April Moon

MERLINE LOVELACE

spent twenty-three years in the air force, pulling tours in Vietnam, at the Pentagon and at bases all over the world. When she hung up her uniform in 1991, she decided to try her hand at writing. She’s since had more than fifty novels published, with over seven million copies of her works in print. She and her own handsome hero live in Oklahoma. They enjoy traveling and chasing little white balls around the fairways.

SUSAN KING

Former art history lecturer Susan King is the author of several acclaimed, award-winning historical romances set in Scotland. An enthusiastic researcher, Susan has handled hawks, shot longbows and caught arrows in her hand; she has interviewed a harper, a stonecarver, a swordsmith, a falconer, swordsmen, martial artists and Gypsies. She lives in Maryland with her husband, three sons and a Westie puppy. Her most recent release is
Kissing the Countess
from NAL Signet.

MIRANDA JARRETT

considers herself sublimely fortunate to have a career that combines history and happy endings, even if it’s one that’s also made her family far too regular patrons of the local pizzeria. Miranda is the author of twenty-eight historical romances, has won numerous awards for her writing and has been a three-time Romance Writers of America RITA
^®
Award finalist for best short historical romance. She loves to hear from readers at P.O. Box 1102, Paoli, PA 19301-1145, or [email protected]. For the latest news, please visit her Web site at www.Mirandajarrett.com.

SAILOR’S MOON
Merline Lovelace

LETTER TO READER

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

LETTER TO READER

WHITE FIRE
Susan King

LETTER TO READER

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

THE DEVIL’S OWN MOON
Miranda Jarrett

LETTER TO READER

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Merline Lovelace

Dear Reader,

I have two handsome nephews who are E.R. docs. They say they’re always busiest on nights when the moon is full. The strangest things seem to happen—dogs howl, tempers rise and passions rule.

Passions certainly rule in these three novellas, which all take place on one fateful April night.

I hope you enjoy them!

To Suze 1 & 2—
great friends, fun schmoozers and superb authors!

I
N THE QUIET MOMENTS
before the first shot boomed across the bow, Lady Sarah Stanton was in her cabin aboard the HMS
Linx,
preparing to take the evening meal in the officers’ mess.

Stiff-spined, she stood before the fold-down writing desk that had doubled as her dressing table during the long voyage across the Atlantic. While her maid fussed with the laces of her corset, Sarah stared through the porthole at the low-hanging April moon.

The silvery orb, which had waned to a mere slice after the
Linx
sailed from Plymouth so many weeks ago, had since waxed full again. It now glowed fat and round above the indigo sea, signaling the imminent end of the long sea voyage…and of Sarah’s reprieve.

Soon the
Linx
would drop anchor in the West Indies. Short days after that, Sarah would wed Captain Sir James Lowell, a battle-hardened veteran of the French War and master of this frigate.

A widower, James had wanted to say their vows
before they sailed from Plymouth, but Sarah had cited a desire to be married at her new home with his young daughter in attendance. She’d won that delay, but keeping him pacified during this damnable voyage had proved a good deal more difficult. She’d been forced to employ every coy, teasing skill she’d acquired during her five-year reign as The Notorious Lady S. to hold him off.

Sighing, she tugged on the curling auburn strand that fell across her bare shoulder.

The Notorious Lady S.

She was so very weary of that label! Not that she hadn’t done everything in her power to earn it. As a girl, she’d been up for every dare and madcap scrape. As a young bride married to a doting, indulgent husband three times her age, she’d set London society on its ear. As a wealthy widow, she’d plunged into the desperate search for pleasure so characteristic of the generation that had come of age during a decade of war with Napoleon.

Looking back, Sarah could scarce believe only five years had passed since she’d wed Sir Cedric Stanton. Three since the dull but exceedingly rich Ceddie had died of an inflammation of the bowels. One since she, her father and brother had run through every penny of her widow’s portion. How very long ago it all seemed now.

Yet the years ahead looked to be even longer.

And bleaker.

“There!” Maude gave the laces on the long corset a final tug. “Ye’re all trussed up, right ’n tight. Will ye be wearin’ the gold silk again to dinner?”

At the mention of the shimmering, topaz-colored gown, Sarah’s stomach clenched. Early in the voyage James had declared a decided preference for that particular dress and requested she wear it repeatedly. Sarah had soon realized he cared little for the rich color or daring décolletage. Instead, he derived intense enjoyment from the lust that crept into his officers’ faces when they feasted on the bare slopes of his intended’s breasts.

The gown had opened her eyes to how cruel the captain could become when thwarted. A shudder rippled through her at the memory of that awful night she had declined to wear the topaz silk. The cabin boy serving in the captain’s mess had smiled at her. Merely smiled. Yet James had declared him insolent, bent him across the table and whipped him viciously. The pleasure her husband-to-be had taken in the boy’s cries still turned Sarah’s stomach.

She had to force herself to remember this was the man who’d saved her father and brother from debtors’ prison. The gallant sea captain who’d returned from war so rich with prize money he’d covered their staggering gambling debts
and
Sarah’s own mountain of bills. James was handsome in his haughty way, charming when he wanted to be and
drolly amused to have gained instant fame as the one who’d won the Notorious Lady S.

If the shaky peace negotiated only last year between Britain and France had not begun to unravel…

If James hadn’t been ordered to take his 32-gun frigate back to the West Indies in preparation for the imminent resumption of hostilities…

If Sarah had spent more than a few hours in the man’s company during their whirlwind courtship before accepting his suit…

If, if, if…

Angrily, she tossed her head. When had she become such a tiresome, wretched mope? She bored even herself.

“I’ll wear the emerald silk,” she declared defiantly to Maude. “And the Norwich shawl with the—”

She broke off, frowning as a dark shadow suddenly blocked out the moon. It came up swiftly, moving with deadly stealth, and swept past the windows. She caught a glimpse, only a glimpse, of what looked like a bowsprit silhouetted against the dark sea before a cannon belched fire and a monstrous roar shattered the April night.

Maude shrieked and threw herself down. Sarah cursed and did the same. Covering her maid’s ample form with her own, she tried to gather her startled senses.

Where in God’s name had this ghost ship sprung from? Why hadn’t the watch spotted its lights and sounded the alarm? Was it manned by pirates? Or was it a French warship, signaling the end of the short-lived Peace of Amiens and outbreak of hostilities once again?

Her heart slamming against her corset stays, Sarah strained to sort through the burst of sounds coming through the louvers of her cabin door. Above the constant creak of a ship at sea and the noisy clatter of shot rolling in the wooden racks on the gun deck, she heard the thud of running feet. A confusion of shouts. A bellowed order to
man battle stations!
What felt like hours but was probably only moments dragged by before a deep voice bellowed across the open sea through a speaker’s horn.

“Ahoy,
Linx.
This is the USS
Seahawk.
Set sails and heave to or the next shot goes through your rigging.”

Sarah’s immediate reaction was indignation. How
dare
an American ship send a shot across the bows of one of his majesty’s frigates! All Europe knew the American navy was ragtag at best. Their untried crews and ships were no match for Lord Nelson’s battle-tested veterans.

Pulse hammering, she waited for James to answer this incredible impertinence with a raking broadside. But when cannons roared again moments later, the fire came from the American ship. What
sounded like a swarm of angry hornets buzzed through the
Linx
’s rigging. Spars cracked. Ropes snapped. Canvas ripped with long, screeching tears.

Sobbing, Maude buried her head under her arms. “We be dead, m’lady!”

“Not yet.” Sarah scrambled to her feet. “Stay here. I must see why we’re not returning fire.”

“No!”

Frantic, Maude caught the chemise in a pudgy fist. She’d tended to Sarah since they were both mere chits, knew all too well how the mischievous, impulsive girl had matured into a headstrong woman.

“Remember what Sir James said when we first set sail! At the first sign of trouble, you’re to hie to yer cabin and stay here.”

Sarah started to argue, but the sudden rattle of musket fire on the deck above stopped the words in her throat. She waited, every nerve screaming, until a desperate rap sounded on the cabin door.

“Lady Stanton!”

Tearing her chemise from Maude’s clammy grip, she threw on a figured silk wrapper, ducked under the low overhead beams, and rushed across the painted flooring. The paper-white face of a midshipman greeted her when she wrenched the door open.

“What’s happening, Mr. Watkins?”

“A mutiny,” the young officer got out breathlessly.

“Dear God!”

“Some of our men—we don’t know how many yet—broke into the surgeon’s stores and poured sleeping draughts into the soup pots. Half the men aboard ship, including the entire starboard watch, are lying about in a stupor.”

“That’s why the
Linx
didn’t return fire?” Sarah gasped. “Our men are incapacitated?”

“Aye, m’lady. All, it seems, except the mutineers and the officers who were about to sit down to supper. Sir James sent me to tell you he has no choice but to set sails and heave to. You’re to stay in your cabin until he settles this matter.”

Stunned, Sarah retreated inside and addressed her still cowering maid.

“Come, Maude. You must help me dress. And quickly,” she added over the shriek of creaking pulleys. The
Linx
had been cutting smartly through the moonlight sea. Within short moments, it merely rode the swells.

While Maude helped her scramble into the emerald silk, Sarah’s mind raced. If what Mr. Watkins had imparted was true, a portion of the ship’s company appeared to be in league with these American pirates. They weren’t just mutineers. They were traitors!

Contempt burned hot in her breast. England had
been at war with France for almost a decade before a shaky peace was negotiated last year. Sarah had grown from girl to woman during the war years. Since earliest childhood, it seemed, she’d listened to her father bemoaning the embargo on French brandies. As a young debutante, she’d enthusiastically embraced fashions that called for slim skirts, tiny puff sleeves and abandonment of all but the sheerest of undergarments to save wools and linens for the armies. As a young bride, she’d pleaded with Ceddie to buy her brother a commission in the army. Unfortunately, David had taken the funds her amiable husband had supplied and wagered them at the faro table instead.

Only since setting sail from Plymouth had Sarah realized the war had influenced her choice of a second husband, as well. To her shame, she suspected she’d entered into her hasty engagement to James as much because of his exemplary war record and how well he carried himself in uniform as his willingness to pay her family’s monstrous debts.

She had no sympathy—not one whit!—for scurrilous traitors. Although she deplored the enjoyment James seemed to derive from violence, she hoped he keelhauled the mutineers aboard the
Linx
!

S
HE WAS STILL
in the grip of righteous anger when the door to her cabin burst open some thirty minutes later. A tall, broad-shouldered figure ducked under
the low lintel and entered, his naked sword dripping blood.

Maude gave a squeak of fear.

Sarah lifted her chin.

Two seamen crowded into the cabin behind him. “That’s ’er,” one of them said. “Sir James’s intended.”

Sarah flicked a glance at the speaker. He wore the white canvas pants and striped jersey of the Royal Navy. One of the mutineers, obviously. Her lip curling, she turned her haughty gaze back to the swordsman.

His eyes locked with hers. A clear, startling blue, they were framed by lashes as thick and black as his wind-tossed hair. Skin weathered by sun and wind to a deep mahogany proclaimed him a sailor. The gold epaulettes on his blue uniform jacket identified him as a lieutenant.

His manner, however, was anything but gentlemanly. Eyes glinting, he surveyed her from head to foot. His gaze lingered overlong on her breasts before lifting once again to her icily defiant face.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “When I was told Lowell’s intended was aboard, I expected to find a meek little mouse.”

“Did you indeed?”

The frigid reply seemed to amuse him. His mouth curving, he issued instructions to the sailors crowd
ing his back. “Give a hand to the boarding party. Make sure every gun is secure.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

The two seamen whirled and left, adding their voices to the medley of shouts that rang in the passageways. The one they’d called captain threw a glance at Maude. The timid, still sobbing woman gave a hiccup of fright.

“Maude is my maid,” Sarah said swiftly to deflect his attention back to her. “She’s harmless.”

“Is she indeed?”

The mocking echo of her own words sent heat into Sarah’s cheeks. Eyes flashing, she stood her ground as the American lowered his sword and strolled forward. Insolently, he curled a knuckle under her chin. His gaze roamed her features with lazy thoroughness, lingered on the fiery curls framing her face.

“Lowell will have his hands full with you, won’t he, lass? Leastways until he beats you into submission.”

It was said so casually, with such careless accuracy, that Sarah gasped. Jerking away from his touch, she took a step back. Her shoulder blades pressed against the bulkhead. Her fingernails dug into her damp palms.

“Who are you?”

He sketched a small, sardonic bow. “Lieutenant
Richard Blake, master of the USS
Seahawk,
at your service. And you?”

“I am Lady Sarah Stanton. You may refer to me as Lady Stanton.”

The glint in his eyes deepened. “Well, you see, it’s like this, lass. We don’t hold with titles and such where I come from.”

Her teeth clenched. The man was deliberately provoking her. She longed to raise her arm and smack him soundly. With some effort, she refrained.

“How is it you know Sir James?”

The taunting smile left his eyes. In a single beat of her heart, the planes and angles of his face took on a hard, merciless cast.

“Lowell stopped my ship on the high seas last year and impressed twelve of my crew.”

Sarah felt little sympathy for this man
or
his crew. England was an island nation. As such, she depended on the sea for her very survival. Although volunteers formed the backbone of the Royal Navy, not enough men cared to subject themselves to years of poor food, extreme conditions and harsh discipline to man all the ships at sea. As a result, the government resorted to press gangs to fill the empty berths.

Impressment was a way of life in England, had been for more than four hundred years. Press gangs were organized into districts and placed under the
supervision of a naval captain. They roamed the slums and waterfront districts and snatched men right off the streets. Only those essential to the British maritime industry—sailmakers, shipwrights, riggers and such—were protected from being pressed, and they’d best not be caught out without their exemption papers or they, too, would find themselves at sea.

In the past decade the press gangs had been forced to double their efforts. The long years of war with Napoleon had cost many casualties and left naval vessels seriously undermanned. The only way to replace the dead or injured was to take them wherever they could be found. And to reclaim deserters who attempted to escape.