Sea of Desire Read online

  Sea of Desire

  Christine Dorsey

  With love to my second son Chris,

  for his dedication and passion.

  And as always, to Chip

  First published by ZEBRA BOOKS

  Copyright 1993 by Christine Dorsey

  Digitally published by Christine Dorsey at Smashwords, 2012

  Cover Design by Hot Damn Designs

  Ebook Design by A Thirsty Mind

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Reader Letter

  Excerpt: Sea of Temptation

  Titles

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “I cannot but lament... the impending Calamities Britain and her Colonies are about to suffer... Passion governs, and she never governs wisely...”

  — Benjamin Franklin

  February 5, 1775

  Land’s End, England

  Late Summer, 1777

  A storm was coming.

  Merideth Banistar shivered beneath her scarlet cape. Taking a deep breath of sea-scented air, she wrapped the folds more tightly about her body. She stood on a granite ledge overlooking the inlet. When the midday sun burned off the mist she could see for miles across the channel below, but tonight, with even the moon obscured by rain-heavy clouds, darkness enshrouded her. Only the incessant pounding of the surf told of the beach below.

  But she hadn’t come here for the view. She’d come escape. Her father’s anger. The uncomfortable naggings of her own conscience.

  Could her father be right? Was she dooming them both because of her stubborn refusal to accept Lord Chadwell’s proposal? Merideth swallowed, remembering the rheumy eyes and warted nose of the elderly earl. His skin was parchment thin, and when he spoke to her his breath smelled of soured wine.

  Yet, as her father was quick to point out, he seemed kind. He had that to recommend him... that and his fortune.

  Merideth sighed, the sound caught by a gust of moisture-laden air and carried toward the looming house behind her.

  Banistar Hall. It had been in her family for generations, ever since Charles II awarded the windswept land at the ends of the earth to Richard Banistar in 1665. And they, she and her father, were going to lose it.

  Because she couldn’t... or wouldn’t... make a suitable match.

  Lord Chadwell was their last chance, according to her father. So yesterday when Merideth stated her refusal to accept him, Alfred Banistar declared all hope gone. And through most of the day and evening placed the fault for their near-impoverishment squarely on Merideth’s shoulders.

  The wind whipped about her, tugging at her velvet hem and freeing strands of wildly curling golden hair from beneath her hood. But she refused to accept the blame for their problems. “I won’t,” she yelled into the face of the storm.

  As if in response, the sky crackled, flaring the darkness with a sizzle of white lightning.

  And in that instant Merideth’s heart leaped to her throat.

  For the split second of brilliance revealed a man on the beach below. The flash of’ light caught him bounding from a small boat into the ebb tide, his movements registering raw power. Like herself he was wrapped in a cloak, though his was black as sin and enfolded a form both tall and large of frame.

  Merideth stood frozen, like the imprint of the man on her mind, as night again enveloped her. Shaking her head, she tried to convince herself that imagination was playing her for a fool. There was no logical reason for anyone to risk coming ashore mid the rocks below—not in the dark of night. At least no licit reason.

  The hair at Merideth’s nape bristled as another streak of lightning seared the sky. The man was gone. The boat, now pulled onto the shore, was not. This was no apparition. His presence was as real as the pistol he held.

  Her heart pounding, Merideth grabbed up her skirts and ran toward the twinkling lights behind her. By the time she reached the garden, huge raindrops pelted her cloak, soaking through to her gown, wetting her hair and face.

  The storm was upon her.

  Chapter One

  Nothing was as he’d expected.

  Jared Blackstone paced across the threadbare Aubusson rug, past the empty bookshelves, then turned back to face the traitor. No, not traitor. Informant. Jared had to remember not to let his prejudice be obvious. The Americans, his countrymen, needed the information this man could give.

  Forcing the scowl from his dark features, Jared settled into the leather chair opposite Alfred Banistar and watched as the older man squirmed.

  Alfred cleared his throat nervously and brushed his hand over his ruffled cuff. “You have the money with you?”

  “Aye.”

  Nodding once, Alfred rose and moved toward his ornately carved desk—one of the few pieces of furniture in the room. After jerking the top from a crystal decanter, he splashed amber liquid into a glass. “Madeira?” he asked, and downed the contents quickly when Jared declined.

  Feeling a bit more himself, Alfred poured another portion, his hand a little steadier, and resumed his seat. “I didn’t expect you this night, not with the storm.”

  Wind-lashed rain pelted the tall casement windows and Jared wondered himself why he had chanced coming ashore tonight. The only reason he could come up with was that he wanted to put this task behind him. Meeting with a British spy did not sit well. Jared was much happier commanding the privateer Carolina then delving into the world of intrigue. If not for the plea from his cousin Daniel Wallis, Jared would be harassing British shipping on the high seas, not sitting in the run-down library of an English lord.

  “I hope your surprise in seeing me doesn’t mean you don’t have the information,” Jared began. “Because if it does—”

  “No! No. Never fear.” Alfred licked his thin lips. “I’ve the name you wish.”

  “And proof of his betrayal?”

  “Yes.” He pulled a lace handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and dabbed at his brow. “I’ve all the proof you’ll need.”

  “Then, may I suggest we get on with this? I don’t wish to—”

  “Papa! Oh, thank God!” Merideth Banistar rushed into the library, heading straight for her father. She stopped short when she spied Jared Blackstone. Instinctively she turned on the stranger, who now stood looming over her. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

  “Daughter.” Alfred’s voice was tight. “That’s no way to speak to a guest. Apologize straight away.”

  Merideth ignored his reproach. She’d run through the storm, breathlessly racing into the house, only to have to
search through rooms until finding her father. Her heart pounded and she fought back fear. “He came ashore,” Merideth said, keeping her eyes on the stranger. She was certain it was the same man, though he seemed even larger and more formidable at close range. “He beached a small boat below the cliffs.” Merideth steeled herself. “And he has a pistol.”

  Jared stared down at the woman. He hadn’t followed his first impulse and pulled the gun when she’d rushed into the room. He couldn’t be sure this prearranged meeting with Banistar wasn’t a trap. But the pistol, though it was primed, was still hidden beneath his waistcoat, nestled in a pocket next to the gold.

  “Nonsense, Merry. Mr. Blackstone is a friend of mine from London. He’s from my club.” Alfred draped an arm around his daughter’s damp shoulders. An arm that she immediately shrugged off.

  “So you owe him money, then,” Merideth stated, not that she necessarily believed her father. She knew some of his gambling and drinking friends, and Mr. Blackstone didn’t seem the type at all. He looked hard and dangerous, dressed in clothes as black as his raven-wing hair.

  “Daughter, you forget yourself.” Alfred spoke loudly, yet his voice lacked conviction.

  But Merideth’s didn’t as she turned on him. “Perhaps you forget that I know of our circumstances.” Whirling back toward Jared, the hem of her wet cloak swirling out, Merideth faced the stranger. “We have no money. As you can see, we have almost nothing of value either.” Her hand arced out to indicate the barrenness of the room. “It will do you no good to threaten my father.”

  She angled her chin higher and Jared felt the corner of his mouth twitch. The chit acted as if she could protect her traitor of a father from him, and her looking as if she weighed less than eight stone, soaking wet. Which she was. Water dripped from the tip of her impudent nose and trailed down through the tangled ringlets.

  He had half a mind to tell her exactly why he was here, and that it most likely was none of her concern, but Lord Alfred was babbling on about his being a friend, chatter that his daughter was totally ignoring. Jared shrugged. “I am here neither to collect money from your father nor to threaten him.”

  Lightning flashed, amplifying the brightness from the branch of candles on the desk, moments before thunder shook the panes. Alfred cut short his explanation and Merideth only stared. The stranger’s voice was low and firm, oddly believable coming from a man such as he.

  “Then why are you here?” Merideth didn’t know why she bothered to ask, except that for some reason she thought if he lied she would know. He didn’t give her the opportunity to test her theory.

  “My business is with your father, but rest assured it has naught to do with collecting money.”

  “There, you see,” Alfred said, pulling Merideth’s gaze slowly away from the stranger. “You blustered about for nothing. Mr. Blackstone is a friend of mine.”

  “Friends don’t come sneaking ashore in the dead of night brandishing a pistol,” Merideth pointed out. She was far from convinced that the stranger was harmless. One had only to look at him to know different.

  “That will do, Merry. Mr. Blackstone is our guest, and, as such, he deserves our courtesy. Something I’ve ignored too long.” Alfred moved to the door and gave the frayed bell cord a yank. “I’ll have Thurston show you to your room.”

  “That’s not necessary. If we could simply conclude our business, I can leave.”

  “Nonsense. The weather is frightful, and, besides, now is not the time to discuss our concerns.” Alfred’s eyes rolled ever so slightly toward his daughter, who still studied Jared as if by staring she could detect what he was doing in her house.

  Jared came close to demanding they proceed with the exchange—coin for information—as planned. Send the chit from the room if necessary. But he hesitated. Something about Lord Alfred touched a chord of sympathy within him. Jared was prepared to despise the man for his traitorous ways, but found he couldn’t quite summon that emotion. And Lord Alfred seemingly wanted his daughter to know nothing of Jared’s real reason for being here.

  In the end Jared shrugged and followed the aged servant when he appeared.

  “Give Thurston your waistcoat and he’ll dry it by the fire. It doesn’t do to be wet when there’s a chill in the air,” Alfred said.

  Jared paused beneath the corniced doorway. His eyes slipped over the woman, from the tip of her dripping head to the small puddle beneath her square-toed shoes. “Perhaps you should see to your daughter’s needs before her frolic in the rain leads to illness.”

  “I was not frolicking,” Merideth shot back, but the stranger was already behind the heavy mahogany door and thus insulated from her words.

  Merideth stood still, staring at the spot where she’d last seen the infuriating man and fighting to control her shivering. It was only now, after he had left, that she realized how chilly the room, with its meager fire, was. During his last survey of her, Merideth had actually forgotten how wet and cold she was.

  Casting that foolishness aside as quickly as she shed her cloak, Merideth moved to the fireplace and spread her hands toward the flickering flames. With a sigh she glanced over her shoulders. “Now are you going to tell me the truth?”

  “Mer-ry.” Her father drew her name out in the beseeching way he’d used for years, the way she used to find so comical as a child. Tonight she only found it annoying.

  “I know this has something to do with money. It always does. You said the sale of Mother’s jewelry paid off the most pressing of your debts.” Merideth fingered the gold locket at her throat—the piece was one of the few saved from the factor’s sale—and wondered why she’d been naive enough to believe him.

  “For the last time, Mr. Blackstone is not here to collect money.” Alfred’s demeanor changed quickly from cajoling to vexed. “Besides, we both know lack of coin wouldn’t be a problem if you’d accept Lord Chadwell’s proposal.”

  Anger coursed through her veins. She turned in time to see her father gulp down his glass of wine and reach to replenish it. There were so many things she could say, starting with an admonishment to stay sober. But that never did much good. It was as futile as pleading with him to curb his gambling. He would promise, and in his heart, Merideth believed, he was sincere. But her father could keep his addictions at bay for just so long.

  Now they were in such dire financial straits that their only salvation was for Merideth to marry a man older than her father.

  Slowly, trying to contain her anger and suppress words that would do neither of them any good, Merideth gathered up her cloak and headed for the doorway.

  “Merrryyy...”

  Her father’s voice drifted after her, but Merideth ignored it as she crossed the cavernous great hall and headed for the servants’ dining room.

  Thurston and his niece, a woman as rotund as the old servant was spare, were huddled close to the peat-fed fire, their gray heads bent in gossip. Neither bothered to rise when Merideth entered, though they both jerked around in their seats when she spoke.

  “Where did you put our guest, Thurston?” Merideth saw no reason to add to their speculation about Mr. Blackstone by referring to him in any other way. As servants, Thurston and Belinda were lacking, but they were two of only a handful of retainers who remained at Banistar Hall.

  “In the king’s room, your Ladyship,” Thurston replied, wrapping his gnarled fingers about the stem of his clay pipe.

  “It weren’t cleaned,” Belinda added, settling her wide bottom more comfortably in her chair. “I didn’t get no warning that we’d be having a guest.”

  “That’s fine, Belinda.” Merideth turned to leave, but stopped to drape her cloak over the back of a chair. She noticed Mr. Blackstone’s was across another, presumably to dry by the fire.

  As Merideth climbed the broad staircase, she considered going to her own room first. Chances of there being a fire in the grate were slight, but she could at least change into a fresh gown before facing the stranger. And perhaps towel-dry her hair.
While one hand trailed along the ornately carved banister, Merideth used the other to brush damp curls from her face.

  It would be a relief to be dry and warm. But then it would be even more of a relief to know the truth of Mr. Blackstone’s visit. With a sigh of determination she turned down the long, dark hallway leading to the king’s room.

  She paused before rapping on the heavy, paneled door, wondering whether their guest was impressed when informed he would stay in a room once frequented by James II. Merideth had no doubts that Thurston had related the story to Mr. Blackstone as he’d led him toward the room. If there was one thing Thurston could be counted on to do, it was act as the Hall’s historian.

  What a shock it must have been to hear of the room’s grand past and then see it like it was today, stripped nearly bare of anything that could command a price. Perhaps Mr. Blackstone wasn’t surprised. After all, he had seen the library.

  Merideth knocked on the door, deciding she didn’t care in the least about Mr. Blackstone’s observations. He was an unneeded annoyance at the very least, and more likely a dangerous threat.

  In answer to his summons, Merideth entered the room. He stood by the tall window, silhouetted by a dazzling burst of lightning. The clap of thunder drowned out the sound of Merideth shutting the door behind her.

  The stranger stood still, watching her for a moment before a sardonic smile curved his full lips. “Ah, Merry is it? Have you come to see to my comforts?”

  “Hardly.” Merideth’s chin notched higher. “I’ve come to discuss something with you. And to make you an offer.” Despite herself Merideth was drawn to the hearth, where someone, she assumed Mr. Blackstone, had built a roaring fire.

  “An offer?” Jared left his post at the window and moved toward the two chairs grouped in front of the hearth. His gaze roamed over the damp gown that clung to Merideth Banistar’s slender frame. His voice was smooth and suggestive. “What might that be, I wonder?”

  He was arrogant as well as vile, and Merideth had no trouble believing he was sent by some of her father’s dandified acquaintances to extract money from him. Doing her best to ignore his stare, Merideth seated herself in one of the tapestry-covered chairs. With a shrug the stranger sat in the other.