Miss Marleigh's Pirate Lord (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 1)

by Mindy Burbidge Strunk

  Miss Marleigh’s Pirate Lord

  Regency House Party: Brighton

  Mindy Burbidge Strunk

  Other books by Mindy Burbidge Strunk

  Mistaken Identity

  An American in Duke’s Clothing

  Reforming the Gambler

  Copyright © 2019 by Mindy Burbidge Strunk

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes, but any resemblance to actual people-living or dead, to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locals are coincidental.

  Introduction

  This is part of a series of five books, all of which take place at the same Brighton house party. All of the books stand alone and can be read in any order.

  Miss Marleigh’s Pirate Lord

  The Vexatious Widow

  Charmed by His Lordship

  The Captain’s Lady

  The Marriage Bargain

  Acknowledgments

  To Jenny Proctor, my fabulous editor who helps me with my comma addiction and gives great insight when I have used all of mine up.

  For my great Regency House Party Chicks: Dickens, Heyer, Bronte and Austen! I didn’t know what I was missing before I found you guys. You keep me up in a business that easily gets you down and you’re always there to make me laugh. You are truly some of my best friends!

  To my beta readers and proof-readers: Kim Ball and Patti Knowlton many thanks for all your help.

  To my great ARC team. Thank you for all you do to help me be successful! I couldn’t do it without you guys.

  And last and most importantly, for my boys. Thanks for not complaining when you were out of clean clothes or got pizza for dinner…again. For reading over my shoulder and telling me you thought my story sounded ‘really good.’ And for encouraging me—telling me I ‘made a good job choice to become an author.’ I love you, tons! Especially to Christopher for supporting and helping me push through when it just felt too hard. For seeing I had the tools I needed to make me successful. You are my greatest cheerleader! I couldn’t do this without your support! LY

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  A clanging pounded through Alexander Bellingham's skull. What was that infernal racket? He licked his lips, tasting salt in his beard and mustache. Cracking an eye open, he saw only blue sky above him.

  Where the devil was he? He pushed himself to sitting, crying out when a hot, searing pain shot from his shoulder down his left arm. He fell back, the pain in his head dulling in comparison. Alex turned his head and saw his blood-soaked shirt, a new bright red patch forming as he watched.

  His mind spun. What had happened? He recognized the dinghy he was laying in as the one which had been tethered to his ship, the Destiny. How did it become detached and he inside it?

  “Andrews, what the devil are you doing in my cabin?”

  Andrews shifted and Alex could see the hand Andrews was hiding behind his back in the mirror.

  “And what is that you are hiding?”

  Andrews pulled his hand forward, gripping a stack of papers tightly in his fist. “I could ask the same of you, Cap’n. I always knew something was amiss with you.”

  “I do not know what you think you have discovered, but you have nothing.” Alex held out his hand, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “Now, give me back my belongs, before I set you adrift in a dinghy.”

  Andrews shook his head. “Oh, you are the one who is wrong, Cap’n Stringham. I am sure the rest of the crew would be very interested in your correspondence with the British Vice Admiralty.”

  A small satchel sat on the table behind Andrews. Alex eyed it discretely. He could not leave without it, unless there was no other option. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I am sure I have no idea how those papers came to be in my cabin.” Alex grabbed his satchel. “As you seem so anxious to inform the crew, let’s inform them together. We will see where their loyalties lie.”

  Alex frantically sat up, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He searched the small boat before feeling the damp, woven fabric of his satchel laying under his leg. He grasped the satchel and held it to his chest. He collapsed back down in the boat, the blood running down his arm increasing with every pump of his heart.

  The ringing in his head started again and Alex recognized it as a bell chiming somewhere in the distance. Alex squinted, hoping to recognize his surroundings, but the docks looked like many he had seen throughout his travels.

  His boat drifted into the side of large ship. A man leaned over the side. "Oye. Watch where you are rowing."

  Alex gingerly waved at the man. "Begging you pardon, sir." He grabbed hold of the oars, wincing as his left arm reached out. He maneuvered the oars into the locks, pulling hard to steer the boat away from the ship.

  Looking about the harbor, he found a small slip to his right. It took several hard pulls, but finally the dinghy scratched along the edge of the dock.

  He tied off the dinghy and slumped back into the boat, pops of darkness forming in his vision.

  His shoulder throbbed as blood began to spread down his shirtsleeve. If his head and shoulder were not enough pain already, his stomach growled loudly.

  He raised a hand to his hair, his fingers getting caught in the bloody, matted mess. And his clothes? On a good day, when he was merely coming to town off the Destiny, people were hesitant to serve his kind, but looking as he did now? The likelihood was even less.

  It was not as if he could just saunter into a tailor and request clothing. He would have to slink about town, looking for clothes hanging out to dry. Alex grimaced. He hated stealing from people. The irony was not lost on him. But the people he usually stole from could afford it…or that is what he told himself.

  Clambering out of the dinghy, he slowly made his way off of the docks and into the town. He sighed. Portsmouth. At least he was in England. He stumbled into an alleyway where lines full of clothing hung between the buildings. Someone was looking out for him, although he was hard pressed to attribute it to the good Lord. The Lord did not help the likes of Alex.

  Quickly snatching a worn shirt and a pair of trousers, he slipped several coins into the pocket of the apron hanging nearby. Then, crouching behind a stack of crates, he changed into his new clothes as quickly as his injury allowed.

  Both articles were bigger than Alex needed and much looser than the c
urrent fashion trend dictated, but they were clean. That was all he needed for now. He emerged from the alley and quickly walked away, lest the clothing's owners recognize them. He grabbed a baguette from the corner bakery when the woman’s back was turned, shoving it down his shirt until he could find a place to eat.

  Alex turned another corner, trying to put distance between him and the bakery before he ate the bread. Passing another alleyway, Alex ducked behind it, leaning back against the wall and sinking to the ground. He placed a tentative hand on his throbbing shoulder.

  "Cap’n Stringham.” A voice said from behind him. “Andrews will pay plenty for your return."

  Alex stood up. “What are you doing, Henderson? You know Andrews is mad.” Alex looked to his shoulder. “He shot his own Captain.”

  Henderson scratched at his hairy chin. “But what if he’s not? Perhaps those papers he has are true. Dennison will reward heavily, should we uncover a rat.”

  “And if Andrews is wrong?” Alex said. “What will Dennison do to you then?” Alex spoke to him like he would a slow-witted child. “If you wish to ensure you dance the hempen jig, then by all means, let’s go find Andrews.” Alex motioned with his hand down the alleyway.

  Henderson’s brow was furrowed in thought, but he fell in step with Alex. Several rods down the darkened alley, Alex saw a stack of crates. As they walked past, Alex pushed the crates in front of Henderson, then set off at a run.

  Henderson tripped on crates, his legs tangling up in the shattered wood.

  As Alex rounded the corner of the building, Henderson heave the wooden slats to the side and push himself to standing. He looked around until his eyes settled on Alex, Henderson set off running.

  Alex rounded another corner and then the next, coming out onto a large street lined with carriages. He looked back at where he had come before ducking into the first carriage he saw.

  He muttered a prayer of gratitude when he saw the large rug laying on one of the carriage benches. Removing his pistol from his satchel, he readied it, should he need it. He stretched out on the bench as much as it would allow, pressing himself against the back cushion. Pulling the rug up and over him, he waited.

  His legs wanted to bounce and move, and his beard and hair itching as if a hill of ants had taken residence there. But he dared not give in to either, lest Henderson should look into the carriage at that precise moment.

  His stomach growled, and he remembered the baguette he had tucked in his shirt. Once his brain remembered its presence, he seemed unable to think of anything else. The silence stretched on, but Alex had no notion of time. His stomach growled again. He decided he could risk the movement of retrieving the bread. Surely, Henderson had long since abandoned his search in this area. He shifted slightly, positioning himself so he could reach inside his shirt, when the carriage rocked and a knock on the window shattered the silence.

  Alex froze in place.

  The door opened and Alex moved his finger to the trigger of his pistol, all thoughts of the bread fleeing.

  "What is going on here?" A male voice drifted into the carriage.

  "I thought I saw someone enter this carriage. I was only looking to see no ladies were in danger." Alex recognized Henderson's smooth voice.

  A pistol cocked. "The carriage is as I left it. Now be on your way." The man's voice was firm and threatening.

  "I beg your pardon; I must have been mistaken." Henderson was acting the part of a subservient man, but Alex had seen the man's brutal nature. "Enjoy your day." Henderson's voice grew faint as he moved away.

  The door shut and Alex released the breath he had been holding. He closed his eyes. This had to stop. Perhaps now that he was exposed, Sir Richard would allow him to retire. He could return to Berkshire and possibly even find an estate of his own, along with a wife and some children….

  Shouting outside the carriage pulled him out of his thoughts, and his pulse picked up. Perhaps simply living out another day in full was a more reasonable goal for now.

  Chapter 2

  "Must you go dearest?" Abigail Marleigh straightened her brother's coat.

  Bernard tilted his head to the side, frowning. "You know I must, Abi. Uncle has gone to great trouble to arrange this. To be a cabin boy aboard the Star of India is a great honor.” He sniffed. “Besides, what other options do I have?" He straightened, but his lip trembled slightly. "I will be well. You need not worry about me."

  Abigail took a step back. She was making this harder for him. "Shall I walk you to the ship?"

  His eyes widened and he shook his head vigorously.

  She gave a soft chuckle and followed his earlier example by squaring her shoulders. "You will make a fine sailor, Bernard. Remember to write. I am already eager to learn of your adventures."

  Bernard nodded, smiling bravely at her.

  She patted him on the shoulder, then turned him toward the ship and gave him a small push. "Off you go. You do not wish to make the Captain wait."

  He took several tentative steps forward, before he stopped and cast a glance back over his shoulder. Turning, he ran back to her, wrapping his small arms tightly around her waist. “I love you, Abi.” Bernard turned back toward the ship and ran down the wooden planks without a backwards glance.

  Abigail bit the inside of her check as her throat tightened, but she smiled and waved far too merrily. "Good-bye for now, dearest."

  She continued to stand, smiling and waving until he disappeared inside the large ship.

  Abigail wrapped her arms around her waist, tightening them as she walked back toward town. Even though the sun shone brightly, she felt cold and alone.

  How could Uncle Rupert send a seven-year-old boy to sea?

  Abigail pushed through the door of the lace shop, her eyes scanning the interior until she spotted her cousin, Clara.

  Abigail came up behind her. "It is a lovely piece. Very intricate in its design."

  Clara dropped her hands, putting the one not holding the lace to her chest. "You nearly scared the wits right out of me, Abi."

  Abigail shrugged. "I apologize. I did not mean to startle you." She nodded to the lace still hanging at Clara's side. "Are you going to purchase it?"

  Clara gave a sideways twitch of her lips. "I can't decide. It is very lovely, but I am not sure I have brought a gown with me which it will improve." She held the lace back up for them both to look.

  Abigail ran her fingers gently over the length of lace. "It is very soft. I believe any gown would be benefited by it."

  Clara sighed. "Perhaps." She put the piece back among the others spread out on the table under a large window. She turned to Abigail. "Are you going to look about?"

  Abigail shook her head. "My uncle did not provide me with much pin money for this trip. I do not wish to spend it all before we even arrive at the house party."

  Clara pinched her lips together. "Your uncle is much too tight in the pocket."

  A heavy breath pushed from between Abigail's lips. "Only where his niece and nephews are concerned."

  Clara nodded, sympathy evident in her eyes. She knew of the troubles Abigail had endured since her parents’ deaths.

  "Yes, I noticed he kept the good carriage at Ridgewood Hall, even though we are the ones traveling. Had I known, I should have insisted Papa allow us to bring our carriage."

  "I hope there is an inheritance for Nathan, when he is old enough to take over management of the estate." It was a fear that played over and over in Abigail's mind. Yet, there was nothing for it. As her father’s brother, her uncle was their guardian until Nathan came of age.

  Abigail was not the feather-brained girl her uncle believed her to be. She’s made a habit of secretly looking over the estate ledgers whenever her uncle was out. In the two short years since he had come, the coffers had become appallingly low.

  "I do think I shall buy this one. Is it not lovely, without being too ostentatious?"

  Abigail dragged her attention back to the present. She focused on the lace in her
cousin’s hands. "Oh, yes. It is lovely. I think you should purchase it."

  Clara nodded. "It will look divine with my lavender gown, will it not?"

  "Yes, divine." Abigail nodded absently.

  Clara paid for her lace and the two left the shop.

  "Do we have time to stop in at the milliners?" Clara looked hopeful.

  Abigail groaned inwardly. She loved her cousin, but Abigail’s heart was already heavy; she’d not be able to endure the frivolity of picking a new bonnet.

  "You go. I believe I shall check out the book store up ahead."

  Clara put her hands on her hips. "If you intend to find a match before your uncle forces you to marry that man," her nose flared at the inference of Sir Charles, "you need to keep your nose out of books. How do you plan to make a man fall in love with you if you are always reading?"

  Abigail huffed. "You know I am not looking for a love match, but rather a comfortable home with a man I can trust."

  Clara tsked. "Why should you not be able to have both?"

  Abigail put her fingers to her temple, tired of the same lecture. "Oh, look at that bonnet in the window. It is very pretty, is it not?" She sagged slightly when Clara's attention was diverted to the milliner's shop.

  "I will be but a moment, cousin. You go on to the milliners. I will join you shortly." Abigail looked sternly at her cousin. "But then we must continue on. If we do not leave soon, we shall not get far enough today to make it to Brighton tomorrow. I do not wish to worry Sir Richard and Lady Cartwright after they were so generous in securing us this invitation."