14. The Cockfields

THE COCKFIELDS

F ive days later, having written to Blackheart about the license, and with his remedy for Naomi's predicament well underway, Luke experienced a small amount of relief, even knowing his time at Milton Cottage was coming to an end. He would ensure she did not need protection even after he returned to the front.

He'd spent his days completing the more pressing repairs to the house and his nights in Naomi's arms. How had he ever lived without her?

The fates had been kind to them though, and her maid had stayed away longer than originally expected. Never in his life had he experienced such contentment.

The end of his time here was nearing, but he refused to focus on anything but her. Until the day he had to depart, he would lavish his affection on this woman—this soft, determined woman lying beside him—this woman who had captured his heart.

The two of them were currently tucked against one another in his bed like two spoons in a drawer. As the orange light of the sun crept into his chamber, he turned his head and her soft hair tickled his chin. But that he could wake up every morning to the sweet floral scent of Naomi.

"Mm…" The caress of her voice was all the encouragement he needed to slide his hands over her round belly to between her legs.

As soon as he ensured Naomi and her child's security, he would not be able to delay his departure any longer. The voice of his conscience had become increasingly annoying.

He closed his eyes, dipping his face into her hair, and imagined he heard the distant clomping sound of horses' hooves approaching.

Being with her was heaven. He skimmed his hands over her thighs, intent upon giving in to the demands of his cock. And even with the vague awareness of rolling wheels creaking along the gravel drive, heralding the imminent arrival of one or more carriages, Luke struggled to not give in to temptation.

And then, God help him, voices outside had him shooting off the bed and scrambling in search of his trousers. If he wasn't mistaken, one of the speakers sounded suspiciously familiar.

Of course, Blackheart would act most efficiently. He ought to have expected him sooner.

The sight of Naomi's startled eyes would have had him laughing if he'd not been feeling exactly the same way, rushing to drag his shirt over his head so that he could tuck it in and fasten his breeches.

Despite the situation though, he took a moment to capture her with one arm before she could locate her night rail.

"Good morning," he growled against her mouth.

"Luke," she whispered. "We can't." But she didn't pull away. She just went right on kissing him, sending tiny bursts of joy exploding in his chest. He wasn't used to this overflowing sense of satisfaction. He'd known carnal pleasure in the past, but not like this. He'd been mostly intent upon surviving then.

The pounding on the door, however, had become loud enough to be more than an annoyance. He stole one last taste and then handed over her night rail, which had been caught up along with his trousers, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Who would come so early?" Naomi was still whispering and this time, he couldn't bite back his grin as he reluctantly crossed barefoot to the door.

"I have my suspicions. Nothing for you to worry about. Don't come down until you're ready. And don't worry," he reiterated as he slipped out of the hallway and downstairs. Naomi was the type of person that would need the reminder.

When he finally unbolted and then opened the door, the face on the opposite side was precisely the one he expected. Although it seemed impossible, Luke could somehow recognize the sounds of Blackheart's carriage from halfway across England. His brother managed to fill the very air with his own brand of arrogance, and regardless of the location, Blackheart established whatever place he occupied as his personal domain.

Standing tall and straight, Luke's brother appeared languid even while he waited impatiently on Naomi's recently refurbished porch. Another uncanny ability of his.

"Lucas." It wasn't really a question, nor was it a friendly greeting. Perfectly put together—from the top of his tall black hat to the toes of his hessians—Luke's brother raised one lofty brow and then lifted the eyepiece that had once belonged to their father to scrutinize Luke's person. "I trust we are not intruding too terribly?"

"Intruding?" Lucas scoffed, finding his voice. "Since when do you wait for an invitation?"

Blackheart didn't bother answering that, and ah, hell, the duke had not come alone. Two familiar sets of eyes, the identical color of his own, peeked around his imposing figure to smile up at Luke.

And another woman, likely a hired companion, hesitated near the railing. She flicked a glance over Luke, and then back to Blackheart. Her brown eyes were warm and expressive, her lashes dark and thick.

She was almost too lovely to be a companion.

Dismissing the companion, Luke turned his attention to Lucy with a wink. Or was that Lydia? Hell, he'd been away too long.

"Did you travel all the way from Crescent Park this morning?" Luke asked, meeting his older brother's gaze.

"Of course not, silly," Lucinda chided. Definitely Lucy. "We slept at the posting inn last night."

"We expected you would be there as well," Lydia added helpfully. Pointedly.

Blackheart merely raised his other brow. Of Luke and his three siblings, their father's heir had been the only one to inherit his almost black eyes. Came in handy for a duke, Luke figured. He couldn't begin to count how many subordinates Blackheart had put in their place without having to say a single word.

Just as the blighter was attempting to do with Luke in that moment.

Luke merely grinned at his brother.

Because over the years, he had come to be mostly immune to such ducal tactics. Besides, too much time had passed since he'd seen them.

Black's eyes might have almost twinkled, but he didn't quite grin back.

Luke, however, had no such inhibitions, and when he opened his arms, both his sisters flew into them. He squeezed one with each arm and then kissed the tops of their perfectly coiffured heads. They were petite like their mother had been, but they were definitely no longer little girls.

They were young women now.

"You were supposed to come directly to Crescent Park," Lucy accused. She was the least reserved of the two.

"Why would I do that when you are perfectly content to come to me?" Luke met Blackheart's gaze over their sisters' heads. Recognizing Luke's silent questions, Blackheart nodded.

"We missed you." Lydia squeezed him tightly.

Even if Blackheart's stare hadn't shifted, Luke would have known Naomi had arrived behind him. Never before had he been so aware of another person. He affectionately unfolded his sisters from around him and turned around.

In such a short amount of time, she'd tied her silken mane into a neat knot at the back of her neck and donned the same black gown that she'd worn the day before.

To an undiscerning eye, she appeared a proper grieving widow.

But Blackheart would notice that the muslin was wrinkled and that it hadn't been completely fastened in the back. His brother likely wouldn't miss the reddened skin along the side of her neck left by Luke's unshaven whiskers.

Luke had intended to leave similar evidence between her legs that morning.

Although he had missed his family something fierce, they sure as hell could have arrived at a more convenient time.

"Naomi." Luke took her hand. "This is my brother, the Duke of Blackheart. Black, may I present to you Mrs. Naomi Gilcrest, Gil's—well, Gil's widow." He'd nearly misspoken and called her Gil's wife. It still seemed strange sometimes that he was gone.

"My condolences, Mrs. Gilcrest." Blackheart bowed over her hand. "Your husband will be missed. He was a longtime acquaintance of our family."

Luke appreciated that Blackheart acted with the utmost discretion in all things—more so in this moment than any time before.

"And my sisters, Ladies Lucinda and Lydia."

His sisters curtsied prettily, as did the woman who'd just climbed out of his bed.

Luke couldn't help but watch Naomi approvingly. Even in this late stage of her confinement, she was graceful and poised.

When the time came, he would claim her as his own.

But then Blackheart extended his free hand toward the third woman. "Violet, love."

Love?

"Allow me to introduce you, Luke. This is Violet Cockfield—my wife. The Duchess of Blackheart." Luke had never heard Blackheart speak with this level of affection. "Violet, this is my brother, Lord Major Luke Cockfield."

Luke stood momentarily speechless. The Duchess of Blackheart ? How could it be that his brother had married without so much as a word to him?

"Your wife?" Lucas repeated, incredulity lacing his voice as he stared between Blackheart and the dark-haired beauty. "When did this happen?"

"I sent word," his brother replied in a tone that was maddeningly calm, as though discussing the weather. "I can only assume my missive never caught up with you."

The cool wind swirled around them, but Lucas hardly felt it now. Married. His brother, the Duke of Blackheart, had married—and without so much as a hint of it reaching Luke's ears. He glanced at his two younger sisters, who seemed entirely unperturbed by this shocking news. Of course, they'd been in town to witness the impossible: Blackheart falling in love.

And it was a love match. The look in Black's eyes left Luke with no doubt as to that.

Luke opened his mouth, then closed it again as his astonishment quickly turned into something close to laughter. "Well, I'll be damned."

Violet, the new duchess—his brother's wife—laughed softly, the sound deep and melodic as she stepped forward, extending her hand. "My Lord Major Cockfield, it is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Lucas blinked down at her, then back at his brother, before finally taking her offered hand. He bowed over it, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Your Grace, I must confess, I've had many shocks in my life, but this… this is quite the accomplishment, even for him."

"Call me Violet," she said. "And I apologize for the surprise, but?—"

"They couldn't delay the wedding, not without knowing when you'd return." Lucinda finished for the duchess, revealing an affectionate camaraderie amongst his sisters and their brother's new wife.

"She thought he was the Marquess of Greystone's butler!" Lydia added.

Lucas laughed again. He vaguely remembered Blackheart had lost a bet to the marquess.

Even after Blackheart's startling news, Luke had to resist pulling Naomi closer.

"I should have realized the truth earlier—considering he organized everyone, including my cousin, the marquess." Violet smiled, teasing Blackheart—a married man, by God! Lucas was struck by the gentle confidence in her gaze.

"That comes as no surprise," Lucas said with a chuckle, stepping back to take in the sight of his brother once again.

Blackheart gave a small, measured sigh, though there was a spark of amusement in his eyes. "One can't excel at everything." Meaning that Blackheart did, in fact, excel at running a dukedom.

The wind rustled again, and Naomi straightened beside him. "Won't you all come in?" she said, opening the door wider. "My maid is away temporarily, but I've put some water on for tea..." She trailed off, apparently realizing what she'd just revealed.

But Blackheart responded as if all was perfectly normal. "That would be most appreciated. Perhaps Violet and my sisters could provide their assistance while I speak privately with my brother?"

Naomi looked surprised but hid it quickly enough with a welcoming smile toward the women. "But of course." She sent Luke an anxious glance and then backed up, gesturing for his family to enter. "The kitchen is this way." Naomi hugged her arms through a shiver. "Winter will be here soon enough, won't it?"

After Lucinda, Lydia, and Blackheart's duchess disappeared to the back of the house with Naomi, Luke led Blackheart into the parlor, wishing he'd taken an additional thirty seconds to at least don his boots.

His brother dropped onto the single chair, leaving the settee for Luke. Which, of course, had him sitting lower. Luke wondered if Blackheart did this intentionally, and then immediately decided that of course he had.

As if he hadn't already caught him at sixes and sevens.

Annoying, but typical.

Luke sighed, vaguely noting how the autumn sunlight filtered through the cottage's small windows, casting warm streaks across the worn wooden floors. From the kitchen came the soft sounds of laughter and the occasional clink of teacups as the ladies busied themselves preparing tea.

Luke felt compelled to provide some sort of explanation. "I arrived here intent on delivering the news, nothing more?—"

Black held up a hand. "I know the kind of man you are, so no explanations are necessary."

It was a compliment. Luke sat up straight. "I appreciate that." Later that evening, he would divulge some of what he'd learned about their childhood friend Gil. Of all the people Luke cared for, Blackheart was the last one he'd want to think poorly of Naomi. "Did you have any trouble?"

"Of course not." Blackheart scoffed. "But you and Mrs. Gilcrest will want to settle the matter tonight. And you'll need to reside in your room at the inn tonight. I spoke with Tempest the day before I received your correspondence. Both he and his mother are skeptical of Mrs. Gilcrest, but they fully intend to bring Mrs. Gilcrest into the family's fold. Lady Tempest is devastated, as you'd expect. She's consoling herself with the opportunity to have her grandchild raised at Galewick Manor."

This was precisely what Luke had initially thought would be the best for all involved. Despite Gil's nefarious behavior, Gil's mother was Naomi's child's grandmother, and Tempest, the child's uncle.

"And what of their sentiments toward Naomi?"

"As the child's mother, she'll have Tempest's protection indefinitely." Not indefinitely, but until I return, Luke amended silently. Blackheart lowered his chin. "Tempest insists all is forgiven. But Luke, you've no time to dawdle. They are on their way here now."

Luke's heart dropped.

Blackheart's arrival, then, came in the nick of time.

"I have the license." Blackheart held up a folded document and then withdrew a second one. "And this arrived at Crescent Park three days ago." He handed both to Luke. The second was, of course, Luke's deployment.

Breaking the seal, Luke skimmed the details. "I'm to report immediately." He was to attempt the same mission he'd failed to complete six weeks prior.

"I assumed as much. It's why I brought the girls along. They were upset that you failed to make visiting them a priority. You've missed a great deal."

Luke felt a stab of guilt at that. Ever since their parents' deaths, Luke had done his best to be a part of their lives whenever possible. "I am glad you brought them." He then glanced toward the kitchen, where the ladies' voices mingled, then back at his brother. "I'm still not over it," he said with a bemused smile. "You, of all people, married."

Blackheart remained quiet.

"Don't mistake me," Luke continued, shaking his head with mock astonishment. "It's not that I don't think you deserve happiness, brother. It's just…" He trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "You. Marriage. It never seemed like something you'd bother with."

Black's expression softened slightly, his gaze thoughtful as he looked out the window. "It wasn't something I planned," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "But life has a way of surprising us, does it not?" The look he shot Luke was all too knowing.

"Touché," Luke answered.

His brother's jaw ticked and his gaze held sympathy and a hint of worry. "You are certain this is the answer?" He gestured towards the license.

Luke merely nodded. Two ticks of silence, and his brother changed the subject.

"I read the report of the ambush. Something's not right there. Already, there's talk."

Of course there was. "Speculation based on nothing but rumor." But Luke didn't want to relive the details of the ambush this morning, nor was this the time to inform Blackheart of his intention to sell out. The women would return to the parlor any moment and he couldn't be certain of his brother's reaction.

"You will ensure they treat her properly until I return?" he asked instead. "Her own parents refuse to have anything to do with her."

Blackheart watched him with unblinking eyes. "It's best that she observe proper mourning. You can court her properly when the time is right."

Luke ran a hand through his hair, which no doubt was already standing on end from his mad dash out of bed.

"Tempest will ensure that she and the child lack for nothing. He's nothing like his younger brother. You know they'll be treated well," Blackheart reassured him.

The trouble was that Luke didn't simply want her well-treated, he wanted her to be cared for and coddled. And loved, by God. Preferably by himself.