Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) (25 page)

“Alone at last, Lady Lockwood.”  Trevor’s arms encircled her waist, and he nibbled the crest of her ear.

“Yes, we are,” she said on a shiver.  “What would you like to do first?”

“I beg your pardon?”  His lips blazed a trail to her neck.

“We could play a game of cards.”  Despite her efforts, she failed to wrench her gaze from the bed.  “Or perhaps you are hungry?  Should I go to the galley and--”

“I think not.”  He began untying her laces, leaving no doubt as to his preferred activity.

“Trevor?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Is it not obvious?”  He slipped the wool from her shoulders.  “I am undressing you.”

“I gathered that.”  The fabric bunched at her hips, and he skimmed his palms along her curves.  “But--why?”

“My dear, you ask the most perplexing questions.”  The gown fell in a pool of green on the floor.  “Just how do you propose we consummate our marriage?”

“The same as other properly wed people,” Caroline whispered, though she knew not why.  “In our nightclothes, beneath the covers.  And don’t forget to douse the lamps.”

“Where on earth did you ever get such revolting notions?”  Trevor chuckled as he tugged the ribbon of her chemise and sent it to join her gown. 

Clad only in her stockings and garters, she kicked off her slippers.  “Well, Alex has a book--”

“A book?”  Trevor grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him.  “Just what have you been reading?” he inquired with a naughty smirk.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me.”  She folded her arms and tried to forget that she was, for all intents and purposes, naked.  “This is serious.”

“What is serious?”  He pinched her bottom and winked.

“Etiquette.”  Caroline swatted his hand and retreated to the center of the cabin.  “According to our social standing, we must engage in marital relations as would any other noble couple.”

“How boring.”  Trevor followed in her wake.  “And impossible.”

“Why impossible.”  She took two steps back.  “Can you not see?  I am only trying to be a good countess.”

“Do me a favor.”  He doffed his coat and tugged on his cravat.  “Just concentrate on being my countess.”

“I do not follow.”  The shirt hit the floor, and Caroline sought to further the distance between them but became trapped against the bed frame.  Though she told herself not to stare at his bare chest, she inclined her head and ogled him anyway.  “You wish me to be bad?”

“Yes.”  His voice was thick with passion and poured over her like marmalade on a hot scone.  “But only with me.”

“Oh?”  As he bent to pull off his boots, the muscles in his arms flexed.  Good heavens, she had forgotten how beautiful her husband was without clothes.

“And as you so kindly pointed out, we are married.”  Trevor rested his hands on his hips.  “Therefore, we are licensed to do as we choose, especially in private.”

“Really?”

“Truly.  And right now, I am in the mood for some good, clean, naughty fun.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”  Caroline flew at her captain, speared her fingers through his hair, hugged him tight, and bit his lip.

“Slow down.”  Trevor chuckled, scooped her up, and eased her to the mattress.  “We have all night, Lady Lockwood.”

“How I love the sound of that.”  She heeled his flanks.  “Say it again.”

“Lady Lockwood.”  Trevor kissed her neck.  “Lady Lockwood.”  He laved her bare breasts.  “Lady Lockwood.”  Inching lower, he dipped his tongue in her belly button.  “Lady Lockwood.”

As his lips brushed the inside of her thigh, Caroline parted her legs.  She knew what was about to happen, he had done this before.  But when her husband suckled her most intimate flesh, she thought she would shatter into a million pieces.  Fire danced in her veins as he draped her knees over his shoulders and gripped her bottom.  And while he seemed calm and composed, she longed to scream but feared the crew might burst into the chamber and interrupt his spectacular ravishment.  Instead, she sank her teeth into the fleshy side of her hand.

Oh, it was good to be a wife.

#

A muffled feminine cry sounded the alarm, and Trevor prepared to wage a sumptuous war.  Caroline was the most succulent confection he had ever tasted, and her pleasure song drove him to the edge of insanity.  Slowly, deliberately, he devoured her skin, soft and sweet as a ripe peach.  Retracing his earlier path, he unfastened his breeches, hooked his arms behind her knees, covered her mouth with his, and penetrated his bride in a single swift thrust.

And stopped.

Once again, a mysterious restraint reined him in, kept him from ravaging his wife.  A force he did not recognize, an unrecognizable power from within, held him in check, compelled him to savor her body as if for the last time.  When she scored her nails across his back and wiggled her hips, Trevor shivered and could have cried.  Was it possible that Caroline desired him as he desired her?

On a languorous refrain of slip and slide, he released her legs and reared up on his elbows.  Her breasts jostled in rhythm and a subtle gasp sounded in concert with his thrusts.  Some day very soon, he was going to ride hell bent for leather between Caroline’s thighs.  But for now, he was going to relish the bounty in his arms as he would a fine port.

And make love to her until she screamed.

#

It was in the wee hours when Trevor next stirred, and while some lamps still burned in his cabin, most of the candles had guttered.  Relaxed, sated to his toes, he inhaled deeply.  Then he realized a plush female body was stretched beneath him and recalled the identity of the woman.  Rolling to his side, he gazed at Caroline’s sleeping form and frowned.

How had he forgotten to remove her garters and stockings?

Had they not consummated their vows twice--in case the first one had not taken?  He was certain he had stripped her bare, and it was obvious from the wrinkled mass near one ankle that he had attempted to complete the task.  Worse, a check of his person revealed he had only succeeded in inching his breeches to his knees.

With great care so as not to wake his wife, Trevor stole from the bed.  After ridding himself of his breeches and divesting her of the remaining unmentionables, he turned out the lamps.  When he returned to the bunk, the mattress dipped from his weight, and Caroline fell into his side.

An incoherent mumble passed her lips, and she rested her head on his shoulder and a palm to his chest.  Soothing warmth filled his senses and caressed his skin, and he did not need a light and a mirror to tell him he was grinning like a giddy schoolboy.  Had anyone ever told him that the mere act of embracing his bride could be as potent an intoxicant as their lovemaking, he would have called that person a liar.

Just as quick, the gnawing hand of fear gripped his belly, and Trevor shuddered.

Something was happening between them.

An attachment unlike any he had ever known was growing, snaring him in a trap that he neither appreciated nor desired.  He had known it, felt it before he stood at the altar with Caroline.  It was born of the same endless torment that had devastated him when she climbed the rigging and when Cavalier threatened her.  A nameless connection captured them in some ethereal prison he seemed helpless to escape.  He spied the mystical attachment in her eyes whenever she looked at him and wondered if she saw it in his.  The prospect bloody well scared the hell out of him.

While he liked Caroline, admired her even, he would not love her.  Trevor had seen what relationships based on emotions could do to a man and did not want any part of such evil.  Never would he surrender so much unchecked power to a woman.  He would provide for her, delight in her body, get children on her, but he would not share his heart.

Nor was he interested in hers.

Caroline snuggled closer and nuzzled his neck.  “I love you.”

His ears rang with shock, his palms dampened, and gooseflesh spread like the plague.  Her declaration had been made without any hesitation.  Trepidation turned to raw terror.

Trevor desperately wanted to run.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The carriage rolled along the turnpike bound for Althrup, a quaint little village in Sussex and home of the Lockwood family estate.  Caroline stared out the window but saw nothing of the countryside extending beyond her inner thoughts.  At her side, the source of her quandary dozed.

Although they had welcomed the day with a memorable breakfast that involved a predatory sea captain and fresh strawberries with cream, Trevor had not uttered a word since they enjoyed an afternoon repast at a coach inn.  His mood suddenly sullen, he had perched in the corner, folded his arms, and drifted off as they resumed their journey.  Caroline frowned at her reflection in the glass.

Perhaps the honeymoon was at an end.

Prior to their wedding, her chief concerns had centered on the fact that her future spouse had been forced to the altar.  Now that the deed was done, her mind wandered in an alternate direction.

How was she supposed to make Trevor fall in love with her?

To her detriment, her lone experience with a man in the romantic realm involved an insincere declaration and an illusory courtship.  Flirty glances, stolen caresses, and sweet nothings had been exchanged, and the chase had been unremarkable.

And that was the problem.

Caroline had been duped by the deception and had not guessed the truth behind the charade until it was too late.  She had gifted her heart to an undeserving suitor and been devastated and shamed, with polite society an audience.

But this time was different.

The depth of devotion she harbored for Trevor was unshakable, rock solid.  Never had her emotions been engaged in so forceful an attack.  Not even for Lord Darwith.  Of late, she had realized her feelings for the one who held the distinction as her first love amounted to nothing more than a girlish crush, a fancy.

Yes, this time was different.

Trevor might not be in love with her yet, but she would win him over.  He would offer his heart on a silver platter, or her name was not Caroline Patience Elliott Marshall, Countess of
Lockwood.

“Why so serious, sweet?”

She flinched.  “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was.”  He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her near.  “But, as you see, I am awake.”

“Indeed.”  As he nuzzled her temple, she giggled and was grateful for his improved spirits.

“Did you manage to rest?” Trevor inquired with a rub of his eyes.

“No.”  Caroline shook her head and mustered a smile.  “The prospect of arriving at my new home is exciting and a tad disconcerting.  You have an army of servants, and I wish to make a good impression.”

“Darling, Althrup was built over a century ago, it is hardly new.  And as mistress of the manor, you have nothing to fear.”  With a peck to her cheek, he lifted her to his lap.  “Besides, you have already met some of my staff, so there is no need for concern.  And you did not get much sleep last night.”

He was correct, and the recollection burned a path of embarrassment to her face.  “My lord, you are incorrigible.”

“You knew that when you married me.”  Before she could respond, her husband gave his attention to the passing landscape, let down the window, and shouted to the coachman.  “Oy, Thornton.  Stop here.”

“What is it?”  Confused, Caroline scooted back to her seat.  “Is there something wrong?”

“Come with me.”  A footman opened the door.  Trevor exited and then turned to provide assistance.  “I hope you do not mind, but this vantage shows the estate at its best.”

Smoothing the wrinkles from her skirts, she lifted her chin.

And her jaw dropped.

Trevor escorted her to the verge.  “Lady Lockwood, I give you Althrup.”

“Oh, my.”  Caroline swallowed hard.  “It is lovely.”

An emerald valley spread wide before her, and nestled in a crescent of mighty oaks was a charming village.  Marked by thatched rooftops and a majestic Wren steeple, the rural community conveyed an invitation of which no words were required to welcome a recent addition.

But the
pièce de résistance
commanded a hilltop just beyond the village, as though a spectacular sentry, and quite took her breath away.  An opulent residence constructed of red sandstone with mullioned windows spanning the front, Althrup soared to life as clouds reflected in the glass, lending the manmade structure an ethereal quality that was the stuff of dreams.

“The grounds are ringed by a Saxon moat, and a topiary garden sits amid the boxed hedges.”  With child-like enthusiasm, Trevor pointed as he spoke.  “Over there are the rose gardens, with arches and pergolas encircling a lily pond.  The waters of the Channel are visible from the rear of the main house, and our chambers have a stunning view.”  With a countenance that begged approval, he asked, “Well, what do you think?  Can you make it a home, a place to raise our family?”

As Caroline recalled the sadness that marked his childhood, she thought it incredibly unfair for such glorious beauty to be overshadowed by unimaginable pain.  “Althrup is more than I could have hoped for, as are you.”

Trevor cupped her chin and brought her gaze to his.  At length, he searched her eyes.  “Can you be happy here?”

Ghosts from the past marred his handsome visage, and Caroline stretched on her toes and pressed on him a kiss filled with promise.  “I already am.”

After returning to the coach, they continued their journey.  In silence, she ticked off a mental list.  While supervising the redecoration of her chambers in their London residence, she had met the housekeeper, Mrs. Porter, and the cook, Mrs. Coomb, matronly figures she liked in an instant.  Roberts, his butler, had been hired before Trevor’s father died.  Winton, his valet, was a grey-haired stodgy character that reminded her of Jennings, the butler at Elliott House.  There was Thornton, the coachman, and Jones, the groom.  And she had not yet been introduced to the gardener, the undergrooms, and the footmen, not to mention the housemaids.  And in the event her memory failed, tucked inside her reticule was a sheet of paper on which she had written several names.