His Secret Heroine

by Delle Jacobs

  His Secret Heroine

  by Delle Jacobs

  Published by Delle Jacobs

  Copyright 2013

  This is a work of fiction. Any apparent resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are held by the author, and have not been delegated to any other person or entity. At the current time, this book is being sold only as an ebook through Amazon and its distributors, and any other sale is not permitted. Please do not reproduce or distribute any part of this book without the written consent of the author.

  Dedication

  To Heather Hiestand

  Who has a thing or two to say about going on toward tomorrow

  When you have a hard enough time just believing in today.

  And to my beloved curmudgeon, Jeff:

  How I miss you!

  My Dear Readers:

  I wanted to tell you a few things about His Secret Heroine, a Traditional Regency (written in a style like Georgette Heyer and Jane Austen). It was originally published as Lady Valiant. I re-acquired the publishing rights in 2009., but I felt it needed some changes before re-publishing.

  I always felt a brig wasn't the right boat for Reggie. I wanted to give him a topsail schooner like the Lynx, especially after I took a battle sail on said vessel in the Columbia River, but Lynx is a wholly American vessel, and even though the original is known to have been captured and taken to England sometime during the War of 1812, I just couldn't justify Reggie having one at that time. I did try. I really did. But in the end, I ripped out (painfully) the schooner and used a ketch, which is more authentic to the period and location. The raked-back masts really would fit a schooner better, but I kept them anyway.

  Reggie is a very special hero for me. I've met many men with boundless energy, who need very little sleep. They always fascinate and amaze with their accomplishments and quick minds. Today, they're usually diagnosed with Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADD or ADHD). In his case, though, Reggie is like many members of my family, and capable of very intense focus on his activities. Some people are uncomfortable around hyperactive people, and society does try hard to make them more like "us". But after a long career in social work dealing with children with ADD/ADHD diagnoses, I'm not so sure that's always the right thing to do.

  Reggie's father is the character that might really freak you out. He is an extremely troubled, driven man. But I hope you'll stay with the story and watch him change and heal. Perhaps at the end, you'll see why Chloe is Reggie's Secret Heroine.

  If I've made any mistakes, believe me, they are entirely mine. Feel free to let me know. That's the wonderful thing about ebooks. They're very easy to change.

  Many thanks, again! And I hope you enjoy this tale.

  Delle Jacobs

  Washington State, March 2013

  Chapter One

  May, 1813, Surrey, England

  Early on a sparkling summer evening, Lord Reginald Beauhampton stepped onto the terrace of Lord and Lady Mythe's Surrey home and gazed out over the green expanse of lawn. With a grin, he dashed all the way to the white stone steps, before he reminded himself he was not supposed to do that.

  And he was always doing that, bouncing about like an eager puppy after a country lad on a kite-flying expedition. All his life, he had possessed too much energy for a proper gentleman.

  He sighed, took a deep breath, and descended the steps the way a gentleman ought. Slowly.

  He got almost to the bottom step, meaning to concentrate on resisting the urge to bounce spiritedly through the parterre, when he stopped cold. For there before him, he beheld the solution to his dilemma.

  Reggie had to remind himself to breathe.

  It was something he sensed, rather than saw, something that hovered elusively about him, the way an aroma dances in and out of one's awareness. And in some strange way, it was personified by the young lady who had just stepped out of Mythe's Chinese pavilion.

  She was not at all what he had expected. She was too small, too delicate, with her slender form draped in soft shades of green, and one golden curl bouncing in the breeze as if it danced with the leaves. Not at all the sort of character to inhabit one of his books. Nor was she a great beauty-she was not particularly different from any other lady in the garden. Yet he knew. He just knew.

  The urge to dash up to the intriguing lady almost overwhelmed him. Reggie flexed his hands as a reminder not to fidget and took a deep breath to dispel his latest attack of exuberance.

  "Good evening, Beauhampton. Haven't seen you about lately. Boat giving you trouble?"

  Reggie had been so engrossed he had not noticed Castlebury, who sidled up with a languorous ease Reggie could not hope to emulate. He nodded to his friend. "A boat is rather demanding of one's time. A little problem with the rigging."

  But it was not ratlines and sheets that interested him at the moment. Reggie glanced quickly at the lady in green. He itched to get closer and discover what it was about her that was so compelling. Had he perhaps caught a fleeting glimpse of her eyes? Would they be the deep blue of the sea? Of course his heroine could have eyes of any color he chose to make them.

  The thing was, he didn't need a heroine. What the devil would he do with a woman in a seagoing adventure?

  "Rigging, is it?" Castlebury's eyes narrowed. "Can't say I see any problem with the rigging."

  "I don't believe I know her," Reggie responded, and like his friend, carefully averted his gaze from the lady as she walked with an older lady along a graveled path. But unlike his more sedate friend, Reggie couldn't stop himself from glancing up repeatedly.

  The lady drew closer, her curls glistening gold in the last lingering rays of the sunset. Strange images rushed his mind. He could see her standing at the helm, her windswept locks dancing, smock plastered flat...

  Reggie felt his face reddening. What the devil was this? Ladies did not go to sea like common tars, particularly not with rain-soaked smock shirts clinging revealingly to their chests. And that was not to mention a gentleman having such lurid thoughts about a very proper lady.

  "Late arrival for the Season," said Castlebury. "Has a substantial portion, I hear. Father had no sons, and the barony went to her uncle."

  Reggie cleared his throat. No doubt Castlebury saw his untimely blush and thought Reggie as transparent as water. But water at any depth was quite opaque, and this time Reggie doubted even Castlebury could have any inkling of the real shark swimming beneath the surface of Reggie's imagination.

  "Thinking of leg shackles, Castlebury?" he replied, to obscure his true intentions.

  Castlebury smirked at the obviously absurd question. "You might give it thought, though. Might solve your problem with your father."

  Reggie winced. "I have no more interest in the parson's mousetrap than you, my friend."

  "Of course. Nor in La Lavington, who is prowling about today, obviously in great hopes of your arrival."

  Reggie glanced back over his shoulder as a dash of fear swept through him.

  Castlebury allowed his usual dry smirk to play across his lips. "Down by the lake, last time I saw her. Thought I should warn you. But come, let us go see how the new ship sails."

  Reggie didn't care that Castlebury hadn't the vaguest notion of the difference between a boat and a ship, or sprit and mainsail, nor did he mind being thought a mooncalf. How could he explain to a petticoat man like Castlebury the bizarre thoughts that were currently racing through his head? He'd never given his friend even a hint of his true secret. He didn't dare.

  Glancing about to be sure Lavington's widow was not slinking up to launch another attack, Reggie followed Castlebury in the direction of his new interest, now standing with her back to them in the company of Lady
Mythe and her friends.

  She held a fan of ivory lace that fluttered gently. Those long, expressive fingers were well suited to French Kid gloves or playing a harp, not becoming calloused from handling rough hemp rope. Yet he had only to blink to see an utterly contrary vision of strong muscles hauling rigging and unfurling sails to catch a freshening wind. What the devil was this trick his mind was playing on him? Such a delicate creature couldn't live up to the rigors of shipboard life.

  But beardless boys smaller than she did it all the time.

  There he was, doing it again, letting his imagination lead him astray. He was with his best friend, who was always the best of company, yet Reggie couldn't even focus on what the man was saying. Even when Reggie himself was talking, his curiosity kept dancing provocatively ahead of him, luring him ever closer to the object of his fascination.

  Castlebury's lips quirked and his eyes gleamed. Across the terrace, Lady Mythe's lovely brown eyes gleamed back. Reggie sensed the jangling of leg shackles. Such a blatant betrayal by his friends might have irritated him if he were not so eager to meet this inspiration of all this turmoil in his imagination.

  "Now, my dear," said Lady Mythe, who grasped the startled young lady by her shoulders and turned her about to face Reggie.

  Reggie's breath stuck in his throat, and his jaw dropped open like a gapeseed. Green eyes, paler than jade. Perfect for a seagoing lady.

  "Miss Hawarth..." Lady Mythe's voice blurred into the din of throbbing pulse in Reggie's ears.

  Hawarth. Reggie was trying to listen, he really was. But vivid pictures burst the floodgates of his concentration and gushed, tumbling, through his mind.

  The deck in a storm, awash in green water, his heroine climbing the ratlines .

  "Miss Englefield..."

  No, he had it wrong already. Miss Hawarth the aunt, Miss Englefield the niece.

  "Steady as she goes, Scovill."

  "...is cousin to the present Baron Englefield, and daughter of the seventh baron."

  Oh, devil it! He'd lost it! Who was cousin to whom?

  Reggie stared blatantly, frantically sorting through the flood of images, a hero who was a heroine, a genteel lady secretly adventuring, riding over the waves, captaining the quest against a dangerous pirate band...

  No, that had been done. Oh, but better! He'd keep Nicholas as the hero and she would be his trusted first mate, daringly holding to the masquerade until he found her out... How? He glanced down at slender feet in pale green satin slippers. Yes. Nicholas would see those delicate feet and know. No man could have such feet without having his masculinity questioned. But that posed another problem. How could love blossom when the hero thought...

  The impatient imp of exuberance danced jigs inside him as he lifted her fingertips to his lips. Where would such delicate fingers find the strength to knot cordage?

  "Have I said something amiss, Lord Reginald?" asked Miss Englefield. As she cocked her head, a stray golden curl bounced enticingly.

  Reggie snapped back to reality and the puzzled pale green eyes. "Have you, Miss Englefield?" Color heated his cheeks again. If she had, he had been too lost in the machinations of his fantasy to hear her. And if she knew what he was thinking, she'd break every stick and guard of her fan against his face.

  "If I have offended you..."

  The flush in his cheeks blazed. "Oh, no, Miss, uh, Englefield, not at all. Do forgive me. For a moment you reminded me of someone I knew." Someone he'd just made up, to be precise. "A striking resemblance. In the eyes, that is."

  "Indeed," said Lady Mythe, and although her lips pursed with disapproval, something impish gleamed in her eyes.

  "Yes, startling resemblance," he repeated. "Might you be related to the Englefields in Cambridgeshire?"

  "Well, I have a cous—"

  "Oh, dear Lord Reginald," gushed a cloying voice behind him.

  Reggie suppressed a groan. If he hadn't recognized Lady Lavington by her thickly sweet voice or the hand placed so coyly atop his sleeve, the warning glint in Lady Mythe's eyes would have told him.

  "How kind of you to join us, Lord Reginald," Lady Lavington said with a luscious smile.

  Reggie winced. Only a few weeks before, Lady Mythe had read him a scold for not discouraging Lavington's widow, and he knew she had been right. It just wasn't in his nature to be harsh toward a woman. From some hidden reserve inside himself, he located a patient smile.

  "Lady Lavington," he said, nodding to acknowledge her. "I have been looking forward to coming." That much was true. Lord and Lady Mythe were his dear friends, but Lady Lavington was Mythe's cousin so it was foregone that she would attend.

  Reggie turned back to the intriguing lady in green. With deadly precision, Lady Lavington slipped her arm onto his, subtly tugging as Lady Mythe pursed her lips and glared. Frustration tightened in Reggie's throat.

  Lady Lavington made odd cooing sounds to precede her words. "A pity you did not arrive earlier, dear Lord Reginald," she said. "You would have heard our Bronson read his latest work. It is quite wonderful." Her subtly lithe swaying radiated through her arm to his in a way no man alive would misinterpret. The mischievous boy inside Reggie needled him to escape. But his gentleman side could not cut a lady, wayward urges or no.

  "Difficulties with the Xanthe," he replied, his favorite explanation for his frequent disappearances. He graced the lady beside him with the most pleasant smile he could muster. "I have just made the acquaintance of these two fine ladies, Miss Hawarth and Miss Englefield."

  Lady Lavington clasped his arm and leaned closer, affording a view to her décolletage he had seen more times than he had wished. "Yes. Lord Reginald is the second son of the Duke of Marmount, don't you know?"

  "Indeed," replied Miss Englefield. Her light eyes sparkled, all the colors dancing, threatening to ensnare his runaway imagination again. "Perhaps you know my cousin—"

  "Dear Lord Reginald has no doubt just come up from Devon, but I cannot imagine what has taken him so long," Lady Lavington purred, ignoring the fact that she had cut Miss Englefield's question in half.

  "Rigging problems," he replied with a bit of a growl, not mentioning that the Xanthe had not even left her berth on the Thames in over two weeks while he holed up, agonizing over his dilemma. Reggie deliberately turned his attention back to the green-eyed miss, wanting to hear her voice again. How might it sound against the roar of a storm?

  "Oh I do hope it is not serious, Lord Reginald," said Lady Lavington, leaning ever closer. Reggie stiffened.

  The younger lady politely contained her astonishment, quietly closing her lips. Frustration ate at him, willing her to fight back against Lady Lavington's encroachment. But he knew better. Young ladies simply did not. She would smile sweetly and give ground, the perfect milk-and-water miss, the sort of young lady he always liked but never found particularly interesting.

  Yet he had only to look at her and inspiration inundated him. What the devil was it?

  As Miss Englefield stepped back, just the way he knew she would, Lady Lavington advanced like a shark after a hapless sailor overboard. Her red curls jiggled like springs and her eyelids fluttered as she gazed up at him. Reggie's nostrils flared, wishing for some of that boldness in the young lady. But she would not dare.

  "What is not serious?" asked the golden-curled lady.

  Reggie's heart leaped. There it was, just what he wanted to see, just a spark of defiance flashing in the beautiful green eyes.

  "The boat, of course, my dear." Lady Lavington's hand rubbed his arm. "Lord Reginald thinks of nothing but his boat." Ah, there was his opening. Irritated though he was, Reggie could have kissed the brash lady.

  "Oh, she's in fine fettle. A bit of new cordage and the Xanthe is as fit as a vessel can be. Ready for guests, I should say. That is, in fact, the very thing. Have you ever been to sea, Miss Englefield?"

  The jade-colored eyes took on a glint of mischief that made his heart lurch. "I have been in a punt on the River Cam, but I suspect it is
not the same thing." She looked to her aunt, and unspoken messages of eagerness flashed between the two.

  She would love the sea. He knew it. "Do say you will come, Lady Lavington, and you, Miss Hawarth, with your niece?"

  His inner demon of mischief danced. He didn't have to look to know Lady Lavington would be fuming like Mt. Etna. Not ten minutes into her one and only trip aboard the Xanthe and she had cast up her accounts even before making it to the rail. If anything would get rid of her, this would.

  "Well, I cannot say, Lord Reginald," said the dainty older lady, picking words with care. "Perhaps if Lady Lavington..."

  Lady Lavington's face sickened, turning nearly as pale and green as Miss Englefield's dress. "Lord Reginald, you wretched man, you know I cannot abide sailing. No, Miss Hawarth, I shall never again step foot on a sailing vessel, and I counsel you to do the same, if you do not wish to disgrace yourself."

  Miss Hawarth's eyes, green like her niece's, widened. Her lips parted and rounded all at the same time. "Oh. Perhaps it is a more suitable endeavor for gentlemen."

  The smile fell from Miss Englefield's face. Lady Lavington tossed her rival a gleam of triumph, and she tugged at Reggie's arm. "Then come along, Lord Reginald. Perhaps you can find sailing companions among the gentlemen."

  Bedamned if he'd let her get away with that! Reggie turned back to the ladies, chuckling. "Surely you jest, Lady Lavington. You need not fear disgracing yourself. It rarely happens in calm waters, you know. Why, I do not even mean to leave the Thames."

  He turned pleading eyes to the object of his inspiration.

  The green eyes sparkled. "Aunt Daphne, would it not be a delight? Perhaps just a short trip, Lord Reginald?"

  His heart raced like the ketch before a gale. "If you and your lovely aunt can be enticed aboard, Miss Englefield, I would agree to anything. But I warn you, once you have sailed, you may never be able to give it up."

  She hardly moved a muscle, yet as his gaze tangled with hers, he saw a hungry eagerness battling against carefully schooled decorum. His heart thudded like thunder that threatened his own good manners, so he excused himself to round up other guests.