Victoria Hanlen - The Trouble With Misbehaving

Another branch crackled, sending her scampering into a nearby vine-covered arbor.

“Oh!” a woman yelped.

“Christ!” growled her partner.

The couple’s odd silhouette quite shocked C.C. “Oh, my, I’m terribly, terribly sorry!” Gasping, she quickly backed out and skittered to another hedge. This evening’s events had stretched her nerves to a frazzle, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The air was indeed dense tonight. She pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her wheezes, only to be reminded of the captain’s kisses.

Kissing had never much appealed to her. Only a handful of men had made the attempt. Anything more than a quick peck made her feel slobbered on—like her aunt’s Basset hound’s kiss. But when the captain pulled her into his arms and sealed his soft, full lips over hers the unexpected pleasure stunned her.

Now annoyance struggled with unwanted desire. How had he enticed her into doing things totally contrary to her character and certainly not on her agenda? It had been years since she’d found a man irresistible. And that had ended in disaster.

She didn’t like how the captain’s kisses alternately bewildered and sent thrills through her, or that her treacherous body melted so comfortably into his.

She’d too much to do and no time for confusion. Why did she have to find Captain Tollier so compelling?

She inhaled. Laws, his exotic citrus cologne still lingered on her cheek. Tingles raced over her skin. No one told her his voice had such a deep, rich timbre or that he possessed such roguish charm.

A deep voice murmured in the distance.

Her pulse leapt. She almost called out before stopping herself. It might be one of those scoundrels instead. Hadn’t everything been spoiled anyway? Could she even have a reasonable conversation with the captain now?

It was getting late. The pleasure gardens would soon close. Should she wait for him, try to find him or leave? This whole endeavor had been assembled with Captain Tollier in mind.

Her family in North Carolina needed her help. If she didn’t make haste things could get a lot worse. This also might be her last chance to discover answers to a decade-old mystery.

A hand bell rang through the fog followed by a booming voice, “Cremorne Pleasure Gardens will close in ten minutes. Please proceed to the exits.”

C.C. ground her teeth. Captain Tollier obviously hadn’t followed. No doubt, he’d slithered away into the mist. Drat it all, now she’d have to hunt him down again.

Chapter 2

Beau slumped against dusty seat cushions as the hired coach rocked and bumped along, jarring his every muscle. Two days had passed since the bungled meeting at Cremorne, and he’d come no closer to sorting it out or getting C.C. off his mind.

What an astounding woman. Delving into her steady gaze and finding the strength of will to defeat his battle demons still filled him with awe. And every time he thought about her tender response to his stolen kisses, his pulse jumped. But the rest of it—villains on her tail and a havey-cavey business proposition—made him certain his first instincts had been correct. Had he stuck to his rule, the whole bizarre, confusing escapade could have been avoided.

Besides, there were other things he’d vowed to do. The losses he’d recently endured made him long to reunite with his family and return to the peace and quiet of his childhood home.

The reunion made him a little uneasy, however. After little communication for more than a decade, he wasn’t sure how he’d be received. With all he’d been through—an officer in the Royal Navy, the informal, wild revelry in the Bahamas, a blockade-runner, and a prisoner of war—conforming to the confines of English aristocracy might be a challenge. And heaven help him should there be any sudden noises like at Cremorne.

As the coach pulled through the heavy iron gates, Beau lowered the window for a better view. Morning mist veiled rows of terraces in the distance. Rising above the clouds like a castle of old stood his family’s ancient crenellated and multi-spired country home.

When the horses finally halted at the manor’s front entrance, Beau swung open the door. He climbed out, stretched his stiff back and took a deep breath. The fragrance of ancient yew trees and old oaks surrounding the mansion mixed with the unique combination of damp earth, rock and antiquated mortar—the scent of Grancliffe Hall.

Home.

Once, he’d considered the country mansion’s quiet to be stifling, its tranquility boring, and the fortress’ solid security a jail. After enduring the real-life miseries of a Union prison, he drank in the sight of the old place almost with reverence. The experience had altered his perspective. Now he saw a mythical castle filled with one hundred and two rooms of blessed, hushed peace.

On the west lawn a man and four children played croquet. Nostalgia hit him like a heavy gust. He’d spent many a boyhood hour romping over that lawn with his sire and siblings. The man rushed toward him, waving a croquet stick. A big smile covered his face.

Beau rubbed his tired eyes. It couldn’t be Father. He was long dead. As the man neared, he realized he was his eldest brother, Thomas, now the Earl of Grancliffe. Thomas had grown into an exact likeness of their patriarch—a tall, formidable, strong-featured man with dark eyes and thick, wavy dark hair—another identical copy of their marauding ancestors.

Grinning broadly, his brother marched up, grabbed him in a strong embrace and then held him out by the shoulders. “I knew it was you, Beau. You haven’t changed a bit, well, maybe more weathered, a little more fur on your face.”

Beau scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Aye. Haven’t had a meal or shave in two days.”

“You don’t look like you’ve had much sleep either.” Thomas winked.

“None to speak of. When the first train broke down its replacement took hours to collect us. I missed the next two because of the first. I apologize for my untidiness and tardy arrival.”

“No need for apologies.” Thomas pulled out his pocket watch, flicked it open with his thumb, frowned at the time and arched a brow at him. “It’s only been a dozen years, what’s a few more hours?”

Beau’s eyes widened. So his brother had become a time stickler like their father?

Thomas threw his arm around Beau’s neck and pounded him on the chest. The same kind of rough hug he’d given him as a boy. “I’m teasing, little brother. Get me full of ale and I can reprise more of Father’s memorable quirks. I’m glad you’re finally home.” He pounded him again fondly. “We should have warned you. Trains in these parts are reliably unreliable. Many forgo the frustration and take a coach.”

Thomas’s joking calmed some of Beau’s unease. He’d always idolized his eldest brother and couldn’t help a surge of affection. Thomas had intelligence, good looks, a good nature, and strength of character—everything an admirable earl needed. And he never stepped wrong. Not one foot out of place.

Stepping wrong had been Beau’s lot in life.

But no more—he’d vowed to change. If his brother could be respectable, so could he. He was done playing the family’s scoundrel.

Three boys, all miniature versions of his brother, romped over. A little girl dragging a croquet stick soon followed and latched onto her father’s knee.

“I’d like you to meet Alistair,” Thomas said. “He’s nine, Royce is seven, Ernest is six and Daisy here is three. Children, this is your sea captain Uncle Beauford come home at last.”

The boys stepped forward like little men, stuck out their hands and gave his a shake. The little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth.

Beau lowered himself to Daisy’s eye level. Her sweet little face and dark eyes and hair squeezed the damaged, hollow place in his heart he dared not think about.