Love With an Improper Stranger Read online

  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)

  Captain of Her Heart (Brethren of the Coast 5)

  The Lucky One (Brethren of the Coast 6)

  Love with an Improper Stranger (Brethren of the Coast 7)

  Loving Lieutenant Douglas: A Brethren of the Coast Novella

  BRETHREN ORIGINS

  Arucard (Brethren Origins 1)

  KATHRYN LE VEQUE’S KINDLE WORLD OF THE DE WOLFE PACK

  Lone Wolfe

  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 © 2015 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.

  Published by Barbara Devlin

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

  Cover art by Lewellen Designs

  ISBN: 978-0-9962509-2-4

  DEDICATION

  For my little sisters, Tina and Carla. I’ve known you since you were born, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m so proud to call myself your big sis, and no matter how old we grow, you’ll always be my girls. All my love.

  PROLOGUE

  The Ascendants

  England

  The Year of Our Lord 1315

  With visions of his sweet Isolde, naked and splayed beneath him, dancing in his brain, Arucard sauntered into the great hall in search of something to slake his grumbling belly. It was just after dawn when he woke his slumbering bride for their usual morning games, after which she returned to dreamland, whilst he prepared for weapons practice.

  Almost three years had passed since they took their vows before the archbishop, and in that time he and his wife had settled into a comfortable but never boring routine, marked by dedication to duty, service, and an abiding, all-consuming commitment that defined their very existence and permeated their every action. How he loved Isolde, and their daughter Roswitha, and together they had forged an unbreakable union so strong, so complete that he knew not whither he ended and his family began.

  “Good morrow, brother.” The newlywed Morgan propped his elbow on the table, rested his chin in his palm, and sighed. “Did not expect to see ye up and about so early.”

  “Morgan?” Arucard studied the youngest Nautionnier Knight’s visage and swallowed hard, as Morgan looked pathetic. “Isolde is with child, so I would not overtire her. But wherefore art thou sitting hither, alone? Is Hawisia all right?”

  “My darling bride is fine, I presume.” The gadling bit a chunk of bread.

  “Thou dost presume?” Arucard straddled the bench, set aside his mail coif, hauberk, and sword, and scratched his temple. “How was she whence ye left her?”

  “I cannot say, as I was never with her.” With a mighty scowl, Morgan slumped his shoulders. “Hawisia locks me from my private chambers every night, and I am resigned to retire to the garrison, with the soldiers, and they make great sport at my expense. It is humiliating, brother.”

  “But it hath been a sennight since we returned to Chichester.” Yet he was not surprised, given the cocky knight’s arrogance and misplaced confidence, which Arucard predicted would cause strife. “Art thy vows unsecured?”

  “Aye.” Morgan shook his head. “And I know not how to resolve the problem, as my wife will not even speak to me.”

  “Did we or did we not try to help thee?” Demetrius strolled into the large meeting room and sat next to Arucard. “But thou dost know everything about seduction. After all, thou dost never fail to rouse thy whores. Dost thou not recall thy bold claims?”

  “Is not one woman’s body the same as the next?” Arucard snickered, as he seized upon that gem of unmitigated stupidity. “Art thou not playing thy mate’s body as a finely tuned instrument?”

  “I may have overestimated my proficiency in that area, so dispense thy advice and spare me thy gloating.” Morgan wiped his brow and sighed. “What can I do, as Hawisia behaves naught like any strumpet I know?”

  “That is because Hawisia is no strumpet, thou cream-faced loon.” Aristide stretched and plopped beside Morgan. “She is a virgin bride, which are creatures unto themselves, and we art but unworthy servants endeavoring to win their hearts and their sweet favors.”

  “But if thou dost concentrate thy efforts on the former, the latter is a delicious piece of sambocade cheesecake, as the two are inextricably intertwined.” Frowning, Demetrius waved at a maid, who rushed to bring him a light sop. “Brother, thou dost know the mess I made of my marriage, in my misplaced attempt to uphold the beliefs upon which our order was founded. In my ignorance, I failed to recognize that my vows constitute a new commitment, far more important than the one we swore before the Crown, and I hurt Lily, to my profound regret. But she forgave me, and she loves me despite my foolishness.”

  “Who among us is without error?” A moment from the past flashed in his mind, and Arucard tried but failed to suppress a shudder. “Dost thou not remember how Isolde begged me to take her with us, when the King summoned us? I bade her remain hither, as I thought I knew better, and her father stole her. Thou dost know the rest, so I will not repeat it, but not a day goes by that I do not wish I heeded her pleas, and the guilt resides with me still. Yet my lady loves me, so thou art not without hope.”

  “So what happened to thy lip, as we know she punched thy nose in London?” Aristide guffawed. “The woman has wicked aim.”

  “Mayhap she took lessons from Dion.” Demetrius burst into laughter.

  “I resent that, brother.” Aristide grimaced. “And never should I have rushed Dion, so the wound was of my own making.” Then he focused on Morgan. “Now about thy fat lip, with what did she strike ye?”

  “She did not hit me.” Huffing a breath, Morgan gazed at the ceiling. “I tried to kiss her, and she bit me.”

  “Upon my word, but thou art either brazen or stupid.” Demetrius arched a brow and whistled. “And I suspect I know the answer to that query, but I am surprised thou art still alive.”

  “And what of thy black eye, as thou were not marked last night.” Arucard bit back a snort. “It looks painful.”

  For several seconds, Morgan simply narrowed his stare and compressed his lips. At last, he emitted a groan. “Her hairbrush. And the cursed gash hurts like the devil.”

  “I can imagine.” Demetrius covered his mouth.

  Aristide shifted his weight.

  Then the married Brethren collapsed in a fit of hilarity.

  When Morgan stood, Aristide yanked his fellow knight to the bench.

  “Brother, make no mistake, marriage is work.” Arucard pointed for emphasis. “But it is not meant to be hard work.”

  “Or life-threatening,” Demetrius added with a smirk.

  “Arucard is correct in his estimation.” Aristide rubbed the back of his neck. “Thy bride brings every bit as much, if not more, trepidation to thy union.”

  “And the sooner ye dost recognize it the better.” Demetrius cast a half smile. “Instead of focusing on thy needs, thou must consider hers. If thou canst satisfy thy bride, she will satisfy thee, as women are made that way.”

  “Wherefo
re canst I not order her to obey?” Morgan wrinkled his nose. “That seems much simpler.”

  “Dost thou desire another black eye?” Arucard snickered and then summoned an attendant. “Have Margery brew some of Lady Isolde’s favorite tea, and prepare some toasted bread and a serving of blackberry jam. Bring everything to me, on a tray, with a single rosebud.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The maid curtseyed.

  As the men argued the finer points of marital relationships, Arucard’s thoughts turned to his wife and her health. Standing, he collected his things. “Tell Pellier I will not attend weapons practice today.

  “Oh?” Aristide cast a knowing grin. “Thou art a wise and compassionate husband, and as usual I would do well to follow thy lead.” When the servant returned with the items Arucard requested, Aristide pushed from the table. “Bring me the same, for Lady Dionysia.”

  “And I require similar provisions for Lady Athelyna.” Demetrius arched a brow. “My Lily increases, and I would not have her wane after this morrow’s exercise.”

  “What exercise?” Morgan inquired, with a countenance of confusion.

  “Thou wilt learn soon enough, if thou wilt but heed our sage counsel.” Arucard paused and imagined the many ways Isolde might convey her appreciation of his meager efforts to please her. “Brother, perfection is not necessary to find thy way in the connubial bed. Rather, show Hawisia that ye art sympathetic to her wishes, however modest, and know she will respond, in kind.” Arucard strolled to the narrow passage that led to his chambers but halted before the first step. “But take heart, as often the best things in life require a bit of work, thus they are worth the effort, and ye doth retain one good eye to sacrifice in thy quest for matrimonial bliss.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Descendants

  Brussels, Belgium

  September 30, 1814

  “Hurry, Lucilla.” Hefting the small trunk of her belongings, Lenore Teversham huffed and puffed, as she glanced at her younger sister and all but ran along the sidewalk. The lanes, a muddy mess after recent rains, bustled with activity, as she dodged elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen. “We must not be late, or we may have to search out another ride home. Given our financial situation, I am not sure I can procure appropriate boarding to sustain us any longer.”

  After the Allies drove the French from Belgium, and their father died from wounds suffered in battle, she and her awkward sibling had begged, borrowed, and pleaded their way to the city, wherein they secured return passage to London from one of Papa’s friends. While the British Army transported the war dead home, it made no provisions for survivors, and she had been left to her own enterprises.

  Alone and in dire straits, Lenore had put aside pride and sold precious trinkets to purchase coach fare from Ghent to Brussels. Now all she needed was the assistance of General Stapleton Cotton and his associate, a naval captain of some estimation with space on his ship for two hapless vagabonds.

  “Nag, nag, nag.” Lucy clucked her tongue. “Stop crowing, Lenny. You sound like an old woman.”

  “I have told you numerous times not to call me that in public.” When they arrived at a large intersection, she studied the road and frowned. “Oh, dear. I will never navigate that muck without soiling the hem of my dress, and I did so wish to make a good impression on our benefactor.” Just then, a gust of wind caught her favorite hat, which landed amid the soggy mire in the middle of traffic.

  “Well, you may kiss that goodbye.” With a mischievous grin, Lucy snickered. “As you will never recover it in one piece.”

  “Watch me.” With her steely gaze fixed on the much cherished, lavender felt fashion item, decorated with a jaunty white feather, she set down her trunk. “Stay here.”

  A passing team gave her pause, and then a curricle raced past, but Lenore remained determined, as she refused to cede anything by accident. On tiptoes, she evaded a large pool of water and skipped beyond the path of a brougham, but the driver shook his fist at her, which she ignored. She hopped left and then right and finally neared her goal, with nary a spot on her frock.

  So focused on her prize, she scarcely heeded the hoofbeats until it was too late. The ground shook beneath her feet, a thunderous roar filled her ears, and then the largest most menacing stallion she had ever seen trounced her beloved adornment and spattered her with clumps of mud, as it sped by in a rush.

  “Sorry.” The rogue rider slowed.

  “Blackguard.” To her unmitigated embarrassment, she spat dirt from her mouth and wiped her face. Then she glanced up and beheld Satan—if the Lord of Darkness sported thick brown hair and vivid blue eyes that danced with pure evil. “Look what you have done to my gown, and that beast destroyed my hat.”

  “Big words for a little lady, and lucky for you I do not offend easily.” He reined in and circled her. Garbed with precision, her hellish antagonist sported polished Hessians, buckskin breeches, a chocolate brown waistcoat, a dark blue coat, and a pristine cravat with a diamond twinkling at center. Then his gaze traveled her from head to toe, and she shifted. “You have spirit, and I like that in my women, but I have a prior appointment, so we cannot explore the possibilities, which I suspect would be delicious.”

  “How dare you.” Despite her somewhat disheveled appearance, she stomped her slippered foot, which became stuck in the slimy filth, and the last of her pride drowned in a pile of nasty ooze. “I will have you know my father was a hero in His Majesty’s service.”

  “Calm yourself.” He chuckled, in a rich baritone that seemed to kiss her everywhere. “I paid you a compliment, my dear. But I cannot delay, as much as I would love to become better acquainted with you. Alas, I am already late.” To her shock, he saluted, reached into his pocket, retrieved a bag of coins, and flung it at her. “For your trouble.”

  Then he turned and heeled the flanks of his horse, which showered her in a fresh coat of silt, and Lenore gave vent to an uncharacteristic and unladylike shriek of fury. Unable to pull her shoe from the sludge, she yielded the fight and hobbled back to the sidewalk, where Lucy waited.

  “If you say one word—”

  “My lips are sealed, sister.” But Lucy snorted, and Lenore wanted to cry, as she picked up her trunk.

  It was a lengthy, miserable journey to the business district and an exercise in humiliation for Lenore, as passersby gawked at her unsavory attire. By the time they arrived at the inn where the Cotton’s lodged, her hose was in tatters along with her tenacity. The servant girl who answered the door stared down her nose, and Lenore snuffled.

  “The Tevershams to see General Cotton.” She tried to hand the maid a card, but the rude girl retreated, as she ushered them into the stylish residence. “He is expecting us.”

  “Miss Lenore? Lucilla?” General Cotton strolled into the sitting room, took one look at her, and winced. “Upon my word, what happened?”

  “I met with an unfortunate incident on the way here.” At that point, she swayed, but an iron grip provided unfailing support, and she daubed her brow with her handkerchief. “Thank you,” she said to her unknown champion. “A most dastardly villain almost trampled me beneath an equally vile creature.”

  “Perhaps I should order a bath, and you may change into clean clothes.” Then the general glanced to her right. “That is, if there is ample time.”

  “By all means.” A familiar voice pricked her ears, and a shiver of recognition traipsed her spine. “I will await the lady’s pleasure.”

  “Wonderful.” General Cotton snapped his fingers. “But first, permit me to make the introductions. Miss Lenore Teversham. Miss Lucilla Teversham. Allow me to present Captain Blake Elliott, of His Majesty’s Navy, and your gallant escort.”

  When Lucilla cackled, stepped forward, and extended an arm, as would a man, she rocked on her heels. “Cap’n, you should quit right now and set sail without us.”

  And that confirmed Lenore’s worst suspicions. Given fate had saddled them with so many hardships, she just knew luck would not have throw
n her into the auspicious charity of her assailant. Swallowing hard, she inclined her head, and her unholy tormentor winked. That was it. At the end of her tether, everything inside her railed at once. “You.”

  “Now do not frown, as it spoils your lovely face.” The devilish rogue had the unqualified audacity to smirk. “Captain Elliott, most definitely at your service, Miss Teversham.” Then he sketched a salute. “And may I address you as Lenore?”

  “No, you most certainly may not.” As she wrenched from his hold, she peered at General Cotton. “Sir, while I do not wish to seem ungrateful for your efforts, perhaps you can secure alternative passage to England for my sister and I? There must be another ship that would suit our needs, sans such onerous company.”

  “I am sorry, Miss Lenore.” The general shook his head. “But that is out of the question, as most transports have no capacity to accommodate two single ladies of character, and it took some convincing to sway His—”

  “Er, just Captain Elliott will suffice, Stapleton.” The scoundrel checked his timepiece. “Given we are to be shipmates, there is no need to observe the usual proprieties.” Lenore did not like the sound of that. “And on that note, do what must needs, as I intend to cast off before sunset, with or without my fair travelers.”

  Furrowing his brow, the general cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Permit me to order a bath.” In haste, he strode from the room.

  “Do not be silly, Lenny. As you said, we have no money, so we must avail ourselves of Captain Elliott’s goodwill.” To Lenore’s chagrin, Lucilla snorted, even though she had just revealed the miserable state of their affairs to a total stranger. “And you can call me Lucy, as Lucilla is a vast deal too formal. Do you not agree?”

  “I do, indeed.” The blackguard, every bit as imposing as he was on the street, chuckled. “But to you, little Lucy, I am simply Blake.” When he returned his gaze to Lenore and smiled, her knees buckled, and again he steadied her. “Easy, Miss Teversham. We would not want you to fall and bruise what I suspect is a superior posterior.”