How To Love A Fake Prince (The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles) (A Regency Romance Story)

by Jasmine Ashford

  “Knowing that you are safe somewhere would concern you?” He quirked an eyebrow. He was so expressive; it was easy for her to read him. She hoped that the glare she gave him was enough for him to read her thoughts as well.

  “This is war, Jacob. I do not know how anyone could think of love or marriage. I cannot think beyond sunrise.”

  “If you ever make it back to your people, they would expect you to be married with three children, the time you have been away,” he said. “You never know, one of these soldiers could catch your eye.”

  “Unlikely,” she replied, although she was not opposed to a mixed marriage. It was just that no one she had encountered seemed to be able to keep up with her mind; her strength; and her persistence, except Jacob. The thought of marrying him, however, made her want to vomit herself. “Go to bed.”

  “Goodnight,” he said, heading toward his tent.

  Enola waited until he was gone before she heaved a long sigh. Maybe in another life she would be able to marry and settle down; have the children she dreamed of. However, the métis believed in marriage for love; in satisfying Nature. If she was unhappy and throwing darkness into nature, it would only return to her.

  She worked through the document for another page or two before deciding that her eyes and her mind were done for the night. Folding it up and slipping into the tanned hide pouch she carried, she rose. She was going to turn in also, ready to sleep for hours yet, when she heard a branch break.

  “Jacob?” she said in surprise “I thought you were going to bed.”

  The response came from a different direction than she expected.

  “A doctor. Do you have a doctor?” came a distinct British accent. “Do you have a doctor? Please?”

  She spun around and her blood ran cold. Standing at the edge of the forest were three men dressed in ragged clothing, weapons adorning their sides, and blood tingeing the edge of their sleeves. They were lean and tanned, and their eyes were hard. There was no uniform though, no indication aside from the accent as to who they were.

  Enola knew who they were. They were pirates; ragged and raw on the edges.

  It made no difference to her skill. Being a healer had no sides when it came to aiding the broken; the sick.

  She clenched her hand into a fist, knowing that if she screamed the whole camp would come running. That was, if the pirates did not move too fast. She was safe, at least for the moment, so long as she kept her distance.

  Did pirates often lure people into a trap by asking for a doctor? She had no idea, because she had only heard stories that were no doubt exaggerated. “I am a healer,” she said softly. “Can I assist?”

  “Our captain, on our ship, in the harbor,” one of the pirates said haltingly, pointing in the direction of the bay. “Could you come? Do you mind? We can pay.”

  Enola stayed rooted to her spot, trying to decide whether to trust them.

  “We do not mean trouble,” said the pirate, which surprised her. “But you should come.”

  She backed up a step or two as they approached, her hand trembling. At her back, suddenly, she felt a solid hand around her waist and screamed.

  “Hush,” Jacob said quickly. “Gentlemen.”

  The pirate held up his hands. “Really, we do not mean to frighten her. We just got here; we have not even made camp. Our Captain could do with a healer.”

  Jacob's eyes narrowed, his hand on his sword. “What allegiance are you?”

  “Our own,” the man answered. “But we did not sail across the ocean because we thought the Americans needed help, if you understand me, sir.”

  Jacob glanced at Enola, who was at his side. Now that he was here, she felt safer, and nodded. “We will come. What is wrong with your Captain?” she asked.

  “He has fits,” one of the pirates said. “We just thought...we should not move him.”

  Enola glanced at Jacob, remembering a childhood friend with a similar affliction. Neither of them had any idea where that friend was now, and it brought back strong emotions.

  “Of course,” she said. “Take me to your ship.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  REMEMBER

  REMEMBER

  Can you just sit?” Earl Rippon, first mate of the ship Countess, snapped at the Captain. The former Lord Aaron Bamber, the pirate Lord who’d faked his own death to save his friends, quirked an eyebrow.

  “I am fine, by the way,” Aaron replied. “It is expected, Wesley, when I smack my head. It does not mean I am going to relapse and have fits for the next 18 years.”

  “When we had a doctor on board, I was fine with that,” Wesley replied. “But we are not on a big Navy-funded ship, and you are the only Captain we have, so if you could just sit until they find a healer, you'd save my heart from stopping, thank you.”

  Aaron quirked an eyebrow. When he had first met Wesley, he had been a timid Irish sailor with a mind that rivaled the previous greats. He was rising fast through the ranks, and would have been a Captain or greater now. However, Wesley had a dark past, and he had chosen a different path. Following Aaron onto the pirate ship as first mate, he preferred a less rigid, less formal life, far away from his title and his responsibilities on land.

  “You have been snippy lately,” Aaron said, not as a criticism but as an observation. “Something on your mind?”

  Wesley snorted, but shook his head. “It is fine.”

  “It is not,” Aaron said. “Besides, if you are not going to let me walk around, what else can I do but talk to you?”

  His first mate sighed at that. “I did not want to tell you because likely you'll take her side.”

  Aaron was completely confused. “Whose side?”

  “Lola's,” he said, referring to his wife. Lola Montclair had been Aaron's best friend since childhood, and a famed stage actress. She was the opposite of Wesley in every way, and when they met, it was magnetic. He had been married to her for four years now, most of them spent at sea, which neither of them minded. Despite the fact that she was Countess Rippon, Lola continued to tour stages, and Wesley continued to sail. They had waited so long to get married because neither of them wanted to give up their lives, and Aaron thought they had reached the perfect arrangement when they finally did.

  “Why, what has she done?” Aaron asked.

  “She just...she and I...” Wesley shook his head. “I do not know. Our letters speak of nothing, or of anger. She writes to me of her colleagues, and I hear more love and passion there than she ever shows to me. But when I bring it up, I can practically hear her screaming from here.”

  “Wesley,” Aaron said. “Lola is an actress; she is going to be close to her colleagues. You have to remember, her previous fiancé literally tried to murder her for an onstage kiss, and those whose job it was to kiss her. You can't...”

  “I do not care if she is kissing people on stage,” Wesley replied. “I do care if she is closer to them than she is to me. And when I express simple concern, she acts like I am being the most controlling husband the Kingdom has ever seen. I cannot take another letter full of anger, Aaron. I would rather just...not hear from her.”

  The blood ran cold in Aaron's veins. His two best friends being at odds was not something he ever wanted to hear. “Did you tell her that?”

  “I did,” Wesley replied. “She wrote back in a similar response, so...”

  “No,” Aaron was quick to respond. “No, Wesley, it is just a simple spat.”

  “It may be simple, but we can consider ourselves separated,” he answered. “She can have the house; it is not like I am there much. Neither is she, so it does not matter.”

  Aaron heard footsteps coming toward the Captain's cabin, and the voices of Corrigan and Matheson, his long-time friends, who had chosen to come aboard with him. “We are not done talking about this,” Aaron said to Wesley, who simply shrugged.

  “I am done,” he said, which made Aaron shudder. What had happened to the kind and caring Wesley, Earl Rippon, who had quietly used his talent and i
ntelligence to save them time and time again? Pirate life had gotten to him, it seemed.

  “Sir,” Matheson stuck his head in the Captain’s cabin. “I found you a healer. This is Captain Jacob Godde from the troops on land, and this is, uh...”

  “Enola,” came an accented voice. Aaron was surprised to see a young native woman step through the threshold. Beside the Captain she was slight, but her head was held high and her dark eyes were assessing the situation. She was dressed in a mix of British and Native American clothing, and her tanned hands were carrying a rolled up skin, no doubt loaded with carefully placed herbs. “You are ill?”

  “I am...alright now,” Aaron tilted his head toward the Captain, who seemed about the same age. Towering over the healer, the man was probably a few years younger than Wesley, and from the looks of him, Aaron guessed he had bought his commission. “Thank you for bringing your service aboard, Captain.”

  Jacob's hand was on his sword, but he did not look like he was going to use it. He nodded to Enola, who moved forward. “If you are an ally of the British, then we are happy to help.”

  “We are,” Aaron was quick to say. “Most of us used to be Navy, but we ...had to choose a different life. It does not change our allegiance, though. Just less rules, as you can see by my ragamuffin bunch. I am Aaron, by the way.”

  “Captain Halloway,” Wesley spoke up, using his fake name. “I’ve run the Countess for four years, and she’s never encountered trouble with British troops. We sailed here specifically because we heard the situation in the colonies was getting difficult.”

  “Oh,” Jacob's eyes flashed. “That is one way to put it.”

  “We would be happy to lend our services,” Aaron said as Enola laid a cool hand on his forehead, looking for a fever that he was sure was not there.

  Jacob considered this proposal and Aaron could see the bags under his eyes. Whatever was happening in this harbor, they might just be desperate enough to take up the offer.

  “For what reward?” asked the young Captain. Aaron glanced toward Wesley.

  “I think we just need to be fed and housed,” Aaron said at last. “My men will be inclined to loot, but I could control that.”

  “That is...alright...” Jacob replied. “I can take the order to my commander, but I think...it will be alright.”

  “You have a fever,” Enola said, and Aaron's head turned back.

  “No, I do not.”

  Wesley let out a growl. “Really, Captain? The girl just told you...”

  Enola turned to Wesley, her head tilted as she listened to him. She smiled as she took a guess. “An bhfuil do Chaptaen i gconaí mar seo?”

  Wesley reacted in surprise to the Irish Gaelic words. He had gotten used to not speaking his native tongue, although he often dreamed in it.

  “Is ea,” he responded. Yes, his Captain was always this difficult.

  “Enola,” Jacob said and raised an eyebrow. “As much as I enjoy having no idea what you are saying, there is a task to be done.”

  She turned back to Aaron, reaching into her bag. “This is common, yes?”

  “For me,” Aaron admitted. “I know my body; I do not think it is serious.”

  “It would still not go amiss for you to be on steady land and have a restful day,” she said. “We can provide that.”

  “Thank you, Enola, for offering.” Jacob was slightly unimpressed by her, but he did agree that it seemed the best course of action. “If you could send a representative to speak to my commander...”

  “How coincidental; I have a representative right here who needs something to do,” Aaron said and Wesley glared at him. “Matheson, have the men prepare to disembark and make sure they are on their best behavior.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Matheson said and dragged Corrigan with him out the door.

  “How many men do you have?” Jacob asked, and Aaron could practically see the calculations happening in his head.

  “About 150,” Aaron said. “This ship is obviously fitted for much more than that...but that is what I have right now.”

  “150 are much better than nothing,” Jacob replied. “We have some re----” He stopped, realizing he should not be telling this man that information. Instead, he turned to Enola. “Do you have a plan?”

  “Always,” she said as she took Aaron's pulse. “You can walk, yes?”

  “Of course,” he said, and then paused. “Maybe with assistance. My apologies, it has been awhile since it happened.”

  Jacob managed to lean close to Enola as they walked ahead of the small group. The pirates all around them, getting ready to deboard, were giving them looks, but they were polite, curious.

  “Commander is going to love this,” Jacob said. “Do you think I'll be court-martialed now, or....?”

  “I think he will wait until the war is over, at least,” she quipped.

  “And you cannot save me, Princess?” he teased. She bristled.

  “Do not, Jacob,” she said. The English translation of her Native American title was Princess. Her father was chief and she might inherit. That was, if she had not run off the way she had. When she’d last heard, her father was still the chief, reigning tall and strong. If she had stayed with the Natives, she would have an easy, pampered life. However, that was not what she was meant to do. “Besides, it is not as if the British recognize those kinds of titles.”

  “I am not suggesting that you become Pocahontas,” he answered. “But having a title has to come in handy once in awhile.”

  “The ones behind us have titles, I think, from the way they speak, if you did not catch that,” she whispered. “Although...how would the British King handle his Lords becoming pirates?”

  “Prince George probably has enough on his plate right now,” Jacob answered. “Not that I have met him. Get the Captain settled and I'll take the first mate to the commander.”

  “So much for sleep tonight,” Enola muttered. “Try though, Jacob, or you'll end up flat on your face.”

  “It is odd, I have not seen my mother for months and yet I hear her voice coming out of your mouth,” Jacob replied. “Do not worry about me, Enola. We each have a duty to do in this war.”

  “Sometimes,” she said softly. “Your suggestion of a comfortable life where my husband takes care of me does not sound half bad. Until I realize that I would be controlled and put in a box like a piece of jewelry, and then I realize this life is much better.”

  He said nothing to that. Jacob's sweetheart, seemingly a million miles away, had been out of reach for what felt like their entire courtship. If he could at least know Enola was safe and married, it would be a weight off of his mind. He had been courting his sweet Mary for the better part of 9 years, and yet they seemed no closer to marriage than when they had first met. Circumstances changed and changed again, and he was not sure if they were ever going to marry at this rate. Nevertheless, he continued to think of her in the quiet moments just before sleep. Of course, he had not been getting much of that either.

  He could not wait until the reinforcements arrived; because at least some of this burden would be lifted. If they could somehow bring an end to this war with this latest attack, perhaps they could be granted their dreams of love at last.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ARRIVAL

  ARRIVAL

  Are you sure this is the right way, Percy?” Major Holde asked his sergeant as they approached the camp. They had been marching through the night, knowing that they were desperately needed as reinforcements at York. The sharpshooters, who were made up of men from all walks of life, were not used to working quite so hard. Because of their skill, and despite their rank, they were used to being treated like royalty and living like scoundrels. Actually, working hard had produced a good deal of complaining from them, which Major Holde had learned to ignore.

  “Pretty sure I can see British tents in the distance, sir,” Hunter quipped, unbothered by anything. 10 years Holde's senior, he had seen everything there was to see, and made sure his Majo
r was happy at all costs. However, he was also jaded by constant war; constant complaining, and a Major who had been stricken with grief as long as he could remember. Holde's wife, Ella, had been killed during the war, and his Major had never been the same since. Anything to keep Holde from throwing himself off the side of a cliff was considered a success. “See, right there.”

  “Aye,” Holde answered, although he did not feel overjoyed to see them. If they had kept marching into oblivion, thinking of nothing and losing nothing, he would not have minded. “Who’s the man we are supposed to meet?”

  “Captain Jacob Godde,” Hunter replied. “He is being watched, apparently, by Major General Sir Isaac Brock, so perhaps by the time we get there, he will be promoted.”

  “Because promotion comes with such fun,” Major Holde answered, and Hunter thought it best to let it be.

  As they approached the camp, it was clear that they were not the only ones awake. There was a flurry of activity, and in the distance of the harbor, Holde could see what he thought were at least two ships.

  “Reinforcements have arrived,” he said, mostly to himself. “Did you know we were meeting Navy men too, Hunter?”

  “I did,” Hunter replied. “Did not think I would mention it to you since you and the Navy are not the greatest of friends.”

  “They interfere with everything,” Sharpe was quick to interject. “And they have no idea how to form a formation.”

  “That is because they mostly work on a ship, sir,” Hunter answered. “So those are the formations they know about. Although...that isn't any British flag I have ever seen.” He pointed in the distance, and Holde squinted.

  “What flag is that?”

  “Beats me,” Hunter said.

  “Maybe they are pirates!” Ringsell put in excitedly, and Hunter rolled his eyes.