Chapter One
May 1816
The south coast of England
The moon flickered briefly between windblownclouds, but such a thread-fine moon did no harm. Itbarely lit the men creeping down the steep headland towardthe beach, or the smuggling master controllingeverything from above.
It lightened not at all the looming house that ruled thecliffs of this part of Devon—Crag Wyvern, thefortresslike seat of the blessedly absent Earl of Wyvern.
Absent like the riding officer charged with preventingsmuggling in this area. Animal sounds—an owl, a gull, abarking fox—carried across the scrubby landscape, constantlyreporting that all was clear.
At sea, a brief flash of light announced the arrival ofthe smuggling ship. On the rocky headland, the smugglingmaster—Captain Drake, as he was called—unshieldeda lantern in a flashing pattern that meant "allclear."
All clear to land brandy, gin, tea, and lace. Delicaciesfor Englishmen who didn't care to pay extortionatetaxes. Profit for smugglers, with tea sixpence a poundabroad and selling for twenty times that in England if allthe taxes were paid.
In the nearby fishing village of Dragon's Cove, menpushed boats into the waves and began the urgent race tounload the vessel.
"Captain Drake" pulled out a spyglass to scan theEnglish Channel for other lights, other vessels. Now thatthe war against Napoleon was over, navy ships were patrollingthe coast, better equipped and manned than thecustoms boats had ever been. A navy cutter had interceptedthe last major run, seizing the whole cargo andtwenty local men, including the previous Captain Drake.
A figure slipped to sit close to him, one dressed as hewas all in dark colors, a hood covering both hair and theupper face, soot muting the pallor of the rest.
Captain Drake glanced to the side. "What are youdoing here?"
"You're shorthanded." The reply was as sotto voce asthe question.
"We've enough. Get back up to Crag Wyvern and seeto the cellars."
"No."
"Susan—"
"No, David. Maisie can handle matters from insidethe house, and Diddy has the watch. I need to be outhere."
Susan Kerslake meant it. This run had to succeed orheaven knew what would become of them all, so sheneeded to be out here with her younger brother, even ifthere was nothing much she could do.
For generations this area had flourished, with smugglingthe main enterprise under a series of strong, capableCaptain Drakes, all from the Clyst family. With MelClyst captured, tried, and transported to Botany Bay,however, chaos threatened. Other, rougher gangs weretrying to move in.
The only person in a position to be the unquestionednew Captain Drake was her brother. Though he and shewent by their mother's name of Kerslake, they were MelClyst's children and everyone knew it. It was for Davidto seize control of the Dragon's Horde gang and make aprofit, or this area would become a battleground.
He'd had to take on the role, and Susan had urged himto it, but she shivered with fear for him. He was heryounger brother, after all, and even though he was a manof twenty-four, she couldn't help trying to protect him.
The black-sailed ship on the black ocean was barelyvisible, but a light flashed again, brief as a falling star, tosay that the anchor had dropped. No sign of other shipsout there, but the dark that protected the Freetraderscould protect a navy ship as well.
She knew Captain de Root of the Anna Kasterlee wasan experienced smuggler. He'd worked with the Hordefor over a decade and had never made a slip yet. Butsmuggling was a chancy business. Mel Clyst's capturehad shown that, so she kept every sense alert.
At last her straining eyes glimpsed the boats surgingout to be loaded with packages and half-ankers of spirits.She could just detect movement on the sloping headland,which rolled like the waves of the sea as local menflowed down to the beach to unload those small boats.
They'd haul the goods up the cliff to hiding placesand packhorses. Men would carry the goods inland ontheir backs to secure places and to the middlemen who'dsend the cargo on to Bath, London, and other cities. Aweek's wages for a night's work and a bit of 'baccy andtea to take home. Many would have scraped together acoin or two to invest in the profits.
To invest in Captain Drake.
Some of the goods, as always, would be hidden in thecellars of Crag Wyvern. No Preventive officer would tryto search the home of the Earl of Wyvern, even if themad earl was dead and his successor had not yet arrivedto take charge.
His successor.
Susan was temporary housekeeper up at CragWyvern, but as soon as the new earl sent word of his arrivalshe'd be out of there. Away from here entirely. Shehad no intention of meeting Con Somerford again.
The sweetest man she'd ever known, the truest friend.
The person she'd hurt most cruelly.
Eleven years ago.
She'd only been fifteen, but it was no excuse. He'donly been fifteen, too, and without defenses. He'd beenin the army for ten of the eleven years since, however, soshe supposed he'd have defenses now.
And attacks.
She shivered in the cool night air and mined her anxietieson the scene before her. If this run was successful,she could leave.
"Come on, come on," she muttered under her breath,straining to see the first goods land on the beach. Shecould imagine the powerful thrust of the oarsmen, racingto bring the contraband in, could almost hear the mutteringexcitement of the waiting men, though it was probablyjust the wind and sea.
She and David had watched runs before. From aheight like this everything seemed so slow. She wantedto leap up and help, as if the run were a huge cart thatshe could push to make it go fasten Instead she stayedstill and silent beside her brother, like him watchful forany sign of problems.
Being in command was a lonely business.
How was she going to be able to leave David to hislonely task? He didn't need her—it was disconcertinghow quickly he'd taken to smuggling and leadership—butcould she bear to go away, to not be here beside himon a dark night, to not know immediately if anythingwent wrong?
And yet, once Con sent word he was coming, shemust.
Despite treasured summer days eleven years ago, andsweet pleasures. And wicked ones...
She realized she was sliding again under the seductivepull of might-have-beens, and fought clear to focus onthe business of the moment.
At last the first of the cargo was landing, the firstgoods were being carried up the rough slope. It wasgoing well. David had done it.
With a blown-out breath, she relaxed on the rockyground, arms around her knees, permitting herself toenjoy the rough music of waves on shingle, and the otherrough music of hundreds of busy men. She breathed inthe wind, fresh off the English Channel, and the tenseactivity all around.
Heady stuff, the Freetrade, but perilous.
"Do you know where the Preventive officer is?" sheasked in a quiet voice that wouldn't carry.
"Gifford?" David sent one of the nearby men off witha quiet command, and she saw some trouble on the cliff.A man fallen, probably. "There's a dummy ship offshorefive miles west, and with luck he and the boatmen arewatching it, ready to fish up the goods it drops into thewater."
Luck. She hated to depend on luck.
"Poor man," she said.
David turned his head toward her. "He'll get to confiscatea small cargo like Perch did under Mel. It'll lookgood to his superiors, and he'll get his cut of the value."
Lieutenant Perch had been riding officer here foryears, with an agreeable working relationship with theDragon's Horde gang. He'd recently died from fallingdown a cliff—or being pushed—and now they hadyoung, keen Lieutenant Gifford to deal with.
"Let's hope that satisfies him," Susan said.
He gave a kind of grunt. "If Gifford were a more flexibleman we could come to a permanent arrangement."
"He's honest."
"Damn nuisance. Can't you use your wiles on him? Ithink he's sweet on you."
"I don't have any wiles. I'm a starchy housekeeper."
"You'd have wiles in sackcloth." He reached out andtook her hand, his so solid and warm in the chilly night."Isn't it time you stopped working there, love? There'llbe money aplenty after this, and we can find someoneelse who's friendly to the trade to be housekeeper."
She knew it bothered him for her to be a domestic servant."Probably. But I want to find that gold."
"It'd be nice, but after this, we don't need it."
So careless, so confident. She wished she had David'scomfort with whatever happened. She wished sheweren't the sort to be always looking ahead, planning,worrying, trying to force fate....
Oh yes, she desperately wished that.
She was as she was, however, and David didn't seemto accept that she had a strange unladylike need for employment.For independence.
And there was the gold. The Horde under Mel Clysthad paid the late Earl of Wyvern for protection. Since hehadn't provided it, they wanted their money back. Shewanted that money back, but mainly to keep David safe.It would pay off the debts caused by the failed run andprovide a buffer so he wouldn't have to take so manyrisks.
She frowned down at the dark sea. Things wouldn'thave been so difficult if her mother hadn't set off to followMel to Australia, taking all the Horde's availablemoney with her. Isabelle Kerslake. Lady Belle, as sheliked to be known. A smuggler's mistress, without ascrap of shame as far as anyone could tell, and without ascrap of feeling for her two children.
Susan shook off that pointless pain and thought aboutthe gold. She glanced behind at the solid mass of CragWyvern as if that would spark a new idea about wherethe mad earl had hidden his loot. The trouble with madmen,however, was that their doings made no sense.
Automatically she scanned the upper slit windows forlights. Crag Wyvern served as a useful messaging postvisible for miles, and as a viewing post where miles ofcoast could be scanned for other warning lights. Apartfrom that, however, it had no redeeming features.
The house was only two hundred years old, but hadbeen built to look like a medieval fortress with onlyarrow-slit windows on the outside. Thank heavens therewas an inner courtyard garden, and the rooms had properwindows that looked into that, but from the outside theplace was grim.
As she turned back to the sea, the thin moon floatedout from behind clouds again, silvering the boats on thewater, lifting and bobbing with the waves. Then theclouds swept across the moon like a curtain, and a washof light drizzle blew by on the wind. She hunched, grimacing,but the rain was a blessing because it obscuredthe view even more. The sea and shore below her couldhave been deserted.
If Gifford had spotted the dummy run for what it was,and was seeking the real one, he'd need the devil's ownluck to find them tonight. Let it stay that way. He was apleasant enough young man, and she didn't want to seehim smashed at the bottom of a cliff.
Lord, but she wished she had no part of this.
Smuggling was in her blood, and she was used to lovingthese smooth runs that flowed with hot excitementthrough the darkest nights. But it wasn't a distant adventureanymore.
It was need now, and danger to the person she loved most in the world—
Was that a noise behind her?
She and David swiveled together to look back towardCrag Wyvern. She knew he too held his breath, the betterto hear a warning sound.
Nothing.
She began to relax, but then, in one high, narrow window,a candle flared into light.
"Trouble," he murmured.
She put a hand on his suddenly tense arm. "Only astranger, that candle says. Not Gifford or the military.I'll deal with it. One squeal for danger. Two if it's clear."
That was the smuggler's call—the squeal of an animalcaught in the fox's jaws or the owl's talons—and if thecry was cut off quickly, it still signaled danger.
With a squeeze to his arm for reassurance, she slid tothe side, carefully, slowly, so that when she straightenedshe wouldn't be close to Captain Drake. Then she beganto climb the rough slope, soft boots gripping the treacherousground, heart thumping, but not in a bad way..
Perhaps she was more like her brother than she caredto admit. She enjoyed being skilled and strong. She enjoyedadventure. She liked having a pistol in her belt andknowing how to use it.
As well that she had no dreams of becoming a finelady.
Or not anymore, at least.
Once, she'd been caught up in a mad, destructive desireto marry the future Earl of Wyvern---Con Somerford,she'd thought—and ended up naked with him on abeach....
She physically shook the memory away. It was toopainful to think about, especially now, when she neededa clear mind.
Heart beating faster and blood sizzling through herveins, she went up the tricky hill in a crouch, fingers tothe ground to stay low. She stretched hearing and sightin search of the stranger.
Whoever the stranger was, she'd expect him to haveentered the house. Maisie might have signaled for thattoo. But Susan had heard something up here on the headland,and so had David.
She slowed to give her senses greater chance to findthe intruder, and then she saw him. Her straining eyessaw a cloaked figure a little darker than the dark nightsky. He stood still as a statue. She could almost imaginesomeone had put a statue there, on the headland betweenthe house and the cliff.
A statue with a distinct military air. Was it LieutenantGifford after all?
She shivered, suddenly feeling the cold, damp windagainst her neck. Gifford would have soldiers with him,already spreading out along the headland. The menbringing in the cargo would be met with a round of fire,but the smugglers had their armed men too. It would turninto a bloody battle, and if David survived, the militarywould be down on the area like a plague looking forsomeone to hang for it.
Looking for Captain Drake.
Her heart was racing with panic and she stayed there,breathing as slowly as she could, forcing herself back tocontrol. Panic served no one.
If Gifford was here with troops, wouldn't he haveacted by now? She stretched every quivering sense todetect soldiers concealed in the gorse, muskets trainedtoward the beach.
After long moments she found nothing.
Soldiers weren't that good at staying quiet in thenight.
So who was it, and what was he planning to do?
Heartbeat still fast, but not with panic now, she easedforward, trying not to present a silhouette against the seaand sky behind her. The land flattened as she reached thetop, however, making it hard to crouch, making herclumsy, so some earth skittered away from beneath herfeet.
She sensed rather than saw the man turn toward her.
Time to show herself and pray.
She pulled off her hood and used it to wipe the sootaround so it would appear to be general grubbiness. Shetucked the cloth into a pocket, then stood. Eccentric tobe wandering about at night in men's clothing, but awoman could be eccentric if she wanted to, especially atwenty-six-year-old spinster of shady antecedents.
She drew her pistol out of her belt and put it into thebig pocket of her old-fashioned frock coat. She kept herhand on it as she walked up to the still and silent figure,and it was pointed forward, ready to fire.
She'd never shot anyone, but she hoped she could if itwas necessary to save David.
"Who are you?" she said at normal volume. "What isyour business here?"
She was within three feet of him, and in the deep darkshe could not make out any detail except that he was acouple of inches taller than she was, which made himabout six feet. He was hatless and his hair must be veryshort, since the brisk wind created no visible movementaround his head.
She had to capture a strand of her own hair with herfree hand to stop it blowing into her eyes.
She stared at him, wondering why he wasn't answering, wondering what to do next. But then he said, "I amthe Earl of Wyvern, so everything here is my business."In the subsequent silence, he added, "Hello, Susan."
Her heart stopped, then raced so impossibly fast thatstars danced around her vision.
Oh, Lord. Con. Here. Now.
In the middle of a run!
He'd thought smuggling exciting eleven years ago,but people changed. He'd spent most of those years as asoldier, part of the mighty fist of the king's law.
Dazed shock spiraled down to something numb, andthen she could breathe again. "How did you know it wasme?"
"What other lady would be walking the clifftop at thetime of a smugglers' run?"
She thought of denying it, but saw no point. "Whatare you going to do?"
She made herself draw the pistol, though she didn'tcock it. Heaven knew she wouldn't be able to fire it. Notat Con. "It would be awkward to have to shoot you," shesaid as firmly as she could.
Without warning, he threw himself at her. She landedhard, winded by the fall and his weight, pistol gone, hishand covering her mouth. "No squealing."
He remembered. Did he remember everything? Did heremember lying on top of her like this in pleasure? Washis body remembering ...?
He'd been so charming, so easygoing, so dear, butnow he was dark and dangerous, showing not a shred ofconcern for the lady he was squashing into hard, unforgivingearth.
"Answer me," he said.
She nodded, and he eased his hand away, but stayedover her, pressing her down.
"There's a stone digging into my back."
For a moment he didn't respond, but then he movedback and off her, grasping her wrist and pulling her toher feet before she had time to object. His hand washarder than she remembered, his strength greater. Howcould she remember so much from a summer fortnighteleven years ago?
How could she not? He'd been her first lover, and shehis, and she'd denied every scrap of feeling when she'dsent him away.
Life was full of ironies. She'd rejected Con Somerfordbecause he hadn't been the man she'd thought he was—theheir to the earldom. And here he was, earl, a darknemesis probably ready to destroy everything because ofwhat she'd done eleven years ago.
What could she do to stop him?
She remembered David's comment about femininewiles and had to fight down wild laughter. That was oneweapon that would never work on the new Earl ofWyvern.
"I heard Captain Drake was caught and transported,"he said, as if nothing of importance lay between them."Who's master smuggler now?"
"Captain Drake."
"Mel Clyst escaped?"
"The smuggling master here is always called CaptainDrake."
"Ah, I didn't know that."
"How could you?" she pointed out with deliberateharshness, in direct reaction to a weakness that threatenedto crumple her down onto the dark earth. "Youwere here for only two weeks." As coldly as possible,she added, "As an outsider."
"I got inside you, Susan."
The deliberate crudeness stole her breath.
"Where are the Preventives?" he asked
She swallowed and managed an answer. "Decoyed upthe coast a bit."
He turned to look out at the water. The sickle moonshone clear for a moment, showing a clean, strong profileand, at sea, the armada of small boats heading outfor another load.
"Looks like a smooth run, then, Come back to thehouse with me." He turned as if his word were law.
"I'd rather not." Overriding her weakness was fear, assharp as winter ice. Irrational fear, she hoped, but frantic.
He looked back at her. "Come back to the house withme, Susan."
He made no threat. She had no idea what he might bethreatening, but a breath escaped her that was close to asigh, and she followed him across the scrubby heathland.
After eleven years, Con Somerford was back, lord andmaster of all that surrounded them
Copyright © 2001 Jo Beverley Publications, Inc.. All rights reserved.