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Overview
Bragen Alexander has spent years searching for the one whose lies about a crime could send Bragen to the gallows. But not until he encounters the fierce beauty Nichole Heatherton does finding that man become a possibility. If Nichole leads Bragen to Bodine, her ex-fiancé, he promises to bring her along on a tempestuous ocean crossing. In a masquerade that leads the two on a stormy journey, they find themselves forced to wed and to acknowledge their undeniable passion for each other.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781497635272 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 06/10/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 272 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Sue Rich lives in a peaceful little town in Northern California, where she writes historical romances while her husband raises animals. With the publication of her first novel, she received a finalist position for Best First Book in the Romance Writers of America national competition. Since then, she has written several romance novels, including The Silver Witch, Wayward Angel, and Amber.
Read an Excerpt
Charleston of the Carolinas, 1783
Bragen Alexander reined his mount to a halt on a rise overlooking the ocean. The scent of sea and kelp drifted on the breeze as he watched waves slap at the shore. It had been three years since he had crossed that ocean--three years since he'd escaped the hangman.
Clayton Cordell rode up beside him and stopped, but Clay's attention wasn't on the ocean. It was on a distant, sprawling community--Charles Town.
The wind gusted through the spruce and slapped the fringe on Bragen's buckskin shirt. The roan beneath him side-stepped with impatience. "Easy, boy," he soothed, running a hand over the animal's powerful neck. "We'll be on our way soon."
"Your horse is as eager to end this journey as I am," Cordell remarked.
Bragen smiled. For all Clay's wealth and station, he never complained. The man had been a rogue and a pirate far too long to let a few weeks in the saddle bother him. "I pray Jason was right when he said Gabriel Bodine was in Charles Town."
"Charleston." Clay shoved a lock of dark, reddish brown hair out of his eyes. "The city's residents recently changed its name. And I can't imagine why Kincaid would tell you Bodine was there and engaged to his half-sister, Nichole, if it weren't true."
"You're right, of course. And I can't blame Jason for being worried. He doesn't even know Gabe, and he's concerned over the hasty engagement."
"With good cause."
"Yes," Bragen agreed, unable to conceal the bitterness in his voice.
"Then there's no doubt Gabe's there."
"None. It's just hard for me to believe I may actually catch him this time. I've been closebefore, yet he always managed to disappear before I arrived."
Clay flashed his notorious smile. "That may have been true in the past. But not so on this occasion."
"I know." Bragen's stomach knotted with anticipation--and a trace of fear--because of what he might learn when he finally came face to face with the man he'd once called friend.
Nichole watched Gabriel as she brushed a long curl away from her cheek. His gaze was fixed on the scant bodice of her gown, the one Miss Fender had insisted she wear. The woman would stop at nothing to get Nichole married off.
With an inward sigh, Nichole returned her attention to the package she'd just received. "I can't believe it, Gabriel," she said, trying to keep her voice level. "Jason sent a gift."
"Is that so unusual, my dear? After all, he is your brother, and we are to be married soon." He smiled, but the action was forced.
Nichole peered across the small expanse of Miss Fender's stylish parlor at the stocky man who would soon be her husband--the displaced English baronet who'd courted her into making a decision she regretted but could do little about. Her guardian, Miss Fender, had given her an ultimatum: find a husband before the end of the summer, or find another home. But Nichole had no other place to go. Her parents were dead. And her half-brothers, Jason and Nick, had cast her out.
Her only hope was to marry Gabriel, the man who coveted the fortune he thought she possessed. His poor financial status was no secret among Charleston's elite. But hers was. She wasn't about to tell anyone the Heathertons' relatives, the Wentworths, had petitioned to claim her inheritance, or that the majority of her brothers' money had been spent furthering the colonial cause.
She traced the edge of the package with her finger, wishing she could tell Gabriel the truth. But she couldn't--first, because he wouldn't believe her, and second, if by some miracle he did, he'd refuse to marry her. Then how would she live? Even the allowance her brothers sent each month was a strain on their finances. She couldn't burden them by asking them to support her.
Settling her gaze on the toe of her slipper, she reflected on her childhood in England with the Heathertons. She hadn't known they weren't her real parents, but seven years ago, when she turned fifteen, they'd told her the truth of her birth. Her unwed mother, a woman of loose morals, had died during childbirth, and her uncle had ordered the midwife to get rid of the child.
The shocking news had explained so much: why the Heathertons had never believed her when she tried to tell them about their neighbor, Lord Wimpleset, and how he'd made indecent advances; why they hadn't been concerned over her governess's cruel treatment of her, or the cook's vicious slurs. After all, she was a whore's whelp, not blooded aristocracy.
Not long after the discussion with the Heathertons, she had received a letter from her real brothers, Jason and Nick Kincaid, who had learned about her existence just months before and had set out to find her. They had asked her to join them in the colonies. At the Heathertons' urging, she had done so.
When she reached the Americas, she learned the real truth about her birth and her mother. She hadn't been a woman of profession at all, but a lady of quality who'd fallen in love with a married man--Beau Kincaid, the son of a duke.
But her pleasure in learning about her real family was overshadowed. She'd just arrived in Williamsburg when she received word the Heathertons had perished in an accident.
Never having been on amicable terms with the rest of the family, who'd treated her as if she had the pox, she'd had no choice but to stay in the colonies with her brothers. Besides, she was penniless. The Heatherton relatives, Amelia and Fredrick Wentworth, had laid claim to the estate since Nichole wasn't a blood relation.
She fought tears at the memory of the only parents she'd ever known, and then addressed Gabriel's question. "Yes, I'm surprised my brother sent me a gift, Gabriel. Jason was so angry when I last saw him, I didn't think he'd ever contact me again. He sent me away because he thinks I burned down his stables."
Instead of being shocked, as she'd expected, a smirk curved one corner of Gabriel's mouth. It was apparent that he'd heard all about her misadventures--at least those that had occurred since she arrived in Charleston. The look in his eyes promised those mishaps would cease the minute they were married. "Did you set fire to them?"
"It was an accident."
Gabriel's mouth flattened into a grim line, and his fingers tightened around his thick leather belt, almost as if he considered using it on her. "How many horses did he lose?"
Nichole squirmed in her seat. "None. I managed to get them all out, but that didn't cool Jason's anger any, since he'd just built the stables. I'd never seen him so furious."
"As any man would have been. Women must understand the importance of obedience."
Now why did he have to say that? Nichole wondered, afraid of how forceful he might be once they were wed. He didn't look like a man who would beat his wife, but one never knew.
He straightened his ruffled cuff. "Did you not say you have another brother?"
Right now, she wished she didn't. The reason he had thrown her out was just as bad--and that was why she'd said so little about them to Gabriel. "Nick lives in Williamsburg."
"Why were you not sent to him rather than here, to a mere acquaintance?"
She didn't want to answer that question, so she hedged. "Miss Fender isn't an acquaintance, she's Mother Heatherton's sister. She took me in temporarily--out of a sense of duty." And she's the one who's forcing me into an unwanted marriage.
Nichole curled her fingers around the twine. She couldn't stall any longer. "And I wasn't sent to Nick's because he'd already cast me out. He thinks I sank one of his ships."
Gabriel's hazel eyes widened. "Another accident, I presume?"
She hadn't been anywhere near the docks, but she'd taken the blame to save a young cabin boy from the lash. She knew Nick wouldn't beat her, but she'd never expected him to ask her to leave. "Yes. And because of it, Nick packed me off to Jason's."
"And Jason sent you here after the stable incident," Gabriel concluded in a tired voice, brushing a piece of lint from the leg of his dove-gray breeches. He admired the shine on his buckle shoes. "You are quite a troublemaker, my dear."
Why was it so easy for people to believe her when she admitted to mischief, yet not when she told the truth? She had sworn to Jason that she hadn't started the fire in the stables. She had begged the Heathertons to believe her about Lord Wimpleset. "Yes, I suppose I am."
Gabriel knotted his fists at her insolent admission. Then he gathered himself and gestured at the parcel in her lap. "Are you going to open that?"
Nichole watched him as she untied the gift, wondering at the spark of cruelty she saw in his eyes. Then her attention drifted downward. She gave a reverent sigh when she saw a magnificent statue lying in a bed of tissue. Carved out of the finest polished ivory, a scantily dressed woman sat astride a stallion, her hair streaming behind her, her elfin features a mixture of innocence and rapscallion. Nichole knew it was how Jason envisioned her. "Isn't it lovely?"
"Well, that for certain is not what I expected from someone as wealthy as your brother--and really, my dear, do you think it appropriate for a nuptial gift?"
"I think it's wonderful," she defended, certain she'd never be able to live under the same roof with the pompous ass. Wishing she had a choice, and struggling with waves of unhappiness, she again examined the present in her lap. "Besides, the price isn't important, only the fact that my brother cared enough to send a gift at all."
Gabriel conceded, albeit without sincerity. "You are right, of course. Please forgive my momentary lapse. And I do think the piece is quite striking."
Not in the least appeased, she began riffling through the tissue.
"What are you looking for?"
"A note. Surely he sent one." Sheer paper fluttered out of the packet and to the floor, displaced by her search. "Here it is!"
Gabriel eyed the fat envelope with anticipation. "Perhaps Kincaid saw fit to include a spot of cash to offset the paltriness--er--to purchase finery for the nuptials."
Nichole clenched her teeth. The man had interest in two things, money and obedience, neither of which she could give him. Concerned about how she'd manage to survive under his control, and praying he took a mistress without delay, she opened the letter.
As she read, she reached for the gold, pearl-trimmed locket she always wore--the one that had belonged to her real mother--only then realizing she'd neglected to put it on in her haste to dress for Gabriel's unforeseen arrival. Not that that should surprise her. His unscheduled visits had ceased to upset her weeks ago. Sometimes she wondered if he wasn't expecting to find her with another caller.
She felt a well of emotions as Jason's words touched her heart. A tear slid down her cheek and dropped onto the exposed swell of her breast.
She glanced up to see Gabriel's eyes fixed on the glistening spot.
Nichole shifted. "Jason says he's sorry he sent me away, that he's always had a devil of a time with his temper." She gave her betrothed a weak smile. She herself had inherited that bothersome trait. "He didn't invite me to return to his home in Virginia, though. He's painfully stubborn. And I'm certain Samantha and the boys had something to do with his apology. They were quite distraught when he sent me to Charleston. Knowing Samantha--Jason's wife--I'm sure she made his life miserable. We were friends in London long before we became sisters-in-law."
"Another willful chit," Gabriel mumbled.
Ignoring him, she read on. "Listen to this: a friend of Jason's is going to pay a call. Must be someone important, too. He urges me to show this Bragen Alexander the utmost courtesy."
Gabriel stiffened, and she thought she saw a flash of panic in his eyes. "Good heavens," she continued, "Mr. Alexander left for Charleston the same day this package was posted. Why, that means he could arrive at any time." She came to her feet, darting a critical eye around the parlor. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, Gabriel. I really need to inform Miss Fender about Jason's friend."
She placed the statue on the mantel over the fireplace, then gave him an apologetic smile. "You can see yourself to the door, can't you?"
Without waiting for a response, she hurried from the room.
"Calm down, Hallie. And do stop that babbling," Miss Fender commanded the young servant in a sharp tone. The matron's narrow features were pinched into a perpetual scowl, most of which was due to Nichole's presence. Even her high, pointed crown of silver braids looked pinched. "Now, what is this about Mr. Bodine?"
"I seen him comin' down the stairs. And the door to Miss Nichole's room was open. Then he run out, fast as you please, like he done somethin' sneaky."
"When?"
"Right after you and the missy here dashed off to the merchant's for them fancy candles for the guests. I seen him. I did!"
Nichole watched the girl's plump brown face as she flapped her hands, though her excited revelation wouldn't mean one whit to Miss Fender. Gabriel could have set fire to Nichole's room and the woman wouldn't have cared. Besides, there was nothing of interest to him in her chamber. Nothing at all. Still ... his actions were curious. It was possible, she concluded, that he hadn't been able to find the footman, and had gone in search of his tricorn. A rather feeble concept to be sure, but she couldn't think of any other reason for him to be upstairs.
Hallie pressed her point. "I tell ya, that fella was up to no good."
Miss Fender's curveless chest puffed out in indignation. "How dare you speak of your betters in such a manner. Get out of here and get to your polishing before I take a strap to your backside. And mind your tongue. I'll not have you spreading your vicious gossip about Miss Heatherton's betrothed."
Contrite, the servant's shoulders slumped, and she gave a halfhearted curtsy. "Yes'm."
Nichole's sympathy stirred as she watched the young woman scamper out the sitting-room door. There had been no need for Miss Fender's cruel barbs. Her dislike for her hostess grew, but she forced herself to remember that the woman had given her a home ... however temporary. Feeling as dejected as Hallie, unwanted, and painfully unloved, Nichole sought her own escape. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Fender, I'd like to change before Mr. Alexander arrives."
Determined not to feel sorry for herself, Nichole hurried to her room, then scanned the chamber for signs of Gabriel's presence. The armoire doors were closed, the small four-poster bed undisturbed. The white pitcher and bowl still sat in the center of the washing stand, a clean towel draped over a bar protruding from the side.
She glanced at the mahogany bureau, noting the colorful bottles of bath scents, tins of white powder, her silver-backed brush, and her pearl-rimmed jewelry box with a gold angel on the lid, which remained closed. Nothing was out of place.
Satisfied, she summoned the only friend she'd made since coming to Charleston, her personal maid, Chelsea, a middle-aged Negress with a saucy mouth.
Through mumbles of protest about the hurried pace, Chelsea helped her bathe and slip on her chemise. The gown she planned to wear was carefully spread out on the bed. It was a silvery blue concoction that matched Nichole's eyes, with tight sleeves that ended at the elbows, then flared out with long, dripping white lace. The lace-trimmed bodice was so low, the tops of her nipples were sure to show, bringing to mind Miss Fender's suggestion of using rouge to accentuate them even more. Embarrassed by the mere thought, Nichole tugged at the ribbons on her chemise.
"Stop dat, chile," the maid reprimanded. "Now turn around so's I can stuff you into dis corset and get you into dat fancy gown."
Hating to have the breath squeezed out of her again, yet knowing Miss Fender demanded she wear the wretched whalebone, Nichole complied, quite sure that man had invented the contraption out of spite to punish women.
"Dere now. Don't dat look nice." Chelsea beamed as she lowered the satin over Nichole's cinched torso and full petticoats. "Land' sakes. If you ain't a sight with all dem golden curls and dat milky skin." She secured the laces down the back. "And I knows just da necklace to show off dat purdy bosom of yours."
Wishing the woman wasn't quite so brazen in her appraisal, Nichole placed her hands on her almost invisible waist and inspected the bottom opening of the skirt that revealed a white ruffled underskirt.
Chelsea's squeal of outrage startled her, and she spun around, satin and ruffles swirling after her.
"Dey's gone! All your beautiful baubles is gone!"
"What?" What did she mean, gone? Then her gaze flew to her flowered jewelry box. A growing uneasiness took hold. Hallie had seen Gabriel upstairs. But why would he take her jewels? It didn't make sense. Once they were married, they'd belong to him anyway. All other possessions would ... not to mention herself. Afraid to approach the dressing table, she asked in a strained voice, "Is my locket there?"
Chelsea knew how Nichole cherished her mother's necklace. She was quiet for several seconds, then shook her head, causing the end of her checkered bandanna to sway. "No, chile. Dat's gone, too."
A cry escaped before Nichole could stop it. There had to be a reasonable explanation. She'd simply go see Gabriel and ask him if he'd taken her jewels. And if so, why. It was possible he'd meant to surprise her by having them cleaned, or polished, or the mountings checked. There was absolutely no reason to get into a lather.
But deep down, she wasn't so sure. She didn't know him very well, and it was very possible she'd made another horrific mistake, which was often her wont to do. She cringed at the notion. "Chelsea, have Jobe bring the carriage around. I'm going to pay a call on Mr. Bodine."