Below are pictures of places featured in Her Favoured Captain, and below the images you can read an excerpt.
Georgian Romance
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News of an arranged betrothal shatters Emerald Lady Penhavean’s dreams of one day wedded for love. Her instinct to rebel causes severe conflict between her and her brother, but Lord Penhavean insists she will marry the Earl of Moorby no matter what: with or without her consent. To ensure her compliant to his bidding he resorts to cruel measure and destroys the one thing she loves above all others.
Distraught, she flees to the creek with intention of setting herself free from betrothal to a man more than twice her age. There she encounters a stranger, a young buccaneer of wise if witty countenance. Something in his eyes and tone of voice stir feelings Emerald cannot ignore, and life once again seems preferable to that of death. But how can she now return to the house and the fate that awaits her, when she knows her heart finally captured by a man she could truly love?
Distraught, she flees to the creek with intention of setting herself free from betrothal to a man more than twice her age. There she encounters a stranger, a young buccaneer of wise if witty countenance. Something in his eyes and tone of voice stir feelings Emerald cannot ignore, and life once again seems preferable to that of death. But how can she now return to the house and the fate that awaits her, when she knows her heart finally captured by a man she could truly love?
~
This creek features in Her Favoured Captain: The River Dart
To give an idea as to how big the creek is here's a modern warship moored upstream.
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Penhavean House where Emerald Lady Penhavean lives.
It's in actual fact Sharpham House situated overlooking the River Dart in Devon.
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This is the real River Dart bridge featured, of which carriages pass over in getting from Penhavean House to the highway.
The very same bridge where Emerald utilises steps on the enbankment for secret meetings with her favoured captain.
Her Favoured Captain
Copyright © 2011 Francine Howarth
Black Velvet Books
All characters in
this book are fictitious.
All rights reserved. No part of
this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form, or by means electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording or otherwise, without prior consent of the author.
Sometimes the formatting goes a little awry on blogger but I feel sure you'll forgive any hiccups.
Chapter
One
~
How
could his stable be empty?
Her heart
lurched, and dread washed over her. She rushed across to a stable lad, who had
brush in hand and straw and dung already pitched to wheelbarrow. “Where is
Tobias?”
His face flushed pink, and before she could
question him further two shots echoed across the valley.
“Noooo,” her wail, yet her voice
seemed somehow distant, not hers at all.
“I be so sorry yer ladyship, but his
lordship said as how Tobias were finished. No good to any man.”
“Where, where has he taken him?’
“To the meadow.”
She turned, fled, and on approach to the
meadow her heart sank for her brother came striding through the gateway a
triumphant air. “How could you do that?” she screamed, her heart utter wrenched
by loss of Tobias.
“It had to be done, Emerald,” replied her
brother: pistol to hand. “Would you have him die a slow death?”
“But he looked and sounded so much better
this morning.” Tears flooded forth, and although extreme childish in action it
felt so good to pummel her hateful brother’s chest. “We thought him quite well,
his breathing sound?”
Ned’s strength far greater than hers, and in
spite of pistol in hand he managed to brush her aside and hold her at arm’s
length. “We, who is we?”
“Your head groom, who else. Jenkins felt
sure Tobias had not broken his wind despite persistent cough, and if you walked
him to the meadow did you not hear his steady breath?”
“It is done,
Emerald.’ He let slip his grip on her shoulder, and began striding away. “The
horse is now out of its misery, and no more to be said about it.”
“How dare you take that tone with me. Tobias
was my horse.”
He paused, turned, his hooded eagle-like
eyes those of hardened soldier used to death and of killing. “Your horse, yes,
and had you heeded my warning to ride in the manner befitting a lady, Tobias
would be alive now, not dead.” She sensed him angered at her for reasons
beyond compassion toward her horse: Tobias mere weapon in his arsenal of do
as you are told or suffer the consequence. He wished to crush her defiance
in refusing the Earl of Moorby’s hand in marriage, confirmed in venomous
outburst. “With nothing to hold you here, now perhaps you will see your way to
acceptance of the Earl’s offer of marriage.”
“You beast, utter beast. You
murdered Tobias, and I shall never forgive you, never.” She drew
sob-choked breaths and ran to the meadow. “Poor, poor Tobias. I shall love you
always.”
She could not bear to stay there in bright
sunshine, for his blood-streaked head and dappled grey lifeless body tore at
her heartstrings. She turned and ran across the meadow, the woodland edge a
tear-laden blur of green and shadowed gloom. Once inside beneath its comforting
cool canopy she trod the path that led to the creek. She would not be wed to a
man more than twice her age.
The waters, the waters of the creek, so
cold, so inviting, and she and Tobias would gallop for eternity. There was no
other solution. It would all be over within a few shocked breaths and drag of
undercurrents on her skirts.
In blind haste, not taking heed of the path
beneath her feet, something soft and slimy caused her to slip and lose her
balance. She tumbled sideways down a steep slope and bar for trees, there was
nothing to grab hold of to prevent descent from top to bottom. With a slight
bump she landed on dry sand, her silk gown torn badly and hair decorated with
array of woodland flora and fauna. "Uhh. Spiders."
About to get to her feet to walk into the
waters of the creek and let its depths consume her, to her astonishment, there,
in the creek, a ship lay at anchor. Never before had she seen such a huge hulk
in creek waters. Small fishing boats on occasion, yes, but even then rare
sightings of such. This one had to be a warship, with three masts and cannon
portals. It had no identifiable flag, so why was it there and where had it come
from?
Wood smoke. She sniffed the air, her nose
lured toward a rocky outcrop. From behind it smoke drifted on a barely
noticeable breeze. Male voices, too,
carried her way. A rowboat lay near to the outcrop, its bow on sand and stern
in water. Fearful of many seafarers the other side of the outcrop, in state of
panic she scrambled to her feet and headed in the opposite direction.
It seemed prudent to glance over her
shoulder from time to time to be sure no one had spied her nor thinking of
coming after her. On a third glance backward it proved fatal, for she collided
with solid muscle of man. He too came from between trees and underbrush in a
speedy uncontrolled manner much like she had moments beforehand. Luckily for
her, he maintained good balance and she, too, did not disgrace herself by
falling flat on her rump.
“Well this is a delight to be sure,” he
said, a broad smile.
Nonetheless, startled, terrified, she
stepped back, and although his voice was that of a gentleman of good breeding, a
well-worn smock implied otherwise and she feared him less than honourable in
display of noted interest in her state of dress. “Who are you, and what are you
doing here?” she asked, his blue-grey eyes intently focused on hers. It was
disconcerting to be scrutinised by one so tall and a stranger to boot, his
black hair tied back with black ribbon. “This is private land.”
He chuckled, his tanned face shrouded by
goatee and creased in amusement. She thought him quite young and rather
handsome, but his unlaced smock revealed manly hair upon chest so
perhaps older than he looked. His breeches and boots were also decorated with
woodland moss and ferns in like to her gown. “Private land, eh? Well, happen
you better tell me your name,’ he said, maintaining intense eye-to-eye contact,
“and apology for my trespass shall be yours.”
Damn the man. How dare he toy with her in
manner unbefitting that of a true gentleman?
“I live near here, and you clearly do not.”
He bowed, heartily laughed. “I am of mind to
think you recent tumbled in the hay.” His eyes mocked in laughter, too. “A
lady, methinks. Not a wayward harlot. Am I right?”
His expression implied him intrigued by her,
if a little unsure of her status and certain no knowledge of her rank. “A
tumble indeed, and unlucky to be alive.” She wished she had kept her mouth
shut, and to allay his seeming suspicious nature, said, “I fell down the bank a
little ways back.”
“Unlucky, did you say unlucky? How so, if
alive and unscathed.” A tear swept aside by manly thumb stole her breath, his tone of
voice caring.“Tears, why tears?”
No man had done such a thing before and she
sensed pink flush to both cheeks. “It’s a long story, now may I pass on my
way?”
“I have the time if you feel need to
unburden what ever it is that has upset you so. And you are clearly
grieving and, in much distress.”
How
could this happen, one magical touch from a complete stranger and her in wont
to reveal her unhappy state? “I cannot, cannot, it is all too painful, and . .
.” Tears flooded forth, his chest somehow comforting. His warm embrace caring
rather than suggestive of villainous intent, and words spilled forth so easy in
torrent of hate and dread of Ned’s intentions for her. “He shot my horse, the
brute shot my horse, and all because I refused to agree to his bidding.”
He eased her away from his chest, his eyes
entreating absolute truth. “Who shot him?”
She wished nothing more than to drown in the
creek yet the depths of his eyes so honest in compassion, his embrace quelled
desire for death.
“My brother, my hateful brother.”
“Who is?”
“Lord Penhavean.”
“Ned?”
Astonished at his knowing her brother on
first-name terms, he was suddenly the enemy. She extricated herself from his
clutches, sidestepped his bulk and fled. He was far too quick for her, and arm
grabbed he spun her round to face him. “Ned Penhavean is no friend of mine . .
. if that is behind your reason for flight.”
“Then what . . . and who are you?”
He chuckled. “Captain, and buccaneer
extraordinaire, at your service.”
“A pirate?” came out as screech, and
most unladylike.
“Shush,” he said, finger to her lips. “Could
you keep a secret if your life depended on it remaining a secret?”
Oh God, how his touch fired the senses, his
voice as though drifting on magical breeze. “I might have before today,’ her
reply, heart blatant in disturbed flutters of something indefinable from
within, “though my future at Ned’s hands somewhat uninviting.”
“In that case, Lady Emerald, consider
yourself my prisoner.”
“Prisoner?” Was he jesting or being serious?
“That or trust in me, and keep the presence
of my ship, here, in the creek, a secret.”
“How did you know my name?”
“When a Royal Marine officer Ned served
aboard the same ship as I, and although we were once great friends things went
awry, but he oft talked of you most fond.”
A tentative smile creased his face and again
something stirred within her, as it never had before. Out of her depth,
floundering in his honesty, her words flowed from the heart. “Fondness has been
far from Ned’s thoughts for a long while.” Her eyes drifted to the ship at
anchor. “And you, back then, a soldier too?”
“Lieutenant, in his majesty’s Royal Navy.”
Her eyes again levelled on his face, and
some-thing about his eyes implied him genuine. “Then why are you now a
buccaneer?”
“There are things, your ladyship, that I
cannot reveal.”
“Emerald, call me Emerald, for if we are to
share a secret, then I would like to think we can be friends on equal terms. So
tell me, what name shall you go by, Captain?”
“A pretty name is Emerald, and beautiful
emerald eyes you have, too.”
She laughed, the man before her most
infuriating and utterly desirable. “Give me a name. I cannot leave here
thinking of you as merely my buccaneer.”
“Your buccaneer, eh? I should be so
lucky.”
His smile implied to be her buccaneer
a wholly delightful prospect to him, and that alone caused palpitations of
heart. “You know very well what I meant.’
“Indeed, but a man has the right, surely, to
think that even a lady of rank might well look fondly upon his attributes and
consider him a potential suitor, or lover at best.”
She let slip a sigh indicating displeasure
at his presumptuous inference she, utter smitten. “Must you be as tiresome as
other men, in taking it upon yourself to think me enamoured by your charming
manner?”
“You are,” he said, his movement slight yet
the distance between them instantly bridged; his arm about her waist, and hand
cupping her chin tortuous in extreme. “Tell me I cannot kiss you, and I will
step away.”
She could not speak, even if she had wanted
him to desist his awful tease, but it was no tease. His lips embraced hers, and
she in turn succumbed to pleasure, to sense of safeness as opposed to danger.
How was this possible, with a man met only moments beforehand? She gave sway to
pressure of his mouth forcing her lips to part, and plundered by his tongue
sensations never experienced before washed over her.
His sudden withdrawal sweet agony, and voice
husky with desire caused her heart to blip. “Ah, that you were mine, sweet Emerald.
Alas, that is not so and I apologise for my ungallant behaviour.”
He stepped back, and she said, “I shall not
hold it against you.” She drew breath, voice choked, mixed emotions erupting
along with welled tears. “I shall keep secret the knowledge of your ship at
anchor. For here, surrounded by my brother’s estate, it is unlikely anyone will
happen upon you from the land. But beware, fishing boats do sometimes enter the
creek.”
“Tears Emerald, more tears? Have I now upset
you, too?”
“No, and strange as it may seem, I felt . .
.” How to express what she had actually felt upon meeting him now of little
consequence, and present feelings far more difficult to quantify in words. “I,
I feel safe in your company.”
He cast a glance at the woodland,
unforgiving steep as it rose upward from the creek floor. “To get you back up
to the path in that gown of yours, pretty much impossible unless you care to
hoist it up to your waist at the front. I climbed up no trouble, but did return
faster than expected. Hence our bumping into each other.”
“No, no, it is far too steep.” She nodded to
a bend in the creek, her intended path before their collision occurred. “I
shall follow the creek until I reach a bridge, where steps are located.”
“Then I shall escort you to be sure your
beautiful self safe and back on a footpath.”
“The steps lead to the main ride from
highway to the house, so you had best not escort me that far,” she said,
setting off with her buccaneer alongside.
“Wise thinking, dear lady, if my presence to
remain a secret. I have no wish to incite attention from estate hands nor from
that brother of yours.”
~~
Who would have thought it
could happen. Of all the people to bump into while on a secret mission it had
to be Penhavean’s sister. Ned Penhavean, disreputable bounder, a rake, gambler
and drinker and, a decidedly enchanting beautiful sister?
With the tide incoming fast he glanced at
his companion hurrying beside him, her burnished brown hair tumbling over
delightful feminine shoulders: torn dishevelled gown leaving little to the
imagination. All of which had caused him to break the rules of social
etiquette, but how could a man not have tended to her tearful grieving?
The bridge she had mentioned suddenly came
within view. She stopped, semi breathless and somewhat concerned manner. “Pray,
do not come further, for I shall soon reach the steps. You need to go back, now,
if you are to reach the outcrop of rock and your boat, before the tide washes
over them.”
Eyes locked, was it wishful thinking on his
part that she lingered as though awaiting a kiss before taking her leave? To
draw her close and take a kiss unbelievably tempting, but to err caution indeed
the greater part of gentlemanly spirit. “I would much rather see you safe, out
of harms way.”
“I will be, if I go now. Thank you, thank
you for being so kind, and I shall have you know you saved my life.”
“I did?”
“I quite came here with intention of
throwing myself in the creek.”
Already aware his ship had forestalled her
reason for coming to the creek, it was gratifying to think it and he
had prevented a grief stricken tragedy. “For love of a horse?” Something in her
eyes declared a deeper reason, and with luck she might reveal what had driven
Emerald Lady Penhavean to consider death preferable to life.
“Not entirely, but Tobias was and always
will be my greatest love,” her reply.
“Hmm. To be second best to a horse might
well be termed affront by a potential suitor ”
“I do have a suitor, and have tried my best
to escape his hand in marriage but my brother insists it will happen, either
with my permission or without it.”
It always astonished him how women on
occasion of much distress were prone to smiles and tears in tandem, and he had
not expected her to reach up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. What torture, what
agony to let her slip his grasp. But it had to be, for she was not his. “Come
down to the creek again, tomorrow, same time.” Short of immediate kidnap as
instant solution to her dilemma, happen a few facts about her brother might
enlighten a more sensible path in alleviating her dilemma. “Perhaps, between
us, we can hatch a plot to scupper this betrothal you so despise”
“I would like that even if mere dream, and I
shall come by way of the bridge. It is a little safer that way, unless I go
further along the path where it runs level with the creek.”
“If I say, I will be at this very spot, will
that please you?”
“It will, and I shall think of you as
my buccaneer. I do not wish to know your name, for I know what ever you
choose will be a mere teasing nom de plume.”
He could not help but wince at her
shrewdness, and her emerald eyes all a glitter with mischief caused such pain
in the groin it truly stirred the very devil within
“I
must go,” she said. “So must you, or you will drown, and I should be terribly
distraught if my buccaneer not here on the morrow.”
With that she
turned and ran, skirts hitched up in the manner of a serving wench at a bawdy
tavern and his heart thumped a tattoo. Dare he hope for more than kisses on the
morrow? Nay, to indulge in lustful engagement with Lady Emerald Penhavean,
utter folly. He would be gone soon enough, and might never return to England
full-bodied man if not already dead and food for sharks.
