The Marooner

by Barbara Devlin

  THE MAROONER

  BARBARA DEVLIN

  COPYRIGHT

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2017 Barbara Devlin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Barbara Devlin

  The Brethren of the Coast Badge is a registered trademark ® of Barbara Devlin.

  Cover art by Lewellen Designs

  Interior art by Dar Albert

  ISBN: 978-1-945576-98-0

  DEDICATION

  For my readers.

  THE MAROONER

  CHAPTER ONE

  Derbyshire, England

  September, 1818

  Somewhere in the dim light of the chandeliers, his future wife mingled with so-called polite society, but he would argue the perfumed peacocks, despite their refined manners, were every bit as cutthroat as the worst of his associates, especially the marriage-minded mamas, as they trotted their daughters before a man they believed was a well-heeled, wealthy American merchant.

  In truth, he was but a wolf in gentleman’s clothing, with his face clean-shaven and his black hair trimmed and tied in a leather thong, that he might appear civilized. Of course, the as-yet unknown darling did not know she was marked as the bride for ruthless former pirate Leland Stryker, as he surveyed the various targets, bedecked in their finery, and how the beast was hungry. What would he choose from so many tempting offerings? Blonde, brunette, ebony, or redhead? Curvy or slender? Blue, green, hazel, or brown eyes? Tall or short? Meek and mild or saucy and fiery of temperament?

  In the end, his body would decide.

  “Good evening, Mr. Stryker.” Another in a long line of chits paraded past, batting her lashes at him, and he waited for some sign of life below his belly button, as he dipped his chin.

  “Good evening.” Thus far, his notoriously fickle interest rejected every single blushing debutante, but he was in no rush to the altar.

  Known throughout the pirate ranks as The Marooner, for his habit of abandoning his victims on deserted islands, a practice he considered far more charitable than gunning down, running through with a sword, slashing with a knife, or feeding to the sharks, as did other buccaneers, patience guided his every move. Whereas he always thought it unfair that the general public deemed him heartless and brutal for leaving his quarry to their own fate, his colleagues viewed his eccentricity as a sign of weakness.

  For most marauders, innocents manifested prey to be consumed, in some form or another, if only to provide amusement for the crew. For Leland, those who had the misfortune of falling into his custody, through no fault of their own, other than happenstance, presented a connection to his childhood, to the young lad sold into servitude because his parents could not afford to feed him. Perhaps that was why he could not, by his own hands, kill the guiltless.

  “My, my, Lady Sophia, what an interesting ensemble you sport, tonight.” An unseen female snickered in a nasty tone. “Is that not last year’s fashion?”

  In that moment, he came alert.

  “This is my favorite gown, so I see no reason to dispose of it, simply because it might offend your delicate sensibilities.” Given the cutting retort, the heretofore-unfamiliar Lady Sophia charged the fore, as she piqued Leland’s curiosity. “As always, Miss Barty, you exhibit the stellar comportment one would expect of a lady. Your parents must be so proud.”

  “My father says your father has driven the earldom to ruin, and you have no dowry.” Now that bit of information snared Leland’s attention, because it made his goal much easier. “Such a pity. Who will have you now, when you possess naught but a good name to recommend you?”

  “Certainly not that delicious Mr. Stryker from America.” So another tormentor joined the fray, and he gritted his teeth. “I mean, he could afford to marry anyone.”

  “Why would he settle for nothing but an empty title?” Miss Barty replied, in the shrill voice that grated his last nerve. “When he could have a woman of taste and fortune.”

  If there was anything he hated, it was a bully, because he was small in his youth and often the recipient of abuse aboard ship. But as the boy grew into a man, and he gained physical strength, he never forgot the seemingly endless beatings, and he always championed the unfortunate.

  “Then I congratulate him on his good fortune, should he choose either of you.” Ah, Lady Sophia boasted a sharp tongue, and what he would love to do with that spirit. He had to see her.

  With that in mind, he rotated casually, to glimpse a group of ladies, but the valiant Sophia remained with her back to him, as he identified the insufferable Miss Barty and her friend, Miss Oswald, two self-important debutantes he had already dismissed as viable candidates for a mate, because they inspired nothing but a queasy belly. Petite in stature, with dark brown hair, the mystery woman squared her shoulders, as she confronted her adversaries, and he cleared his throat.

  “I beg your pardon, but would you care to dance?” Life was too complicated in England. In Jamaica, he would have taken her by the hand and hauled her into his arms.

  “Oh, Mr. Stryker.” The snobbish Miss Barty gloated, and he savored the opportunity to take her down a peg or two. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “I am so sorry, Miss Barty, but I address Lady Sophia.” Now he enjoyed that, as the haughty Miss Barty frowned, and his intended partner flinched, ever so subtly. When Lady Sophia faced him, a shiver of awareness kissed his flesh, and he gazed directly into her velvety brown eyes. “Leland Stryker, most definitely at your service, Lady Sophia.”

  “I have heard much about you, Mr. Stryker.” She curtseyed, and in that seemingly harmless gesture he found all manner of erotic possibilities. “And it would be my honor, sir.”

  It was then he confronted his next difficulty in his plan to buy a bride, because he had yet to master the country-dances. “I should warn you, I am not very good at this, and you and your toes may regret accepting my invitation.”

  “Then we are a pair, because this is a dress from last year, and I am not so delicate, sir.” She smiled and favored Leland with a charming giggle, and the cannon in his crotch loaded for battle, much to his chagrin, because he was in no position to do anything about it. “Thank you, for saving me.”

  “There is much I would do for you, Lady Sophia.” Bloody hell, he showed his hand, as her heart-shaped face and cute little nose distracted him. “And how did I save you?”

  “Excuse me?” She blinked and then regained her composure. “You overheard the conversation, and you took pity on me. No doubt, that is why you chose me over Miss Barty and her estimable dowry.”

  “I plead ignorance, and I could fetch a cup of ratafia, if you prefer to take your ease, or we could tour the garden.” To his relief, she appeared to relax, as she led him into the throng. “And I have never met anyone less in need of pity. As for Miss Barty, all the money in the world would not induce me to take her to wife.”

  “But it is raining, and I thank you for the compliment. In regard to Miss Barty, I could kiss you for that.” When she peered over her shoulder, his knees buckled. Had he thought her beautiful? In truth, she was glorious, and he had to have her, even if only for a night, because her lush lips, a marvel of perfection, would look spectacular, wrapped about his whore’s pipe. “Now, just follow me.”

  “To the ends of the earth, Lady Sophia.” The gentle sway of her hips beckoned, and he answered the summons, but not as a pirate. Instead, he touc
hed hands with hers, strolled to the left, backed to the right, and twice he lost pace and stumbled, but she did not laugh at him. Rather, she instructed him in the correct maneuvers. Such was the way of gentlemen, masking their base appetites in refined dance moves and civil conversation rooted in deception, saying everything but what they meant, because it was unacceptable to voice passion in society. “Are you to wed, Lady Sophia?”

  “Why do you ask that?” She furrowed her brow. “Are you in search of a wife?”

  “Because I have not seen you at the other dances I have attended, since venturing to Derbyshire.” Her unerring accuracy in guessing his motive rankled him. “And what man would not want a beautiful woman at his side, for the rest of his life?”

  “You surprise me, Mr. Stryker.” As he twirled her about, she laughed. “And I suspect you are not what you claim.”

  “Oh?” Fascinated, he twined his fingers in hers, on guard for her next words. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because your skin is sun-kissed, which suggests you spend much of your time outdoors, unlike most gentlemen.” Then she flipped his palm. “And your hands are rough and calloused, which tells me you are no stranger to manual labor. What is your story, Mr. Stryker?”

  “As everyone knows, I am a merchantman, Lady Sophia.” In that, he did not lie, because he abandoned his former occupation. “I spend much of my workday aboard ship. Given I am the captain, I often station at the helm. And I am not ashamed to admit I join the crew in performing physicals tasks, as I am unaccustomed to being idle. Now I would know about you.”

  “In light of your candor, I am compelled to offer the same. Given I am a woman, my fate is dictated by English law, which is bad enough, but there are other circumstances that impact my situation that I am equally powerless to affect.” As he eased his arm about her waist, and they strolled to the left, she lifted her chin. “It is no secret my father invested heavily with unscrupulous scoundrels, and the earldom teeters on the brink of ruin, thus I am expected to marry a man of means, and I shall do my duty.” Then she leaned near and whispered, “But my worst fear is being treated like a mare at Tattersalls, because I am not an object to be owned.”

  “So you are, in effect, to be sold?” Myriad thoughts raced in his brain. “Are there any bidders?”

  “To save my family, yes.” When she met his gaze, he glimpsed naught but pain. “And there are a few prospects, but none of which I approve, yet it matters not what I think.”

  “You are to be forced?” If Leland was to claim her, he had to act fast, and he rarely made rash decisions. “And why do you disapprove?”

  “It would be unladylike of me to elaborate, and I am nothing if not a lady.” The music stopped, and he escorted her to a spot near the terrace doors. “And as I explained, I take a husband to spare my father the humiliation of insolvency, which even now nips at his heels. Although I had hoped to marry for love or, at least, for the chance of a love match, the candidates offer no such opportunity. Even more disappointing, only two are in need of an heir, and I do so want to have a family of my own.”

  “Fret not, Lady Sophia.” While he could not speak for a love match, because he was not sure he believed in such things, he could guarantee all the babes she desired, as he was more than willing to help her beget them. “I suspect you will get your wish.”

  With that, he bent and kissed her gloved knuckles, as would a fop. Before she could respond, he turned and walked toward his partner in nefarious enterprises, Barrington Howe, Marquess of Ravenwood, also known in the pirate ranks as the Iron Corsair, after he was accused of a murder he did not commit and fled England.

  “Any luck, tonight?” Happily wed to a society lady, Barry convinced Leland of the need to look to the future and a new occupation, which was why he signed the Crown’s agreement. “I hear Miss Barty set her sights on you.”

  “Actually, fortune smiles upon me.” The world filled with possibilities he never contemplated, as he caught Lady Sophia studying him, and she quickly averted her stare. The thrill of the hunt charged his loins, and he licked his lips as he prepared to feast. “Because I just danced with my future bride.”

  ~

  It was just after noon, as Lady Sophia Grace Radcliff reclined on a chaise in her room, staring at a book, her fingers tapping a gentle rhythm on the page she had not read, because she could not focus her thoughts. With a huff of frustration, she slammed shut the tome and set it on a table. Folding her arms, she reflected on the celebration, the previous night, and a single recollection charged the fore.

  The same pair of intrusive blue eyes danced before her, just as they haunted her dreams, and she could not elude the memory of Leland Stryker, because there was something about him she could not place, and it troubled her. Despite his polished garb and somewhat refined manners, she suspected he was not what he appeared, although she could not discern what it was about him that kept her awake in the wee hours and bothered her, even now.

  “Sophia, are you all right?” Gabriel, her brother, knocked on the door, even though he loomed in the entry between her sitting room and her bedchamber. “I called to you, but you did not answer. “Are you unwell?”

  “No, darling.” She sat upright and waved a welcome. “Come in, and sit with me.”

  “I cannot, because father bade me fetch you to the study.” He bowed his head and frowned. “He wishes to discuss a marriage proposal, and we have a visitor.”

  “Oh?” She stood, walked to the long mirror, and assessed her appearance. Yes, she wore an old dress, the hem of which had been let out on more than one instance, but they had no money for new day gowns. “Anyone I know?”

  Given the family’s poor finances, and the debts leveraged against the estate, owing to her father’s poor investments and terrible luck at gambling, her father had long since dismissed her lady’s maid, as well as several other servants, excepting their elder butler, who could not hear well, thus he often repeated things at the top of his lungs, and a cook.

  “He was at the Oswald’s party.” Wrinkling his nose, Gabriel narrowed his stare and tapped his chin. “I peeked through the window, but I cannot recall his name, and I was not present when he arrived. No doubt, Boswell shouted the poor chap’s designation and scared him to death, so I suppose we should be grateful he did not flee.”

  “Please, tell me it is not Lord Egremont.” At her vanity, Sophia sat and refreshed her coif. Of course, she could not refuse the annoying suitor, if he marked a path to her home, intent on proposing, because he possessed deep pockets, despite little else to recommend him. Notwithstanding her reservations, she had only a few offers, and the situation grew more and more desperate by the day. “His laugh gives me megrims.”

  “You mean Lord Fartmont? And he is rather full of himself, given his propensity for breaking wind.” Gabriel snorted. “Reminds of me that old sow we had and how she passed gas whenever she ate.”

  “Stop.” Sophia collapsed in a fit of mirth, which she appreciated, as it alleviated the tension gripping her spine. “I would not greet what could be my future lord and master, with a red face and puffy eyes, because you made me cry.”

  “But it is true.” Gabriel held his belly and gave vent to a rip-roaring howl of laughter. “I wonder what he eats for dinner, and if you will suffer the same problem, should you wed him.” He rolled on his side and hooted even louder. “Forevermore, you shall be known as Toot Toot Sophia.”

  “Oh, you are horrid.” Swift and sure, she leaped from her chair, grabbed a pillow from the chaise, and pounded her brother, in play. While she had the initial advantage, he lunged, caught her about the waist, and toppled her to the floor, and they wrestled for control of the cushion.

  “What on earth is going on in here?” Wilhelmine, the youngest and most elegant Radcliff, stood in the middle of the room, adopted her characteristic perfect posture, and frowned. “Papa sent me to see what is taking you so long, Sophia. I gather he grows impatient, as does our esteemed visitor.”

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sp; “And that would be—who?” Resting on her back, Sophia craned her neck. “What is his name?”

  “I know not, as it is none of my affair.” At three and ten, Wilhelmine had formed an idea of what she believed constituted the perfect lady, and she never deviated from her example. “Just look at you. Why should any man deem you marriageable, when your dress is wrinkled, and your hair is mussed?”

  “Perhaps, you can fix my coif?” Gaining her feet, Sophia dusted off her skirts and perched on an ottoman, as her sister rearranged a few wayward curls. “What will I do without you, when I am gone?”

  “Do you really think your future husband will take you away from us?” In that moment, Wilhelmine’s singular composure broke, and tears welled. “Because you have to be here for Gabriel’s wedding, and then mine. And we will have families of our own, yet we will gather at the Season and for the holidays. In the summer, we will take turns hosting house parties, and we will be happy.”

  “Sweetheart, I did not mean to make you cry.” As Sophia hugged her little sister, Gabriel wrapped his arms about them, and the three siblings shared a brief respite from the worries that plagued their household. “I love your dream, and, if I can make it come true, I will do so.”

  “But at what cost, Sophia?” Gabriel, at six and ten, more a man than a boy, cupped her cheek and rested his forehead to hers. “I will not let our father sell you like a piece of property. If must needs, I can find work. I can ask Uncle Isaac to purchase a commission in the army.”

  “My dear brother, how I do love you.” She chucked his chin. “But you could never earn enough to settle Papa’s debts. The only answer is for me to wed a wealthy husband.” Resigned to her fate, she squared her shoulders. “Now, be brave, and escort me to the study, where my prospective groom awaits, and I would know him, as I am curious.”

  Together, the three Radcliffs, arm in arm, marched forth.