brethren wives chatted about all manner of spousal enjoyment, which she suspected they intended to soothe virgin’s anxiety, but their voices came to Daphne through a haze of rock-solid, almost impenetrable apprehension. In light of her lengthy performance, and the requested encores, which she had been more than willing to accommodate, the hour had grown late, to her husband’s expressed consternation. But she had stalled as long as possible and now loomed on the precipice of the most dreaded event.

“My dear, are you all right?” Rebecca studied Daphne and then led her to a chair. “Sit, as you are white as a ghost.”

“Do you really think Dalton will like me?” She bit her lip, as she pondered the humiliation of a rejection. “What if I fail him? What if he finds no joy with me? What if—”

“Sister, calm yourself.” Caroline bent and cupped Daphne’s chin. “Dalton worships you. I would wager you could lie abed and do nothing more than blink and breathe, and he would still find release.”

“Indeed, recall our counsel. Men are easily managed once you bridle the beast below their belly button.” Alex snickered. “Captain of my heart complained of the journey, as he wished to return to Stratfield Manor, until I suggested we have a second go at our wedding night in my old chambers, and now he is the soul of cooperation. So I should leave you, as I must change for the occasion, and I purchased something to inspire him, though I will not need it. Words of warning, if you hear a scream do not sound the alarm.”

“Very good, Alex.” Rebecca tittered. “And we should vacate the room, as the groom will soon arrive.”

The elegant allies exited, and Daphne found herself alone. The constant ticking of the mantel clock played an accompaniment to the steady drumbeat of her pulse, which echoed in her ears. She stood and walked to the long mirror, to check her appearance, and shrieked.

The sheer sapphire nightgown and matching robe concealed nothing of her body. Then she turned and discovered the cleft of her bottom visible through the diaphanous material. Trepidation burgeoned into raw fear and panic. While the Brethren wives possessed a wealth of knowledge regarding a sated spouse, they had nothing to impart about a disappointed mate. In a flash, she flew into the dressing room, in search of protection. When she returned to the bedchamber, she found her husband standing in the entry, and she screamed.

“Well that will give our brothers something to talk about.” As he untied his cravat, he scrutinized her appearance and frowned. “Going somewhere?”

“No.” Confused by his rather odd query, she curled her toes into the thick carpet. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you are wearing your pelisse.” Clutching the wool as a shield against salacious invasion, she retreated. “I am cold.”

“I can take care of that.” After doffing his coat, waistcoat, and boots, Dalton unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. “Come here.”

As long as you live, you will never satisfy him as I satisfied him
.

“What for?” Despite her best efforts, she trembled. “As I am fine, right here.”

“Indulge me.” He flicked his fingers in entreaty. “Come here, darling.”

Whereas some ladies might have seen a handsome rake bent on seduction, she considered him something more akin to an executioner—her downfall. It was with that thought swirling in her brain that she neared. When he unhooked the fastener at her throat and let her coat drop to the floor, she emitted a soft sob and crossed her arms to cover herself from his heated stare.

“Are you afraid, sweetheart?” With his brow a mass of furrows, he settled his palms to her hips and pulled her close. “Relax.”

“Easier said than done.” When he cupped her bottom, she shrieked, jerked free, and ran into the sitting room. “Would you like some wine?”

“Daphne, what is wrong?” On the surface, his was a simple query, but the answer eluded her, just as she evaded him. “Have I done something to disturb you?”

“Of course, not.” She responded with a high-pitched giggle and poured a full glass. But when he moved toward her, she sprinted behind the sofa. Oh, why had she listened to the Brethren wives, as they shared stories of their triumphant unions, when the end result, for her, had been monumental stress? How could she possibly live up to his expectations? “Remain where you are, sir. Else I may be forced to inform your mother of your inappropriate advances.”

“Easy, love.” With hands up and splayed, he rounded the chair. “I am not going to hurt you. And, for us, there is no such thing as an inappropriate advance, as we are married, and we must consummate our vows. But we can take it slow.”

“If that is true, then stay there.” Her gaze lit on his crotch and the source of her consternation. The black wool tented with proof of the one-eyed pirate Alex referred to as the perky but proud Jolly Roger, and Daphne’s knees buckled.

“Sit, angel.” Spearing his hair, he shifted his weight. “You look unwell.”

“Must you have said that?” To her utter humiliation, her tempestuous belly rebelled again, and she covered her mouth. Retracing her earlier steps, she made it to the washstand with no time to spare, as she bent and vomited violently.

“Do not fight it, Daphne.” At her side, Dalton held her long locks out of the line of fire, as she heaved. “Poor little thing, you have nothing to fear, as I know what I am doing, and I would never cause you pain.”

“But that is the problem.” Mortified, she buried her face in a towel. “You know so much, and I know nothing. How am I to please you?”

“On that account, you need expend no effort.” Dalton chuckled and massaged her shoulders. When he skimmed her bare arms, she flinched and lurched.

“Stop.” Daphne scampered to the opposite end of the chamber, and the four-poster lay as a very real barrier between them. He veered left, and she darted right. “Dalton, please. This is ridiculous.”

“This is your game.” With his chin lowered, he grinned. “You wish me to pursue you, angel? Believe me, I am more than ready to give chase.”

“No.” Before she could utter another word, he dashed over the mattress, and she bolted into the sitting room and sheltered behind the
chaise
.

“I will catch you.” He bounded to the fore, and she scrambled toward the door, but he executed a brilliant flanking maneuver, which had her racing back to the interior apartment.

“Go away.” With the oak panels shut, she tried to set the bolt against her husband, but he shoved hard, and she stumbled. “Leave me alone.”

“Daphne, cease your nonsense, this instant.” Breathing heavily, he stared at her and shrugged from his lawn shirt, which he flung aside. “You are my wife, and I am no stranger, so I find your behavior perplexing. Did my sisters not prepare you?”

“Actually, they explained quite a bit.” As she glimpsed his incredible chest for the first time, her insides balled into knots, and her cheeks burned. “But I have no experience, and you have more than I wish to know.”

My dear Mrs. Randolph, would you prefer an uninformed clumsy dolt who might cause you untold discomfort or a seasoned man of the world possessed of the ability to play your body as a finely tuned instrument?”

“I am unsure.”

“You must be joking.”

“It would be nice to have someone with whom I could sympathize.”

“You think me insensitive to your needs?”

“You stalked me.”

“Point taken. But in my defense, it is our wedding night.”

“And you wish to consummate our vows.”

“Very much.”

She dreaded what he desired. How on earth could they reconcile their differences? Squared off, as two combatants on the field of glory, she zigged, he zagged, and she sought escape via the bed. But her one true knight dove over the footboard and snagged her ankle.

“Let go.” She kicked hard.

“Not a chance.” He squeezed her calf and blazed a trail to her thigh, with his naughty fingers. “Do not fight me, angel. I promise, you will enjoy it.”

But could she say the same for him?

As long as you live, you will never satisfy him as I satisfied him
.

With that thought taunting her, she wiggled loose and toppled to the floor, whereupon she crawled to her vanity. When she jumped to her feet, with fists at her sides, Dalton mirrored her stance.

Given all her dreams and fantasies, which had culminated in a mystical joining that defied the temporal plane, Daphne peered at the patterned rug and sobbed. “This is not how I had envisioned this moment.”

“Believe me, that makes two of us.” Her husband exhaled in unmistakable frustration, and her already flagging confidence sank to new depths.

“Perhaps, we could talk.” Her mind raced in search of a solution. “If you would—”

“What would we discuss that had not been covered?” In a flash, he rushed her fences.

Locked in the throes of nervous agitation, she sought a diversion—and nothing more, as she seized upon her silver-backed brush. Before she realized she had moved, she flung the refined lady’s accouterment at Dalton. To her horror, the heavy utensil struck him in the forehead. With a countenance of unutterable shock, he dropped to the floor.

A wicked headache
penetrated his sleep, suspending a rather ribald reverie featuring Daphne as the star participant, and Dalton groaned. Massaging his temples, he stretched long, came alert, and recalled his wedding. Then a series of images composed a visual tapestry that devolved in rapid succession from elegant to disastrous. Daphne gowned in sapphire. Daphne singing like a nightingale, as she played her lute. Daphne paralyzed with fear. Daphne vomiting in the basin. Daphne fleeing in fear. Daphne assaulting him with what he had considered nothing more than a harmless hairbrush.

“Bloody everlasting hell.” He opened his eyes and glanced at what should have been his wife’s side of the bed and found nothing but space and silence for company.