April Moon (7 page)

“You cannot have that much set back.”

“How much is ‘that’ much?”

“Almost ten thousand pounds.”

“Ten thousand, is it? Well, such an amount will cut into the bride’s gift I plan to give you, but I suppose it can’t be helped.”

Her jaw sagged. “You have ten thousand pounds?”

“That and more.”

He couldn’t help but grin as she stared at him in speechless astonishment.

“My grandfather was something of a pirate in his day,” he admitted ruefully. “My father took to merchanting instead of piracy and built a fleet of ships. The
Seahawk
came out of our family yards. She was one of the first ships to be commissioned in our navy, you know.”

“How…How could I?”

“I’ll be going back into to the family business when I finish my naval service. I’ll have my own ship and will most likely try my hand at the China trade. Have you ever been to Cathay, lass?”

“No, I—I…”

Taking pity on her near incoherence, he brushed her mouth with his, gentler this time, and infinitely tender.

“I’ll make you a good husband, or try my
damndest to. I admit I’ve not had any experience at marriage.”

She recovered a bit at that. “Well, I have. All of London will tell you I would make you a most wretched wife.”

“All of London would be wrong.”

“You haven’t heard the tales they tell of me,” she said with a touch of desperation, determined he should know the truth. “Whispers buzz like a storm of hornets when I enter a salon or a ballroom.”

“I’ve heard what Maude has to say about you, and seen your courage under fire.”

“You’ve also seen me at my most wanton,” she reminded him, red flags staining her cheeks. “You cannot wish to marry a woman who bedded with you less than an hour after you met her.”

His laughter rang out, rich and strong. “Oh, sweeting! That above all else is exactly why I wish to marry you. I’ve never felt such hunger or burned with such desire. Nor, I’ll wager my best pair of boots, have you.”

The red in her cheeks deepened. “How can you possibly know that?”

His eyes danced. He wasn’t about to admit his considerable expertise outside the marriage bed, for all he lacked any in it.

“Suffice to say I saw the wonder in your eyes. The same wonder filled me.”

Then
and
now, although at the moment the lust Richard felt was more painful than wondrous.

“Say you’ll marry me, my lady, and sail to the far corners of the earth with me.”

Sarah looked into his blue eyes and knew her answer. He called to the wildness in her spirit, seduced her with his impossible gallantry, and fired her blood with his touch. How could she
not
sail away with him?

“Yes,” she answered with a heady recklessness that matched his, “to both propositions.”

“Good. We’ll scare up a vicar in the first port we come to. In the meantime…”

His mouth brushed hers, once, twice. Rising up on tiptoe, she wound her arms around his neck.

“In the meantime,” she echoed, the words a warm whisper against his lips, “I
do
have a reputation to live up to.”

With a wicked grin, he swept her up and carried her to his bed. Sarah caught a last glimpse of the full moon glowing outside the window before she opened her arms and welcomed him joyfully into her heart.

Dear Reader,

The characters in this book are purely fictional, but the British practice of impressing American sailors was not. An estimated 10,000 Americans were pressed into service aboard British ships. Diplomatic relations between England and the United States became so strained because of this issue that the U.S. finally declared war.

The war of 1812 is often dubbed The Forgotten War, but it produced some notable moments in history—among them Dolly Madison fleeing the White House with George Washington’s portrait mere hours before the invading British army marched into Washington and burned the city.

If you find this period in American history as fascinating as I do, you might enjoy
A Savage Beauty,
the first in my new historical series for MIRA books, now available wherever books are sold.

All my best,

Merline Lovelace

Susan King

Dear Reader,

The same gorgeous moon that shines on England one April night in 1803 pours its romantic light over Scotland, too. As Jenny Colvin races desperately over the moorland intent on saving her father from the hangman’s noose, she meets Sir Simon Lockhart—again. This time Simon is far more than the handsome rogue she kissed years before, the man whose smuggling deeds were legendary, the man who stole her heart as well as her father’s treasure, and then disappeared. Now he’s back, and even more dangerous—and he is the last man Jenny wants to meet that night.

Simon has returned with one secret and heartfelt purpose in mind—but an unexpected meeting with Jenny Colvin throws his careful plans to the winds. She is impetuous, lovely and even more desirable than he remembers, and soon Simon must decide what means more to him—a pledge of honor or a promise of the heart.

Follow Simon and Jenny through the moonlight as they hunt for treasure, encounter a legend and discover the power of love under the magic of a full Scottish moon.

Susan King

For the marvelous Murs, Merline and Miranda,
and for Cathy Maxwell, too.

T
HE HARD RHYTHM
of his boot heels matched the measure of his thundering heart. Walking the length of the Tolbooth’s stone corridor with a sure stride, black Hessians gleaming in the torchlight, Sir Simon Lockhart passed a row of small, dank cells. He noted but did not acknowledge the curious glances of a few prisoners as he continued toward the last, shadowed door.

Keep away from my daughter.

In four years, Simon had not forgotten the words that Jock Colvin had uttered to him, nor had he let go of the pain he had felt on hearing them.
Jenny Colvin will never marry a free-trading rogue. Keep away.

Well, the free-trading rogue had returned a changed man, Simon thought. He was now a baronet and Writer to the Signet, and he had lately accepted a post for one year in the region where he had grown to manhood. The smuggler was a respectable man now, and intended to woo Jenny Colvin properly, as she deserved.

Improved suitor or not, he had arrived too late. The High Sheriff of Whithorn had informed him that Jock Colvin was in residence at the Tolbooth, and sentenced to hang the next day.

Though he had given no sign of it, Simon had felt his hopes slip away, wrecked like a ship on a reef. Jock Colvin had been Simon’s mentor and friend, and Simon had looked forward to restoring that. Nor would he regain Jenny’s regard, now that her father was about to be executed by king’s men—and Simon was one of them. He knew her too well to expect forgiveness for that.

Damn fool,
he told himself, to let his own steely vein of pride keep him away so long. He should have come back earlier, should have let them know that he was well, that he dreamed of them, that he loved them despite all.

Pausing at the last door in the passageway, he peered through the iron grate that pierced the thick wood, seeing only shadows beyond. Through a tiny window across the cell, Simon glimpsed the pale glow of a full moon against a twilight sky.

Inside the cell, a tall, lanky man moved in the shadows. The torchlight in the passageway illumined his gaunt features, his eyes blue and rheumy above crinkled cheeks and a limp grayish beard. He looked old and spent, but for the spark in those eyes.

“Jock Colvin,” Simon said quietly.

Jock stared at his visitor. “Well,” he said slowly. “It’s the Laird o’ Lockhart, back from the dead.”

“Back from Edinburgh, actually,” Simon said mildly.

Jock grunted. “Four years gone, with nae farewell to those who tutored you and trusted you. At first, we thought you dead. But I see you’ve become a fine gentleman.”

“So it would seem. I’m glad to see you, Jock.”

“Another few days, you’d have missed me altogether.” Colvin came closer and poked a grimy finger through the iron bars to flick the snowy cravat that spilled over Simon’s shirt and the front of his dark blue, neatly fitted vest and jacket. “Huh. That’s good cloth—Flemish weave, I’d say. And gold buttons, too, by the de’il.” He leaned closer. “What gives you such means? Free trade along the coast somewhere? French brandy and costly laces? Nae the whisky trade, or I’d have heard about it.”

“I practice the law now,” Simon answered.

“Nahhh,” Jock growled, disbelieving.

“You knew I had a university education, on my father’s wishes. I’m a Writer to the Signet in Edinburgh. Or was, for two years. Lately I’ve accepted a new post.”

“Have you come to argue my case and set me free?”

“Your case has been argued and decided, Jock.”

“What’re you doing here, then? You didna come to chat.”

Simon paused. “I’ve just been appointed a preventive officer along the Solway coast—to this very region, actually.”

Jock laughed, a harsh explosion. “An excise man? A gauger? That’s a bitter stab indeed! The cleverest free trader I ever knew, gone like a fox down a hole for four years—now ready to hunt those who gave him board and bread when he was a lad.”

“Jock, it’s not that way—” He stopped, unable to explain how it really was. Not here. Not now.

“Do they know, Simon Lockhart? Do they know they’ve set a wolf to watch after their sheep?” Jock hissed.

“They know,” Simon said curtly.

Jock narrowed his eyes. “Then you made a devil’s bargain, to escape a hanging or prison.”

“Something like that.”

“Something like a traitor. Go away, then,” Jock growled.

“I signed a commission to patrol for illicit distillers and any who avoid paying judicious fees to the Crown for traded goods. I’m authorized to find horse thieves, too.” Simon stared hard at him.

“I ne’er took that horse,” Jock said, “but they’ll hang me for it. They’d hang me on smuggling charges if they could prove them, too.” He huffed.

“I’m told you boldly took a Connemara gray mare from the magistrate’s own stable, and sold it on a ship bound for France, and were seen doing so by witnesses.”

“Aye…’twas Angus MacSorley’s old cousin who saw me…that half-blind rapscallion. I wasna out that night at all, even if he could see past his nose. So I’m innocent. There. Now open the door, lad.” He gestured through the grille.

“I cannot do that. But when I learned of your situation, I came straightaway, though I knew you might not want to see me. Is there anything you need?”

“Aye. The key,” Jock said pragmatically.

Simon huffed a reluctant laugh. “The sheriff would not trust me with it, so soon in my new position. He knows I once ran with rogues. It’s why they were so eager to have me take this post. I know all the secrets, Jock,” he added.

“Huh. So you might. Why did you come back? To watch me hang?” He leaned close. “Or to break my daughter’s heart again?”

Simon lifted his chin and flared his nostrils in silence.

“I’m glad Jenny left before you came,” Jock said.

“She was here?” Simon asked quickly.

“Aye, and went away in tears to see me in here.
My heart broke, too, for Jenny is a fiery lass and a brave one. I havena seen her cry…since you left.”

Simon frowned. “I came back hoping to make amends.”

“Too late for amends. She’ll never forgive you what you did. Nor will I.” Jock took hold of the bars. “Laird o’ Lockhart, you listen close to me. For all the ill between us, I must ask two things of you now.”

“Aye.” Simon waited.

“Since you’re the new gauger, find the vipers that put me in here. I’m a free trader, aye, I dinna deny it. But excise men often look away when a man smuggles only to maintain his household. I’ve been a weaver most of my life, and I make scarce more than a croft hand at that, though I be an artist at the loom, and I can read and write some. I canna pay the king’s duties on my own private still. What choice but free trading in whisky and other goods?”

“It’s not whisky smuggling that put you here, Jock.”

“Nor horse thievery, either. Find who blamed me for their own crime, and I…well, I might forgive you what you did.” Jock lifted one brow.

Simon smiled faintly. “That’s a devil’s bargain. What is the second thing you want of me?”

Jock leaned close. “Keep away from my daughter.”

“Ah.” His heart slammed hard. “So your forgiveness does not extend to that matter.”

“Nor ever will. I willna forget that I found you both in a loft, and you loving her like a rascal. And I willna forget that you asked me for her hand, and I said nay.”

“I remember it very well,” Simon murmured.

“Jenny was brought up educated and refined, like her mother. She isna for a rogue like you, Lockhart, nor ever was.”

“I’m no longer in the free trade, Jock.”

“You’re still a rogue in blood and bone.”

“So are you,” Simon pointed out.

“And I wasna good enough for my sweetheart, either, though she loved me for my sins. Now, thanks to you, Jenny willna wed anyone ever, so she says. She thought to be a help to her da…until this. But I know my kinsmen will look after my lass, though they be a band o’ rogues themselves.” Jock sighed, and glanced through the tiny window. “Full moon, Lockhart. No rogues will be about on such a bright night as this.”

“I will be out there,” Simon murmured. “If you do have false accusers, Jock, I will find them.” Still, he knew very well that Colvin might be guilty. Little could be done to save Jock now, but Simon would try his utmost for his old friend—no matter what the man thought of him. “You have my word.”

“You gave me your word years back.”

Simon frowned. “I will guarantee you one thing more, Jock Colvin. I promise you that Jenny will always be safe and happy. Always,” he added in a growl.

“Good,” Jock said. “Then she willna be wi’ ye.”