A Jewel In Time; A Sultry Sisters Anthology
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A JEWEL IN TIME: A SULTRY SISTERS ANTHOLOGY
The Sultry Sisters are:
Barbara Devlin
Jeanne Adams
Caitlenn T. Ainnsley
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2014 Barbara C. Noyes
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher. This book may be loaned only through the Amazon lending library program.
Published by Barbara Devlin
The Brethren of the Coast characters used by permission of Barbara Devlin.
ISBN-978-0-9858548-7-4
Cover art by Lewellen Designs, www.lyndseylewellen.wordpress.com
DEDICATION
The Sultry Sisters would like to thank our family and friends for their unwavering support, especially as we bring this long cherished dream to fruition.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Table of Contents
A JEWEL IN TIME: A SULTRY SISTERS ANTHOLOGY
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Loving Lieutenant Douglas
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
EPILOGUE
Behind Enemy Lines
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
The Brit, the Brooch, and the Blizzard
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
SULTRY SISTER BIOS
Loving Lieutenant Douglas
Barbara Devlin
CHAPTER ONE
London
November, 1785
“I think dancing with a military man quite unworthy of you,” commented an anonymous disparager.
“Oh, I could not agree more.” An unknown female snickered. “Why on earth would any woman consider a soldier or a sailor, when there are so many eligible, titled targets in our midst?”
Given the unforgivable slight by the unseen snobs, Royal Navy Lieutenant Mark Douglas of the HMS Boreas stiffened his back, leashed his temper, and seethed in silence. He peered over his shoulder, spied a wealth of distinctive auburn curls, partially shielded by a large floral arrangement sitting atop a pedestal, but could gain no unobstructed sight, in light of the crush of society misses in his vicinity. In an effort to identify the mean-spirited harridans, and ensure he wasted no time on such flighty fools, he navigated the chasmal ballroom to secure a better vantage, as he could not confront them.
How dare the witless society chits, regardless of pedigree, cast such unfavorable insults on the brave souls responsible for safeguarding their liberty, so they might spend their night circling the Northcote’s polished floor in their frivolous endeavors? He’d wager his last boon they would sing another tune were they privy to his bank balance. Nodding acknowledgments to various notable members of the ton, he bade his time to avoid rousing suspicion, because he could not simply demand satisfaction, until the offending debutantes came into full view.
Three young ladies, though he would argue otherwise, based on their slur against his chosen, honorable occupation, sheltered in the shadow of the large pedestal, which supported a crystal vase filled with a fall mix of hothouse roses. What a compelling contradiction. Of the debutantes, including the telltale redhead, he found two unremarkable, but their friend he thought inexpressibly striking.
With locks as black as a crow’s feather, the face of an angel, and shimmering eyes as blue as the Mediterranean, the beauty commanded countless admirers, evidenced by the unfortunate pups circling her skirts. An indigo velvet gown encased her siren silhouette, which contrasted with her skin of pure alabaster. How sad it was that such flawless perfection masked an unattractive heart.
In that instant, she met his stare, and a shiver of awareness traipsed his spine. Summoning years of well-honed polite civility, and refusing to stoop to her level, he dipped his chin. And then she smiled. An imaginary but nonetheless powerful bolt of lightning seared his gut, the walls collapsed, the crowd vanished into thin air, the candlelight dimmed, the music faded into the background, and the world rocked beneath his feet.
To his relief, she appeared unaffected and lost interest, when she bent her head and addressed her cohorts. But to his unmitigated horror, she departed her accomplices in nefarious enterprises and steered in his direction. Myriad introductions fogged his brain, as he searched for a suitable rejoinder, one that would spare him the humiliation of begging a waltz, which he knew she would refuse.
When a lobster, and a mere second lieutenant, at that, executed a brilliant flanking maneuver, Mark sighed and rolled his shoulders, in an effort to alleviate the tension investing his frame. Poor bastard had no idea of the barracuda lurking in inhospitable waters. To his infinite surprise, the raven-haired goddess acquiesced. Just what was she about?
Loitering on the edge of the dance floor, he studied the fascinating creature for the better part of an hour, as she indulged a veritable legion of uniformed admirers, regardless of rank. With a cherubic countenance, she shared conversation and seemed genuinely attentive to her litany of partners, and he could not tolerate it.
“She is lovely, is she not?”
“I beg your pardon?” Mark started and then stood tall. “Captain Randolph, sir. And how are you this fine evening?”
“My arse smarts, my knees ache, and my belly hurts.” The legendary seaman Brent Randolph chuckled. “But my wife is happy, and that is all that matters.”
“Oh, I say.” He winced. “Is that the way the wind blows in the marital state?”
“It does, if you hope to retain your sanity. A happy wife means a happy life. Of course, one must be more than a little insane to willingly don the preacher’s noose.” Randolph rubbed his neck. “But if you ever breathe a word of that to my Beth, I will kill you.”
“Am I interrupting anything of importance, Captain?”
Mark turned to discover none other than the source of his discomfit, and his blood pooled in a particularly potent six inches of his anatomy when he met the gorgeous specimen of the fairer sex in dangerously close proximity.
Randolph sketched a bow. “Lady Amanda--”
“Just Lady Amanda, if you please.” She cast a flirty pout. “And perhaps I could trouble you for an introduction, Captain Randolph. Who is this estimable lieutenant in our undeserving company?”
Puzzled by her peculiar behavior, which ran contrary to her deprecating remarks, Mark remained a silent spectator. Had she found sport in her rejections? Had she reveled in her victim’s anguish?
The captain grimaced. “But your father--”
“Bother my father.” She giggled, a lilting sound that kissed his flesh. “And if you do not tell him, nei
ther will I.”
“Very well, but if my wife gives me strife for corrupting you, I shall exact recompense.” Captain Randolph arched a brow. “Lady Amanda, may I present First Lieutenant Mark Douglas, of His Majesty’s Navy and the HMS Boreas.”
“So happy to make your acquaintance, First Lieutenant Douglas.” She half-curtseyed and then averted her gaze. “Is that a waltz? I am quite enamored of it.”
And then she stared him straight in the eye. For a minute, they squared off as two opponents on the battlefield. She had thrown down the gauntlet, and he contemplated his next move. Oh, she was a manipulative charmer--one he might not resist were he unaware of her true nature. But before he could respond, Randolph elbowed Mark in the ribs. Against his better instincts, he surrendered. “It would be my honor, Lady Amanda.”
Taking her hand in his, Mark led his stunning nemesis to the dance floor. As they assumed their respective positions, with his arm anchored at her waist, which he resolved not to enjoy, he fixed his attention on her crown of ebony ringlets and vowed to offer her the most refined experience of the night. With an elegant flourish, he whirled and carried her with him.
“You serve Captain Nelson?”
“Yes.”
“And how is that?”
“Fine.”
“Do you favor the Northcote’s ball?”
“No.”
“Are you not partial to social events?”
“Sometimes.”
“You may address me as Amanda, if you wish.” She squeezed his fingers. “And what shall I call you?”
“Lieutenant Douglas.”
“Have I done something to offend you?”
“I do not know.” Daring her to admit the truth, he peered at his not-so-nice partner. “Have you?”
“But--we have only just met.” With an expression of unutterable confusion, she blinked. “It was rather forward of me to insert myself into your conversation with Captain Randolph, but I meant no harm.”
“Then you are innocent.” Her denial spiked his anger, and he bit his tongue against a rapier retort.
“If you have no prior commitment, perhaps you will consent to accompany me to dinner, later. You can share tales of your travels and regale us with your bravery.” She looked so hopeful, he almost felt sorry for her--almost. “There is plenty of room at my table.”
“No, thank you.” Although it was not wise to cut a member of the peerage or their offspring, he enacted a rare breach of decorum, and pride surged to the fore, when her mouth fell agape. It was nothing less than she deserved. The music ended, and he halted. “Allow me to return you to--”
“That is not necessary, as I have intruded on your hospitality long enough.” Lady Amanda wrenched from his hold. “Pray, forgive me, Lieutenant Douglas.”
“Lady Amanda, this is a treat.” A sub-lieutenant, which Mark had not recognized, bowed and claimed her attention. “Wait until my wife discovers your presence. She will be overset with joy, as we owe you a debt we can never repay.”
“Nonsense, as I did nothing more than bring together two people who love each other. And you should take me to Jane, at once, as I long to see her.” She gave Mark her back. “By the by, how is your brother?”
“John is recovered, and he favors the scarf you knitted.” The soldier blushed, and Mark was embarrassed for the poor sap. “I understand your singular efforts have resulted in a substantial contribution to the Navy Widows Benevolence Fund.”
Again the curious noblewoman befuddled Mark, as her queries belied indifference, and he glanced left and then right. Something was wrong. Despite what he had heard, all was not as it appeared, and he needed an explanation. When he spied Captain Randolph, he stomped to the veteran naval man’s side. “Captain, please excuse my intrusion, but I require your assistance.”
“Oh, no.” Randolph smirked. “I know that look, and you have it bad.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mark shuffled his feet. “Just what do you infer?”
“You are smitten with Lady Amanda.” Randolph winked and grinned. “Worry not, young Douglas, as your secret is safe with me. But I would not want to be in your boots when you speak with the admiral.”
Mark’s blood ran cold. “What admiral?”
“Ah, yes. Your ladylove neglected to share her identity with you, and I can’t imagine why.” The captain burst into laughter. After an interminable fit of hilarity, he slapped Mark on the back. “Lady Amanda is the youngest daughter of Admiral Hiram Gascoigne-Lake, Marquess de Gray.”
And Mark’s goose was well and truly cooked.
#
Adopting a stiff upper lip, as her father had taught her, in the face of adversity, or in her case monumental disappointment, Lady Amanda Gascoigne-Lake forced a smile as she partnered a soldier and ignored the abridgment of his military accomplishments, all intended to induce an introduction to her father. As the daughter of an admiral with equally estimable peerage, her connections proved an irresistible enticement to the shameless social climber, and of that there were many, much to her chagrin. So it was a rare occasion, indeed, when she found a marine or a sailor with no prior knowledge of her familial ties.
When she completed the third rotation of the quadrille, the impeccable but impudent Lieutenant Douglas loomed at the edge of the crowd, gazing on her as if he knew how she looked in her chemise, and she missed her step. What an insufferable buffoon.
Resplendent in his regimentals, the handsome naval officer stood at well over six feet, as a veritable mountain of a man--not that she cared. With thick chestnut hair, which he kept close-cropped, austere, chiseled features, a patrician nose, and a pair of the bluest azure eyes, which simmered with naughty thoughts, he claimed her attention to the detriment of all else. But when he cast her a lazy smile, which he had done just then, her heart skipped a beat, her insides flip-flopped, and she crashed into Lady Beth.
“Oh, my. I am so sorry.” Amanda cursed the burn of a blush. “How clumsy of me.” She resumed her respective position and completed the sequence of moves with nary a blunder.
“Thank you for the honor, Lady Amanda.” The officer cadet bowed. “Shall I escort you to your father--”
“May I have the pleasure of the waltz, Lady Amanda?” The new bane of her existence presented for her inspection, and rejection traipsed the tip of her tongue.
“Of course, Lieutenant Douglas.” Silly ridiculous fool. Could he not understand the significance of a second accompaniment at the ball? Was he oblivious to etiquette? Polite society would misinterpret his actions as a declaration, regardless of intent, and she should save him from himself and the embarrassment. “I should be too delighted.”
With his hand at her waist, and their fingers twined, they whirled beneath the elegant crystal chandeliers. How close he held her, and her skirts brushed his thighs, but Amanda refused to meet his stare. Yet she felt the heat of his scrutiny, as the rising sun on a clear summer morning.
“I see you have a taste for military men.” He added insult to injury. “Do you dance attendance to please your father?”
Ah, that explained his change of heart and reflected poorly on his reputation. The lieutenant had discovered her true identity, and now he considered her worthy of his courtesy. Had he presumed her a simpleton, that he could so easily dupe her? Well he knew not with whom he tangled. Recalling their earlier conversation, and his one-word replies, she decided to respond, in kind. It was, for her, a rare breach in decorum, but she cared not for his opinion. Let him enjoy a taste of his own medicine. “Perhaps.”
“I notice your fellow debutantes do not share your enthusiasm for the uniform.”
“No.”
“It would seem they favor titled gentlemen.”
“Quite.”
“As your father is both, is it safe to presume you more amenable?”
“Indeed.”
“Amanda--”
“Lady Amanda, if you please.”
“But you made me free with your name.”
&n
bsp; “I rescind such informalities, as our acquaintance is limited, and I have no intention of furthering our connection.” She sniffed. Yes, hers was bad form, but in light of his pejorative assessment of her character, she thought herself entitled to a measure of retribution.
“I suppose I deserve that, and I intend otherwise.” He chuckled. “Given my earlier behavior, I should apologize. And I wonder if I might reconsider your gracious offer to accompany you to dinner?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it, as a brilliant idea shot to the fore. So the high and mighty lieutenant wanted nothing to do with Lady Amanda but was more than willing to play nice with the admiral’s daughter? “Weeell, Lieutenant Douglas--”
“Call me Mark,” he said with a wink.
“As you wish.” Amanda found her feet and resolved to gain her revenge. “I should be uncontrollably excited for you to dine with me.”
As if on cue, the bell sounded.
“Shall we?” How charming was her escort.
Strolling amid the sea of couples, Amanda heeded the none-too-silent whispers and pointed gestures, evidencing the ton had noted her most recent prospective suitor. Nearing her table, she spied her usual co-conspirator and set course for vengeance. She would teach Lieutenant Douglas a well-earned lesson in manners, and he would think twice before toying with her heart again.
“Cousin Helen, may I introduce Lieutenant Mark Douglas, of His Majesty’s Navy.” Amanda caught Helen’s gaze. “The brave sailor has consented to share his esteemed company with the unworthy.”
Mark started. “Amanda, I am undeserving of such acclaim--”
“Oh, I disagree.” Helen lowered her chin and grinned. “If my relation deems you unimpeachable, then you have more than earned your just reward, Lieutenant.”
And so Amanda abandoned her errant charge to the exceedingly eccentric but reliable thirty-three-year-old, self-professed permanent spinster of the Gascoigne-Lakes. Ever since Amanda’s coming out, unscrupulous ne’er-do-wells seeking easy access to the upper stratum of society had besieged her. At first, she quite basked in the attention, given her naïveté and misplaced faith in the male sex. But as she matured to the ripe age of eight and ten, a confidence-gnawing premonition haunted her slumber, until the self-doubt consumed even her waking hours. Over time, a lingering question for which she had no answer had cast a pall over her heart and mind.