This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Cover art by Ricky Gunawan

Editing by Alexis at The Word Vagabond

Chapter One

Sunday, 15
th
December, 1861

Amy Hamilton was a good girl. She always washed her hands before meals, said her prayers, and never missed a lesson. She kept her eyes down, questions to herself, and did everything society expected of a proper young lady. In return, life delivered a mean-spirited fiancé with a controlling streak who liked to use his fists to make a point.

"It's not fair," she whispered to the little diary in her hands. A tear slid down her cheek and dropped to her thumb. She dug deep to find the courage to call off her engagement to Sir John Burke. Since that day, her appointment diary had become marred by thick black lines as social events were cancelled, or her presence was deemed no longer necessary. In the long weeks that followed, page after page sat empty.

No names.

No crossed-out lines.

No cards dropped through the letter box.

Sir John put it about that his former fiancée had been measured and found wanting. Rumours spread that she was unfit to be a noble wife, gossips speculated about her faults and tittered over the state of her maidenhood. Society found her sullied by her association with the irredeemable Cara Devon. The cad responsible for Amy's downfall carried on as usual, drinking and carousing around London while she sat at home, alone. The scorn of the
ton
pressed down on her.

Another day loomed in front of her; all those hours to fill. Having no social calls to make or receive meant she didn't have to ponder her clothing choices and arrange outfits for the day. No shopping while travelling to and fro, no hours of meaningless gossip and cucumber sandwiches. She sat alone with an open book in her lap. It should have been a relief to discard the expectations of society and do her own thing. To let her mind loose in her father's library, to read the medical textbooks he deemed inappropriate for a woman, even though he was London's most esteemed surgeon. Instead she was lost. A rudderless vessel. She wished the earth would open up and swallow her, pull her down into the depths where no one could see her.

How does Cara shrug off the gossip?
The answer came easily to her mind.
Because Cara knows who she is, and their words cannot hurt her.

The opinion of others weighed on Amy. She had no view of herself except the one they gave her. Every whispered barb and insult brought a new tear to her eyes. She did everything society expected of her, and in her hour of need they turned and attacked. Like hyenas, they laughed as they ripped her apart.

Another tear fell to the blank page.

Footsteps rattled in the hall just before her door swung open and thudded against the wall.

"Oh, miss," the maid gasped, supporting herself on the doorknob as she tried to catch her breath from running up the stairs. "There's an airship outside, landed right in the street. That one that goes pirating for Viscount Lyons."

"What?" Amy rose and rushed to the window, pulling the curtain open. She had sent a plea to Cara, asking if she could stay with her in the country and hide from the world. Her friend replied that she would send someone to fetch her immediately — Amy had assumed she meant a carriage.

Out in the street, blocking the traffic, sat the
Hellcat
. The fastest airship in Europe had a shapely woman at her prow, wooden locks flying in the wind. Steam carriages and horses came to a halt, unable to pass. As Amy watched, a man swung over the side on a rope and dropped to the pavement with feline grace.

"Oh, that's him," the maid said from behind her. "Captain Hawke, the pirate." She gave a sigh as the dashing man swaggered up the path in knee-high boots and cropped jacket, winking at the females gathering to admire him as he passed. Two men followed behind, both in plain black uniforms that echoed their captain's clothes.

"Don’t be silly," Amy replied. "He can't possibly be a pirate." Could he?

A heavy knock sounded on the front door below.

"He's come for you." The maid uttered the words on a sigh.

Amy turned; the servant gave her a look of pure envy, and she wondered what on earth the creature thought the captain was going to do to her? Kidnap her and ravish her in the sky?

"Right." She shooed the idea away as she smoothed her skirts and headed out to meet her fate. Pirate or not.

He stood in the entranceway, talking quietly to the butler. Conversation ceased as she descended the stairs, and he turned his gaze to her.

The pirate took off his hat and gave a deep bow. "Captain Lachlan Hawke, at your service, miss. Sent by Lady Lyons to escort you to Lowestoft."

He was handsome in a roguish fashion, with sun-kissed skin and the glint of gold earrings through his black hair. He had one piercing in his eyebrow, and another through the corner of his lip. Her gaze was drawn to the little silver ring.

"The lads will fetch your luggage." The full lips pulled into a smile that revealed even white teeth.

She managed to draw her attention up to his eyes and found them as black as a starless night, fathomless and inky. She gave a sigh, then realised how girlish she was behaving and dropped her gaze as a blush crept up from under her collar. His type would never look twice at a mouse like her. She really should stop reading those penny romances — they were rotting her brain. On impulse that morning she’d stashed a couple of medical textbooks among her things. Perhaps reading about the brain would halt the rot.

"Thank you, Captain Hawke." She addressed the tiled floor, not daring to look up. Her gaze caught the crates to one side and she gestured with a hand. "I also have the boxes from Liberty's that Cara requested. Perhaps we should get moving so we don't obstruct traffic for too long?"

"I should think traffic would always stop for you, Miss Hamilton," he murmured in a rich tone, with an educated clip to his words. The man's voice was coffee with a hint of chocolate.

Her blush deepened and she walked around his form, hoping he missed the colour in her cheeks. She pulled on her gloves with quick, jerky movements. No one had ever spoken to her like that before, words full of promise and flattery. What would it be like to be ravished? And what exactly did ravishing involve? The heat bloomed over her cheeks and she stepped outside. The frigid air hit her face and dispersed her embarrassment as effectively as a splash of cold water.

"If I may?" He took her hand, tucked it into his arm and led her down the path. From the corner of her eye she saw the curtains on their neighbours' houses twitching. Mrs Higgins clutched the drape with such desperation Amy was sure the fabric would separate from the rail.

For a woman who never wanted to draw attention to herself, she found a perverse pleasure in seeing the traffic blocked in the street, pedestrians gawking with open mouths, and the neighbours all huddled over the fence. They were all talking about her anyway; this would give them something new to chew over. Taken away by a pirate. If her reputation wasn't in tatters before, it certainly would be now. She may as well hitch up her skirts and expose her ankles…except she would never have the courage to be
that
daring.

The crewmen extended a metal gangway and the captain escorted her on board. Her luggage was soon loaded and the ship rose into the air, leaving behind the small minds and gossip of London. Amy wished she could leave her old self as easily and journey to a new version.

The view from the bridge was extraordinary. She stood at the polished brass rail and placed her hands on the glass. The window angled away, giving her the impression of being suspended in the sky with nothing between her and the world below. Brick terrace houses with smoking chimneys gave way to the glorious patchwork of fields and grazing farm animals.

"Don't fly away on us," the captain said from behind her. "Cara might shoot me if I lose you."

She smiled. It appeared so easy to just let go and drift on the breeze. Would all her problems flutter away? Probably not; her luck didn't work that way. She would drop like a stone to the earth and leave only an indent in the soft soil. She kept her gaze on the expanse of country laid out before her. "Don't worry, Captain Hawke, I am quite firmly grounded."

The trip was over far too soon and Amy tore herself from her position by the window to don her heavy wool coat and meet her friend. Hawke's men tied the lines to the mooring bollards sunk in the lawn with heavy cast iron rings in the tops. The gangplank swung down and she rushed toward Cara with outstretched arms.

"Oh, Cara," Amy said as the two women met and embraced. "London is just horrid, but Captain Hawke rescued me and left their curtains twitching."

Cara smiled. "Come inside to the warmth and tell me all about it."

Amy stopped and stared. Her mouth hung open as her gaze roamed the dark country house. Nightmare creatures wrapped clawed hands around the downpipes and window ledges; blackened windows made the single turret appear like a skull with sunken eye sockets hovering above the main building. "Oh good grief, it's hideous."

Cara laughed. "If you think this is bad, wait until you see the inside."

Amy turned wide eyes to her friend. "So you need my help to set fire to it?"

"That was my first reaction, too." The two friends burst into laughter and headed up the wide stairs to the warmth.

A man stood in the hall, leaning against the wall. Thick arms crossed over his chest and pulled back his jacket to reveal a pistol on one hip. He raised his head as they passed. Stubble clung to his square jaw and a hard hazel gaze ran over Amy.

She gave a shudder. "Who is that?" she whispered to Cara as they moved past.

"Jackson; he normally follows me, but when I'm stuck inside he has Nate's back."

The man radiated cold and a warning alarm rang in Amy's head. She glanced down the hall to make sure he couldn't overhear. "But he looks like a criminal."

Her friend laughed. "This isn't a monastery. Most of the men have dark pasts, but they're good souls underneath the gruff exteriors."

She gave one last look at the slouched henchman. "I don't think I want to go peering underneath that one's exterior."

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