One-Knight Stand Page 6

  That is not what I need. “Actually, I am a bit hungry.”

  She inclined her head. “Shall I ring for a tray?”

  “I was hoping you would bring me something with your own sweet hands.” In a valiant attempt to disguise his discomfit, because he was well nigh near to exploding, he grinned. “Surely it will taste all the more delicious.”

  “Are you not the charmer?” With a flirty giggle, which scored a direct hit to his Jolly Roger, she withdrew. “You must be feeling better.”

  Not yet, but he was going to be much improved before she returned. And after enduring the blissful weight of her bosom against him, it was not going to take long.

  “Oh, could you leave the cloth on my forehead?” He half-closed his eyes and sighed. “It is quite soothing.”

  “Certainly.” Cara nodded. “Here, let me refresh it for you.”

  He stopped short of telling her that was not necessary--not for what he had in mind. Instead, he waited patiently while she re-wet the rag. He bit his tongue as she squeezed out the excess water. He stifled another groan when she folded the cloth neatly into a square and settled it on his forehead. To further his torment, she pressed herself against him once more and bent to kiss his cheek.

  On the verge of eruption, Lance thought he would go insane before she ever exited his chambers.

  #

  “I shall be right back.” Cara turned and grinned.

  The ever-tempestuous Jolly Roger had awakened, and it had not escaped her notice. The telltale bulge caught her attention as she read poetry to Lance, but she was too wise to tangle with it, and twice she had stumbled over her words. Despite doubts to the contrary, it seemed entirely possible her hero was not impervious to her, as one might expect of a friend.

  Purposefully leaning against him, pressing her breasts to his chest, was the maiden test of her theory. And to her unutterable delight, it was impossible to ignore the hitch in his breath and the revealing tension of muscles beneath her. According to Sabrina, such behavior served as undeniable indications of attraction.

  In short, Lance was not indifferent to her.

  She recalled her scandalized flight from his apartments the previous day. It had taken all night to muster the courage to return to the scene of the crime. Steadfastly committed to her goal, to make him her husband, to marry for love, she had swallowed her pride, and more than a little fear if truth were told, and forced herself to resume her bedside vigil. In light of recent events, it was worth the effort.

  She smiled, quite pleased with herself as she approached the butler in the foyer. “Banks, his lordship would like a tray.”

  “I believe Cook has prepared something in anticipation of such request.” He bowed. “I will have the meal sent immediately, Miss Douglas.”

  “I beg your pardon.” She stayed him with an upraised hand. “His lordship asked me to convey it personally.”

  “Very good, Miss Douglas. If you would wait in the drawing room, I shall see to it at once.”

  Cara stepped into the elegantly appointed chamber and grinned as Alex and Elaine faced her and stood.

  “How is he?” Alex inquired.

  “Awake and hungry.” Cara shrugged. “I suppose that bodes well for his recovery.”

  “Oh, Cara.” Elaine sniffed. “How can I ever thank you?”

  She stared quizzically at Elaine. “For what?”

  “For all your help. You are so strong. How I wish I could be more like you.” With tears welling, Elaine frowned. “When I think of losing Lance--”

  “Dearest, you mustn’t say such things.” Cara encircled the youngest Brethren in her arms. “And do not cry, else you will make your eyes puffy. With the Little Season set to commence in only a few weeks, you do not want to spoil your lovely complexion.”

  As she hugged Elaine, Cara envisioned a grand future, whirling about the ton’s dance floors in Lance’s embrace, standing at his side as they were announced to the crowds, and waving from the docks at Deptford, filled with pride, as he departed on missions for the Crown, safe in the knowledge that he would come home to her. Her duties would be many as the marchioness of Raynesford, though she cared naught for the title but for the man who came with it.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady.” Banks stood in the doorway, bearing a tray laden with covered dishes. “Miss Douglas, if you will allow me, I shall convey the meal to his lordship’s chamber, wherein you may deliver it, per his wishes.”

  “Let us go with her, Alex.” Elaine caught the younger Seymour by the wrist. “If he is awake, I should very much like to see my cousin.”

  “All right.” With a conspiratorial grin, Alex nodded. “We can provide divertissement and give Cara a deserved rest.”

  Arm in arm, trailing the venerable butler, the three friends skipped their way upstairs. At the entrance to Lance’s bedchamber, Banks passed the elegant salver to Cara and bowed before opening the door.

  In the pale saffron hue peeking from a separation in the drawn drapes, she walked to the bed, set the tray on a side table, and then stepped on the platform. To her surprise, Lance slept with a smug smile dancing on his lips.

  “I do not understand it,” she remarked quietly. “Only a minute ago, he was wide awake and clamoring for food.”

  Alex peered at the man in question and whispered, “Well, he seems to have decided otherwise. If you prefer, Elaine and I can return the meal to the kitchen, so you may resume your watch.”

  “All right.” Cara bent and pressed her palm to his cool flesh and came up short. For a moment, she simply stared at her perplexing patient, revisiting their earlier conversation. Confused, she searched his pillow and then the folds of the sheet and blanket, before sparing a glance at the empty basin. “What happened to it?”

  “To--what?” Elaine inquired. “Is something wrong, sister?”

  “I know I left a cold compress on his forehead, but it is missing.” She searched the floor and under the bed skirt but failed to locate the curiously absent item.

  “Do you suppose he shifted in his sleep, and the cloth fell between the covers?” Alex asked.

  “I am unsure.” Cara shrugged. “But perhaps it did.”

  #

  “So, dear sister, do tell.” Sabrina stuck her tongue in her cheek and grinned. “How goes it with the reluctant suitor?”

  “Well, I have definitely enjoyed some improvement in my campaign of hearts.” Sitting beside her sibling on a daybed in the morning room at Woverton House, Cara sipped her tea and averted her gaze. “Thanks to your insight and tutelage, I believe I can say, without doubt, he is attracted to me in the physical sense.”

  “Really? You are wasting no time. It was only a fortnight when last we spoke.” Sabrina set her cup on a tray and eased to the pillows. “What is your hurry?”

  “Suffice it to say his current situation lends itself to my endeavor, but that will not always be so. Therefore, I must act quickly if I am to secure his affection--”

  “And a proposal,” Sabrina interjected. “Trust me, Cara. For your sake and my sanity, not to mention our posteriors should papa discover our conspiracy, before you skin his rabbit, make sure you have his declaration and a betrothal agreement.”

  “My darling Brie, if you will recall, of we two, I am the eldest.” How Cara wished she could stave off the pesky blush burning in her cheeks. Why she was uncomfortable she did not know. Had she not already confronted the most curious aspect of the male body? What else was there of which to be afraid? “You, of all people, know I never venture into the fray without a well-devised plan.”

  “In that I will not argue, sister.” Her incorrigible partner in nefarious enterprises did not have the decency to appear contrite. “But I am married to the Jolly Roger I salute.”

  “Sabrina,” Cara hissed. “Must you purposefully be so crude?”

  “Yes.” Sabrina nodded once. “Your vexation with my choice of terms and topic tells me you have not thought things through clearly. You see, Everett curls my toes at
every opportunity, and there is nothing embarrassing or shameful about what occurs in our marriage bed, or the chair in his study, or the--”

  “I get your meaning.”

  “Sorry.” Sabrina shifted her weight. “I daresay I love my husband all the more with each passing day and night. And I would wager that were you to ask Caroline, she would say the same about Trevor, as would Rebecca of Dirk. If you truly want a love match, then make sure you have engaged his heart before his ship weighs anchor in your harbor.”

  “You shame me.” Cara frowned. “But you would believe otherwise if you knew of my intended’s identity.”

  “I am not so sure that is the case.” Folding her arms, Sabrina humphed. “Do you want to tell me, in the event you are correct?”

  “Oh, dear.” Wringing her fingers, Cara blanched. “Must I divulge my secret to secure your guidance?”

  “No, of course not.” Sabrina shook her head and stretched her legs. “I think I can guess for myself, so I will not press you for answers you are reluctant to impart. But I will say this--the identity of your mystery suitor makes no difference in the grand scheme. Whether you have known him all your life, or met him on the night of your come-out, giving yourself to a man is the most intimate adventure you will ever experience. And despite mama’s rather awkward but enlightening discussion prior to my wedding, I was not so prepared for the reality, as I had thought, when the time came to consummate my vows.”

  It was the height of unfairness that her baby sister had correctly surmised the root of Cara’s quandary. “How so?”

  “Before I married, I thought ladies made too much of their virtue, as I considered a maidenhead nothing more than a purse, of sorts, auctioned to the highest bidder.” With a dreamy expression, Sabrina sighed. “But as I have shared myself with my husband, I now understand why some women seek to remain chaste. Virginity is a gift you owe to yourself. Do not sell your honor cheap, and do not surrender it on a girlish whim. Is your mystery suitor worthy of your love? If he is who I think he is, of that I have no doubt. At issue is whether or not he welcomes your regard. If he does not, then he does not deserve your prize.”

  “Oh, Brie.” Through a tear-filled gaze, Cara studied the once immature gadling. “Since when did you become an expert in the ways of love?”

  “Though Everett would not appreciate my candor, and you are sworn to silence, I must admit I made some mistakes early in my marriage, which could have doomed my union were his affections not firmly planted in my garden. My advice is well intended, as I only seek to spare you similar torment.” Sabrina’s eyes were now equally swimming. “Promise you will be careful?”

  “I promise.” Cara sniffed.

  At that very instant, the door to the morning room opened.

  “Darling, I am--Good heavens! Sabrina, what is the matter?” Everett all but ran to his wife, knelt at her feet, and drew her into his arms. “Why are you crying, sweet?”

  “I do not know.” Over his shoulder, she waved goodbye to Cara, and then smiled and winked. “I cannot help myself.”

  Just before she exited, Cara risked a quick glance and stifled a giggle as Everett settled Sabrina in his lap.

  “There, there, dearest.” He kissed Sabrina’s forehead and then tipped her chin. “Perhaps I have the cure for what ails you, love.”

  Not for a second did Cara doubt her brother-in-law’s abilities, and her devilish little sister would enjoy every minute of his attention. With a smile and renewed resolve, Cara secured the oak panel, patted the secreted kerchief nestled to her breast, and set course for Raynesford House.

  Where she would win her hero’s heart.

  #

  “Lance! What on earth are you doing?” Cara rushed inside and wrapped her arms about his waist. “You are not supposed to be on your feet. Dr. Handley says you must give the bone ample time to heal.”

  “Like bloody hell.” With a mighty grimace, and his good leg bearing his weight, he leaned against the side of the bed. “No longer can I tolerate being locked in my room while we are at war. I belong on my ship.”

  “You belong in bed.” Swift and sure, she assessed his appearance and condition. Aside from the heavy splint on his right leg, he was garbed only in a black silk robe. “And who gave permission to dress you?”

  “I clothed myself.” With his brow a mass of furrows, he raised his chin. “One of the servants was kind enough to fetch it for me.”

  “Thank you for apprising me of a weakness in my care.” Cara humphed. “It is obvious I need to speak with Banks, as you are to remain abed, per Dr. Handley’s instructions. I daresay that is why the physician had you stripped naked. No doubt your propensity to wander off would be sufficiently stifled without clothing.”

  “Damn you, Cara.” Lance emitted a feral growl and raked a hand through his hair. “This is my house and my staff. They follow my orders--not yours.”

  “In that I will not argue.” Despite his ire, Cara moved with unimpaired aplomb as she helped him ascend the platform. “But while you convalesce, you will obey my orders--not yours.”

  “Oh?” He stopped short. “Is that so?”

  “It is.” Wrestling the urge to smile, and thus risk invoking further fury, she narrowed her stare. “Now give me that robe.”

  “No,” he said with a boyish pout.

  “Lance, I am not in jest.” She tapped her foot. “The robe--now.”

  “You want it?” With a sly smile, he lowered his chin. “Come and take it.”

  Cara blinked, as she did not misunderstand the challenge in his words. Was he testing her fortitude? In her, he would find his challenge well met. And then she noted her rapidly beating heart and the gooseflesh covering her arms. With a deep breath and a silent prayer for composure, she faced her future husband.

  They stood with shoulders squared like two opponents on the battlefield. How long she peered into his green eyes she did not know or care.

  After an interminable silence, Lance arched a brow. “Well?”

  For good or ill, she had to act, and do so wisely, because she suspected he anticipated a retreat on her part. Or perhaps he expected her to flee. But Cara had other plans, as it was high time to show her lifelong companion that she could be more than a friend.

  She could be his wife.

  Without a word, she entered the arena. Summoning every ounce of intestinal fortitude she could muster, she neared her connubial conquest. Trapping his gaze, she reached for the belt, grasped the ends, and untied the knot. At her bold maneuver, he parted his lips and emitted a soft gasp, but it pealed in her ears.

  Skimming the edges of fabric with her palms, she intentionally traced the curves of his bare chest with the pad of her thumbs, before pushing the silk from his shoulders and whisking the flimsy garment from his body.

  With a nasty scowl, Lance loomed before her naked as the day he was born. Once again, they simply stared at each other, and she desperately struggled to ignore a particularly animated protuberant of his anatomy, even as it impressively saluted her. Resisting the urge to run, she held her ground.

  After a few tense minutes, his smug smile faltered, and a charming red hue shaded his cheeks and spread to his neck. He swallowed hard. “Are you going to tuck me in, too?”

  Oh, he was sporting for a fight.

  Although she knew he was not serious, Cara considered his offer. For a hairsbreadth of a second, she thought of pushing him to the down mattress and stretching alongside him. Of setting her lips to his, of spearing her fingers through his hair, of trailing her hand over his masculine curves and sinewy muscles. It would be so easy, for how could he resist?

  What man, sane or otherwise, would reject a willing partner? According to the Nautionnier Knights, not many. But did he love her? Would he marry her? It was a well-known fact, however antiquated, the Brethren married for love.

  As if on cue, Sabrina’s words of warning echoed in Cara’s brain.

  Make sure you have engaged his heart before his ship weighs anchor
in your harbor.

  Until she had the requisite answers to her questions, Cara had to be vigilant in her cause. Mirroring his rigid stance, she said, “You got yourself out of bed, you can bloody well put yourself back in it.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and made for a temporary safe haven in the form of his dressing room. Sandalwood, his signature scent, teased her nose as she searched for an empty peg on which to hang the garment. In his chamber, Lance grunted and groaned, and her mind supplied vivid images as he let fly a colorful string of invective. The urge to rush to his aid overwhelmed her. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and attempted to marshal her thoughts and senses into some semblance of order, which proved a difficult task, because desire was a powerful intoxicant.

  Just being near him sent delicious shivers up her spine. And in that instant, she realized it was not the first time she had experienced similar sensations, albeit in lesser amounts, when they shared a dance, when they strolled arm in arm through the park, when he lifted her to the saddle of her favorite mount, and when--

  “What are you doing in there?” Lance called out with unmasked irritation. “I swear, if you take one stitch of my belongings from this house, I shall call the Runners.”

  Jolted to reality, Cara laughed and re-entered his suite. Sitting in the middle of the bed, with blankets pulled to his waist, arms folded in front of him, and a wicked glower marring his handsome features, he averted his gaze.

  “My, my, but we are quite the curmudgeon today.”

  “If you do not like it, do not let the door strike you in the arse.”

  Standing at the footboard, she planted hands on hips and inclined her head. “Trying to get rid of me?”

  “Damn willful woman.” Lance snorted. “Why do you not get yourself a husband and leave me alone?”

  She gasped at the rapier retort but recovered just as fast. “Why do you not get yourself a wife? Then I would not have to take care of you.”

  “I am not the old maid in this room,” he replied acerbically. “I can marry whenever it suits me.”