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  CAPTAIN OF HER HEART

  Barbara Devlin

  OTHER TITLES BY BARBARA DEVLIN

  BRETHREN OF THE COAST SERIES

  Enter the Brethren (Brethren of the Coast 1)

  My Lady, the Spy (Brethren of the Coast 2)

  The Most Unlikely Lady (Brethren of the Coast 3)

  One-Knight Stand (Brethren of the Coast 4)

  SULTRY SISTERS ANTHOLOGIES

  Loving Lieutenant Douglas: A Novella (A Jewel in Time)

  COPYRIGHT

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2014 Barbara C. Noyes

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher. This book may be loaned only through the Amazon lending library program.

  Published by Barbara Devlin

  The Brethren of the Coast Badge is a registered trademark ® of Barbara Devlin.

  ISBN-978-0-9858548-6-7

  Cover art by Lewellen Designs, www.lyndseylewellen.wordpress.com

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to the captain of my heart, my husband Mike, although he has since promoted to battalion chief.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Table of Contents

  CAPTAIN OF HER HEART

  OTHER TITLES BY BARBARA DEVLIN

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  Excerpt from The Lucky One

  PROLOGUE

  The Ascendants

  England

  The Year of Our Lord 1314

  “To Aristide and Dionysia.” Arucard and Demetrius sat in a dank tavern and toasted the latest nuptials to grace the Nautionnier Knights of the Brethren of the Coast. “May they enjoy the blessings of their union, as do Isolde and I.”

  “And as I am favored with my Lily.” Demetrius winked. “Along with the little one, which grows in her belly with each new day.”

  “You have my sincere congratulations. And Lily is the pet name you chose in place of Athelyna?” Arucard grinned, as he recalled the drama that had preceded his brother’s ceremony. “The lady finds it amenable?”

  “Indeed, she does.” Demetrius waggled his brows. “That was the best piece of advice you ever—what in God’s bones is he doing here?”

  “Who?” Arucard peered over his shoulder and started. “Aristide?”

  “Good evening, brothers.” The bridegroom frowned and straddled the bench. “May I join you?”

  “Of course.” Demetrius scooted to the side. “Are you all right?”

  “Why do you ask?” Aristide propped his elbow on the table, rested his chin in his palm, and cast a mighty scowl.

  “Your forehead bleeds, as does your hand.” Arucard tossed him a napkin. “Have you had an accident?”

  “Is Dionysia injured?” Demetrius inquired.

  “My delicate wife is most assuredly well.” Aristide snorted. “And she is a red-haired hellion in hiding, which I would not wish on my worst enemy.”

  “What happened?” Arucard fidgeted when his fellow knight swept aside his hair, revealing a nasty, oozing gash. “Did you not heed my guidance?”

  “I most certainly did, and I blame you for this.” Aristide flinched as he pressed the cloth to his flesh to staunch the crimson flow. “Everything progressed nicely, until I engaged her in conversation. Really, there should be a codebook to decipher such confounding behavior.”

  “What did you tell her?” Searching his memory, Arucard inventoried his sage advice intended to smooth the shark-infested waters known as virgin territory. “Did I not counsel you to keep fledgling chatter elementary, before breaching her maidenhead, as it can be very traumatic?”

  “For her or for me?” Aristide pounded the tabletop. “As I may never recover from this night.”

  “Give us the whole of it, brother.” And then Demetrius ordered an additional tankard of ale from a passing bar wench. “Start from the beginning.”

  “For what it is worth, as the damage is done.” Aristide pinned Arucard with a lethal glare. “As you suggested, I endeavored to discern the history of my blushing bride with a few well composed queries, which I took the liberty of contriving on the eve of our union, as a prelude to the consummation of our vows.”

  “How romantic you make it sound, brother.” Demetrius clucked his tongue. “Did I not counsel you that women require the stuff of poets to set the proper mood?”

  “Yes, but in our brief meetings prior to the ceremony, Dionysia struck me as a woman of uncommonly good sense, so I saw no need to dress my language in perfume and flowers.” He sneered. “She prefers honesty and forthrightness, or so she claimed, and I foolishly accommodated her request.”

  “That was your first mistake, as women rarely confess what they mean, and we are left to interpret their true substance.” Arucard chuckled. “So what did you say to her?”

  “Well, she delved into my reasons for entering the matrimonial state.” Aristide scratched his cheek. “Given her professed proclivity for candor, I detailed the King’s precepts, including the bequeathed earldom, which necessitated our engagement.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Demetrius spewed ale. “You never acknowledge to your wife that the Crown forced you to wed her. Have we taught you nothing?”

  “You are lucky she did not kill you.” Arucard rolled his eyes, as he suspected his friend had committed a fatal error, from which he might never rally. “Isolde would have skinned me alive, had I ever apprised her of such verity in our honeymoon period.”

  “You mean, in the years since you married her, you have never enlightened your bride to the truth surrounding your nuptials?” Blinking, Aristide choked and sputtered, as he rubbed the back of his neck. “But how could you avoid it? Has she never inquired?”

  “Actually, Isolde is an intelligent woman, and she brought no illusions of romance to the altar, as she was fully aware of our arranged status, much to my regret. But the word ‘force’ never entered our bedchamber, and therein lies the difference.” Arucard frowned, as he recalled his wedding night. “Brothers, you know her history, so you must understand my reluctance to cause her additional pain. We did not discuss the events preceding our vows, until she broached the subject. By the time she ventured to mention it, I had already professed my undying love and devotion, so the preface to our married life mattered not, in the grand scheme.”

  “Damn nasty affairs.” Aristide glowered and gazed at the tabletop. “You are blessed, as she is a far better warrior than most men of my acquaintance.”

  “Given my impending fatherhood, I cannot fathom the level of violence to which her sire subjected his own daughter.” Demetrius shook his head. “This land and its customs remain quite foreign to me.”

  “There is violence in every corner of the world, brother.” A
shiver of dread traipsed his spine, as Arucard revisited the tragic circumstances that marked the early months of his marriage. “Yet the hardships we endured strengthened our union and helped me realize how deeply I care for her, as I would give my life to save hers.”

  “And are you likewise afflicted?” Aristide asked Demetrius.

  “Aye.” Demetrius cast a ghost of a smile. “Lily holds my heart, above all else. And, much as Arucard, the path to that discovery was paved with treachery, as the matrimonial state is filled with vicious traps, none of which are marked.”

  “For the sake of curiosity, not that I am seriously intrigued, just how long did it take to experience said emotion?” Aristide leaned forward and cleared his throat. “And how did you know you were in love?”

  “Oh, I shudder to consider it.” Demetrius pressed a clenched fist to his chest. “Love is, by far, the most confusing, excruciating, gut-wrenching, agonizing terror you will ever endure. I would equate it with Prometheus chained to the rock and the eagle’s daily liver feast.”

  “How charming.” Aristide blanched.

  “Indeed, he is correct in his assertion, as it is worse than anything you might confront in battle.” Arucard winced, as memories of the first pangs of love still horrified him. “And yet, once you surrender the fight and accept it, nothing compares to the unutterable contentment that accompanies your wife’s declaration, freely bestowed, as it is a priceless treasure.”

  “In that, I agree.” Demetrius dragged his knuckles along his jawline. “Nothing makes a husband feel more a man than his bride’s requited affection, such that I cannot describe it, as there are no adequate words, and love is worth the cost it exacts. In short, it is a boon sans pareil.”

  “And if one were interested in fostering a similar commitment with his spouse, how might he attempt such lunacy?” Aristide swallowed hard and shifted his weight. “Given he has admitted, however well intended, the King forced the bridegroom to the altar?”

  “Now that is a question for which I have no answer.” Demetrius furrowed his brow and massaged his temple. “As even I knew better than to attempt such madness, and your transgression vastly exceeds the propitious potential of favored flowers.”

  “Are we not the witty knight?” Aristide moped and slumped his shoulders. “Brothers, how am I to survive the mess I have made?”

  “Are you fond of Dionysia?” Arucard braced to pose the most important query, as the response would determine Aristide’s future. “Do you find her attractive?”

  “Her carriage is first rate, her teeth are in excellent condition, and she has a fine figure.” Aristide downed his ale and signaled for a refill. “And she possesses a sense of humor and cleverness, which I find rather appealing.”

  “And what about the scar?” Demetrius asked. “I have heard countless jokes—”

  “It bothers me not, and if you ever disparage her in my presence, I will tie you to my rudder and drag you back to France.” Aristide yanked the collar of his tunic. “In all honesty, I scarcely notice the damn thing, as my Dion’s beauty stems from an innate purity of the heart, and I delight in her company, tonight excepted.”

  “Dion?” Demetrius glanced at Arucard and smirked. “So you gifted her a pet name?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Clearing his throat, Aristide speared his fingers through his hair. “It is nothing. Make no assumptions, which would embarrass us, brother.”

  “And what does the lady call you?” Arucard queried in a low voice, as he muffled his chuckle.

  “That is none of your concern.” Aristide opened his mouth and then closed it. “Not that she summons me with such sentimental nonsense.”

  Arucard and Demetrius burst into laughter, and Aristide shoved away from the table and stood.

  “Hold hard, brother.” After one last guffaw, Demetrius jerked Aristide to the bench. “Why run away, when we might aid your virtuous cause?”

  “You have done enough.” Aristide wrenched free. “I had gained precious ground with my bride, and then I listened to you and struck breakers.”

  “Now that is not fair.” Arucard pointed for emphasis. “Never did I encourage you to apprise your lady of the conditions compelling you to wed, as I know well the consequences of such ignorance.”

  “Then why did you not warn me?” Aristide spat.

  Arucard thrust his chin. “Perhaps because I thought you smarter than that.”

  “Brothers, we fight each other,” Demetrius stated, with a grin. “And we are not the enemy.”

  “He is right.” Arucard nodded once. “When it comes to the sexes, we are of like minds.”

  “I concur, brother.” After an audible exhale, Aristide examined the injury to his knuckles. “So how am I to correct the situation?”

  “Mass quantities of compensatory groveling, preferably delivered on your knees,” Arucard suggested.

  “And bundles of flowers, in every conceivable bloom,” Demetrius urged.

  “Ply her with wine.” Arucard chortled. “But be careful, as too much will put her to sleep.”

  “And if that does not suffice?” Aristide asked.

  “How is her aim?” Arucard replied.

  “How do you think?” Aristide whisked the hair from his forehead and then displayed his wounded hand. “Lethal.”

  Demetrius grimaced. “Then you should pray—often.”

  “Should all else fail, it may simply be a matter of time, which requires the patience of a saint, before you and Dionysia grow as a couple.” Arucard remembered the weeks, a seemingly bottomless pit of frustration, despair, and stout salutes from his mainmast, which preceded his own loss of virginity. “But if there is one glimmer of hope, you might take heart in the fact that only a husband is equipped to withstand such abuse.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Descendants

  Plymouth, England

  January, 1813

  It was a well-known fact that men loved a good chase.

  Whether the thrill of victory, or the possibility of defeat, lured them, the male species could always be counted on to rise to the occasion when properly baited. As far as Lady Alexandra Seymour, Alex to her friends and family, was concerned, the same could be said of the fairer sex.

  Because she pursued her man.

  A fortnight had passed since she had last seen her connubial conquest, Captain Jason Collingwood, and his unmistakable indifference had left her reeling. Despite hopes to the contrary, he had not attended the family holiday gathering, although she had posted a personal invitation, and had neglected to send her a present, after she had dispatched a sumptuous new coat of Bath superfine, custom-made for the captain of her heart—she would take that up with him when next they met. As the hastily hired traveling coach rocked along the road and entered Plymouth proper, she sank into the squabs and gazed out the window.

  By all accounts, Jason should have tracked her, but the damn fool refused to adhere to her expectations, which she thought quite reasonable and sound. Regardless of her good intentions, gift, and profuse expressions of remorse, she surmised he remained angry, in relation to a trivial matter of no consequence, which had occurred during the previous Little Season.

  But I am for Plymouth. And you may go to the devil.

  All right, perhaps the situation signified more than she had realized. She cautioned herself that the words her captain had chosen to bid her farewell on the docks at Deptford were born of injured pride, nothing more. Was it not past due for him to move beyond her minor error in judgment?

  “Ho-hum.” With a sigh, she shook her head and frowned.

  Last fall, she had enlisted Jason’s aid in a scheme of the heart. Cara Douglas, one of Alex’s oldest and dearest chums, had longed to capture the attention of Lance Prescott, another of Alex’s lifelong friends. Consistent with most men in similar circumstances, Lance had resisted Cara’s romantic endeavors, so Alex had recruited Jason to enact a mock-courtship, in an attempt to incite Lance and inspire him to admit his love.

/>   But Alex had omitted a few key details when she secured Jason’s cooperation, such as the true identity of the suitor, in question, and the fact that Cara had rejected Lance’s initial offer of marriage. In Alex’s defense, there had been no nefarious motives involved, other than to bring a mulish male to his senses, as she honored Cara’s request for discretion. And although Cara had deviated from their original plan, in the end, love found a way, and Lance and Cara had married in December.

  Now Alex could only pray her quest to help two friends to the altar had not cost her the captain of her heart. With a violent shudder, she recalled the first time she had set eyes on the handsome naval man. In the middle of a crowded ballroom at Richmond House, she had been summoned by Lady Rebecca Wentworth, as was.

  “Lady Alexandra Seymour, may I present Captain Jason Collingwood of the Royal Navy.”

  Standing over six feet, with guinea-gold hair and impossibly blue eyes, the man epitomized the blonde Adonis of her dreams. Festooned with braided epaulets, which marked his rank, only the exceedingly handsome male specimen surpassed the impressive regimentals. And an unfamiliar quiver blossomed in the pit of her belly, as the world pitched and rolled beneath her feet, when they locked gazes.

  “My heavens, you are a captain?” Alex noted the gooseflesh shivering over her arms and extended her gloved hand. “And what ship do you command?”

  “The Intrepid, and call me Jason, if I may be so bold.” He bowed with a flourish, which drew several audible sighs from nearby young ladies, before squeezing her fingers and brushing a chaste kiss to her covered knuckles. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lady Seymour. May I say that never have I seen anything so lovely as you in your red gown? Please know that both I and my vessel are at your service.”

  Scandalous.

  Alex inhaled a sharp breath, as pulse points ignited, and she feared she might swoon.

  She should have been offended.

  She should have been outraged.