Kasey Michaels - Becket's Last Stand

“Don’t think my giant couldn’t do it, if pressed,” Rian said, grinning. “Have I told you how he carried both Lisette and me out of that burning house, running with us both as if we were no heavier than feathers?”

“Twice,” Courtland said.

“Three times, at the least,” Chance added. “Although I still chuckle over the cannon, I’ll give you that.”

“No matter what, he’s quite a find,” Ethan said. “And I’d trust any of my horseflesh to him. In fact, I’ve already considered stealing him away from Waylon, who promised to break my head if I so much as tried.”

“The day may come when Jasper does take you up on the offer to be part of your horse farm, Ethan,” Court¬ land said, trying to keep the men concentrated on any subject other than him and Cassandra. “Once everyone feels free to leave Romney Marsh, much of this village may cease to exist, having served its purpose.”

It was a valiant try, but Chance must have seen through it, for he said, “Court is all a-twitter because Callie might be sailing off to Hampton Roads with Ainsley, leaving him to molder here, dying of a broken heart.”

“Oh, for the love of God—” Courtland got to his feet, pushing back his chair with some force. “When did I become an object of amusement to you all? This isn’t funny. I think Cassandra may be out to…to seduce me.”

“I think so, too,” Chance said, and looked to Rian. “You?”

“Oh, yes, definitely,” Rian said, smiling up at Courtland. “Shall we have a drink to the shameless little minx?”

“Spence and I discussed just this subject last night,” Ethan told them, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—an earl in name, but not one who worried overmuch about his manners when out of sight of the society he wished to have believe him a fool. “We’re considering placing bets as to the timing of the thing, actually. We’ve tentatively settled on fifty pounds to the winner. Court? I give you two weeks before you succumb. Spence says a full month, but we all know he’s never right about anything. At least I hope so.”

“Three weeks, and we each ante up fifty pounds for the winner,” Chance said, holding out his hand. “Rian?”

“Chance took my guess,” he said, winking at his brother. “Very well, fifteen days. I could say thirteen, but our dear brother is made of sterner stuff. Aren’t you, Court?”

Courtland sat down again, with a thump. “Aren’t any of you the least bit concerned that Cassandra is, in all but blood, my sister? ”

They all looked to one another and answered almost as one.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Callie doesn’t seem to be put off by it—or that ridiculous beard.”

“I can’t speak for myself, having only married into the family,” Ethan said, “but Morgan seems to think you and Callie are fated. And my wife, I warn you, is not averse to helping Dame Fate along, when she thinks it appropriate.”

“I know what it is,” Chance said when Courtland glowered at them, one after the other. “You think Ainsley wouldn’t approve. God, Court, the man thinks the sun rises and sets on you. You really should be embarrassed.”

“He thinks the sun rises and sets on all of us,” Courtland said, feeling his cheeks growing hot, for Ainsley’s approval was all he’d ever wanted out of life, ever since the day the man had saved that life. “We’ve all been very, very lucky to have him.”

“Even when he thinks we should all leave him before Edmund Beales makes his move, get as far from him as possible. Save ourselves.” Chance balled his hands into fists. “Sometimes I just want to knock him down.”

“He’s a father, Chance,” Ethan said quietly. “Just as you and I are fathers. What would you do if you believed having your children with you needlessly exposed them to danger?”

“You make a valid point, Ethan, considering that I’m sending Julia and the children back to Coventry once we reach London,” Chance said. “But I was seventeen the day I stood on the deck of the Silver Ghost as we sailed out of that damn mist and into the middle of a half dozen ships to our two, because Beales and his three ships had slipped away during the night, leaving us to be slaughtered. I was seventeen when I walked onto the beach to see it stained red with the blood of old men, women and small children. I’m going nowhere. My place is right here, and Julia understands that.”

Courtland closed his eyes, Chance’s words bringing back memories he fought away every day, and Isabella’s words to him. You are her protector. Never leave her, not ever. Promise me .

“We all belong here,” Rian said quietly. “Courtland? You won’t leave, we all know that. Callie most especially. You’re her rock, you know. Her rock and, God help you, her target .”

“You just want to win the bet,” he complained, lifting his mug to attract Ivan’s attention. “And now, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to sit here and get myself very, very drunk. Does anyone care to join me?”

Chance laughed again. “Are you kidding? We’re all married, Court. Falling into a bottle is for the free and unfettered, that don’t have to answer to a wife. Enjoy yourself, this may be the last time you’ll be able to toss up your accounts in your chamber pot without abjectly apologizing between retches.”

“You’re all wrong. All of you. If none of you care for Cassandra’s happiness, I do. And that happiness doesn’t lie with a man like me.”

“A man like him. As if he has two heads, or something, and not a brain between them.” Ethan chuckled softly as he lifted his mug. “A toast, gentlemen. To Courtland Becket, one poor, deluded bastard.”

“Hear! Hear!” they all agreed, clinking their mugs together, and Courtland sank low on his spine in the wooden chair, believing the entire world, save him, gone mad.

CHAPTER FIVE

“DOMINOS?”

Eleanor Eastwood looked levelly at Cassandra, saying nothing, although her dark eyes spoke volumes.

“All right then, not dominos,” Cassandra said, knowing that look. “Chess? I’ll even magnanimously allow you to beat me.”

“I always beat you, Callie,” Eleanor reminded her. “And, before you ask, I don’t wish to play Hearts, I don’t care to read another book, hem another gown for the baby, have another slice of cake, nor will I ask you to plait my hair. What I want to do, Callie, is to scream. Loud and long.”

Poor Eleanor, confined to her bed all summer and now into the fall and winter, as well. She looked so small in the huge bed, except for the swell of her belly beneath the covers. Eleanor was, as they all said, their lady. Small-boned, regal, fragilely beautiful, but possessing a will of iron that had no one in confusion as to who was in charge of Becket Hall. That their grande dame should be hidden away upstairs, unable to quietly ride herd on all of them had to be endlessly frustrating to her.

Cassandra attempted to stifle her smile, but it was no use. Her sister was the most sensible, calm, collected person in the universe, and seeing her so agitated was almost amusing. “Oh, you sad thing. You won’t be locked up in here for much longer, will you?”

Eleanor pleated the covers with one hand as she looked up at the cut velvet canopy over her bed. “One moment more will be too much longer, Callie. Would you like to know how many roses are in this canopy? Six hundred and forty-three. And I loathe and detest every single one of them.” She sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m being such a sad complainer, aren’t I?”

“If someone put me to bed for—what is it now, seven months?—I would be much more than a sad complainer. I would be carted off to Bedlam, that madhouse in London.”