Duke by Day, Rogue by Night
Katherine Bone
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2012 by Katherine L. Bone
ISBN 10: 1-4405-5743-8
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5743-9
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5744-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5744-6
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © istockphoto.com / ©talymel
This book is dedicated to my Rogue, Rebel & Rake, my husband and beloved friend.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Duke by Day, Rogue by Night
, or
Master and Commander
meets the
Scarlet Pimpernel
, is the book of my heart, dear reader. The idea for this book developed after learning a fascinating detail about Admiral Nelson. He was never without his tea. As a result, Nelson's Tea, first sons from every tier of life, men above reproach, alpha males willing to do anything to get what they want, using wit and verve to win the day, was born.
I look back on the wonderful people who've influenced my writing with great appreciation and thanks. This book was a collective effort of family, friends, critique partners and professionals in the publishing industry. No contribution was too small. No amount of encouragement underappreciated.
There are those who will never see this book: my grandparents, who instilled in me a love of education, the arts, and history. My great uncle and my father, my two greatest champions whose unfailing support, and willingness to read my very first book, fed my spirit and pushed me to keep writing when doubts crept in. And to Beverly Barton, mentor and friend, who taught me to value the choices I'd made and continued to assure me one day my ship would come in. Thank you! I will never, ever forget you and will carry your memory with me always.
I cannot go without thanking my mother, my great aunt, and my brother for their sustained faith in me. Nor my husband's family who always believed that I would succeed no matter how long it took. For this and so much more, thank you. And most of all, I offer special thanks to my wonderful children and grandchildren. I hope you now know that no dream is ever too far out of your reach.
To the Romance Writers of America, Heart of Dixie and Southern Magic Romance Writers RWA, the Beau Monde and the Hearts through History Online Chapters, I thank you for your immeasurable guidance. To Andrea Laurence, Betty Bolte, Bonnie Gardner, Cathy Stewart, Christine Glover, Danniele Worsham, Debby Giusti, Debra Webb, Heather Leonard, Jade Lee, Kate Lyon, Kimberly Lang, Linda Howard, Linda Winstead Jones, Lynn Raye Harris, Marilyn Puett, Melanie Dickerson, Patricia Preston, Pat Trainum, Renee Andrews, Rhonda Nelson, Rita Heron, and Sherry Werth, thank you for your generosity and kindness. To my critique partners, Okay, Listen Here blog buddies, and dearest friends, Cheryl Crisona, Crystal Lee, Jean Hovey, Lesia Flynn, M.V. Freeman, and Stephanie Jones, I owe a multitude of thanks that can never be repaid. Thank you!
Three fabulous authors took time away from their writing to read and provide a blurb for my book. Katharine Ashe, Shana Galen, and Michelle Beattie, I appreciate you more than you know. Thank you, Chelsea Gilmore, for helping make
Duke by Day, Rogue by Night
what it is today. Your input was priceless! Special thanks to Cheryl Ferguson for calling me when I was at the lowest of lows and lifting my spirits. I'll never forget the difference you made in my life.
And last but not least, I wouldn't be where I am today without Jennifer Lawler, Jessica Verdi, and Crimson Romance. Crimson's professionalism and kindness will never be far from my heart. Thank you for believing in me and my stories!
English Coast, 1804
Gently bred women do not disobey their fathers, but the ship beneath Constance Danbury's feet accused her of not being gently born.
Constance understood what her mission entailed. Sail to Spain and plead for her aunt's support, contrary to her father's wishes. Aunt Lydia's temperament had been equal to that of her father's years ago and, as a result, no interaction had been allowed between them since her mother's death. She had no idea if the woman was even still alive, as no communiqués had arrived to announce her death or verify her health. That she ventured out onto the sea, risking life and limb, to find her aunt was due to her uncle's insistence. Aunt Lydia was their only hope. Halfway to Spain, Constance lay in her cabin with one goal in mind, winning her aunt's favor so the Danbury name would not come to ruin.
The reality of how far her family had fallen in so short a time hit Constance full force when a shrill whistle barreled over the merchantman
Octavia
's deck. All at once, the ship recoiled and one thunderous volley after another exploded, vibrating the vessel from bow to stern. She stared wide-eyed at the ceiling above her head, willing it to hold firm, fearing its collapse. Fighting back ghastly images of her mother's death at sea proved almost too difficult a task. She knew well enough what awaited if the ship sank â a watery grave. She had borne that experience ten years earlier, survived, and found herself a motherless child as a result.
The handle on the cabin door jostled, heightening her anxiety. Hampered by the bolt she'd put in place before retiring for the night, her would-be intruder jerked the knob and thumped upon the sturdy wood with vengeance.
“Lady Constance!”
Lieutenant Guffald's voice set her into action. Constance darted to the door. The gallant officer calling her name had nearly lost favor with his captain for promising her uncle to give her safe passage to San Sebastian. Constance suppressed a shiver. Matters were most grave, if Guffald attempted to enter her cabin without waiting for her admittance. He was a gentleman, one unlike the man she was trying to escape.
Passing a terrified glance at her governess, Mrs. Mortimer, Constance opened the door. The lieutenant brushed past her, pushing his way into the cabin. He turned and hurriedly grabbed her by the shoulders, casting aside propriety.
“Pirates have drawn alongside us and have every intention to board.”
“Pirates?” The barely audible word rushed out of her mouth and the irony of the situation hit her with inescapable force.
“I've come to warn you,” the lieutenant continued. “Stay inside your cabin. Bolt the door. Admit no one inside until I return.”
Pirates.
Heaven help her, not again! What was to become of her? Of dearest Mrs. Mortimer?
The lieutenant spoke, his voice barely audible to her ears. “Mrs. Mortimer, I entrust Lady Constance into your care. I beg you â after I leave, make sure no one enters this room but me.”
“I shall do as you say, sir,” the older woman said, taking charge.
Another explosion pounded the ship. The
Octavia
listed. Constance screamed. Lieutenant Guffald wrapped his arms about her to keep her from slipping to the floor. Thankful for assistance, Constance ignored his possessive stare, and endured his overprotective embrace until the vessel righted and she could safely dislodge their sinfully entwined limbs. The man was not Lord Montgomery Burton, she told herself. She had no reason to fear him. With Grecian bone structure and thick disheveled blond hair, the lieutenant was a man prepared to sacrifice himself for duty and honor. He was a man with allegiances. A man who fought for a woman, not one lying in wait to stake his claim like that lecherous lord her father planned for her to marry. And yet there was a glint in his cerulean eyes that unnerved her.
“I must go,” he forced between clenched teeth. His grip on her upper arm tightened, belying his words. She quickly assigned his behavior to the fact that he worried for her safety.
She nodded. “Thank you for coming to warn us.”
His lip curled to one side and an odd light illuminated his eyes. Though Constance yearned to cry out in fear, to beg him to stay, she preferred the lieutenant slay the enemy before the brigands arrived at her door.
“Do not leave this room,” he reminded them, his eyes an unblinking beacon of hope. He squeezed her shoulders with lean stable fingers, bent to kiss her hand, and then headed for the door. Before exiting, he turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Double bolt the lock. Do not be tempted to escape. I will return posthaste.”
The cabin door closed with a thud and the thick scraping of the bolt gripped Constance's already fraught nerves. Mrs. Mortimer assisted her in thrusting the heavier wooden bar into place. Secure, but unsure for how long, the two women struggled to remain calm as sounds of murder and mayhem above filled their imaginings with horror.
Cannon shots whirred by the window. Eerie sounds erupted all around them. The wooden ceiling threatened to give way as cascading veils of dust floated down upon their heads, filling their nostrils with indelicate odors.
Snatching at Mrs. Mortimer's arms, Constance gazed into the governess's eyes. Instead of being reassured by the older woman's strength, however, she found their roles quickly reversed as a tear slid down Mrs. Mortimer's cheek. She hugged her traveling companion close.
They were in grave danger. How long before the enemy breached their cabin? What if pirates broke down the door and killed them both, or killed the elderly woman, saving Constance for a more horrifying ordeal? Fighting back a swoon, Constance eyed the doorway, postured like a prophetic sentinel awaiting world's end.
“I will never be able to make amends to Father now.”
“Shush, child,” Mrs. Mortimer cooed. “You heard the lieutenant. He will not allow any harm to come to us.”
No matter how long she held Morty's embrace or listened to her calm assurances, the woman who'd raised her could not ease her burdens. Memories of her birth mother jumping to her death, of long slender arms descending into the fathomless depths, unable to claw back to welcoming light, filled her with despair. She'd been deprived of a mother as a child. Was she now to be deprived of her mother's surrogate? The four walls of her cabin tapered in. It became harder and harder to breathe.
“This is my fault,” Constance suddenly blurted, gazing frantically about. “I'm being punished for refusing to wed Burton,” she cried, shivering uncontrollably.
“You are not being punished, Constance,” Mrs. Mortimer scolded.
“If only Father had given Uncle Simon time to prove he had not depleted our family funds.”
As if sensing the irony, the ship grew eerily silent. Constance's ears drummed.
“Is it over?” Mrs. Mortimer screeched.
Shouts of barbarity escalated above, more audible now that the cannon fire had ceased. Where was Captain Collins? Lieutenant Guffald? Were they still alive?
“Pirates won't stop until they've plundered this
entire
ship and everything in it,” Constance said. If no one came to their aide, what then? “They'll find us, Morty. And when they do, unspeakable things will happen. We cannot wait to be forfeited like senseless lambs. We must act.”