by Andrea Kane
My Hearts Desire
The Barrett Family Series (Book One)
Andrea Kane
MY HEART’S DESIRE is dedicated, with immeasurable love and thanks, to my four best friends, who I am also fortunate enough to call my family:
Brad, my partner, my anchor and my eternal champion; we did it, love!
Wendi, my little daughter with the BIG heart and the wisdom and maturity far beyond her tender years.
And Mom & Dad, who have shared the dream all my life and never stopped believing, even when I did.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Author’s Note
A Biography of Andrea Kane
Chapter 1
SHE WAS FREE.
The irony of the thought made Alexandria smile. Here she stood, in the unprotected shadows of night, amid the deserted warehouses of London’s unsavory docks. She was totally alone but for a relentless dream and a well thought out plan to guide her. Yet she felt no fear, only exhilaration. She had waited long enough. It was time.
She inched her way through the narrow path between the buildings and paused to listen. Instinct told her it was safe. Cautiously she stepped out into the inky blackness. The March night was cold and gloomier than usual due to the heavy fog that clung to the wharf and hid the Thames from view. But Alexandria could feel the river’s presence. She had a sixth sense for the water; a born sailor, her father had once grudgingly admitted. Of course, sailing in a sheltered cove off the English Channel was quite different from sailing the ocean in a storm. But then, the weather was the captain’s concern, not hers. All she had to worry about was getting to the ship. The ship that, according to the answers to her discreet questions, would be departing at daybreak.
Alexandria stretched her cramped limbs. She had stood pressed against that blasted brick warehouse wall since four o’clock when the gatekeeper officially closed the docks for the day. Hardly daring to breathe, she had heard the sounds of the busy wharf subside—the hoists and winches ceasing to unload cargo, the workers filing out, jovial at day’s end. At last all had grown quiet. But still she’d dared not move; not until she could be concealed by darkness. Until now. It had seemed an eternity.
The pungent smell of beer accosted her, together with a burst of raucous laughter that caused Alexandria to start. But it was only the sailors who frequented the numerous alehouses along the docks, celebrating their last night of freedom before taking to the sea. Soon the intoxicated revelers began to sing a cheerful bawdy tune in exuberant though slightly off-key voices. Alexandria grinned. There was no danger here. The men were too deep in their cups to notice her. Unless, of course, they mistook her for one of their doxies, she thought with a troubled frown.
Another howl of laughter sent her scurrying along. The blood pulsed through her veins faster and faster. A delicate apparition in the night, Alexandria looked anything but a doxy. Her muslin gown was of a rich Devonshire brown, its simple skirts rustling about her ankles with each rapid step of her slippered feet. To avoid tripping, she stilled the movement by clutching the soft folds between her nervous fingers. Although she possessed an innate regal carriage and grace that bespoke noble birth, Alexandria was aware that soon she would be transformed from a well-bred miss to an outcast of the haut ton.
Pushing these thoughts aside, she moved silently over the wooden boards of the dock.
She could make out the dim outlines of the ships now, their wooden hulls bobbing and tugging to be set free. But the powerful hawsers that bound them securely to the dock were stubborn and would not relent. The tall masts, bare and waiting for their sails to be hoisted, towered above the decks and were but vague shadows in the murky sky. Waves lapped gently at the shoreline, their caressing motion causing the ships to sway slowly from side to side.
Alexandria slowed, caught her breath, and paused before each ship. She squinted, studying the carefully lettered names one by one. It was difficult to make out the words, so dense was the fog. Thus far it had served in her favor. Now she found herself fervently hoping it would lift by morning, else she’d be going nowhere and all her scheming would have been for naught.
At the end of the dock she found her mark and caught her breath in wonder. The ship was more splendid than she had ever imagined, sleek and powerful, the words La Belle Illusion boldly printed on its impressive bow. Compared to Alexandria’s small skiff, The Sea Spray, on which she did her own covert exploring, La Belle Illusion was positively grand.
Tearing her gaze from the vessel, she glanced furtively left, then right. The night was still but for an occasional shout of laughter from far away. Triumphant, the taste of victory on her tongue, she hurried up the ramp and onto the ship.
She was just releasing her breath when she saw the man. He sat on the deck, directly in her path. Obviously he was here to guard the ship against trespassers. Her heart sank to her feet. How could she have been so stupid?
She was trapped. Trapped. Frantically her eyes searched for safety. Any place where she could hide. But there was no escape. Her plan had failed.
Tears wet her lashes as she imagined what fate would await her at home. Her mother would suffer an immediate attack of the vapors. Upon recovering, she would deliver lectures and accusations, resulting in more stringent chaperoning and a more structured life.
Worst of all, it would mean a Season of introductions aimed toward a loveless, empty marriage to a cold, uncaring nobleman. Life was already intolerable. Alexandria couldn’t bear for it to be more so.
She stepped forward, prepared to beg. Perhaps the man would take pity on her, allow her to escape and find other means of arriving at her destination.
“Sir …” The word was barely a whisper. The man gave no response. “Sir?” she murmured, a bit more audibly. He responded with a loud snore.
Alexandria couldn’t help herself; she began to giggle. It was all so preposterous, and her nerves were taut to the breaking point. The poor man was out cold, his head sagging on his shoulder, an empty bottle lying beside him. Hardly a fearsome adversary. She said a silent prayer. The fates continued to smile down upon her.
Sweeping past the ineffective sentry, Alexandria hurried to the stern of the ship, then down the cramped stairway. Here she hesitated. Which door to try? She put her ear to the widest one, listening intently. No sound came from within. She reached out hesitantly, pressed the handle, and pushed the door open.
In the darkness she could barely make out the outline of a desk and a trunk in one corner and a narrow bed in another. The bed caught her eye. Perfect! Quietly closing the door behind her, Alexandria hastened across the room and slid beneath the neatly made berth. She offered herself hearty congratulations on the excellent choice of a hiding place.
Judging from the sparse contents of the room, she hoped this cabin would be unoccupied during the voyage. It would serve her well.
As she settled herself on the hard floor, prepared for a long and uncomfortable night, Alexand
ria smiled.
Her new life had begun.
She was free at last.
“Off on another adventure, are we?” The caustic words received no immediate reaction from the powerful, virile man who strode down the seemingly endless marble hallway of the mansion. Ignoring the butler’s attempt to assist him, he flung open the heavy door and glanced toward the waiting carriage. Assured that all was ready for his departure, Drake Barrett turned cold green eyes to address his younger brother’s mocking comment.
“You were well aware of my intention to sail today, Sebastian,” was the icy reply.
The slighter, thinner man considered his brother’s response. “I suppose I should be used to your comings and goings by now, Drake. Tell me, does Father know you are leaving today?”
Drake leaned against the open doorway, a humorless smile on his face. “Of course.”
“Then I need not ask what sort of mood I will find him in. We both know how he feels about his beloved elder son, Marquis of Cairnham and heir apparent, pursuing his less than acceptable activities, now, don’t we?”
Drake folded his arms across his broad chest. “I’m sure you will do your best to comfort him, Sebastian. You always do.”
Sebastian gave him an innocent look. “Well, someone has to be here to look after him. After all, his health is not what it used to be.”
“Yes, I know. So try to remember that and spend less time gambling at White’s and more time at home.”
“Is this touching concern all for Father, or is it for Samantha?” Sebastian asked shrewdly, his cool blue eyes watching Drake’s face.
Drake frowned at the mention of his sister’s name. “Sebastian, she’s just a child. Yes, I worry about her. When I’m away, you are the only one here to look after her.”
Sebastian gave a derisive laugh, turning away. “We both know how little comfort she takes in my presence, Drake. As far as our little sister is concerned, the sun rises and sets on you.”
Before Drake could respond, a tall, slender young girl flew into the room and flung her arms about his waist.
“Drake! Were you planning to leave without saying goodbye?” she asked, her voice quavering, her soft green eyes brimming with tears.
Drake’s hard expression softened as he stroked the sable hair back from her lovely, anxious face.
“Of course not, Sammy,” he soothed gently. “I was planning to go to the stables and search for you. I have never left without seeing you first, have I?”
She shook her head, a worried pucker forming between her brows. “You will be careful? You will come home safely?”
“Yes and yes.” He laughed, giving her a hard hug. “And I expect you to behave yourself while I am away. Is that understood?”
She nodded, wiping her eyes. “Just come home soon … please?”
“As soon as I can,” he promised, squeezing her hands. He glanced over her head and met his brother’s cold stare. “I need to talk to Sebastian before I leave, little one. Why don’t you go for your ride now? I’ll be home before you have time to miss me.”
With a pang of guilt he watched Samantha go, then turned toward Sebastian. “As soon as I reach Canada, deliver the supplies to York, and load the timber for our shipbuilding company, I will return.”
“That will take months. Aren’t you concerned about the fate of Allonshire during your absence?” Sebastian’s voice was laced with sarcasm.
“Allonshire is quiet during the Season. If Father were concerned he would not have come to London with you and Samantha. He has managed quite well without me until now. I have no reason to doubt that he will continue to do so.”
“But he would prefer you to remain in England and help him run all the estates, not to mention his business holdings,” Sebastian baited him. “Instead of disappearing every few months to—”
“Enough!” Drake’s eyes were chips of green ice, his tone tense with anger. “I have no time for verbal warfare, Sebastian. My coach awaits.” He strode out of the town house, his buff pantaloons hugging his muscular legs, his brown wool coat fitted snugly across his broad shoulders. The footmen beside the gleaming coach snapped to attention as Drake approached, for the future Duke of Allonshire did not like to be kept waiting.
Drake paused, one foot in the carriage, then turned back toward the doorway where Sebastian stood impassively watching his departure. “Good-bye, Sebastian. I am certain we will continue this discussion upon my return. We always do.”
Sebastian did not reply, watching as the team of grays moved off, carrying Drake toward his destination.
On its heels a second carriage appeared, halting before the great house. Sebastian remained where he stood, his face expressionless, as an expensively clothed gentleman alighted from the carriage. Nodding to his coachman, the silver-haired man glanced nervously about before hurrying up to the entranceway where Sebastian waited.
“Has he departed?” the older man asked, his features taut, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Sebastian smiled slowly. “Mere moments ago, Reginald, my friend,” he replied. “Your timing is impeccable.”
The visitor nodded, shifting from one foot to the other. “Please … let us be done with it.”
Sebastian shrugged. “As you wish.” He stepped aside, allowing the man to precede him into the hallway. “Come.” He gestured toward the library. “We can speak privately in here.”
Once the door had closed behind them, the two men stood facing each other, neither bothering to sit down.
“Well?” Sebastian demanded.
“I did what you asked. It has been delivered.” The words were wrenched from his mouth, casting his soul into a hell of its own creation.
Relief was evident on Sebastian’s sharp features. “And without a moment to spare,” he muttered, half to himself.
“My debt has been repaid,” the elegant gentleman reminded him in an anguished voice.
Sebastian chuckled, the icy sound echoing throughout the room. “So it has,” he agreed. Turning, he strode over to the desk, reaching into the drawer that held the promissory note. He placed it in the man’s trembling hand. “Here is the document you are so impatient to receive.” His eyes were cold, his smile tight-lipped. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you.”
The other man did not smile, nor did he reply. As soon as the hated paper was in his possession he turned and fled, desperate to escape his torment.
“God, forgive me,” Reginald whispered as he hurried to his waiting carriage.
But he knew there could be no forgiveness, nor was there any escape. Men could die, and he was responsible.
The guilt would be with him forever.
Chapter 2
“NOT T’ WORRY; HERE’S THE cap’n now, Smitty.” Thomas Greer, the youngest sailor on La Belle Illusion, stepped back from loading cargo into the hold of the ship and gestured toward the dock. In response, his portly companion pushed a thick shock of white hair off his face, his weathered features relaxing.
“Thank goodness,” Smitty muttered, half to himself, as the tall, raven-haired captain loped down the wharf and swung himself effortlessly onto the bustling ship.
Drake’s emerald eyes missed nothing as he quickly scrutinized the activity around him, then turned to the older man who now regarded him with a mixture of concern and annoyance. “Is everything under control, Smitty?” He didn’t wait for a reply. He already knew what the answer would be. Whether at home as Drake’s valet or at sea as his first mate, Smitty was the epitome of organization and capability. Drake cast an eye to the river. “Fortunately the fog lifted early this morning,” he continued, ignoring Smitty’s expectant stare. “Otherwise, we would never be able to sail.”
“I was beginning to wonder if we were going to sail.” There was no missing the meaning of Smitty’s pointed comment.
Drake grinned. “I apologize for being so late. I had no idea that the meeting with the War Department would take this long. It turned out to be
rather important.”
Smitty’s expression changed. “Is there some problem, my lord?”
“I have a message to deliver to Major General Brock when we arrive in York.” Drake frowned. “At least I am not the only one who believes that a war with the Americans is imminent and that another war could cripple England. Regrettably, many of our politicians ignore these truths. I do not.”
“But it appears that others share your view,” Smitty put in.
Drake leaned back against the railing of the ship. “Yes, but not enough to form a majority. I fear it will be too late before enough people realize what a war in North America would mean for England. Napoleon is isolating us from our resources in Europe; therefore we badly need Canada’s timber. If, for any reason, we lose access to that as well, things will become quite bleak.”
“And your message to General Brock?”
Drake shrugged. “I, of course, am not privy to the contents. My guess would be that he is being urged to prepare the defense of Upper Canada in the event of an American attack.”
“And will he?”
Drake gave an emphatic nod. “Brock is quite astute. I believe he is taking the situation seriously. We will soon find out.” He stood abruptly, six feet one inch of commanding power. “Are we prepared to sail?”
Smitty felt the change immediately and snapped to attention. “At once, my lord.”
“We’re at sea now, Smitty,” Drake put in mildly. “Please cease to address me as ‘my lord.’”
Smitty chuckled. “A small slip, Captain. I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again.”
“See that you do.” Drake’s tone was severe, but Smitty recognized the spark of mischief in his eyes. “Else I’ll be forced to address you as Smithers. Imagine the reaction of the crew to that tidbit of information.”
“You’ve made your point, Captain,” was the dry response.
Drake’s grin widened. “I believe I have, Smitty.”
A short time later the hawsers were unbound and the large brig was maneuvered from the dock. Though the fog had lifted, the day was gray, with a brisk wind that would easily carry La Belle into open waters. The men moved quickly, each one knowing his job and doing it without question. Drake hand-picked only the finest, hardest working sailors to compose the crew of La Belle Illusion, He was a demanding yet unconventional captain who chose not to limit himself to barking orders and administering discipline. Instead, while accepting nothing short of perfection from his men, he worked equally as hard as each and every one of them. He offered excellent pay, fair treatment and, as a result, received the crew’s absolute loyalty and undying respect.
