The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) (35 page)

“Oh, no.” She gasped, when he bent and swept her into his arms. “I want to help you, if you will have me.”

“Then that settles it.” He sat her on the blotter, nipped her cute little nose, flicked up her skirts, unfastened his breeches, and situated himself between her thighs. “Now, if you have no more questions, I should very much like to make love to you on my stodgy brother’s desk.”

Those were the last coherent words uttered for the next hour.

The journey to
Portsea Island, the site of her ancestral home, had been interesting, to say the least, for Daphne. When her husband had insisted they take their own coach, despite the fact that the viscount’s elegant equipage would have seated the entire party in lush comfort, she had been confused. Until they departed the city, proper, on the first leg of the two-day trip, and he lowered the shades and enacted another titillating tutelage for the next several miles. She would never look at their rig the same again.

“Well that was inspiring, my angel.” At her side, Dalton restored his clothing and hooked his breeches.

“You are insatiable.” And she would never complain, as she smoothed her skirts and re-secured her bodice.

“I am in love.” With his arm about her shoulders, he kissed her hard and fast. “And you knew that when you married me.”

“What—that you were in love or that you were insatiable?” She shrieked, when he tickled her. “Stop, as I can just imagine what our driver thinks we are doing in here.”

“Both.” He pulled her into his lap, cradled her head to his shoulder, and chuckled. “And I would wager he knows exactly what we are doing in here, as well he should, given we are newlyweds.”

With a sigh, she relaxed in his embrace, as the passing Portsea landscape declared they neared the grand estate, and he hugged her tight. The tenor of his passion had intensified, as they counted down their date with destiny, and his underlying urgency had, in turn, fed her desire, which had spiraled beyond her ability to control it. Thus she sought comfort in his body at every opportunity, and, chivalrous knight that he was, he indulged her.

And sometime during the night, after a rigorous round of coitus, whereupon they had rattled the walls of their tiny room at a coach inn, it had dawned on Daphne that the unknown villain could destroy her, if he directed his attentions to her husband. Was that not what felled Rebecca?

The traitor struck Dirk to lure the spy into the open, whereupon she had been kidnapped. So far, Dalton’s plans and added protections revolved around the presumption that the mysterious scoundrel would attack Daphne.

“We are almost home, sweetheart.” As they passed through the main gate, he caressed her cheek. “Are you excited to see the renovations, despite the unfortunate circumstance of our visit?”

“Yes, and I have a surprise for you.” She recalled her last minute changes to the plans, which converted the master suites into a single large sitting room and bedchamber combination. “And I hope you will be pleased.”

“My dear, I like whatever you like.” He kissed her crown of curls and sighed. “You will remain close to me. You are to abstain from your charitable visits and entertain no callers. And you will forgo your morning walks and confine your movements to the estate, within sight, at all times. If you receive any correspondence from the villain, you are to bring it to me before you open it, whereupon we shall meet with Dirk and Sir Ross. Promise you will obey my edicts, until we apprehend the criminal, darling.”

“You have my solemn vow I will do as you command.” Easing her arms about his waist, she shivered, though it was quite warm on that July afternoon. “But we will have to arrange a community party, to set things right, once our nasty business is done, else our neighbors will think me a snob.”

“Angel, you may hold soirees to your heart’s content, once we catch the blackguard.” The coach navigated the drive and halted before the entrance, and Dalton held her in check.

Prior to her marriage, she never would have considered allowing anyone to see her in such a compromising position. But they were in Portsea, the charming island town she adored, and London society, and its ridiculous web of rules, meant nothing in the backwater, so she kept her place. When the footman opened the door, Dalton scooted from the squabs and handed her down.

Standing at attention, with the household staff arranged in a line, Hicks smiled. “Welcome home, Miss—er, Mrs. Randolph.”

“Old habits are hard to break, my friend.” And she still refused to believe that Hicks or Mrs. Jones had anything to do with the reprehensible incidents. “And how are you?”

“Quite well, ma’am.” The butler lifted his chin. “And Mrs. Jones and I have brought the personnel to almost full capacity, and we are grateful for their assistance.”

“We hope our hires meet with your approval, Mrs. Randolph.” Mrs. Jones appeared tentative, in the face of such esteemed guests, so Daphne made the effort to hug the housekeeper, who smelled of her unique recipe for homemade soap. “Oh, it is good to have you home, ma’am.”

“We should have tea, tomorrow, and catch up, as it has been too long.” Before Dalton discovered their reworked room, she caught him by the wrist. “Right now, I would have a bath and wash away the road dust. If you could settle the viscount and viscountess, I would appreciate it. And I will show my husband to his accommodation.”

“Of course, Mrs. Randolph.” Hicks clicked his heels and hurried to direct the footmen.

“My lovely wife, what are you about?” Dalton narrowed his stare. “Did you overspend your budget?”

“I told you there were unanticipated cost overruns, and you indicated it was not a problem.” She dragged him into the foyer, up the stairs, and down the hall. “And it is too late to complain now.”

“Indeed it is, and my brother warned me about such extravagances, when it comes to wives and wallets.” He groaned. “Wait a minute, what happened to the door to my apartment?”

“It has moved.” She gave him a swift yank. “Permit me to give you a grand tour of your new and improved space.” With heightened anticipation, and a little bit of nervous anxiety, Daphne pushed open the double oak panels and ushered her knight into their new sanctuary. “What do you think?”

“Good God, it is massive.” He rotated slowly, taking in the refined elegance of his signature shade trimmed in mahogany. “I could chase you for hours and never catch you.”

Velvet drapes framed the floor to ceiling windows of the sitting room, and matching damask overstuffed chairs and a sofa blended with the crème colored
chaise
. Sapphire wall coverings, in the flock-tradition, featured a taupe floral ogee motif, and she had limited the accessories to the bare necessities interspersed with nautical antiques, including some resplendent spyglasses and her framed creations, which she had composed specifically for their private abode.

“You would never have to catch me, my darling husband.” She hugged him from behind. “Because I am yours for the taking.”

“And I do so love that about you.” He covered her hands with his. “So show me your lair of licentious iniquity.”

“
Our
lair, my naughty knight.” In the inner sanctum, she paused before the footboard of the massive four-poster. When Dalton strolled to the bedside table that would be his, given their usual preferences, drew from his coat pocket the small oval frame in which she had pressed his rosebud, and situated the keepsake in pride of place, she inhaled a shaky breath. “Are you pleased?”

“How could I not be, when you planned it.” In that instant, she shed the last concerns regarding the hastily sketched remodel. “And constructing dressers in the expanded closets was a stroke of brilliance.”

“But how could—you knew.” And just like that, her sails deflated. “Who told you?”

“Sorry, angel.” He gifted her the lopsided grin that never failed to melt her insides. “Mr. Benson let it slip, when I approved the closing disbursements. Your alterations were included in the final sketches, and Mr. Dumas was quite put out, given he had kept your confidence to the very end, and I did not want to spoil it for you.” Dalton flicked his fingers, and she ran to him. “But it gave me hope, such as I had dared not covet, as we had yet to consummate our vows, so I said nothing.”

“Well I know you have not seen everything, as I procured a few items once we returned to London.” She led him to the wash area, tucked behind a half-wall. “Does it meet your requirements, sir?”

“Great heavens, that tub looks as if it could seat four people.” He patted her bottom, as had become his habit, of late.

“Only two, actually.” Resting her palm to his chest, she found solace in the steady beat of his heart. “Will you join me for a bath?”

“There is nothing I would prefer more.” After claiming another kiss, which was far too brief for her, he spanked her derriere and said, “But first I should confer with Sir Ross and Dirk, to make sure there are no loose ends. Then I shall return and ravish you, so prepare to be conquered.”

“You prepare, sir.” Daphne stuck her tongue in her cheek and batted her lashes. “As I just might vanquish you.”

“Angel, I look forward to it.” With a wink, he swaggered from their apartments.

After the footmen delivered the trunks, Daphne supervised the unpacking. The last items had just been stored, when the maids began filling the huge tub. In search of something sheer to inspire her husband, not that he required stimulus, she opted to await his presence in his primary choice.

But the ugliness of blackmail intruded on her musings, and she strolled to the windows to admire the familiar landscape, which had always soothed her soul. She wasn’t sure if weariness from the journey or the monumental task looming at the fore had ravaged her nerves, but she soon succumbed to a fit of tears.

Giving herself to the misery, she sobbed without restraint, in the privacy of her room, until the tension eating at her gut abated. So much had happened, so much had changed in so little time, and now some unforeseen rogue threatened everything.

“Daphne, are you in there?” Through the haze of despair, a cherished voice called to her.

With arms splayed wide in welcome, she charged into the sitting room and flung herself at her youngest brother. “
Richard
.”

“How I missed you, Daph.” The gadling hugged her tight. “And why are you crying?”

“Oh, it is stress from our predicament.” She rued involving her sibling in the horrid affair, but it could not be avoided. “But I am better, now that you are here. And how are you?”

“Fine, I suppose.” Shuffling his feet, he shrugged. “It has been lonely here, without you and Robert. But I had a letter from him, and he sounds content, in service to Beresford. Yet he longs for Portsea and our simpler days.”

“Me, too,” she responded, with a sigh.

“Don’t worry, Daph.” Richard kissed her cheek. “Everything will be all right, as I will protect you.”

“My, but you have grown in the months since I first departed Courtenay Hall.” In play, she chucked his chin. “And I am so proud of you. Have you given any thought to Dalton’s offer to finance a formal education? You always dreamed of attending university, and it would be a wonderful opportunity for you.”

“Do you wish to be rid of me?” At his frown, she retreated a step. “Am I to be packed off, like Robert?”

“Of course, not.” Her blood ran cold at the thought. “How could you suggest such a thing? And Robert begged for a commission, which you well know.”

“You are right.” Richard ambled toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he peered over his shoulder. “I will speak with Sir Dalton about his proposal.”

“We only want you to be happy.” How she adored her sensitive brother, as he always bore the weight of the world on his coat sleeves.

Alone, Daphne hugged herself, returned to the bedchamber, and shut the doors behind her. Wafts of steam rose from the surface of the bath, and she kicked off her slippers. Wrenching left and then right, she untied her laces and stripped her gown and chemise. Then she removed her garters and hose. Naked, she crawled atop the huge four-poster and stretched across the luxurious counterpane of sapphire satin. Closing her eyes, she grinned, sank into the mattress, and wondered just what salacious tactic her husband would employ to rouse her, upon his return.

#

Three days later, Daphne strolled into her chamber to resituate her coiffure, because her one true knight destroyed her style during a rollicking lovemaking session in the hayloft of the old barn. Midway through the erotic escapade, Dirk and Sir Ross had entered the stables, to ensure their horses remained at the ready. As a result of the unexpected interlopers, Dalton and Daphne had achieved glorious completion only after countless minutes in heated, panting, groping,
intensely
silent endeavors.

It was with such flirty musings dancing in her brain that she discovered a now familiar missive propped against the mirror of her vanity, with her name inscribed on the envelope, and she cried out in horror. Without hesitation, she ran to the bellpull and gave it a yank. Pacing, she peered left and then right, as she feared the villain might jump from the shadows or a hiding place. In seconds, she checked the wash area, behind the half-wall, and their respective closets, and discovered them empty.

“How may I help you, Mrs. Randolph?” Daisy, the new lady’s maid curtseyed.

“Tell Hicks I need to speak with my husband and Viscount Wainsbrough, here, in my quarters, at once.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Trembling, she scanned the immediate vicinity and then ran into the sitting room. The polished apartment, decorated with love and hope for a charmed future, had become a refuge, wherein Daphne and Dalton often lingered, sans clothing, and discussed their shared dreams. Just then, Dalton charged through the double-door entry, with Dirk, Sir Ross, and Rebecca in tow.

“Daphne, what is it?” With a worried expression, her husband walked straight to her. “What happened?”