Paradise Island
Charmaine Ross, author of
Daman's Angel
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 © 2013 by Charmaine Ross
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6403-5
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6403-1
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6404-3
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6404-8
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 © 123rf.com; istockphoto.com/ranplett; grafikeray
Chapter One
Dartmouth Cove, Nova Scotia. 1853.
“He is coming.”
The hollow clunk of footsteps echoed down the pier.
Estelle edged further back behind the crate some dock hands had been unloading from a merchant's ship earlier that afternoon. Ignoring her straining muscles and the discomfort of the mask that covered her face, she hastily made sure her flaming, long hair was neatly tucked beneath the black scarf she'd used to contain it. Even the fog floating from the sea and the moonless night wouldn't be enough to hide its vivid color. She made sure that Claire was hidden neatly in the darkest of shadows behind her. If the worst happened and this didn't work out, there was no way she'd sacrifice Claire.
She held a steadying breath. There was no way this was
not
going to work. They had come this far, gone to such lengths and she had waited far longer than she had ever anticipated she would need to. Now, Captain Gregory Marshall was nearly in her hands. She would need to kidnap him before his ship left port on a Navy mission in the morning. The opportunity to catch him alone, without his crew members, would not come along again for quite some time and she wasn't going to wait any more. She'd done enough of that.
He'd come back to his ship early. She'd guessed correctly that he would. She'd been closely studying him over the past week as his ship had docked and taken on supplies. He'd left his men in the comfort of the town's inn. They were going to sea for a long time, and he wanted his men in the best frame of mind â the kind that that could only be found in the arms of a woman.
Estelle nearly snorted at the thought. Men were simple. All they wanted was a toss and a tumble. Rarely did they think of the proceeds nine months after their little fling. Some of the women she'd rescued had babies by fathers they didn't know. That wasn't their fault, those were the women who had been used and abused so much that their array of children looked more like a school than a family.
This was one time when a man would face justice.
Claire stepped up close behind Estelle and peered over the other woman's shoulder. “He's a mountain, not a man,” Claire hissed, her aristocratic accent clipped.
“Don't be fooled by the width of his shoulders. He's still just a man,” Estelle replied.
The footsteps stopped close by and Estelle froze.
“You there! Come out!” Gregory Marshal's deep toned voice sliced through the fog.
Estelle swore beneath her breath. How did he know they were here? They'd lost their only advantage. She'd wanted to keep Claire safe and now their cover had been compromised. Estelle whipped the scarf from her head â it would be less of a surprise for him to see her as a woman than as a kidnapper. Gregory took another step towards them. Keeping Claire behind her back, Estelle emerged from behind the crates.
Gregory blinked wordlessly at her for a moment then seemed to remember how to use his tongue. “This is no place for a woman.”
A flare of quick anger exploded in her mind, taking control of her mouth, “Women can go wherever they would concern themselves to go.”
His lips pressed into a flat line. “This is not the safest of places. I am only worried for your wellbeing.”
“You have no cause to be,” Estelle replied. “I can take care of myself.”
Gregory stepped towards her, coming closer than she wanted him to. Still, she held her ground. She might need him as close as this anyway, so that she would not be heard when she used her song. His gaze darted to the shadows behind her and his eyes opened wide as he saw Claire hiding behind her. “Two ladies!” he exclaimed.
Estelle motioned for Claire to stand next to her, “And what did you think we were?” She readied her stance, prepared for him to try and bundle them up and take them to âsafety,' wherever he deemed that may be.
Gregory paused then held his gloved hand out to her. He clicked his heels, slightly angling his head in a formal invitation, “May I assist you and take you to a ⦠more suitable place for a lady.”
She blinked. She'd expected some manhandling, for him to use his greater strength. She hadn't expected an observation of society politeness. Moments passed before she remembered what she'd come for.
Retribution. Revenge. Him.
She concentrated on his face, filling her lungs to their limit and then letting the air release gently, singing so quietly her melody was no more than a sigh. She didn't know where the tune came from, only that it drew from somewhere deep inside. All her wants and needs combined with the song. She could almost see them swirling through the air and into the ears of the man she wished to lull to sleep.
His brows knitted as the first few notes took hold. He held a hand to his forehead and his knees sagged. He stepped sideways, trying to correct his failing balance. Struggling, his gaze rose to hers, straining against the power of her song. “You ⦠need to come with me. Too dangerous for ⦠you here.”
Estelle almost stopped her song. These were not the words she expected at all â at this stage, men she'd used her gift on usually swore. Although he was being rendered unconscious, he seemed to be concerned for them. Claire placed a hand on Estelle's shoulder, went to step around her towards Gregory, but Estelle blocked her with a hand out to the side. She mentally pulled herself together. Gregory was intelligent. She would have to be on her guard around him. Gregory Marshall was a cunning murderer, knowing what to say and when to say it. He was one of the youngest men ever to become a Navy Captain. That didn't happen without being a certain type of man. She pressed on, increasing the strength of her song.
Gregory crumpled to the ground, unconscious. She ran towards him, Claire at her side. Now she had the opportunity to study him up close instead of through a spyglass. She'd not expected him to be so handsome. A sleek, black curl fell across his forehead, the color of sin. Smooth twin slashes of brows were set above long lashes that fanned over the rugged planes of his face. Asleep, his lips were firm, full. A wholly masculine line.
His skin was a deep olive, a tanned golden hue, a testament to his time in the sun. A silvery scar trailed along his hairline, from his forehead to the lobe of his ear and Estelle wondered how he had managed to come by it.
But beneath that darkly handsome veneer lay the heart of a murderer. Estelle's sympathy crumbled and her resolution firmed. No matter how outwardly attractive he was, his heart was twice as immoral. He was going to stand trial and pay for his crimes against her and her father.
“Let's get him into the shadows and into the dingy,” Estelle said.
Claire wrapped delicate, black-clad wrists around Gregory's ankles and hoisted them either side of her slender waist. Estelle waited as Claire grappled to keep a hold of each heavy, muscular appendage, more tree trunk than leg.
“We have to be quick. We don't know when the crew will be back and Dalia won't be able to hide the
Wanderlust
for much longer,” Estelle whispered.
She hooked her black-gloved hands under his arms and hoisted Gregory onto her chest. The man might have been made from solid granite. Beneath his clothes, Estelle felt mounds of unyielding, hard muscle.
His shoulders alone were double her width and three times as thick. She was not a small woman, being the height of most average-sized men, and years at sea had honed her body into a lithe machine. She was much stronger than she had ever been in her twenty-five years, and could match most men in a fight. But this man dwarfed her. He was going to be one to watch out for. Although he was unconscious and his body pliant, she sensed a lethal power pulsing beneath the surface.
Estelle inclined her head towards the crates they had hidden behind. “Over there.”
Together they shuffled along the pier as quietly as they could. Claire's heel caught between two rough boards and she toppled backwards, taking Gregory's legs with her. They landed with a thump.
“Captain?” A voice sounded from the decks of the ship above. Estelle's heart hammered a staccato beat in her chest. They could not be found halfway through the kidnapping of a Navy Captain. Her terrified gaze locked with Claire's. Claire's sky blue eyes were round and shining. Estelle knew she was feeling it;
The Terror
, she called it.
The force of Claire's gift surged through her when she was in danger, tearing through her insides, striking hard and fast. It was a strange gift, one she had received at the mistreatment of a man's hands; her own father. But it was very useful and had put them in good stead over the years. She was always able to alert them to possible danger and they had always respected and acted on it. However useful it was though, Estelle was grateful that she wasn't the one who owned it.
“Stand firm, Claire. If we are silent he will think it is a noise of the night and will go away.”
“Captain?” It was the voice of a boy, the ship's mate. Estelle knew that if he chanced upon them, she wouldn't have a problem disarming him.
Gregory stirred and mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep. He tipped his head back and Estelle felt his shoulders strain. She willed him back to rest, her mind a whirr of swirling panic. His body relaxed and she ground out her thanks to whatever deity could hear her. The boy must have finally doubted his ears and his footsteps disappeared into silence.
Estelle slipped a vial and handkerchief from her satchel. It was embroidered with delicate lace around the outside and had her initials stitched into one corner. She ran her thumb over the tiny pink stitching, each thread a work of art, remembering a time when it was important for her to have a clean handkerchief.
Not so now. She discarded the useless thought, unplugged the bottle and emptied the fluid onto the handkerchief.
“What are you doing?” Claire's blue eyes were round with worry.
“I don't know how long my song will keep him unconscious. Besides, he'll be able to sleep off the effects when he's safely onboard the
Wanderlust
.” Estelle placed the soaked handkerchief over his mouth. He shook his head, fighting even in his state of unconsciousness, but she followed the turns of his head and soon he slumped into a deeper sleep. She threw the handkerchief into the water below.