The Forbidden Lady
Read The Forbidden Lady Online
Authors: Kerrelyn Sparks
K
ERRELYN
S
PARKS
T
HE
F
ORBIDDEN
L
ADY
In 2002, I dedicated this book to my husband.
Ten years later, he’s still my hero.
Thank you, Don, for all the love and laughter,
and for always believing in me.
I
would like to thank Avon Books for bringing
For Love or Country
back to life as
The Forbidden Lady
. I’m also thrilled that the sequel will finally be published! My thanks to Erika Tsang, Chelsey Emmelhainz, and all the fabulous folks in the art, publicity and marketing departments. Another big thank you to my agent, Michelle Grajkowski of Three Seas Literary Agency.
I don’t know how I would remain sane (or fake it so well!) without my critique partners: Sandy, MJ, and Vicky. A big hug and thank you to Sandy, who did a quick last-minute read-through.
My thanks to my family for always being supportive. And finally, a gigantic thank you to my readers. I love sharing my imaginary adventures with you. You guys are the best!
C
ONTENTS
Welcome to
The Forbidden Lady
! Originally published in 2002 under the title
For Love or Country
, this newly revised edition is making its first appearance as an e-book! For those of you accustomed to my vampire and shifter romances, I am delighted to share something a little different with you.
The Forbidden Lady
is set in pre-Revolutionary War Boston and stars Quincy Stanton, a rugged sea captain, who is a cross between James Bond (because of his nifty spy gadgets) and Sir Percy Blakeney of
The Scarlet Pimpernel
(because he dresses like a dandy to conceal his true identity). While I was writing the book, I jokingly called it
Insatiable and Saucy
, and as you read along, you will discover exactly who is insatiable and who is saucy!
Apparently, I am incapable of writing a book without a Scotsman, so those of you who love my undead Scotsmen will be pleased to find a live one inhabiting the following pages. Some say Jamie Munro was my inspiration for Angus MacKay.
I endeavored to be as historically accurate as possible. For instance, the use of the word “receipt” for “recipe.” The names of streets, wharves, and taverns are authentic. Bostonians celebrated Pope’s Day on the fifth of November in the manner described. The scuffle resulting in the death of a twelve-year-old boy actually happened. And the Boston Massacre occurred on the fifth of March, 1770, in front of the Customs House, on King Street.
Like any good James Bond hero, Quincy needed a submarine, so I gave him the
Turtle
. Invented by David Bushnell in 1776, the one-man submersible is a little-known chapter in the struggle for independence. I am guilty of giving Quincy a
Turtle
in 1769. In my faulty defense, I can only claim that the existence of an earlier prototype was apparently hushed up by a top-secret government conspiracy.
For more information about upcoming books and my paranormal Love at Stake series, please visit my website at www.kerrelynsparks.com. My thanks to HarperCollins and my editor, Erika Tsang, for bringing
The
Forbidden Lady
back to life, and more thanks to my agent, Michelle Grajkowski of Three Seas, for making it possible. And many, many thanks to you, my readers, who are always willing to take an imaginary journey with me. I hope you find lots of love and laughter in
The Forbidden Lady
!
Yours,
Kerrelyn Sparks
Friday, July 21, 1769
“W
hat the bloody hell is happening here?” Quincy Stanton demanded as his uncle crossed the gangplank onto his schooner
Edward Stanton gave him a wry smile. “Is that any way to greet me? I haven’t seen you in months.”
“Sorry.” Quincy glared at the soldiers in the distance. “I thought I had escaped the British, and what do I find the minute I arrive in Boston but a pack of redcoats marching up and down the wharf. Why is the British army here?”
“A good question.”
Over his uncle’s shoulder, Quincy spied a short man in brown carefully inching his way across the narrow gangplank. A landlubber. “Who is this?” he whispered. “An acquaintance of yours?”
“I’ll introduce you later.” Edward lowered his voice. “Right now, I must speak to you. Alone, in your cabin.”
Quincy studied his uncle’s face, noting the worry in the characteristic gray Stanton eyes. His gut reaction had been correct. Boston was in trouble. “This way.” He led his uncle below deck to the captain’s quarters.
Edward entered the small cabin. “How was your trip?”
“It was a disaster.” Quincy shut the door with more force than necessary. He thumped two pewter tankards onto the table. “Our ship sailed as well as expected, but my father—” He grabbed a half-full jug of beer from the sideboard. “I had no idea he was such a pompous, arrogant . . . fool.”
Edward winced. “I see.”
Straddling a chair, Quincy pulled the cork from the jug with his teeth and expelled it onto the table. “You should have warned me.”
“How could I?” Edward took a seat while Quincy filled their tankards. “You were so thrilled when my brother asked to see you after all these years. I sincerely hoped it would be the kind of reunion you wanted, that you deserved.”
Quincy surged to his feet and paced about the cabin. The ugly truth was damned hard to admit, even to the uncle who had raised him. Rage he could handle, perhaps not well, but a great deal better than feeling pathetic. “When I first arrived in England, I actually believed it was the warm homecoming I had always dreamed about. My father spent a small fortune buying me elegant clothing. To please him, I shaved off my hair to wear the wigs he purchased. He showed me off like a prized stallion at the balls and soirées.”
“He must be proud of you.” Edward tilted his mug, taking a long drink.
“No, to him I will always be the unwanted bastard. He introduced me to everyone as his nephew, that is,
your
son.”
Edward choked on his beer. “
My
son? I was only twelve years old when you were born.”
Quincy swatted his coughing uncle on the back. “Obviously, ciphering is not one of my father’s fortes. After a month in London, he took me to one country estate after another, and fool that I was, I thought he merely wished to show me all his property. It took me another two months to realize my father was keeping one step ahead of his creditors.”
“Bloody hell! Henry is broke?”
“Aye.” Quincy sat and swallowed some beer. “In one night, he gambled away ninety percent of his wealth.”
Speechless, Edward stared at his nephew.
Quincy scowled at his drink. “My father was never interested in me.” He downed the remaining liquid and banged his mug onto the table with a metallic clunk. He splashed more beer into the mug, spilling a portion onto the table. With the sleeve of his plain homespun shirt, he wiped the pine surface, careless of the amber streaks left on his clothing. “He wanted to see how profitable our business was.”
Edward flinched. “Our business?”
“He requested I loan him our schooner,
The Forbidden Lady,
so he could recoup his losses.”
“Damn.” Edward gripped the edge of the table. “He would sell her to the highest bidder.”
“That’s what I thought, so I made a quick departure.” Quincy curled his hands into tight fists. “There’s more. He began legal proceedings to claim Stanton Shipping is part of his inheritance, since the money that originally financed our business came from his father.”
“No!” Edward leapt to his feet. “He’ll steal everything we worked so hard to accomplish. That . . . bastard.”
Quincy snorted. “He considers me the bastard. And he thought I would be grateful because he deigned to acknowledge I was alive.”
Edward paced about the cabin. “Damn that Henry! He inherited the title, the land. Everything was simply given to him, while we sweated for every penny. We cannot allow this.”
Quincy leaned back in his chair. “He plans to send his legitimate son to Boston in a few months to learn the business.”
“To take over, you mean. Damnation!” Edward bashed a fist against the palm of his other hand. “If my brother succeeds in the British courts, the courts here will yield to their decision. Our mother country never misses a chance to spank us like an ungrateful child.”
“Speaking of our dear mother country, what the hell is her army doing here? Is Boston under military rule?”
With a sigh, Edward sat. “They came while you were in England.”
“For what purpose?”
“To protect us from Indian attack, so they claim.”
“Indians attacking Boston? And I suppose their ship patrolling the harbor needs those cannons to protect us from a fleet of canoes?”
Edward smiled wryly. “Hardly. She’s a customs schooner with the sole purpose of harassing each ship that comes to port. Did they stop you?”
“Aye, and threatened to confiscate the goods I picked up in Le Havre. After I paid off the captain, he graciously allowed me to dock at my own wharf in my own hometown.” Quincy finished his beer.
“There’ll be more bribes to pay to the customs officials in town. And the damn redcoats march around Boston, watching our every move.”
Quincy slammed his tankard down. “This is outrageous. We’re British citizens, not a pack of criminals. We must do something. Do the Sons of Liberty have a plan?”
“Aye, they do.” Edward shifted in his chair, then looked Quincy in the eye. “You.”
“
What?
”
“We know the British are here to suppress us, but we cannot make such a claim without written proof. We need someone who can socialize freely with the wealthy Loyalists in town. The redcoat officers quarter in their homes. The documents we need could be there.”
Quincy waited a beat for an explanation, but then it occurred to him. “You think
I
can do it?”
Edward leaned forward on his elbows. “You’re in a unique position to help the cause. You’ve been away ten months. What if you returned to Boston a changed man, transformed into a staunch Loyalist? You could befriend the British officers, hobnob with the other Loyalists and dazzle their wives and daughters with your incomparable charm.”
Quincy looked over his shoulder to see if his uncle was referring to someone else. “Bloody hell. I’m a sea captain. Ask my men if they find me charming.”
“You can do this, Quin. Just think how much information you could glean if the redcoats believed you were on their side.”
Quincy tapped his fingers on the table as he considered. “Everyone knows we support the Colonial cause. Will they believe I have changed so drastically?”
“I have spread the word that you are, in truth, the son of the Earl of Dearlington. You’ve been away a long time, and if you act and dress the part, people will believe what they see.”
“I do possess the manner of clothing that would suit the purpose, what my father bought in London. The stuff is so hideous I was tempted to throw it overboard. I only restrained myself because it is worth a bloody fortune.”
“Excellent. Then you can dress appropriately. We’ll stage an argument in a crowded tavern where you’ll defend your Tory views and part from me in anger. Our solicitor has rented a large furnished house for you, fully staffed with servants. You need only act the role of a pompous, arrogant, totally useless English lord.”
“Like my father.” Quincy frowned at his clenched fists. “I’ll be damned if I’ll cower to the British or allow my father to steal what is mine.”
“We need a decision now. The minute you leave this ship you’ll have to assume your new role.”
Quincy nodded. “I understand.”
“We’re counting on you. Will you do it?”
“Be a spy?” Quincy took a deep breath, mentally blocking the consequences of such a request. If he didn’t do something, he would go mad. “Yes. I will.”
“Good.” Edward opened the door to reveal the short man in brown who had followed him on board. “Allow me to introduce your new employer, Mr. Johnson.”
