MOONWITCH
NICOLE
JORDAN
NEW YORK TIMES Bestselling Author
Copyright © 2011 Anne Bushyhead.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher.
First published in the United States by Harlequin books in 1991.
Cover by Hot Damn Designs
Kindle ISBN: 978-1-937515-00-3
Dear Readers,
When it comes to historical settings, the British Regency period has been my first love since I was ten years old and my mother read PRIDE AND PREJUDICE and THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL aloud to me. So naturally, when I began dreaming of writing my own stories, the Regency era called to me. My very first historical romances, VELVET EMBRACE and DESIRE & DECEPTION, were set in Regency times. After that I branched out to other settings and periods: The British West Indies and American South (MOONWITCH), the wild Scottish Highlands (TENDER FEUD), a Victorian desert sheik tale (LORD OF DESIRE), and four stories set in the American West.
I’m happy to say that all nine of these classic tales have been reissued in eBook format. Since I wrote them a number of years ago, I think you’ll find them slightly different in style—more emotional as opposed to the livelier nature of my more recent works, The Courtship Wars and Legendary Lovers series in particular. Still, my classic historical tales bear my trademark storytelling and sensuality.
I hope you enjoy this visit with my early novels. And if you want to learn more about all my books, visit www.NicoleJordanAuthor.com
Best wishes and happy reading!
Nicole Jordan
In memory of
VICKI SAUNDERSON POWERS
for her courage and love of life
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
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Chapter One
Antigua, British West Indies 1819
The crew of the American schooner spilled from the Jolly Tar Tavern and swarmed up Long Street, a laughing, rough-and-tumble throng of seamen. Their good-natured hoots and catcalls carried on the ever-present sea breeze and drifted through the shuttered windows of the white weatherboard buildings that lined the street. The clamor even dared invade the offices of Ignatius P. Foulkes, Solicitor, where Selena Markham sat consulting the prestigious founder of the firm.
Momentarily diverted by the noise, Selena paused in mid-sentence to glance beyond the solicitor’s balding head toward the window. But since she heard no cries of “cane fire,” the warning that every sugar planter dreaded, nor a mournful proclamation of “ship down,” a lament Selena dreaded even more, she resumed her discussion of a subject she found highly distressing: the problem of her stepmother’s continued extravagances.
“I had hoped,” Selena confessed, “that you could suggest a solution. Edith became rather…abusive when I refused to raise her allowance on quarter day. Yet I had no choice. She continues to spend far more than the plantation can support. And now this! This time she has gone beyond extravagance. To put the house up for security… I must do something. I cannot allow her to lose our home to a moneylender.”
The solicitor fingered the gold timepiece that hung from a fob at his rather massive girth and eyed her thoughtfully. He was surprised by her vehemence; Selena could tell by his expression. No doubt she was lacking her normal reserve, though she knew she appeared cool and elegant as usual, dressed as she was in a sprigged muslin gown and a narrow-brimmed gypsy bonnet that hid much of her silver-blond hair.
“I understand entirely,” Ignatius replied with the familiarity of a family friend, “the difficulty of your position, my dear. I well know how…headstrong your stepmother can be.”
Headstrong was far too nice a word, Selena thought with asperity. Grasping, shrewish, perhaps even vicious. Those were all more appropriate descriptions of Edith. Since Edith’s marriage to Thomas Markham seven years before, Selena had made every effort to live in harmony with her stepmother. Through the years, she had developed a means of dealing with Edith, one which consisted primarily of ignoring the situation and not allowing herself to respond to the barbs that frequently annoyed and sometimes wounded her. She had continued the habit after her father had passed away, for she felt that respect for his memory made it her duty. This time, however, Edith had gone too far.
“It seems,” Ignatius observed in answer, “that Mrs. Markham means to force your hand.”
At that unnecessary remark, Selena felt a surge of impatience. She leaned forward, her fragile features becoming set and earnest. “Precisely. But you know as well as I that the income Papa left Edith is more than adequate to keep her in style—although it won’t begin to cover the lavish expenditures she has been indulging in lately. The emeralds alone cost nearly two thousand pounds.”
Pursing his lips in a frown, Ignatius shook his head slowly. “I’ll think on it, my dear, but I’m afraid you have no legal recourse. Your father left you the land, but Mrs. Markham has clear title to the manor house. Of course, you can purchase the mortgage from her creditors—”
“At a usurious rate, no doubt!”
“Yet the cane crop has been good this year. You could probably afford it.”
Selena clasped her gloved hands in her lap, trying to contain her frustration. “I have nearly four hundred people to provide for, Mr. Foulkes, not to mention purchasing a new set of rollers for the south mill and a cistern for the curing house. Given free rein, Edith would just as soon bankrupt the plantation! Even my father had little faith in her judgment where money was concerned.”
When Ignatius merely nodded in sympathy, Selena sighed bitterly. “Of course, I might purchase the house outright, but what would I do then? I could hardly ask Edith to leave, for she would have nowhere to live. Besides, what kind of monster would that make me?”
The solicitor’s response was interrupted by a rough voice directly outside the window.
“My blunt’s on the cap’n!”
“I say Tiny will settle the question once an’ fer all!” came the shouted reply.
The disturbance was impossible to ignore. Ignatius raised his great bulk from behind his desk and flung open the louvered shutters to look down at the street. At once, the blazing Caribbean sunlight streamed into the room, creating a glare that would have made any person not inured to the brightness and heat of the islands wince.
But Selena had grown up there so, though anxious to continue the conversation, she rose from the leather wing chair where she had been sitting and joined the solicitor. To her left, Long Street rose steeply from the docks of St. John’s Harbor. Beyond was a striking view of turquoise waters dotted with fishing ketches and feluccas. The harbor was only deep enough to accommodate drafts of five feet or less, so the hundreds of seafaring ships that docked at Antigua each year had to anchor across the island at English Harbor, the headquarters for the British naval fleet in the Caribbean.
Looking to her right, up the hill, Selena caught sight of a boisterous crowd of perhaps thirty men dressed in the blue jackets and canvas
trousers of sailors. They were loudly making their way up the street toward the courthouse, bearing two of their numbers on their shoulders.
Ignatius harrumphed in disapproval. “That is the crew of the Tagus, if I’m not mistaken.”
“The Tagus?” Selena asked, following the retreating crowd with her gaze.
He nodded. “An American schooner of four hundred tons. Put in today.” The solicitor emitted another sound, which resembled a grunt. “See the man they are carrying, the one with the chestnut hair? That, my dear, is Captain Ramsey. Even for an American, such behavior is disgraceful in a man of authority. I expect the governor must be relieved to claim no connection.”
Selena recognized the name then. The American captain shared the same last name with the governor of the Leeward Islands, Major General George Ramsay, although the spelling was different. She remembered her father, who had been a close friend of the governor, remarking on it.
Curious to at last glimpse the man who had so often been the object of such fierce interest among the ladies of the island, Selena leaned forward. The captain’s back was turned toward her as he was borne away by the laughing, jeering crew, but even at this distance, she could tell that his dark chestnut hair was thick and waving. He appeared as tall and muscular as she had heard him described, though not as powerfully built as the black-haired giant who shared his swaying throne.
Kyle Ramsey was a regular visitor to Antigua, she knew—regular meaning one or two times a year. Whenever he was on the island, he stayed at the home of one of his friends, an absentee planter who owned a plantation on the leeward coast, near her own. To Selena’s knowledge, half the females of her acquaintance had pursued Captain Ramsey at one time or another. He was accepted in the finest homes, but generally he avoided island society, preferring the company of his rowdy crew.
Indeed, it looked as if Captain Ramsey had joined his men in partaking rather freely at the grogshop down the street. He was making as much noise as any of them, his deep timbred voice raised in song as he thumped his airborne companion heartily on the back.
When Ignatius turned away in disgust, Selena withdrew from the window. She was disappointed, however, when the solicitor returned to their discussion of Edith Markham, for he informed her that there was little he could do.
“I greatly regret, my dear, that I couldn’t be of more help. Fortunately, though, you will shortly have a new home. When is the happy occasion to be?”
Selena found it hard to repress a sigh at the thought of her engagement. “We haven’t set a date yet. It seems somewhat callous to marry so soon after Papa’s death.”
Ignatius presumed on the familiarity of his long acquaintance to shake a fatherly finger under her nose. “It has been nearly two years, my dear. You don’t want to lose Mr. Warner by delaying longer. You’re past the first blush of youth,” he pointed out, his kindly tone taking the sting from the words.
Selena declined to respond as she gathered up her reticule and parasol, well aware that at four and twenty she was considered almost an old maid. It wasn’t that men found her unattractive. She possessed an ethereal kind of beauty: a tall, slender figure; hair that was more silver than blond, as pale and fine as corn silk; and light blue eyes that seemed gray in certain lights. Nor was it that she disliked the idea of marriage. Her first engagement had been to a British naval officer whom she had loved with all the ardor of her eighteen-year-old heart. Their love had survived the ravages of war with America but had ended in tragedy when her betrothed’s ship foundered in a storm off Dominica.
She hadn’t completely recovered from her loss when Thomas Markham’s yacht had gone down in the same hurricane that laid waste to much of Saint Lucia. That calamity, following so close on the heels of the first, had left her with a fear, not of storms, but of ships.
After a lengthy period of mourning, she had accepted the suit of the wealthiest planter on the island. The Honorable Avery Warner was a widower twenty years her senior and a member of Antigua’s House of Assembly.
Selena wasn’t in love with Avery, but she greatly respected his ability as a legislator and his skill at managing his vast holdings, and while she sometimes chafed at Avery’s high-handed conduct toward her, she was willing to honor her father’s wishes. Thomas Markham had favored the match and had often expressed his desire to see her settled with such an estimable gentleman for a husband. In any event, marriage was the expected course for well-bred young ladies. And in marrying Avery, she would finally become mistress of her own home—without a harping stepmother to contend with.
Remembering Edith, Selena found herself fighting the urge to clench her fists. Instead, she extended a slender hand to the solicitor while struggling to maintain the quiet air of authority that had stood her in good stead when managing her vast sugar plantation.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Foulkes,” she said, forcing a smile. If he couldn’t help her, she would have to find a solution to her problem herself. She rarely opposed her stepmother, for Edith usually came out the winner in any open confrontation. But in this instance, it was her family home that was at stake—her one link to the father and mother she had lost. Even if it would no longer be her home after her marriage, she didn’t intend to let Edith sell it to strangers.
Ignatius seemed to understand her predicament, for he gave her a look of condolence as he took her hand. “Of course, my dear, if any ideas occur to me, I’ll let you know at once. Shall I escort you somewhere, or is your servant waiting downstairs?”
“Samuel is meeting me at the milliner’s with the carriage.”
“Very well, then. I shall see you at the ball tomorrow evening and beg a place on your dance card—if you will indulge an old man.”
Selena agreed with a strained smile and allowed the solicitor to show her out. As she descended the wrought iron stairs, a cooling sea breeze tugged at the neat coil of pale hair beneath her bonnet, loosening a few strands to wisp around her face. Impatiently she restored them to their proper place, then opened her parasol to shield her face from the harsh glare of the May sun as she made her way up Long Street toward the milliner’s shop.
She had only gone a short distance when she heard the chorus of cheers and wagers coming from the yard of the old arsenal across from the courthouse. There seemed to be some kind of brawl taking place, for she could see the rowdy crew of the Tagus. They had formed a large ring around the yard, and their gestures and shouts indicated they were deriving great enjoyment from the spectacle.
As she moved closer, raising the skirts of her blue muslin gown slightly to avoid the dust, she could see what held their attention. Two men were engaged in a hand-to-hand combat—a strange combination of fisticuffs and grappling. Selena recognized the black-haired giant she had seen earlier and knew by the shouts that his name must, ironically, be Tiny. The other man was Kyle Ramsey.
Captain Ramsey might be the smaller of the two, yet he was powerfully built, tall and perfectly proportioned. His shoulders were a yard wide and molded bronze, while his narrow waist tapered to lean hips and long, muscular legs that only added to the impression of limitless strength. Both men had stripped off their shirts and boots, and their glistening, rippling muscles provided a brazen display of sheer male virility.
Selena had been raised under a strict code of deportment and knew better than to linger, but the sailors’ excitement was contagious. She paused to watch, standing well back from the crowd.
It wasn’t a brawl so much as a contest of strength, she realized. The two men circled each other warily, then suddenly charged. They came together with a thud and bounced apart, neither able to gain the advantage by knocking the other off balance.
The captain got the best of the next encounter, managing to duck the giant’s flailing fist and land a blow in Tiny’s rock-hard belly, then dance away out of range. Grinning, the captain issued a jovial taunt to the giant. “You’re slipping, lad,” he called amiably. “You’ll want to aim lower next time.”
His te
eth flashed white against his bronzed complexion, and as he stood there poised for combat, all taut muscle and lean power and pulsing strength, Selena studied him. His overwhelming masculinity tugged at some deeply rooted feminine instinct that her engagement didn’t give her the liberty to acknowledge. Yet she could understand quite well why the captain had aroused the ladies’ interest. His sheer size and vitality was fascinating. He moved with litheness and grace for all his imposing height and powerful physique, and there was a lust for life about him that was extremely appealing.
Her gaze moved to Captain Ramsey’s face. It too was attractive. Roughly carved, it had a high forehead, heavy eyebrows, lean cheeks creased by laughter and a strong chin. The next moment, that same chin received a blow that made the captain stagger backward.
When Tiny followed through with a lunge, wrapping his massive arms around Ramsey’s waist, the captain nearly fell. But he saved himself at the last moment by thrusting one booted foot in front of the giant’s, sending Tiny catapulting face first into the dirt.
Tiny let out a roar and leaped to his feet for the next assault. His face contorted with determination as he lowered his huge head and came at the captain with the force of a battering ram, gathering speed all the while. The blow hit the captain in the midriff, making him grunt and double over as he was propelled backward.
The combined weight of the two men parted the crowd in front of Selena. Tiny stumbled and lurched forward to land spread-eagled on the ground, while the captain’s momentum carried him backward to where she was standing. He fell with a thud at her feet and lay there sprawled on his back, not moving.
Selena knowing full well that a lady ought not be seen on the street among such rabble, knowing also what was expected of her as the future wife of a prominent gentleman on the island, disregarded both the conventions of society and the wishes of her betrothed and bent over the captain, her blue eyes full of concern.
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