Man of My Dreams Boxed Set

by Minger, Miriam

  Within moments the upper decks were a roaring pyre of flame and the captain smiled again, his face as tight as his grip on the railing. Hoarse cries of alarm carried to him from the galleys, plaintive wails to the Blessed Virgin careening to the heavens.

  “Yes, pray, damn you,” he said under his breath, watching as the frantic officers rowed like fiends to get themselves clear of the burning ship. “Pray as if God had any time for man’s piteous affairs.”

  Blasphemy, he knew, but he was already damned.

  He didn’t flinch when an earsplitting explosion suddenly rocked the night, the merchantman’s foredeck blown to bits into the darkening sky. Red-hot sparks and shards of burning wood pelted the sea like blistering rain. It was only then that he gave the signal to unfurl the sails, and the sleek schooner cut cleanly through the waves, leaving the merchantman to its watery fate. But he kept his eyes riveted upon the flames even as another thunderous explosion ripped in two what remained of the British ship.

  Boiling, seething flames that only fed the inferno in his soul, faces appearing to him against a backdrop of crimson fire and acrid black smoke. The faces of beloved ones long dead and the faces of those he lived to hate. He had lost so much, and what of the years that had been stolen from him? Precious, irretrievable years…

  Such fierce rage swept over him that his knuckles whitened, his splayed fingers digging into the railing. A great hiss cut through the wind, hot steam rising like a mist. The sea churned and bubbled around the glowing carcass of what had once been a mighty trading vessel. Then the merchantman was gone, dragged beneath the debris-strewn waves, and with its disappearance he felt the rage begin to subside within him.

  But the soul-deep chill remained. As icy cold as the salt spray stinging his flesh. He turned from the railing, his hands cramped, his fingers numb, and met Walker’s gaze.

  “See that the prisoners are fed, blankets all around. The sea is up. It’ll be a hard crossing to the Isle of Wight.”

  “True, but what better end to a tale they’ll be telling their children and grandchildren for years to come? It isn’t every day a ship’s crew is escorted safely to land while their officers are made to row home. Think they’ll place wagers on their captain’s skill at the oar?”

  He made no reply to the American’s wry response, having grown accustomed long ago to Walker’s grim humor. But right now he had no stomach for it. He wanted to be alone. He wanted a brandy. He wanted an entire bottle.

  “Aye, it’s him, the cap’n of this ship, didn’t I tell you?” A young sailor’s excited voice carried from mid-deck, where the Superior’s crew stood surrounded by guards. “The scourge o’ the entire Channel fleet! ‘Tis the Phoenix himself, and wearin’ a gold mask to boot, just like they’ve been sayin’ in London!”

  “Crimey, lad, hold your tongue! This ain’t a blasted Sunday picnic. Can’t you see he’s lookin’ our way?”

  The man they called the Phoenix was looking their way, his jaw growing hard when he saw the older sailor nearly knock the youth to his knees with a harsh cuff to the ear. His strides strong and furious across the listing deck, he had the man by the throat before the astonished fellow could blink.

  “Strike him again and you’re over the side to swim back to England,” he growled, his fingers tightening mercilessly around a leathery neck. “Am I understood?”

  Bulging blue eyes stared back at him in raw fear, an Adam’s apple gulping beneath his hand. “A-aye, sir, but I meant no harm to the boy. No harm at all, I’d swear on me mother’s grave! I-I can’t breathe, sir, please…”

  “Cap-tain.”

  Jarred by the deep, slurred bass which held the faintest note of reproach, he bit back the memories of vicious blows raining upon his own head and ears. With a vehement curse he released the sailor to crumple gasping at his feet, while the other prisoners stared openmouthed at the fair-haired, bearded giant whose height and breadth of shoulder cast a hulking shadow across the deck.

  A gentle giant—half his wits and most of his speech lost to a metal ball still lodged in his brain—who helped to remind him of what shreds remained of his conscience whenever it seemed he possessed none at all.

  “Help Walker with the prisoners, Dag.”

  His low command greeted with a solemn nod, the captain made for the hold while the deck erupted with activity, blankets being handed out, the savory smell of beef stew tingeing the air. A grim laugh escaped him.

  Warm blankets. Beef stew. Safe passage back to England. Hardly inhospitable treatment from the dreaded Phoenix, legendary plague of the Channel fleet. But, of course, no ship’s officers could say such gracious things about him; even now those men pulling for their lives upon wet, slippery oars were probably cursing his name.

  Just as the British Admiralty would be cursing and rattling their shiny dress swords when they heard of the Superior’s fate. And the ton, always so quick to grow bored, would have fresh fodder to add to the latest society gossip and scandal. Blast them to hell; he could already hear them.

  Oh, dear, how monstrously wicked! What a horror! Another King’s ship burned to ashes upon the sea!

  Ladies would swoon. Men would bluster. Commotion would reign.

  Blast them all to hell; he would enjoy every bloody minute of it.

  Chapter 1

  “Oh, Corie, I can hardly believe you’re here in London! The party was lovely tonight, wasn’t it? And you looked so beautiful in that green gown—no, no, sea foam sounds so much better—yes, your exquisite sea-foam gown, and how perfectly it complemented your auburn hair! And Lord Donovan looked so handsome and I’m so happy that everything has worked out for the best—”

  “Lindsay Somerset, you’re making me breathless!” her best friend replied. “Aren’t you beginning to feel sleepy at all?”

  Lindsay rolled onto her stomach, a sheepish grin on her face as she met Corisande Easton’s exasperated gaze.

  No, no, not Corisande Easton anymore, but Lady Donovan Trent, Lindsay reminded herself as she swept white-blond strands from her eyes. And it was all so romantic, so wonderful, she would never tire of hearing the story, never--

  “Lindsay?”

  “No, I’m not sleepy, not a bit. How could I be? Tell me everything again, will you, Corie? From beginning to end—how you first met Lord Donovan, when he first kissed you, when you knew you were in love with him. Everything!”

  Fully expecting to be obliged, Lindsay eagerly rose to a cross-legged sitting position in the middle of the huge four-poster bed and tucked her linen nightgown around her knees. She hoped Lord Donovan’s last-minute business would keep him from Corisande’s side just a little while longer, although from the pink flush on Corisande’s cheeks, Lindsay imagined her friend was already anticipating his return. As she followed Corisande’s expectant brown-eyed gaze to the door, Lindsay felt a poignant tug at her heart.

  She was so happy for Corisande, truly happy. She thought back to the last afternoon, four weeks ago, they had spent together in Cornwall, just before she had left for London.

  They had clambered onto a rock and shouted their secret pact to the four winds: Neither of them could wed anyone less than the man of her dreams. Had it been only a month ago?

  And now Corisande was already happily married to a man who couldn’t be more perfect for her, Lord Donovan. And, from everything Lindsay had seen and heard, one of the most good and honorable gentlemen she had ever met. He had even found it within himself to overlook Corisande’s fearsome temper, which made Lindsay smile. She had never known anyone more impassioned than Corisande about helping those less fortunate, her legendary ability to exercise her lungs only rising with the intensity of her beliefs. And knowing Corisande, poor Lord Donovan must have gotten a splitting earful of that temper, but he had fallen in love with her all the same.

  Lindsay closed her eyes, fresh longing tugging deep at her heart. How long before she found the man of her dreams?

  It was already weeks into the Season and still she hadn’t m
et anyone who came close to the husband she envisioned for herself. The dull, self-absorbed, heiress-seeking gentlemen Aunt Winifred kept steering her way were no more valiant adventurers than she was a young woman merely interested in making a suitable marriage. She wanted more, so much more.

  She wanted someone to show her the world, a bold, daring man who would want an equally adventurous woman by his side. And they would be so hopelessly, utterly, in love, nothing would be more important to him than their life together.

  “Are you thinking of him?”

  Lindsay opened her eyes, Corisande’s soft question making her smile wistfully. “Always. I’m just beginning to wonder if he exists at all.”

  “Exists at all? That doesn’t sound like the indomitable Lindsay Somerset I know.” Corisande drew her knees up beneath the embroidered counterpane and studied her friend, even while her skin seemed to grow more heated at the thought of Donovan’s imminent return. “I noticed several agreeable-looking young gentlemen ogling you at the party tonight—”

  “A boring, ridiculous bunch, the whole lot of them. Olympia has poor Aunt Winnie so cowed she doesn’t dare allow any but the most spineless sort near me—just the sort Olympia would absolutely adore as a son-in-law. Someone she’d have no trouble tying into an obliging, sniveling, intimidated knot. Well, I’ll have none of my stepmother’s plans for me. None of it!”

  “That’s good to hear.” Corisande couldn’t help smiling at the indignant look on Lindsay’s face—amazing, that even a frown couldn’t mar her friend’s flawless beauty—and the defiance sparking her brilliant blue eyes. “I almost feared your leaving Cornwall had sapped that adventuresome spirit I recall so well. I’m pleased to see that I was wrong.”

  “Sapped it?” Lindsay gave an unladylike snort. “I feel as if I’m about to burst! I simply can’t wait to strike out on my own, I told you that in my letters. There must be so much more to this city than balls and assemblies and seeing the same people night after night.” Lindsay uncrossed her legs and leaned earnestly toward Corisande, a sudden look of regret in her eyes. “Not that your party tonight wasn’t lovely, Corie.”

  “I’m not offended.”

  “No, no, it was wonderful, and so very kind of Lord Donovan’s friends to give you both a proper wedding ball. But what would be even more wonderful is if you could stay in London for just a while longer, even a few more days, and you and Lord Donovan could chaperone me instead of Aunt Winnie—”

  “Our ship sails in the morning, Lindsay, you know that,” Corisande broke in gently. “Donovan is so eager to reach Lisbon, to see his daughter, Paloma, again. It’s a miracle that the child was found. Donovan spent nearly everything he had to find her. It’s so hard to believe that I’ll soon have a little daughter to care for, to love.”

  “Oh, dear, how ridiculously selfish of me.” Lindsay sat back on her heels, feeling doubly ashamed. “I’m sorry, Corie. I’ve waited so long to come to London and it is wonderful being here, but Aunt Winnie is so determined to honor all of Olympia’s wretched demands—where I’m to go, who I’m to meet, what I must wear—”

  “And you haven’t thought of clever ways to thwart that old termagant before?”

  Lindsay met Corisande’s gaze, a gamine’s grin spreading over her face. “Oh, I can recall a time or two.”

  “Like sneaking from your father’s manor around midnight to come and help me land smuggled brandy and lace handkerchiefs? Lord, if Lady Somerset knew her stepdaughter had a knack for fair trading that any man in Cornwall could hope to boast of—”

  “Or for filching a bit of food from the pantry to help you feed the tinners and their families.”

  “A bit of food? Sacks of grain, buckets of potatoes, loaves of fresh baked bread?”

  Lindsay shrugged nonchalantly, her grin widening. “Any way I could help you, I was glad to do it.”

  “And you’ll be able to help yourself, too; you just have to keep your eyes open for the right moment. You weren’t gifted with that wild imagination to let it go to waste. You’ll soon think of something.”

  “And so I will, but enough of me, Lady Donovan. I believe you were going to tell me again how you and your husband met, and only three days after I left Porthleven. Threatened him with a pitchfork, as I recall?”

  “Well, I was waving one around, but it was his family’s agent, Henry Gilbert, I was aiming for and—”

  “I would have thought to find my beautiful wife asleep at this late hour considering we’re to set sail first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Lindsay gasped at the sight of Lord Donovan leaning casually against the door, the man so tall and strapping she was astounded that she and Corisande hadn’t heard his footsteps down the hall. Her face burning, she snatched up the fringed India shawl she had worn to the guest chamber, whirling it around her shoulders as she scooted off the bed.

  “Oh, dear, it’s all my fault,” Lindsay hastened to explain, her eyes darting from Lord Donovan’s amused gaze to Corisande’s face. Her dearest friend was positively beaming, Corisande looked so happy to see her husband. “We were talking and I kept asking Corie so many questions. Truly, she would have been asleep long ago if not for me.”

  And truly, Lindsay realized with chagrined relief as she hurried barefoot to the door, her shawl clutched modestly under her chin, she could have been back in her room already for all the notice Lord Donovan gave her. Tall and as swarthily dark as a Gypsy, he moved to the bed even as Lindsay darted past him, his near-black eyes settling warmly upon his wife. Lindsay felt her face grow hotter, her wish thundering more fervently deep inside her breast that someday soon she might meet a man who had eyes only for her.

  “Good night, Corie. Lord Donovan.”

  She hadn’t expected a response and none came but the softest exhalation of delight. Lindsay glanced over her shoulder to see Donovan bend to kiss Corisande’s smiling mouth.

  Her heart aching all the harder, Lindsay closed the door quietly behind her and fled to her room.

  Her best friend had progressed beyond her.

  ***

  By the next evening, Lindsay was back in a social mode, her flustered aunt clutching at her arm.

  “Oh, dear, oh, dear, this ballroom is dreadfully stuffy, such a crush of people. Where’s my fan? Matilda! Oh, my, where could she have gone? Just when I need her most, she disappears—”

  “Here’s your fan, Aunt Winnie, dangling from your wrist,” Lindsay said with indulgent gentleness. She caught her aunt’s fluttering right hand and popped open the prettily painted silk fan. At once the plump older woman began to beat vigorously at the air, her dimpled cheeks crimson with agitation as she searched the huge second-floor room for the lady’s maid who accompanied her everywhere, even to balls.

  “But Matilda—”

  “I’m sure Matilda will return at any moment. She told me she wanted to fetch you a glass of lemon punch.”

  “Oh, my, yes, punch would be very nice. She must have known just how peaked I was feeling. Such a dear, my Matilda.”

  “Yes, she is a dear, but how about if we move closer to that window where you might catch a breath of fresh air?” Without waiting for a reply, Lindsay carefully steered her beloved aunt through the thronged room, the Dowager Baroness Penney nodding greetings to acquaintances even as she turned and whispered with exasperation into Lindsay’s ear.

  “I don’t understand why Lady Oglethorpe had to invite the whole of London to this ball! Even three marriageable daughters shouldn’t warrant such a crowd, and not a beauty among them, no, no, not like you.”

  “Aunt Winnie…”

  “It’s the truth,” the lady protested. “But with so many guests, why, there’ll be little room for dancing and that would be such a disappointment, not only for yourself, my dear, but for all the nice young men whom you’ve met since you came to London. Yes, such a pity.”

  More a relief, Lindsay thought with a small sigh, grateful when at last they had reached the window. An impeccably dressed o
lder gentleman in buff-colored breeches and a stiff white cravat at once vacated a chair, Lady Penney plopping onto the crimson brocade cushion with an audible groan. As her aunt continued to fan herself with an energetic vigor that negated any real cause for concern, Lindsay surveyed the brilliantly lit ballroom, which was indeed as crowded as any she had seen.

  Bejeweled ladies dressed in stylish gowns of every hue—though lavender seemed to be especially favored tonight—and gentlemen dapper in formal evening wear milled around the room in an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colorful confusion, the pitch of conversation sounding to Lindsay like an agitated swarm of bees. She and Aunt Winifred had only just arrived at the fashionable assembly and already Lindsay wished they could return home.

  Other than the mad crush of people, it appeared a ball just like any other she had attended: formal, stuffy, hopelessly predictable and with the same faces. And she wasn’t feeling very festive, not since Corisande and Donovan had left that morning.

  Their ship had to be well into the Channel by now, forging its way to Lisbon, Portugal. How she wished she were aboard, too. It would have been so exciting, so much more than enduring night after night of these interminable balls.

  She had even packed a bag in the hope that at the last moment she might persuade Aunt Winifred to allow her to accompany Corisande, but she had never carried it from her room. Her aunt might have succumbed to a swoon that even Matilda’s ever-present smelling salts wouldn’t remedy, and Lindsay couldn’t do that to the poor dear. Aunt Winifred was trying so wretchedly hard to accommodate Olympia, damn that ridiculous woman!

  Lindsay spun around to the open window, suddenly needing fresh air herself. Her face felt hot, her chest constricted. How long was she to be a prisoner of her stepmother’s plans for her?

  She could at least be thankful that Olympia’s vanity hadn’t allowed her to come to London as well, the woman preferring instead to stay in Porthleven, where she was the high priestess of society and not just another baronet’s wife in a sea of glittering nobility. Although Lindsay wouldn’t have minded at all to have her father here. Instead he was still with her stepmother…