Sea of Desire

by Christine Dorsey

  Epilogue

  A storm was coming.

  Merideth yanked the straw hat from her head before the wind could claim it. She stood close to the house at the head of the avenue of oaks. Filmy strands of moss whipped about the trees, looking like gossamer veils in the twilight.

  “Mama, you best come in before you get wet.” The voice came from the second story of the house and Merideth turned, tilting her face till she saw her daughter’s head poking from a window.

  “Miranda Elizabeth, what are you doing still awake? You were put to bed an hour ago.”

  “The shutter woke me, Mama. It was banging. It scared me.”

  Merideth smiled up at her oldest child, her heart filled with love. “ ‘Tis only the wind, sweetheart. Nothing to fear. Climb back in bed and I’ll come and tuck you beneath the covers.”

  The small nightcap-topped head disappeared, and Merideth sighed. She could hear thunder to the north, towards Charles Town. Where the British troops were.

  Giving one last look around the grounds, she walked across the crushed-shell drive and climbed the steps to Royal Oak’s front portico.

  Nothing to fear.

  She’d said those words to Miranda. But they weren’t true. There was much to fear, and had been since the British occupied Charles Town almost two and half years ago.

  That’s when Merideth began her double life.

  That’s when she became a widow.

  Merideth turned the large brass knob and entered the wide central hall of her home. Perhaps it was the weather, so reminiscent of the first time she’d seen him, but Merideth couldn’t stop thinking of Jared... of the life they’d had before the fall of Charles Town.

  They’d married soon after the fire at Daniel Wallis’s house. Jared’s cousin never recovered from the blaze, and died within days of an infection of the lungs.

  His death saved Jared from killing him.

  Merideth shivered as she climbed the wide spiral staircase. She didn’t like to think of Daniel and his treachery. Better to dwell on the good times, the happy times she’d had with Jared.

  Merideth carefully opened the nursery door. Tiptoeing across the room, she leaned over her daughter, giving her cheek a kiss. She was fast asleep. At five she was inquisitive, with black hair like her father’s and a ready smile. She loved to walk down by the river, collecting insects and plants.

  Next Merideth moved to John’s bed. Named for Jared’s brother, John was three and never still. Reaching under the mosquito netting, Merideth straightened his tangled blanket and brushed her lips across his forehead. Then she left the children’s room for her own.

  A single candle on the washstand tried to brighten the shadows in her bedroom and failed. But Merideth was too tired to light more. Today she’d overseen the loading of rice and corn to be sent to Patriot families whose property had been confiscated by General Tarleton. Because she was British and daughter of an earl, the British trusted Merideth. In their condescending manner, the British officers in charge at Charles Town forgave the privateer’s widow the peccadillo of her marriage and allowed her to travel freely and to keep her property.

  But if they ever found out what she did when she traveled—the ammunition and foodstuffs she managed to get to the American army—her title would mean naught. But so far they didn’t seem to suspect. Perhaps out of homesickness, British officers even visited, finding the mistress of Royal Oak charming company. It was hard to maintain the ruse.

  Taking the wooden pins from her hair, Merideth let the golden curls fall about her shoulders. She was glad she could help her husband’s people—her own people—but the charade was wearing, and she was growing tired.

  With a sigh she unhooked her simple gown of sprigged muslin. It fell to the floor and she stepped from the circle of skirts, picking it up and draping the dress across a chair. Dressed in her shift, she splashed water from the pitcher to the bowl and wet a scrap of linen. As the first flash of lightning lit up the sky outside the tall casement windows, Merideth touched the damp cloth to her neck.

  “Don’t stop there, Lady Merideth. Take off the shift too.”

  The sound of the voice coming from the shadowy recesses of the room made Merideth stiffen. She dropped the linen. It landed in the water, splashing silver droplets of water across the polished wood.

  “Untie the ribbon,” came the next command, and Merideth had no choice. Slowly she reached for the pale-blue bow that held the gathered neckline of her shift taut. Her fingers pulled. The ruffed décolletage spread. When it grew wider than her shoulders, the fine gauze hesitated, then whispered to the floor. Merideth shut her eyes as the shift skimmed down her body, leaving her wearing nothing but the dented locket.

  “Now turn around.”

  She did. Her limbs were trembling, but she held her head high.

  “And come here.”

  Lightning flashed again and she saw him sitting on a chair beside the bed, his long legs spread out, crossed at the ankles. He wore no coat, and his shirt, shining white in the grainy light, was open to reveal the thick hair on his chest. Merideth swallowed as she walked toward him. His britches were tight, revealing the large raised ridge of his manhood.

  When she approached he opened his legs, and Merideth moved into the V. He leaned forward, touching his open mouth to her stomach, and Merideth’s hands surged through his raven hair, pulling him closer.

  “You shouldn’t have risked coming,” she said, then could say no more. For his lips had moved lower. Her head fell back and her knees grew weak, but by this time he’d cradled her buttocks with his large hands.

  “I can’t stay away from you.” His breath fanned across the tight curls at the apex of her thighs. “Would you really want me not to come?”

  She could barely think for wanting him. She’d always wanted him. There were times Merideth thought she might die from the deep desire she felt for him. But there were other things to consider. “I want you safe.”

  “And I am safe, Merry. Right here in your arms.” He nudged. His tongue probed and Merideth cried out.

  “I dream of that sound,” he said. “You’re with me, and I hear you, taste you, and I wake up so hard I ache.”

  “Oh, Jared.” Merideth dropped to her knees, her head against his chest. Her cheek rubbed his skin and she breathed in the manly smell of him. “Take me with you this time. Me and the children.”

  “Nay, I won’t have you on the Carolina. ‘Tis too dangerous.”

  She looked up, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears. “But—”

  “Listen to me, Merry.” Jared’s hands bracketed her face. “We devised this scheme of pretending I’m dead to keep you and the children safe. I want no retributions on my family for things I might do. Besides, there’s to be a change. There’s a convoy of forty British ships in Charles Town harbor.”

  “More British?” There didn’t seem like there could be any more.

  “Less.”

  “Less?”

  “They’re leaving, Merry. The British are withdrawing from South Carolina.” He reached down, pulling his wife onto his lap. His hand splayed her hip, his face was buried in the rich gold of her hair. “It’s not over yet. But with the French helping us defeat Cornwallis in Virginia, and Charles Town free, it can’t be much longer.”

  “Oh, Jared, I’m so glad.”

  “Soon, Merry, I’ll be able to stay here with you and our two children.”

  “Three,” she corrected, turning to see the expression on her husband’s face when he realized what she was saying.

  “You mean...?” His hand curved around to her stomach.

  “Yes, and I was going to have a difficult time explaining how a respectable widow managed to get herself with child.”

  Jared laughed as he stood, gathering Merideth into his arms. In three strides he was beside the tester bed. “Probably because her husband isn’t really dead. And he loves his wife so much he can’t stay away from her.”

  Outside, lightning flashed a
nd thunder roared, but in the bedroom—the bedroom once used by the pirate and his wife—Merideth and Jared Blackstone didn’t even notice the storm.

  *** THE END ***

  Dear Reader

  I hope you enjoyed the second book in the Charleston Trilogy—tales of the Blackstone men. I loved writing about Merideth and her dark, dangerous privateer, Jared Blackstone.

  The Revolutionary War era is one of my favorites. Researching the period with all its different facets is so interesting. I never tire of learning about the brave men and women who forged our country.

  The Blackstone family is fictitious—though I certainly hope they seem as real to you as they do to me—but many of the people and events in this book are historically true.

  Benjamin Franklin, of course, did much more than experiment with electricity. His diplomatic endeavors in France during the war greatly helped the eventual American victory. He was a fascinating man with many varied interests—including the ladies—and I tried to portray him accurately. And yes, he really didn’t worry about spies. If anything, he considered details of his negotiations with France reaching English ears a bonus. And when it was discovered that the English had sent a representative to discuss peace with Franklin—a fact he didn’t try to hide—the French decided to speed up negotiations with the Americans.

  Privateers like Jared Blackstone also made a great contribution to the cause of liberty. They helped “even the odds” by harassing British shipping and capturing countless prizes. Much of this, as the book indicated, was done in and around England. But privateers also sailed from ports like Charles Town, and it was there, to home, that Jared brought Merideth.

  Charleston, like her native sons and daughters, is beautiful and proud... a survivor. During the years after the pirate Gentleman Jack Blackstone (from Sea Fires) wooed and married Miranda, before Jared and Merideth settled down in Charles Town, the city experienced fires, killer storms, plagues, and enemy occupation. But she endured.

  In Sea of Temptation, the third book of the Charleston Trilogy, Jared and Merideth’s great-grandson, Devon Blackstone, is a blockade runner during the American Civil War. Like his ancestors, he’s a man of the sea and a rogue... a hero in the true Blackstone tradition. Fearless and charming, Devon doesn’t know what trouble is until he meets abolitionist Felicity Wentworth and the group of children she’s come south to rescue.

  I truly hope you enjoy the Charleston Trilogy. The Blackstone men and the women who love them are very special to me. Please let me know what you think. Contact me on my website, www.christinedorsey.com, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter.

  Read on for an excerpt from Book 3 in the Charleston Trilogy, Sea of Temptation.

  Sea of Temptation

  Chapter One

  June, 1862

  Charleston, South Carolina

  He hated black.

  Devon Blackstone leaned his hip into the sharp-edged windowsill and smiled at the irony. A Blackstone hating black. But it seemed every time he returned home more bright silks were shed in favor of morbid black by Charleston’s daughters.

  He absently watched the woman struggling along on the street below. She was swathed in widow’s weeds, the heavy material covering her completely. Another casualty of the damn war.

  “Such a waste,” he mumbled, grimacing when he realized he spoke aloud.

  “What did you say, honey?”

  “It was nothing.” Devon glanced over his shoulder to where Lil sprawled enticingly across the bed. The gossamer veil of mosquito netting was pushed aside and she beckoned with her finger, her red lips forming a provocative pout.

  “Come back to bed and you won’t have time to talk to yourself.”

  Devon’s chuckle was devilish. “I think perhaps I’m talking to myself because of the time spent in your bed.”

  “Complaints from the infamous blockade runner?” Lil lifted a smooth bare shoulder, letting the sheet fall from her rounded, pink-tipped bosom.

  “I think you know better than that.” Devon forced himself to look away. “But if I climb back in that bed neither of us will come up for air for the rest of the day, and I do need to pay my respects to my grandmother.”

  “I saw Mrs. Blackstone last week, did I tell you?”

  “No.” Lil hadn’t done much talking since Devon showed up at her place of business this morning. The Intrepid ran the blockade of Federal ships last night. As usual, the danger and excitement stayed with Devon as they docked in Charleston. And as usual, Lil was only too happy for Devon to release some of that excess energy with her. He still felt tense, like a boiler with its safety vent blocked, but he didn’t think another round in Lil’s bed would help.

  He turned, doing his best to ignore her generous breasts and listened to her go on about his grandmother.

  “She was riding down Meeting Street in her carriage and she actually had her driver stop to thank me for my donation to the hospital fund. Imagine that.”

  “She thanked you?” Devon arched a brow. “That doesn’t sound like Grandmother.”

  A slow flush spread up Lil’s neck and face. Devon wouldn’t have thought her capable of blushing, but he supposed if anyone could illicit one it was his grandmother. “Well, actually she told me it was about time I used some of the profits I... em... earned to help with the suffering caused by this war.”

  Devon threw back his head in laughter. “Now that sounds like Grams.”

  “Well, she thanked me none the less,” Lil said defensively.

  “I’m glad.” Devon turned back toward the window, casually searching for the widow he noticed earlier. Lil continued to talk about his grandmother, saying what a fine lady she was, but Devon paid little attention. Not that he didn’t agree. He adored his grandmother, though he was the first to admit that her tongue could be rapier sharp. But Devon spotted the widow again, still struggling with her heavy bag, and he couldn’t stop watching her.

  She was young. That was obvious even without seeing her face. Her body was slender, and though the carpetbag dragged her arm down, her movements were graceful.

  The street was crowded, clogged with sailors and soldiers—another effect of the war—and the woman seemed out of place. A regrettable commentary on Charleston and the hard times that plagued the city.

  The morning was sultry, humid and hot. The sun hung hazy over the harbor, with only an occasional breeze off the bay to offer any relief. Perspiration glued Devon’s linen shirt to his upper body. He couldn’t imagine how warm the widow was beneath the heavy hat and veil.

  But she kept plodding on, clutching her carpet bag as if her life depended on it. And Devon kept watching. When a maverick breeze came off the bay, bringing with it the scent of sea air, it caught at the widow’s skirts, swirling them around her ankles. And it momentarily lifted the black veil.

  Before her black-gloved hand shot up and dragged the drape back down he caught a glimpse of her hair. Bright and red-gold, the sight of it made Devon lean forward, his forehead touching the cooler glass of the windowpane. She had beautiful hair, thick coils knotted at the base of her neck.

  Devon had a sudden vision of burying his hands deep in that hair and shook his head to clear it. Thoughts of making love to widows were depraved... even for him.

  “Do you think you might?”

  Devon reached for his white linen jacket. “Might what?” He looked back at Lil as he fished a gold piece from his pocket.

  “Might come back tonight?” Lil swung her legs over the side and slid off the bed. She faced Devon, hands on ample, naked hips. “Have you heard a word I said?”

  “Who bothers listening when they can feast their eyes on this?” Devon tilted his head to indicate Lil as he slung his jacket over his wide shoulder. In three long strides he was across the room, leaning over her. He meant the kiss to be brief but she wrapped her arms around his neck, her leg around his hip.

  “Tonight?” she purred as he slowly pushed away.

  “I can’t be sure. Don’t count
on me.” With that Devon unclasped her hands from behind his neck, where they’d tangled with his hair. Before stepping back he settled the gold coin in Lil’s palm.

  “I told you, there’s no charge, sweetie.”

  “I know what you said.” Devon folded her fingers over the money. “But we all have to make a living, especially with times like they are.”

  “Business has never been better for me, and from what I hear, for you either, sugar.”

  When Devon jerked around as the sound of commotion on the street below drifted through the open window, Lil said, “That is nothing. Just some of the soldiers acting up. Happens all the time.”

  But Devon ignored her words and strode to the window. He scanned the street below with the eyes of a man used to searching out trouble. “Damn!” His curse was punctuated by the heel of his hand slamming against the wooden sash. Racing across the room, he grabbed the brass handle and yanked open the door.

  “What is it honey? What’s wrong?”

  Devon was down the spiral staircase, heading for the front door before the last of her question was out. The stairs below were empty this time of the morning—most patrons of Lilian McAbee came calling after the shadows fell. Closed shutters kept out most of the sun’s rays and the noise from outside, so that the shock of both hit Devon as he hurled himself out into the street.

  From the brick stoop Devon looked around, then leaped off and elbowed his way through a group of soldiers. He didn’t take time to question what the dirty, scraggly-haired sailor was doing before he grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. The burly man stared at Devon gape-mouthed, surprised enough to let loose his tug of war with the young widow over her carpet bag.

  She gasped, the momentum sending her backwards against the rough bark of a palmetto. Devon glanced to the side in time to see her hat fly askew. The veil separated to show wide blue eyes set in a pale as ivory face. He was right about the hair. Strawberry blond curls sprang out in all directions as she grabbed hold of her hat brim with one hand. The other stayed firmly attached to the handle of her bag.