The Ship of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  THE SHIP OF LOVE

  In silence Rowena walked back to her prison cell. It was a relief when she could be alone again and face the shattering thoughts that had overtaken her.

  She would never beg for the Sultan's love, because he was not, and never could be, the man she loved.

  The man she loved was Mark.

  It was Mark.

  It had always been Mark.

  How long had she been in love with him and refused to admit it to herself?

  Perhaps from the first evening when he had made her so angry, yet left her with a strange feeling of excitement. He had thrilled her even when she had thought she disliked him.

  And then they had met again, in the woods, and she had sensed his power even when she rebelled against it. Her heart and her instincts had known then that the man she loved must be strong, as this man was strong.

  THE SHIP OF LOVE

  BARBARA CARTLAND

  Barbaracartland.com Ltd

  Copyright © 2005 by Cartland Promotions

  First published on the internet in 2005 by

  Barbaracartland.com

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely

  imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or

  actual happening.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval, without the prior

  permission in writing from the publisher.

  eBook conversion by David Stockman

  THE BARBARA CARTLAND

  PINK COLLECTION

  Barbara Cartland was the most prolific bestselling author in the history of the world. She was frequently in the Guinness Book of Records for writing more books in a year than any other living author. In fact her most amazing literary feat was when her publishers asked for more Barbara Cartland romances, she doubled her output from 10 books a year to over 20 books a year, when she was 77.

  She went on writing continuously at this rate for 20 years and wrote her last book at the age of 97, thus completing 400 books between the ages of 77 and 97.

  Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.

  Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible way to reach so many Barbara Cartland readers around the world.

  The 160 books will be published monthly and will be numbered in sequence.

  The series is called the Pink Collection as a tribute to Barbara Cartland whose favourite colour was pink and it became very much her trademark over the years.

  The Barbara Cartland Pink Collection is published only on the internet. Log on to www.barbaracartland.com to find out how you can purchase the books monthly as they are published, and take out a subscription that will ensure that all subsequent editions are delivered to you by mail order to your home.

  If you do not have access to a computer you can write for information about the Pink Collection to the following address :

  Barbara Cartland.com Ltd.

  240 High Road,

  Harrow Weald,

  Harrow HA3 7BB

  United Kingdom.

  Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520

  Titles in this series

  1. The Cross of Love

  2. Love in the Highlands

  3. Love Finds the Way

  4. The Castle of Love

  5. Love is Triumphant

  6. Stars in the Sky

  7. The Ship of Love

  THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND

  Barbara Cartland who sadly died in May 2000 at the age of nearly 99 was the world's most famous romantic novelist who wrote 723 books in her lifetime with worldwide sales of over 1 billion copies and her books were translated into 36 different languages.

  As well as romantic novels, she wrote historical biographies, 6 autobiographies, theatrical plays, books of advice on life, love, vitamins and cookery. She also found time to be a political speaker and television and radio personality.

  She wrote her first book at the age of 21 and this was called Jigsaw. It became an immediate bestseller and sold 100,000 copies in hardback and was translated into 6 different languages. She wrote continuously throughout her life, writing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. Her books have always been immensely popular in the United States, where in 1976 her current books were at numbers 1 & 2 in the B. Dalton bestsellers list, a feat never achieved before or since by any author.

  Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime and will be best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels, so loved by her millions of readers throughout the world.

  Her books will always be treasured for their moral message, her pure and innocent heroines, her good looking and dashing heroes and above all her belief that the power of love is more important than anything else in everyone's life.

  "The sea can be so beautiful. It stretches from horizon to horizon and goes on forever just like the real true love of a man and a woman for each other."

  Barbara Cartland

  CHAPTER ONE

  1877

  "I shall die of love for you! I know I shall. Dearest, most beautiful Rowena, goddess of my heart, say you return just a fraction of my adoration and I ask no more."

  The young man seemed about to expire from passion, but instead of impressing Rowena Thornhill it only made her want to laugh.

  He was rather plump, and not at all the right shape for declarations of eternal love.

  "Do get up, Sir Cedric," she said, struggling to free her hand. "And let me go."

  "Not until you say you're mine," he moaned.

  "Well, I'm not yours and I'm never going to be."

  "Adorable, loveliest Rowena – "

  "My name is Miss Thornhill, and if you don't get up I shall scream."

  That made him rise reluctantly, but still he clung to her hand until she rapped his knuckles with her fan.

  Miss Rowena Thornhill was almost nineteen with a soft, peach like skin and golden hair that hung in soft curls around her heart shaped face.

  In her pink lace and satin ball gown, she looked glorious enough to inspire any man with love, but Sir Cedric's debts were notorious, and she knew that it was her father's bank balance, rather than her own charms, that had caused these ecstasies.

  The knowledge didn't break her heart, for she cared nothing for Sir Cedric. But it was depressing. She would have liked to be appreciated for herself.

  Normally she enjoyed balls, but she wished she'd never come to this one. It was almost the last dance of the season, and everyone who was still in London was there.

  Lights blazed from the windows, the finest food and wines were served by powdered footmen, and all about her attractive men and women laughed, danced and flirted.

  But Rowena was beginning to find these occasions troubling. They had an atmosphere that disturbed her.

  Gradually she'd realised that nobody looked at her without calculating that her father was one of the richest men in England.

  She was looking forward to escaping London for the peace and honesty of the country.

  But first she had to deal with this unimpressive swain.

  "Don't play with my feelings," he begged. "I adore you madly."

  "And I tell you that I don't adore you
, and never could."

  "After the encouragement you gave me – "

  "I did no such thing!"

  "You left the ball with me."

  "I left with you because you were making such a fuss and people were beginning to stare. But now I'm going back."

  Desperation gave her callow admirer courage. Swooping suddenly, he tried to put his arms about her and kiss her.

  "How dare you!" she exclaimed furiously. "Release me at once."

  Instead of obeying he made another attempt to reach her mouth, breathing wine fumes all over her.

  That was enough to make Miss Thornhill lose her temper. The next moment Sir Cedric was clutching his cheek, that smarted under a very unladylike slap "And I'll do it again if you don't stop being so silly," she said breathlessly.

  Then, turning, she fled.

  She'd never been in Ellesmere House before, so she simply headed as far from the ballroom as possible, anxious to get away from the sound of music.

  But Sir Cedric was coming after her. She ran harder, lost now and with no idea where she was going. The house was ablaze with lights for this was the final ball of the season, and nothing had been spared to show it off at its finest.

  Then she opened a door at random, and found herself in a room without lights. All she could see were the great French windows leading to the moonlit garden.

  Once out there she might be lost among the trees. Just one final burst of speed towards the open windows –

  But suddenly she collided hard with a human form, and a man's voice said impatiently,

  "Be careful."

  In the semi darkness she could make out a tall man with broad shoulders. His voice was strong and he seemed youngish, but what mostly struck her was the disagreeable note in his voice.

  She tried to escape him, but he'd taken hold of her shoulders and was holding her still while he studied what little he could see of her in the dim light.

  "Let me go at once," she said. "I can't stay here."

  "You can if I say so. You should be at the ball. This part of the house is private. What are you doing here?"

  "That is none of your business."

  He peered closer. "Good heavens! You're too young for balls. You're little more than a child."

  "I am nineteen years old," she said furiously, "I have been presented at court and I've received three proposals of marriage. Which is three more than I wanted, if you must know."

  She wished she could see him better, but he had his back to the French windows, and his face was in shadow. But she could sense the grin with which he said,

  "What a wealth of experience! So why are you running away like a frightened rabbit?"

  She heard footsteps outside, her name being called by Sir Cedric, and groaned.

  "Because of that silly creature! I've lost all patience with him."

  The next moment the door was pushed open and Sir Cedric rushed into the room.

  "There you are," he cried.

  "Yes, here I am, but as you see I'm no longer unprotected. Here – "

  But to her dismay the strange man had vanished. He must have gone into the garden, she thought. How unchivalrous!

  Luckily Sir Cedric was too deep in his emotions to notice her confusion.

  "Now I understand," he said. "You never really meant to escape me at all. You fled only to increase my ardour."

  "I suppose you think that's why I slapped your face?" she retorted.

  "But of course. I was enchanted by your display of maidenly modesty."

  Rowena stamped her foot.

  "Do stop talking nonsense. And if you come any closer you'll get another 'display of maidenly modesty' that will make your eyes water. And then maybe you'll believe that I mean what I say."

  Faced with her bluntness, Sir Cedric tried another approach. With disastrous results.

  "Permit me, beloved of my heart, to point out that the world saw us leaving the ballroom in each other's company. Society is censorious. What will they say?"

  Rowena gasped, too taken aback by this disgraceful attitude to be able to think of an answer.

  Thinking his chance had come he fell to his knees, seized her hands, and began covering them with kisses.

  Rowena managed to wrench one hand free but he held the other tightly. She longed to slap him again, but twice in one evening might be unladylike, so she contented herself with bringing her fan down on the top of his head.

  By great good luck she managed to strike the place where his hair was thinning. He squealed and released her in order to rub the patch, which stung.

  "Go and tell a censorious society about that, if you dare!" she said furiously.

  Sir Cedric got to his feet with as much dignity as he could manage, gave her a reproachful look, and made his way slowly out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Left to herself, Rowena burst into tears of anger and disgust.

  "Don't do that," said a voice from the darkness.

  She nearly fainted with shock.

  "What?"

  The strange man stepped out of the shadows. As he did so, he turned his head just enough to show her a very slight hook in his nose.

  "I really admired you up to that point," he said. "Wonderful spirit. Splendid. Don't spoil it by weeping and wailing like any other girl."

  "Have you been here all the time?" she demanded in horror.

  "Of course. Best entertainment I've ever had."

  "Entertainment? He assaulted me, and you just stood there enjoying yourself. You should have come to my aid."

  "What for? You didn't need me. I never saw a young lady so well able to take care of herself."

  "That is not the point – "

  "No, the point – which you'd realise if you stopped to consider it – is that if I'd appeared and knocked him down, as you seem to think I should have done, it would have created a scandal. And that would really have given a censorious society something to relish."

  The knowledge that he was right exasperated her. How dare this unmannerly creature get the better of her!

  "I'm a stranger to you," he added. "For all you know I might have a dubious reputation, and being found here with me could be enough to ruin you."

  "I am not interested in your reputation," she said stiffly.

  "Not interested in the reputation of a man whom you're alone with in a dark room? How foolish of you! Did you really leave the ballroom with that buffoon?"

  "Yes," she said mortified.

  "You should have had more sense. You're a bonny fighter, but you don't know how to behave like a young lady of delicacy. Now be off with you while you're still safe."

  "You mean you aren't going to escort me back to the ballroom?"

  "And be seen entering with you after such a long absence?" he asked grimly. "No thank you. You may not care for your reputation, but I care for my future. I've no wish to be coerced into marriage. They've tried every trick in the book on me, but that would be one too many."

  She gasped with indignation. "Are you daring to suggest that I planned this as a way to marry you? I don't even know who you are."

  "I can't decide what to think. Maybe you planned this as a trap, or maybe you are a really silly little girl who thinks she can do as she likes without consequences. Either way, you're not for me."

  Rowena's anger almost boiled over. Sensing it, he seized the hand that was holding her fan.

  "No, don't use it on me," he said humorously. "Whatever it did to that booby, a display of temper won't have me grovelling at your feet. I've never been at any woman's feet yet, and it certainly won't be yours. Now leave, and return quickly to the ballroom."

  She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Had any man ever before behaved in such an ungentlemanly fashion?

  Rowena fled.

  By the time she had reached the ballroom, she'd calmed down and managed to seem cheerful as she approached her aunt, Lady Pennington.

  She had been born plain Susan Thornhill, but had managed to secure Si
r Mathew Pennington on the marriage market.

  Armed with this lowly title she did her best to help her brother, Colonel Thornhill, find a splendid husband for his daughter and only child, Rowena.

  She hosted his lavish parties at their house in Grosvenor Square, and chaperoned Rowena on her frequent invitations.

  She worked hard to help her niece but, as Colonel Thornhill was beginning to realise, the wife of a mere knight did not have the entrée to the very highest levels of society.

  Also, Sir Mathew was growing peevish at his wife's frequent absences from home. He refused all opportunities to accompany her, preferring a pipe and a good brandy in his own library.

  As soon as she entered the ballroom Rowena saw her aunt giving her anxious looks. She smiled in reassurance, but didn't want to talk just then, lest she give something away. So she gave her attention to the young man hurrying towards her.

  "I have been looking for you," he said, "I was afraid you had gone home, and forgotten our dance."

  "Our dance?" she queried.

  "I wrote my name on your card."

  "Then let us dance," she said, quickly checking his name on her card, for she could barely recall him. Lord Rennick.

  She'd discovered that that was how it was, when you were a successful debutante. Young men came and went in a dream, and it grew hard to tell them apart.

  She danced two dances with him, then couples began to drift out onto the balcony to watch some fireworks.

  But Lord Rennick clasped her hand and drew her back.

  "I have been wanting to get you alone for a long time," he said.

  "I think we should join the others," Rowena answered firmly.

  "But I want to talk to you – to tell you I love you and I want you to be my wife."

  Rowena drew in her breath. Two unwelcome proposals in one evening was more than she could endure.

  "Excuse me," she said hurriedly. "My aunt will be looking for me."

  She slipped away before he could protest, and found Lady Pennington glad to go home.

  *