by Sea Fires
“You’re finished going over the accounts, then?”
“Aye. For the night.” Jack started to pull his wife to him, then paused. “Are you ready to stop reading?”
Miranda laughed, and reached up to him. She’d seen that lusty gleam in his eyes before— often. He wanted her. Now. Reading be damned. And she wouldn’t want him any other way. Still, she found it endearing that he asked. “I only opened the book because I was waiting for you.”
“Mmmm.” Jack nuzzled the warmth of her neck while fumbling with the tiny buttons down the front of her night rail. “ ‘Tis a waste for you to don this thing.”
“Would you have me sit about in the nude?”
Jack cocked his head, pretending to ponder the question. “Aye. That would suit. Mayhap I could sketch you.”
“You can’t draw.” Miranda stilled his fingers and took over the task of unfastening the white gown.
“So I can’t.” The playful bite he took of Miranda’s exposed shoulder made her giggle. “Then, perhaps I can do other things.”
Oh, and he could, Miranda thought as her head fell back. Her husband knew just where to caress, to nibble, to suckle, to make her melt inside. She tangled her fingers through his golden hair as he carried her to the large tester bed. He laid her on the sheet, then followed her down.
His lips found hers, and she opened for him, drowning in sensual delights. She clutched at his shirt, shoving it aside to feel the smooth, muscled skin beneath. Miranda basked in his heat.
When he sat up to pull off his boots Miranda curled around him, her palm curving down his broad back. She couldn’t stop touching him. His smile was wicked as he paused between boots to run the tip of his finger across her breast.
“We repaired the bridge across the creek today,” Jack said as he watched Miranda’s nipple tighten. When he and Miranda had come to Royal Oak the day after his uncle died, they’d both been surprised to find the plantation so poorly maintained. Apparently Robert had been using much of the money Jack gave him, the money from his pirating, to live a life of ease in Charles Town. There were fields planted with rice, but the main house and outbuildings were in a sad state. For the past eight months, Jack had worked hard to rectify that.
He trailed his fingers lovingly down Miranda’s stomach before standing to remove his breeches. “The bridge got me thinking. I recall that day in St. Augustine that Phin said not to worry about the drawbridge closing, that you took care of that. I never asked how you did it.”
“The drawbridge?” Miranda’s brow furrowed. She was so engrossed in watching her husband undress, it took her a moment to think. “Oh, that wasn’t difficult. The bridge could only be raised by lowering the counterweights.” She sat up, brushing raven curls behind her shoulder. “You most likely didn’t get the chance to study the mechanism, but it was fairly simple. As someone turned the windlass, gravity pulling on the counterweights helped raise the drawbridge. No gravity—” she shrugged— “the bridge can’t be lifted.”
“But how did you get rid of the gravity?”
“I didn’t. Not really.” She wriggled around to face Jack, who now sat on the bed. “The counterweights needed to be lowered into a deep hole, as deep as they are long, so that gravity continued to pull them down. I had some of your crew nail the trapdoor over the hole shut.”
“So the weights just rested on the wood?”
“Exactly. Without the force of gravity on the counterweights, the men didn’t have enough power to raise the bridge. And with all the commotion and gunfire, they didn’t have the time to get the trapdoor open.”
“Very clever, wife,” Jack said as he lowered her down beneath him.
“I do have my uses.”
“You do indeed.” Jack had settled in with a kiss of carnal delight when a noise in the drive outside their bedroom window gained his attention. He sat up. “What in the hell is that?”
“It sounds like a rider.” Miranda’s eyes met Jack’s. Neither of them spoke a word as Jack jerked on his clothes.
“You stay here,” was all he said before hurrying out the bedroom door.
“Who was it?” Miranda crouched on her knees in the center of the canopied bed. She peered through the fine gauze of mosquito netting toward her husband, who stood in the open doorway.
“ ‘Twas a messenger... from Charles Town’,” he answered, then said no more as he turned to shut the door. He held Miranda’s gaze as he crossed the room. He sat on the bed, placing the missive on the rumpled counterpane. They both studiously ignored it.
“His pounding at the door woke Missy,” Jack said, referring to the cook’s helper. “She’s giving the rider a meal; then he’s going to bed down in a spare bedroom before heading back to town.”
“Perhaps I should help.” Miranda moved to leave the bed, but Jack’s hand stopped her.
“Missy can handle it.” His gaze dropped to the rolled parchment bearing the royal seal, then skittered away.
Miranda saw the action, and her heart went out to her strong, golden husband. “Jack, we have to open it to find out what it says.”
“I know.” He sighed. “I just want a moment to pretend everything is as it’s been these last months.”
Miranda could certainly understand his feelings. Life for them since the day Robert died had been idyllic, but fragile. A respite from reality.
Their initial fear that the constable would charge Jack with his uncle’s murder proved false. With Miranda’s testimony, corroborated by the servant Molly, that Robert had pulled a pistol on his nephew, Graham Hicks had had no choice but to believe Jack.
But Jack’s explanation had raised suspicions about his possible piracy. Questions Jack didn’t want to answer. So he’d packed up Miranda and headed for Royal Oak.
But not before sending off a plea to the king.
Since then he and Miranda had worked hard on the plantation. Jack rose early to supervise the flooding of the rice fields, and worked late learning the intricacies of the accounts. Miranda studied the management of the household with the same fervor she once reserved for her scientific pursuits. She learned to care for the sick and oversee the making of candles. And she still had time to use her microscope and read her books. Jack had set aside a sunny corner of their bedroom for her to use.
The life suited them. They were in love. They were happy. And the reality of Jack’s past was like a sword, ever threatening to swoop down and destroy them.
They lived each day to the fullest. And with the night they retired to the large tester bed and made love.
“There’s no help for it,” Jack finally said, scooping up the parchment. He broke the seal, pausing only when Miranda’s hand settled over his.
“You know I shall love you no matter what the king’s decree. And I shall follow you anywhere.”
“Aye.” He knew she would, but his gaze strayed to the slight bulge of her stomach, and he thought of the child, his child, nestled under her heart. He wanted more for his family than the wandering life of an outlaw.
His eyes raced along the letter; then he bent toward the candle and read more slowly. A grin spread across his features.
“It’s a pardon,” he yelped. “He granted me a full pardon.” Tossing the paper aside, he gathered her up in his arms and twirled around the room, slowing only when she squealed with joy.
“I knew it.” Miranda laughed. “I knew everything would be fine.”
“More of your logical thinking?” Jack kidded as he set her back on the bed.
“Maybe.” Miranda scooted over, making room for her husband. “Why would the king wish to punish a respected planter such as yourself?”
“Why indeed? But I think ‘twas more my promise to stop pirating that swayed him.” Jack laughed and Miranda joined him. But as he leaned against the bolster of pillows, pulling her down with him, Miranda’s expression sobered.
“Jack?”
“Hmmm?”
Miranda leaned up on her elbow. “You aren’t going to miss
it, are you? When Phin and the others took the Sea Hawk and sailed to the Indian Ocean I feared you might have regrets.”
“What, that I wasn’t going with them?” Jack touched the tip of her nose when she nodded. “Nay. I’ve found my safe harbor right here.” He drew her back into his arms.
Snuggling down, Miranda smiled, then admitted, “There are some things I shall miss.”
“Really?” Jack tucked his chin to look at his wife. “Such as?”
“Being married to a lusty pirate for one.”
Shifting, Jack managed to pull her under him. His grin was devilish. “Have I given you any reason to think I’m not just as lusty being a planter?”
“In truth you haven’t.”
“Nor shall I,” Jack said, and trailed kisses down her neck in way of proof.
“What of your gold ear loop?”
Jack lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “What of it?”
“I like it.”
“Then, I shall wear it. At times. For you.” He punctuated each sentence with a whispery brush of his lips across hers. “‘Tis that it?”
“Yes.”
“No more questions?”
“No... Except, did I ever tell you of the animalcules Antonie van Leeuwenhoek discovered in your manly fluid?”
“My what?” Shocked, Jack stopped tracing the delicate curve of her chin.
“Well, not yours exactly. But when he observed a drop of the fluid through the microscope he discovered tiny—”
“God’s blood, Miranda. Must we speak of this now?”
Pulling his lips back down to hers, Miranda agreed there were other things she’d rather be doing.
THE END
To My Readers
I hope you enjoyed the tale of Miranda and her roguish pirate, Gentleman Jack Blackstone. I loved researching and writing it. Though the Blackstone family is fictional, some of the events in the story actually did take place.
In the early settlement of the Carolinas and Florida, there were often raids between the English and Spanish. Lord Cardross’s Scottish settlement at Port Royal was destroyed by the Spanish from St. Augustine. Captives were taken, and there are accounts of prisoners being used in the building of the Castillo de San Marcos.
Miranda’s interest in science—called the philosophies in the seventeenth century—is typical of the time. It was an exciting Age of Science. With the exception of Don Luis and Miranda’s grandfather, all the scientists and discoveries mentioned in this book are factual. Newton, van Leeuwenhoek, and Wren helped change mankind’s understanding of the world.
But it was also a violent time. A time when pirates flourished and as I indicated in this book, were actually accepted in some cities. The reasons were primarily economic. The Navigation Acts forced the colonists to trade only with England—at prices set by English merchants. This meant the English colonists had to sell their exports at lower than world-market prices and buy manufactured goods at relatively high prices. And that doesn’t even take into account the customs duties.
Enter the pirates and privateers who brought “imported” goods into the colonies and sold them at much more reasonable prices. After all, the pirates were assured a hefty profit, for the cargo had cost them no more than shot and sweat, and the chance of meeting a pirate’s death.
Most pirates were an independent lot. They ran their ships by articles that they drew up, and they bowed to no authority, not even that of their captain. The pirates’ version of democracy was way ahead of its time.
And yes, through the years, pardons were granted to pirates. In 1699, King William offered a general amnesty to those pirates willing to accept an oath to plunder no more. Many, like Jack Blackstone, took it. Many more, like the rest of the Sea Hawk’s crew, tried their luck in the Indian Ocean.
Jack and Miranda Blackstone are typical of the intrepid souls who pioneered the New World. Together they built a powerful dynasty in the Charleston area.
In my next book, Sea of Desire, I tell the story of their great-grandson, Jared Blackstone, a patriot and privateer during the American Revolution. He becomes involved in the colonies’ attempts to gain French support for their fight against England. It’s a tale of espionage and love as Jared matches wits with Lady Merideth Bannister.
Sea of Temptation, the last book in The Blackstone trilogy, follows these men of Charleston through the American Civil War. Devon Blackstone, a rake of a blockade runner, follows the Blackstone men’s penchant for the sea, and for falling in love with strong women, like feisty Felicity Wentworth. When Felicity decides she needs Devon’s help with her Underground Railroad activities, sparks fly.
But the romance and adventure doesn’t stop there. Look for Sea of Christmas Miracles, a Christmas novella, to discover how the Blackstone family fares after the War Between the States. Let me know what you think. Follow me on Facebook and Twitter, and visit my website at www.christinedorsey.com for contest news, a newsletter, and of course information about when my next books will be available on e-books.
Please read on for an excerpt from Blackstone, Men of the Sea, The Charleston Series, Book 2, Sea of Desire,
Sea of Desire
“Blazing passion, non-stop adventure and a be-still-my-beating-heart-hero are just a few of the highlights in this captivating second novel in Ms. Dorsey’s delectable Charleston Trilogy. Sea of Desire is not to be missed!”
— Romantic Times Magazine
Prologue
“I cannot but lament... the impending Calamities Britain and her Colonies are about to suffer... Passion governs, and she never governs wisely...”
— Benjamin Franklin
February 5, 1775
Land’s End, England
Late Summer, 1777
A storm was coming.
Merideth Banistar shivered beneath her scarlet cape. Taking a deep breath of sea-scented air, she wrapped the folds more tightly about her body. She stood on a granite ledge overlooking the inlet. When the midday sun burned off the mist she could see for miles across the channel below, but tonight, with even the moon obscured by rain-heavy clouds, darkness enshrouded her. Only the incessant pounding of the surf told of the beach below.
But she hadn’t come here for the view. She’d come escape. Her father’s anger. The uncomfortable naggings of her own conscience.
Could her father be right? Was she dooming them both because of her stubborn refusal to accept Lord Chadwell’s proposal? Merideth swallowed, remembering the rheumy eyes and warted nose of the elderly earl. His skin was parchment thin, and when he spoke to her his breath smelled of soured wine.
Yet, as her father was quick to point out, he seemed kind. He had that to recommend him... that and his fortune.
Merideth sighed, the sound caught by a gust of moisture-laden air and carried toward the looming house behind her.
Banistar Hall. It had been in her family for generations, ever since Charles II awarded the windswept land at the ends of the earth to Richard Banistar in 1665. And they, she and her father, were going to lose it.
Because she couldn’t... or wouldn’t... make a suitable match.
Lord Chadwell was their last chance, according to her father. So yesterday when Merideth stated her refusal to accept him, Alfred Banistar declared all hope gone. And through most of the day and evening placed the fault for their near-impoverishment squarely on Merideth’s shoulders.
The wind whipped about her, tugging at her velvet hem and freeing strands of wildly curling golden hair from beneath her hood. But she refused to accept the blame for their problems. “I won’t,” she yelled into the face of the storm.
As if in response, the sky crackled, flaring the darkness with a sizzle of white lightning.
And in that instant Merideth’s heart leaped to her throat.
For the split second of brilliance revealed a man on the beach below. The flash of’ light caught him bounding from a small boat into the ebb tide, his movements registering raw power. Like herself he was wrapped
in a cloak, though his was black as sin and enfolded a form both tall and large of frame.
Merideth stood frozen, like the imprint of the man on her mind, as night again enveloped her. Shaking her head, she tried to convince herself that imagination was playing her for a fool. There was no logical reason for anyone to risk coming ashore mid the rocks below—not in the dark of night. At least no licit reason.
The hair at Merideth’s nape bristled as another streak of lightning seared the sky. The man was gone. The boat, now pulled onto the shore, was not. This was no apparition. His presence was as real as the pistol he held.
Her heart pounding, Merideth grabbed up her skirts and ran toward the twinkling lights behind her. By the time she reached the garden, huge raindrops pelted her cloak, soaking through to her gown, wetting her hair and face.
The storm was upon her.
Chapter One
Nothing was as he’d expected.
Jared Blackstone paced across the threadbare Aubusson rug, past the empty bookshelves, then turned back to face the traitor. No, not traitor. Informant. Jared had to remember not to let his prejudice be obvious. The Americans, his countrymen, needed the information this man could give.
Forcing the scowl from his dark features, Jared settled into the leather chair opposite Alfred Banistar and watched as the older man squirmed.
Alfred cleared his throat nervously and brushed his hand over his ruffled cuff. “You have the money with you?”
“Aye.”
Nodding once, Alfred rose and moved toward his ornately carved desk—one of the few pieces of furniture in the room. After jerking the top from a crystal decanter, he splashed amber liquid into a glass. “Madeira?” he asked, and downed the contents quickly when Jared declined.
Feeling a bit more himself, Alfred poured another portion, his hand a little steadier, and resumed his seat. “I didn’t expect you this night, not with the storm.”
Wind-lashed rain pelted the tall casement windows and Jared wondered himself why he had chanced coming ashore tonight. The only reason he could come up with was that he wanted to put this task behind him. Meeting with a British spy did not sit well. Jared was much happier commanding the privateer Carolina then delving into the world of intrigue. If not for the plea from his cousin Daniel Wallis, Jared would be harassing British shipping on the high seas, not sitting in the run-down library of an English lord.