Chapter One
May 1816
The south coast of England
The moon flickered briefly between windblown clouds, but
such a thread-fine moon did no harm. It barely lit the men
creeping down the steep headland toward the beach, or the
smuggling master controlling everything from above.
It lightened not at all the looming house that ruled
the cliffs of this part of Devon—Crag Wyvern, the
fortresslike seat of the blessedly absent Earl of Wyvern.
Absent like the riding officer charged with preventing
smuggling in this area. Animal sounds—an owl, a gull, a
barking fox—carried across the scrubby landscape,
constantly reporting that all was clear.
At sea, a brief flash of light announced the arrival
of the smuggling ship. On the rocky headland, the
smuggling master—Captain Drake, as he was called—
unshielded a lantern in a flashing pattern that meant "all
clear."
All clear to land brandy, gin, tea, and lace.
Delicacies for Englishmen who didn't care to pay
extortionate taxes. Profit for smugglers, with tea
sixpence a pound abroad and selling for twenty times that
in England if all the taxes were paid.
In the nearby fishing village of Dragon's Cove, men
pushed boats into the waves and began the urgent race to
unload the vessel.
"Captain Drake" pulled out a spyglass to scan the
English Channel for other lights, other vessels. Now that
the war against Napoleon was over, navy ships were
patrolling the coast, better equipped and manned than the
customs boatshad ever been. A navy cutter had intercepted
the last major run, seizing the whole cargo and twenty
local men, including the previous Captain Drake.
A figure slipped to sit close to him, one dressed as
he was all in dark colors, a hood covering both hair and
the upper face, soot muting the pallor of the rest.
Captain Drake glanced to the side. "What are you doing
here?"
"You're shorthanded." The reply was as sotto voce as
the question.
"We've enough. Get back up to Crag Wyvern and see to
the cellars."
"No."
"Susan—"
"No, David. Maisie can handle matters from inside the
house, and Diddy has the watch. I need to be out here."
Susan Kerslake meant it. This run had to succeed or
heaven knew what would become of them all, so she needed
to be out here with her younger brother, even if there was
nothing much she could do.
For generations this area had flourished, with
smuggling the main enterprise under a series of strong,
capable Captain Drakes, all from the Clyst family. With
Mel Clyst captured, tried, and transported to Botany Bay,
however, chaos threatened. Other, rougher gangs were
trying to move in.
The only person in a position to be the unquestioned
new Captain Drake was her brother. Though he and she went
by their mother's name of Kerslake, they were Mel Clyst's
children and everyone knew it. It was for David to seize
control of the Dragon's Horde gang and make a profit, or
this area would become a battleground.
He'd had to take on the role, and Susan had urged him
to it, but she shivered with fear for him. He was her
younger brother, after all, and even though he was a man
of twenty-four, she couldn't help trying to protect him.
The black-sailed ship on the black ocean was barely
visible, but a light flashed again, brief as a falling
star, to say that the anchor had dropped. No sign of other
ships out there, but the dark that protected the
Freetraders could protect a navy ship as well.
She knew Captain de Root of the Anna Kasterlee was an
experienced smuggler. He'd worked with the Horde for over
a decade and had never made a slip yet. But smuggling was
a chancy business. Mel Clyst's capture had shown that, so
she kept every sense alert.
At last her straining eyes glimpsed the boats surging
out 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 men flowed
down to the beach to unload those small boats.
They'd haul the goods up the cliff to hiding places
and packhorses. Men would carry the goods inland on their
backs to secure places and to the middlemen who'd send the
cargo on to Bath, London, and other cities. A week's wages
for a night's work and a bit of 'baccy and tea to take
home. Many would have scraped together a coin or two to
invest in the profits.
To invest in Captain Drake.
Some of the goods, as always, would be hidden in the
cellars of Crag Wyvern. No Preventive officer would try to
search the home of the Earl of Wyvern, even if the mad
earl was dead and his successor had not yet arrived to
take charge.
His successor.
Susan was temporary housekeeper up at Crag Wyvern, but
as soon as the new earl sent word of his arrival she'd be
out of there. Away from here entirely. She had 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'd
only been fifteen, too, and without defenses. He'd been in
the army for ten of the eleven years since, however, so
she supposed he'd have defenses now.
And attacks.
She shivered in the cool night air and mined her
anxieties on 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. She
could imagine the powerful thrust of the oarsmen, racing
to bring the contraband in, could almost hear the
muttering excitement of the waiting men, though it was
probably just the wind and sea.
She and David had watched runs before. From a height
like this everything seemed so slow. She wanted to leap up
and help, as if the run were a huge cart that she could
push to make it go fasten Instead she stayed still and
silent beside her brother, like him watchful for any sign
of problems.
Being in command was a lonely business.
How was she going to be able to leave David to his
lonely task? He didn't need her—it was disconcerting how
quickly he'd taken to smuggling and leadership—but could
she bear to go away, to not be here beside him on a dark
night, to not know immediately if anything went wrong?
And yet, once Con sent word he was coming, she must.
Despite treasured summer days eleven years ago, and
sweet pleasures. And wicked ones...
She realized she was sliding again under the seductive
pull of might-have-beens, and fought clear to focus on the
business of the moment.
At last the first of the cargo was landing, the first
goods were being carried up the rough slope. It was going
well. David had done it.
With a blown-out breath, she relaxed on the rocky
ground, arms around her knees, permitting herself to enjoy
the rough music of waves on shingle, and the other rough
music of hundreds of busy men. She breathed in the wind,
fresh off the English Channel, and the tense activity all
around.
Heady stuff, the Freetrade, but perilous.
"Do you know where the Preventive officer is?" she
asked in a quiet voice that wouldn't carry.
"Gifford?" David sent one of the nearby men off with a
quiet command, and she saw some trouble on the cliff. A
man fallen, probably. "There's a dummy ship offshore five
miles west, and with luck he and the boatmen are watching
it, ready to fish up the goods it drops into the water."
Luck. She hated to depend on luck.
"Poor man," she said.
David turned his head toward her. "He'll get to
confiscate a small cargo like Perch did under Mel. It'll
look good to his superiors, and he'll get his cut of the
value."
Lieutenant Perch had been riding officer here for
years, with an agreeable working relationship with the
Dragon's Horde gang. He'd recently died from falling down
a cliff—or being pushed—and now they had young, 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
flexible man we could come to a permanent arrangement."
"He's honest."
"Damn nuisance. Can't you use your wiles on him? I
think 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 and
took her hand, his so solid and warm in the chilly
night. "Isn't it time you stopped working there, love?
There'll be money aplenty after this, and we can find
someone else 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's
comfort with whatever happened. She wished she weren'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 seem to
accept that she had a strange unladylike need for
employment. For independence.
And there was the gold. The Horde under Mel Clyst had
paid the late Earl of Wyvern for protection. Since he
hadn't provided it, they wanted their money back. She
wanted that money back, but mainly to keep David safe. It
would pay off the debts caused by the failed run and
provide a buffer so he wouldn't have to take so many
risks.
She frowned down at the dark sea. Things wouldn't have
been so difficult if her mother hadn't set off to follow
Mel to Australia, taking all the Horde's available money
with her. Isabelle Kerslake. Lady Belle, as she liked to
be known. A smuggler's mistress, without a scrap of shame
as far as anyone could tell, and without a scrap of
feeling for her two children.
Susan shook off that pointless pain and thought about
the gold. She glanced behind at the solid mass of Crag
Wyvern as if that would spark a new idea about where the
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 for
lights. Crag Wyvern served as a useful messaging post
visible for miles, and as a viewing post where miles of
coast could be scanned for other warning lights. Apart
from that, however, it had no redeeming features.
The house was only two hundred years old, but had been
built to look like a medieval fortress with only arrow-
slit windows on the outside. Thank heavens there was an
inner courtyard garden, and the rooms had proper windows
that looked into that, but from the outside the place was
grim.
As she turned back to the sea, the thin moon floated
out from behind clouds again, silvering the boats on the
water, lifting and bobbing with the waves. Then the clouds
swept across the moon like a curtain, and a wash of light
drizzle blew by on the wind. She hunched, grimacing, but
the rain was a blessing because it obscured the view even
more. The sea and shore below her could have 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 own
luck to find them tonight. Let it stay that way. He was a
pleasant enough young man, and she didn't want to see him
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 loving
these smooth runs that flowed with hot excitement through
the darkest nights. But it wasn't a distant adventure
anymore.
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 toward
Crag Wyvern. She knew he too held his breath, the better
to 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 a
stranger, 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 animal
caught in the fox's jaws or the owl's talons—and if the
cry was cut off quickly, it still signaled danger.
With a squeeze to his arm for reassurance, she slid to
the side, carefully, slowly, so that when she straightened
she wouldn't be close to Captain Drake. Then she began to
climb the rough slope, soft boots gripping the treacherous
ground, heart thumping, but not in a bad way..
Perhaps she was more like her brother than she cared
to admit. She enjoyed being skilled and strong. She
enjoyed adventure. She liked having a pistol in her belt
and knowing how to use it.
As well that she had no dreams of becoming a fine
lady.
Or not anymore, at least.
Once, she'd been caught up in a mad, destructive
desire to marry the future Earl of Wyvern---Con Somerford,
she'd thought—and ended up naked with him on a beach....
She physically shook the memory away. It was too
painful to think about, especially now, when she needed a
clear mind.
Heart beating faster and blood sizzling through her
veins, she went up the tricky hill in a crouch, fingers to
the ground to stay low. She stretched hearing and sight in
search of the stranger.
Whoever the stranger was, she'd expect him to have
entered the house. Maisie might have signaled for that
too. But Susan had heard something up here on the
headland, and so had David.
She slowed to give her senses greater chance to find
the intruder, and then she saw him. Her straining eyes saw
a cloaked figure a little darker than the dark night sky.
He stood still as a statue. She could almost imagine
someone had put a statue there, on the headland between
the house and the cliff.
A statue with a distinct military air. Was it
Lieutenant Gifford after all?
She shivered, suddenly feeling the cold, damp wind
against her neck. Gifford would have soldiers with him,
already spreading out along the headland. The men bringing
in the cargo would be met with a round of fire, but the
smugglers had their armed men too. It would turn into a
bloody battle, and if David survived, the military would
be down on the area like a plague looking for someone 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 to
control. Panic served no one.
If Gifford was here with troops, wouldn't he have
acted by now? She stretched every quivering sense to
detect soldiers concealed in the gorse, muskets trained
toward the beach.
After long moments she found nothing.
Soldiers weren't that good at staying quiet in the
night.
So who was it, and what was he planning to do?
Heartbeat still fast, but not with panic now, she
eased forward, trying not to present a silhouette against
the sea and sky behind her. The land flattened as she
reached the top, however, making it hard to crouch, making
her clumsy, so some earth skittered away from beneath her
feet.
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 soot
around so it would appear to be general grubbiness. She
tucked the cloth into a pocket, then stood. Eccentric to
be wandering about at night in men's clothing, but a woman
could be eccentric if she wanted to, especially a twenty-
six-year-old spinster of shady antecedents.
She drew her pistol out of her belt and put it into
the big pocket of her old-fashioned frock coat. She kept
her hand 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 it
was necessary to save David.
"Who are you?" she said at normal volume. "What is
your business here?"
She was within three feet of him, and in the deep dark
she could not make out any detail except that he was a
couple of inches taller than she was, which made him about
six feet. He was hatless and his hair must be very short,
since the brisk wind created no visible movement around
his head.
She had to capture a strand of her own hair with her
free 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 am the
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 that
stars 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 a
soldier, part of the mighty fist of the king's law.
Dazed shock spiraled down to something numb, and then
she could breathe again. "How did you know it was me?"
"What other lady would be walking the clifftop at the
time of a smugglers' run?"
She thought of denying it, but saw no point. "What are
you going to do?"
She made herself draw the pistol, though she didn't
cock it. Heaven knew she wouldn't be able to fire it. Not
at Con. "It would be awkward to have to shoot you," she
said as firmly as she could.
Without warning, he threw himself at her. She landed
hard, winded by the fall and his weight, pistol gone, his
hand covering her mouth. "No squealing."
He remembered. Did he remember everything? Did he
remember lying on top of her like this in pleasure? Was
his body remembering ...?
He'd been so charming, so easygoing, so dear, but now
he was dark and dangerous, showing not a shred of concern
for the lady he was squashing into hard, unforgiving
earth.
"Answer me," he said.
She nodded, and he eased his hand away, but stayed
over her, pressing her down.
"There's a stone digging into my back."
For a moment he didn't respond, but then he moved back
and off her, grasping her wrist and pulling her to her
feet before she had time to object. His hand was harder
than she remembered, his strength greater. How could she
remember so much from a summer fortnight eleven years ago?
How could she not? He'd been her first lover, and she
his, and she'd denied every scrap of feeling when she'd
sent him away.
Life was full of ironies. She'd rejected Con Somerford
because he hadn't been the man she'd thought he was—the
heir to the earldom. And here he was, earl, a dark nemesis
probably ready to destroy everything because of what she'd
done eleven years ago.
What could she do to stop him?
She remembered David's comment about feminine wiles
and had to fight down wild laughter. That was one weapon
that would never work on the new Earl of Wyvern.
"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 Captain
Drake."
"Ah, I didn't know that."
"How could you?" she pointed out with deliberate
harshness, in direct reaction to a weakness that
threatened to crumple her down onto the dark earth. "You
were 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 up the
coast a bit."
He turned to look out at the water. The sickle moon
shone clear for a moment, showing a clean, strong profile
and, at sea, the armada of small boats heading out for
another load.
"Looks like a smooth run, then, Come back to the house
with me." He turned as if his word were law.
"I'd rather not." Overriding her weakness was fear, as
sharp as winter ice. Irrational fear, she hoped, but
frantic.
He looked back at her. "Come back to the house with
me, Susan."
He made no threat. She had no idea what he might be
threatening, but a breath escaped her that was close to a
sigh, and she followed him across the scrubby heathland.
After eleven years, Con Somerford was back, lord and
master of all that surrounded them