by Amelia Grey
Bewitching
Amelia Grey
Amelia Grey (2013)
* * *
Rating: ★★★☆☆
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Historical, Romance, Regency, Historical Fiction, United States, Historical Romance
Set in 1804 Baltimore and on the high seas of the Atlantic Ocean, historical romance comes alive in this sweeping love story by Amelia Grey. Amid the treachery and intrigue of Napoleonic France, a beautiful woman is entangled in a web of danger, betrayal, and irresistible desire.
Unemployed governess Chelly Worthington is happy to accept the job of caring for a child on a voyage to France. The difficult task will be hiding her attraction to wealthy ship owner, Austin Radcliffe who has promised to pay her handsomely when the boy is safely delivered to his father. But staying out of the enticing man’s arms is impossible.
Austin Radcliffe must pay a debt to the man who saved his mother’s life no matter how distasteful the request. But will keeping his promise to Napoleon’s youngest brother cost him the love of his life?
Chelly quickly finds out that all it not as legitimate as it seems and is forced to take matters into her own hands, even at the risk of losing the man she loves.
Praise for Bewitching
A compelling story of love and betrayal that will keep you turning the pages until the thrilling end. Joan Johnston author of Wyoming Bride
Intriguing plot twists with a unique Regency flavor that will please the era’s fans. Romantic Times Magazine
Two strong willed people captivate and charm in this moving story of honor and pride. Rendezvous
A wonderful and exiting story that will keep the reader enthralled until the very end. Readers, don’t miss this one. The Paperback Forum
Bewitching
by
Amelia Grey
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 1995, 2013 by Gloria Dale Skinner. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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Thank You.
This book is dedicated to children all over the world, but especially to my daughter Charla and my son Cameron.
Dear Readers,
Before I wrote as Amelia Grey, I wrote as Gloria Dale Skinner and as Charla Cameron. While those books have romantic hero and heroines, and stories that will touch your heart, they aren't the same style as my Amelia Grey Regency Romances. I hope you will enjoy these previously published works and look for my new Amelia Grey titles at your favorite bookstore or e-retailer!
Happy Reading!
Amelia
After life's fitful fever, she sleeps well.
—Betsy Patterson Bonaparte's Epitaph
Part I
The Journey
Prologue
Baltimore, 1804
Ordinarily, Austin wouldn't flinch when he looked down the barrel of a musket, but his mother sat beside him. He hadn't taken his eyes off the three highwaymen since they'd ridden out in front of him and stopped the carriage. Austin's sword hung at his side, but that wouldn't be much defense against the man holding a long-barreled musket and the two swordsmen flanking him. Niggling bumps of fear crawled up Austin's back. His stomach filled with bubbles of apprehension.
"Please don't make trouble, Austin," Beatrice said, patting her son's arm nervously. "Give them your money, so they'll let us be on our way."
Austin studied robbers as best he could with the late afternoon sun half-blinding him. The heavyset man with the musket had large round eyes, full cheeks and a grim twist to his misshapen lips. The face of the man closest to Austin was covered by a bushy beard. Thick, untamed hair fell to his shoulders. The highwayman farthest away wore a red coat, and a hardened scowl that distorted his facial features.
All three men appeared muscular and fit beneath their worn clothing. It troubled Austin that they didn't try to hide their faces. That could mean they didn't intend to let him and his mother live. Austin hoped he was wrong about that.
Damnation! He hadn't planned to travel so far from their home, but his mother had been enjoying the spring sunshine and fresh air so much he'd hated to bring the day to a close. He should have been more cautious, even though there had been no news of robbers in the area.
Wanting to prevent a fight, Austin carefully reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his coin purse. "This is all I have." He extended the leather pouch to the one with the gun trained on him, hoping he'd lower the weapon. The bearded man goaded his skittish horse closer to the carriage and took the money.
"We'll take yours, too," the heaviest man said looking straight at Beatrice.
"Oh, my goodness," she answered in a soft, flustered voice, fanning her face with her handkerchief. "I don't have any money with me. Why would I bring anything like that out on a Sunday ride?"
"We'll take your purse anyway." He pointed the gun barrel to the drawstring reticule lying in her lap.
Tight-lipped, Austin picked up the small bag and tossed it into the robber's hands. These men were serious, and he didn't want his mother hurt.
The bearded man stuffed the money pouch and reticule down the front of his shirt. "A lady dressed as fancy as you is bound to have some valuables. Jewelry maybe? We'll take it."
Her eyes widened with fear and her hand went immediately to the braided cord attached to the collar of her fur-lined cloak. "B—but I don't."
Austin wasn't surprised his mother didn't do a good job of lying. She'd never had to. A dark, angry feeling settled over Austin for the way these men were frightening his mother.
"Take off your gloves and let me see your hands. Take the cape off, too. Be quick about it. We don't have all day." The man's horse snorted and shifted restlessly, sidestepping him closer to the carriage.
Clearly stunned they didn't take her word, Beatrice gasped and again clutched tighter the braided cord that held her cloak on her shoulders.
Austin tensed. There was no way around it. A fight was coming.
"Leave her alone," Austin said, stalling for time while he figured out a way he could have a chance at beating all three men. If he didn't come up with something, neither he nor his mother would live. He should have let Jubal come with them.
"She doesn't have anything of value. You have our money. Now let us pass. We don't want any trouble."
The robber lifted the musket a little higher and trained it on Austin's chest. One corner of his mouth lifted in a cruel snarl.
"You say one more word and I'll put a hole in you the size of a cannonball."
The man's cold eyes said he wouldn't hesitate to shoot and there wasn't much chance of his missin
g at the close range. Austin wished the sun lay at his back instead of right between his eyes.
"No, please. There's no need for that. Look, I'm taking off my gloves. See? I have no rings or bracelets." Beatrice held up her trembling hands.
"Take off your cloak. I want to see if you have a necklace round your neck or a fancy brooch pinned to your dress."
"What?" Beatrice's eyes widened again. "I—I don't have anything pinned to my dress."
Austin cringed. His mother was lying again. He knew it. She knew it, and the robbers knew it. The locket pinned to her dress had been a gift from her husband on their wedding day. The small piece of gold was her most prized possession. She wouldn't give it up easily.
Austin had to make a quick decision. Did he risk losing his life and his mother's by trying to stop them now? Or did he allow things to continue on this course in hope they'd ride away without bloodshed?
The robber closest to them was as calm as any man Austin had seen holding a musket, but the horses the men rode were high-strung. That gave Austin an idea and, he hoped, an edge.
The man farthest away nudged his horse forward unexpectedly and backhanded Beatrice across the face, startling all the horses. She gasped pitifully and fell backward against the cushioned seat.
Rage flared within Austin. In one fluid movement, he rose from the seat as his hand closed over the hilt of his sword, sliding the blade from its intricate scabbard. He caught the nearest horse under the neck with the sharp edge. The wounded horse reared and buckled, toppling the rider with the musket. Austin heard the musket fire. Men shouted, his mother whimpered and swords screeched against scabbards.
The robbers prepared to fight.
Austin vaulted from the carriage and whacked the mare across the rump, hoping the frightened horse would run away with the carriage and take his mother out of harm's reach, but the animal merely bucked and snorted.
Regaining his footing, Austin saw two of the men rushing him with drawn swords.
He pushed up the sleeves of his jacket and prepared for the onslaught. With a yell of excitement, the bushy-haired man charged. Austin hopped and skipped, thrusting forward with the sword, backward and from side to side. Steel clinked against steel. The air rang with the clashing of metal. Sweat drenched him within seconds.
Austin strained to keep his gaze on the blades and the other man who was trying to come at him from behind. A split second of opportunity presented itself, and Austin slid his sword into the man's stomach and sliced up toward the rib cage. With his free hand, he shoved the robber backward as he withdrew the sword. The man collapsed in agony to the ground.
Austin jumped back, quickly on guard against the other swordsman whose blade whipped across Austin's arm. He winced, hoisting his sword upward quickly to block a fatal blow. Sweat rolled down his face and neck. The thief who'd held the musket joined his partner and both men came at him with jabbing swords. Austin fought hard and quickly, keeping his thoughts on the man who'd struck his mother. While blocking one sword, Austin caught the blade of another and it sliced across his midsection. Burning pain shot through him. His wounded arm ached from the loss of blood and the weight of the sword.
"Get the woman!" the bearded man yelled to his partner. "Kill her!"
Austin's blood pumped furiously. He trembled with fear for his mother. He wouldn't accept defeat. "Get out of here!" he yelled to his mother.
Beatrice frantically searched around her feet for the reins. Not finding them, she scrambled from the carriage and lifted her skirts to run. The robber caught her after only a few steps. His beefy arm grabbed her around the shoulders. He raised his sword to her neck.
Fear enveloped him. Leaving his back unguarded, Austin let out an anguished yell and charged toward them. His heartbeat raced; his feet and legs did not move fast enough. He wasn't going to make it.
A shot rang out. The robber jerked. His sword stilled in mid-air. A red stain appeared on his shirt. He released Beatrice and dropped wide-eyed to the ground. The other man growled in rage and ran toward Austin with raised sword.
Austin didn't have time to wonder who had saved his mother's life as the last robber's weapon clashed violently against his. Within moments, a short, dark-haired man appeared at Austin's side and engaged the robber. Austin yielded his fight to the stranger and staggered away. He slumped to his knees, gasping for breath. He bent double from the pain in his arm and midriff. His mother knelt him, weeping.
Thank God she was safe.
Yanking the front of his jacket around his chest, he pressed it tightly against his bleeding wound. The fresh face of Austin's helper dubbed him a young man—not yet twenty, Austin was sure—but he was an excellent with a sword. Austin's eyes blurred as he watched the skilled swordsman overpower the robber's blade and make short work of finishing him off.
In the distance behind them stood a magnificent mount with a silver and gold-threaded horse blanket and ornately decorated saddle. The stranger was elaborately dressed in a scarlet coat adorned with gold-colored braid and large epaulets. Silver yarn fringed the dark-blue sash around his waist. Pheasant feathers trimmed his tricorn.
A burning pain skipped along Austin's stomach. He pressed his jacket tighter against the wound in his side as the stranger approached. Out of breath but grateful, Austin denied the weakness in his legs and forced himself to stand. Beatrice wrapped her arm around his waist to help him.
"I'm Austin Radcliffe. I'm indebted to you, sir."
The young man took off his hat and bowed politely. "I'm pleased to meet you. I am Jerome Bonaparte, youngest brother to France's First Consul, Napoleon Bonaparte," he said in a heavily accented voice.
Austin nodded. "You saved my mother's life. Should you ever need a favor, I give my word to help you. You need only to ask and anything I have is yours."
The self-confident young man smiled in response. "I shall remember your vow, Mr. Radcliffe."
Chapter 1
Baltimore, 1809
The first person Austin saw upon entering the smoky tavern was a golden-haired beauty. She glided across the room, carrying a tray loaded with tankards of ale to a table of boisterous customers. Austin forgot about searching for the man he'd come to meet in favor of watching the young woman.
At a glance, he knew her to be more than a mere serving wench. She held her head too high, carried herself too well to belong in a taproom. She was tall for a woman, but small-boned and with delicate features. There was something distinctly alluring about her.
Why was a lady of obvious quality serving drinks, he wondered? The firm set of her lips and cold expression in her eyes didn't detract from her lovely face. He smiled. She might be serving ale to a crowd of rowdy men, but she didn't like it.
The men at the table laughed loudly when she placed the tray of drinks in front of them. One of them cupped her buttocks with his palm at the same time another caressed her cheek. She swatted their hands, whirled from the table and stomped away.
She disappeared into another room, and Austin returned his attention to the reason he was on the wrong side of town. He didn't make a habit of meeting strange men in dock-side taverns, but this particular summons had brought back too many memories to ignore.
The Boar's Head Tavern was unfamiliar ground to him. It catered to the many sailors who walked the streets of Baltimore and its harbor looking for a place to spend their money and their time. Situated at the head of the busy Chesapeake Bay, Baltimore had miles of beautiful, functional waterfront, making the town one of the busiest seaports in the new world.
The serving wench walked back into the taproom with another tray and headed for a different table. Austin felt a rise in his manhood and chuckled to himself at his blatant reaction to this woman. He decided he needed to get away from his country estate more often and visit Miss Sophie's upstairs room in the Dock-Front Boardinghouse.
The taproom of the tavern was larger than most of the ones he'd been inside in the last few years, but he quickly spotted a lone man si
tting at a corner table away from the lamp light. Austin decided he must be the person he'd come to meet.
Throwing his waist-length cape over one shoulder, he strode into the room, bypassing one of the raucous groups the young woman had served. Low-burning lamps, cheroot and pipe smoke added to the room's hazy atmosphere. The scent of stale ale, food, and burned wood filled his nostrils.
He stopped in front of the man who didn't bother to look up at his approach and asked, "Auguste Le Camus?"
The stranger slowly lifted his head, showing a face with a large, hawk-like nose, small dark-brown eyes, bushy eyebrows, and thin lips. "I am he. You are Austin Radcliffe?"
The French accent didn't surprise Austin, but the lack of a smile or friendly greeting did. Brushing that aside, he nodded, then pulled out a chair and sat down at the small square table. If the man weren't cordial, there was no need to bother with pleasantries.
Getting right to the point, Austin asked, "Why did you ask me to meet you here? Why not just come to my office?"
"What I have to say is very important and for your ears only. No one must know we spoke." He kept his voice low. Both arms rested on the table, and he crouched over them, leaning toward Austin.
Austin agreed with what he said. He wasn't sure he wanted anyone in Baltimore to know he had had a liaison with Jerome Bonaparte's messenger. Even though he had great reason to appreciate Jerome, the rest of Maryland had reason to scorn him. Napoleon was at a zenith in France, but the Emperor and Jerome had made a laughingstock of one of Baltimore's finest citizens, Betsy Patterson.
After answering with a quick nod of his head, Austin stuck a finger down the shawl collar of his shirt, trying to loosen it. There could be only one reason this meeting had been arranged. Jerome had decided to call in the favor Austin had promised five years ago.
