The Iron Corsair: Pirates of the Coast, #2
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HER HEART BELONGS TO ANOTHER
Betrothed to a title, as opposed to a man, Lady Florence Beatrice Wilfred reconciles herself to an awkward union with a childhood friend. Haunted by tragedy, which ripped her true love from her arms, she is content to honor the agreement negotiated by her father. But her world is again turned upside down, when her one-time fiancé makes a sudden and stunning return to London society and states, in no uncertain terms, he wants her. Given his violent past, can she trust him?
HE WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET HER BACK
Known throughout the seafaring ranks as The Iron Corsair, Lord Barrington Nicholas Peregrine Howe, Marquess of Ravenwood, stands accused of a heinous crime he swears he did not commit. After years on the run, sailing the ocean as a ruthless pirate, a chance at redemption and a full pardon offers him the opportunity to clear his name and regain all he lost, including the woman he loves, but an unknown and dangerous enemy lurks in the shadows. Can Barrington find the villain before history repeats itself?
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The Iron Corsair - Barbara Devlin
the iron corsair
barbara devlin
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 © 2017 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.
Published by Barbara Devlin
The Pirates of the Coast Badge is a registered trademark ® of Barbara Devlin.
Cover art by Lewellen Designs
Interior art by Dar Albert
ISBN: 978-1-945576-95-9
Dedication
This book is dedicated to lost ones. I’ve been there. I’ve stood before a mirror, stared at my reflection, and wondered about the stranger facing me.
the iron corsair
prologue
Caribbean Sea
November, 1816
Fate possessed a wicked, or perhaps sick, sense of humor when it came to life’s intricacies. Indeed, for a fugitive evading the noose for a heinous offense he did not perpetrate, it seemed the height of irony that a full pardon from the same government that wanted him imprisoned now offered absolution for his innocence.
On a grey and unusually cold fall day, which did not bode well, the Iron Corsair leaned against the larboard rail and tensed as the Lady Madalene anchored alongside the Demetrius, a ship well known in the pirate circles, given its captain, a cunning warrior and defender of England.
Oh, I am so excited, my love.
The woman for whom the ship was named gazed at her husband, Jean Marc Cavalier, a heretofore-ruthless buccaneer who had softened in his married state, much to the Iron Corsair’s surprise. And I am so proud of you.
"I never could have succeeded without you, Mon Chou. The couple shared a much envied, tender kiss. The Iron Corsair had someone like that waiting for him. At least, he hoped she waited.
And no snide comments from the gallery."
The Iron Corsair laughed, if only to dispel the tension investing his shoulders. I have to do something, as I cannot believe I am about to embark upon the same lunacy you completed.
You want to go home.
With a characteristic smug expression, to which the Iron Corsair might have taken exception under different circumstances, Jean Marc shrugged. It is understandable and necessary, but you never told me how you came to be a pirate.
I was blamed for a crime I did not commit.
The Iron Corsair shifted his weight and stretched his neck, as the crew prepared the mainsail hull. Even then, he had second thoughts. Are you sure I am doing the right thing?
Do you want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder?
As a polished gentleman, Jean Marc descended the companion ladder and, with care and concern of which the Iron Corsair thought the former captain of the Black Morass incapable, lifted Maddie to the boards. Or do you want something more?
In that instant, the Iron Corsair jolted to the past. To London. To another age. And to the woman he loved.
Lady Florence Beatrice Wilfred.
There was a moment in his history when he existed as something different, and he wanted something more. Something altogether traditional, a wife, a family, and a simple existence rooted in the usual pursuits of a well-born English aristocrat, but those days were gone, torn from his grasp by an inauspicious deed that would forever mark his reputation and follow him to the grave.
Welcome, Jean Marc and Lady Madalene.
A petite young blond extended her arms, and in her wake followed a lethal-looking fellow. "And I see you renamed the ship Lady Madalene. How fitting."
It is wonderful to meet you, at last.
Madalene, or Maddie, as Jean Marc often referred to her, returned the embrace.
It is good to see you again, Logan.
Jean Marc rolled his eyes. Never thought I would ever say that.
That goes for both of us.
Logan cast a side-glance at the Iron Corsair. And who is this?
A friend who would like to avail himself of a pardon.
Jean Marc rocked on his heels and folded his arms. He is known as—
—Barrington Nicholas Peregrine Howe.
A painfully familiar face loomed in the background, and Captain Lance Prescott, the Marquess of Raynesford, conveyed a countenance of shock, as he uttered a name Barrington had not permitted himself to speak, in years. Or as he was called when we attended Eton together, the Marquess of Ravenwood.
Raynesford.
Barrington dipped his chin in deference to the estimable naval veteran and extended a hand in friendship, yet his knees trembled at the sight of his old ally. It has been a long time.
The marquess shook his head. I have not seen you since—
—I was charged with a murder I did not commit.
A series of gut-wrenching vignettes flashed before Barrington, as he relived the frustration, fear, and anger at the injustice he endured, running through the back alley, hiding in the mews, and then fleeing for his ship. And somewhere amid the elegant ballrooms of the ton lurked a treacherous villain. Will the King’s concordat grant immunity from a crime for which I was never tried or convicted?
It is a full pardon.
The man introduced as Sir Ross Logan shrugged. I presume so.
I have no interest in reclaiming the title.
In truth, there was only one thing Barrington desired, above all else, because he was nothing without her. The money. The estate. Nothing mattered except Florence, and heaven help him if she rejected him. I just want to be free of the past.
Then sign the document, and your year commences from this date.
Ross signaled a sailor, who brought forth a tray with a pen, an inkwell, and rolled parchments, one of which Barrington examined. Jean Marc, may I present you a full and unconditional pardon, commissioned and sworn by His Majesty.
But, of course.
With the usual flourish, Jean Marc scribbled his name on the pact.
The years have not been kind to you, my friend.
Narrowing his stare, Lance inclined his head. Yet life in London goes on without you, as I hear Lady Florence is, at last, to wed your brother.
What?
Barrington’s blood ran cold. When, and how do you know this?
They posted the banns before I departed Deptford.
Lance frowned. Forgive me. Did you not know?
How could I, when I am exiled?
A chill traipsed his spine, and Barrington gritted his teeth. But how can that be, when she is betrothed to me?
Correction.
Lance pointed for emphasis. She is bound to the marquessate. In your absence, your brother petitioned the court to declare you legally dead, that he might inherit.
How is that possible?
As he struggled to comprehend the significance of the unfortunate revelations, Barry’s thoughts raced in all directions. Not that I give a damn about the rank or the money, which he can keep with my blessing.
It has been interesting to watch Ernest and his solicitor navigate the courts, but I anticipate he will succeed in his endeavor.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Lance averted his gaze. I am so sorry.
Spare me your pity, as I have no need of it.
Barrington checked his tone, as he could ill afford additional enemies. My apologies, but you bear startling news.
It is all right, as it cannot be easy to learn the lady who holds your heart is obligated to another.
Leaning forward, Lance propped his elbows on the larboard rail. I cannot imagine how I would react, had someone conveyed such regards, in relation to my bride.
You are married?
Barrington adopted the same pose. Who is the lucky lady?
Cara Douglas, as was.
To Barrington’s amazement, the usually stoic Lance grinned, and his countenance softened. We have two sons and endeavor to produce another babe. Even now, she is locked in my cabin, with our children.
Cara is Admiral Douglas’s daughter?
When Lance nodded the affirmative, Barrington chuckled. Well, it is certainly past due for you to do the honorable by her.
I beg your pardon?
Lance blinked. Just what do you mean by that, as I never made my interest known?
The better question is who did not know of your interest.
Barrington recalled fond memories of younger days spent in frivolous pursuits. But I am happy for you.
It appears Cavalier is ready to depart.
With a frown, Lance shoved from the rail and stretched upright. What do you make of him?
He is the perfect example of a man pushed to the edge of destruction, with no hope of escape.
In much the same fashion as Barrington, so he sympathized with the once ruthless pirate. However, if Jean Marc calls you a friend, then he would fight to the death to defend you, if necessary. By the by, if you have need to reach me, leave a message at The Three-Penny Upright, in Port Royal.
Then I hope it does not come to that, for your sake.
Lance extended a hand, as would an old friend. Take care, and I will see you in a year.
You do the same.
Barrington chucked Lance’s shoulder. And give my regards to your bride.
Back aboard the Lady Madalene, Barrington fought serious doubts about his current course, and he cleared his throat, as Jean Marc and Madalene shared a thorough kiss. I need a drink, as I already regret what I just did, but I suppose it is too late to change my mind.
He saluted. Enjoy your triumph, my friend, while I seek comfort in a bottle of rum.
Then again, the pact offered the lone chance to clear his name and recover the most valuable treasure, of all. Lady Florence.
the iron corsair
chapter one
North Atlantic Ocean
September, 1817
Redemption proved the greatest test of a man’s patience, as he counted down the days until his liberation, often resulting in many nights spent lost in the seemingly endless depths of a bottle of cheap rum, reflecting on the mistakes of his past and reconsidering his every move toward a future that still struck him as impossible. Yet, as Barrington endeavored to win absolution, he remained focused on a singular objective.
Reclaiming Lady Florence, if only he was not too late.
As a gaping hole, as an interminable festering wound in his heart, he suffered her absence the last four years, and if he lost her, all his efforts at recovering his life were for naught. No matter what he had to do, no matter how many times he had to intercede on behalf of innocent travelers at sea, no matter how many fellow pirates he angered, he would win the full and unconditional pardon, so he could return to England and to his woman.
Ship, two points off the larboard bow, Cap’n.
McNish, the longtime first mate of the Audacious, peered through a spyglass. She looks to be the one.
Bring us about and drop anchor.
Barrington pulled the message from his coat pocket and studied the pedestrian plea, which awaited his return to Jamaica only a fortnight ago. "I wonder what he wants with