The Rogue’s Prize
Duke by Day, Rogue by Night
Katherine Bone
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2012 by Katherine L. Bone
ISBN 10: 1-4405-5743-8
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5743-9
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5744-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5744-6
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or
locales in this novel are either the product of the
author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The
resemblance of any character to actual persons (living
or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © istockphoto.com / ©talymel
This book is dedicated to my Rogue,
Rebel & Rake, my husband and beloved
friend.
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Duke by Day, Rogue by Night
, or
Master and Commander
meets the
Scarlet Pimpernel
, is the book of my
heart, dear reader. The idea for this
book developed after learning a
fascinating detail about Admiral Nelson.
He was never without his tea. As a
result, Nelson’s Tea, first sons from
every tier of life, men above reproach,
alpha males willing to do anything to get
what they want, using wit and verve to
win the day, was born.
I look back on the wonderful
people who’ve influenced my writing
with great appreciation and thanks. This
book was a collective effort of family,
friends,
critique
partners
and
professionals in the publishing industry.
No contribution was too small. No
amount
of
encouragement
underappreciated.
There are those who will never see
this book: my grandparents, who
instilled in me a love of education, the
arts, and history. My great uncle and my
father, my two greatest champions
whose unfailing support, and willingness
to read my very first book, fed my spirit
and pushed me to keep writing when
doubts crept in. And to Beverly Barton,
mentor and friend, who taught me to
value the choices I’d made and
continued to assure me one day my ship
would come in. Thank you! I will never,
ever forget you and will carry your
memory with me always.
I cannot go without thanking my
mother, my great aunt, and my brother
for their sustained faith in me. Nor my
husband’s family who always believed
that I would succeed no matter how long
it took. For this and so much more, thank
you. And most of all, I offer special
thanks to my wonderful children and
grandchildren. I hope you now know that
no dream is ever too far out of your
reach.
To the Romance Writers of
America, Heart of Dixie and Southern
Magic Romance Writers RWA, the Beau
Monde and the Hearts through History
Online Chapters, I thank you for your
immeasurable guidance. To Andrea
Laurence, Betty Bolte, Bonnie Gardner,
Cathy
Stewart,
Christine
Glover,
Danniele Worsham, Debby Giusti,
Debra Webb, Heather Leonard, Jade
Lee, Kate Lyon, Kimberly Lang, Linda
Howard, Linda Winstead Jones, Lynn
Raye Harris, Marilyn Puett, Melanie
Dickerson,
Patricia
Preston,
Pat
Trainum, Renee Andrews, Rhonda
Nelson, Rita Heron, and Sherry Werth,
thank you for your generosity and
kindness. To my critique partners, Okay,
Listen Here blog buddies, and dearest
friends, Cheryl Crisona, Crystal Lee,
Jean Hovey, Lesia Flynn, M.V. Freeman,
and Stephanie Jones, I owe a multitude
of thanks that can never be repaid. Thank
you!
Three fabulous authors took time
away from their writing to read and
provide a blurb for my book. Katharine
Ashe, Shana Galen, and Michelle
Beattie, I appreciate you more than you
know. Thank you, Chelsea Gilmore, for
helping make
Duke by Day, Rogue by
Night
what it is today. Your input was
priceless! Special thanks to Cheryl
Ferguson for calling me when I was at
the lowest of lows and lifting my spirits.
I’ll never forget the difference you made
in my life.
And last but not least, I wouldn’t be
where I am today without Jennifer
Lawler, Jessica Verdi, and Crimson
Romance. Crimson’s professionalism
and kindness will never be far from my
heart. Thank you for believing in me and
my stories!
CHAPTER ONE
English Coast, 1804
Gently bred women do not disobey their
fathers, but the ship beneath Constance
Danbury’s feet accused her of not being
gently born.
Constance understood what her
mission entailed. Sail to Spain and plead
for her aunt’s support, contrary to her
father’s
wishes.
Aunt
Lydia’s
temperament had been equal to that of
her father’s years ago and, as a result, no
interaction had been allowed between
them since her mother’s death. She had
no idea if the woman was even still
alive, as no communiqués had arrived to
announce her death or verify her health.
That she ventured out onto the sea,
risking life and limb, to find her aunt
was due to her uncle’s insistence. Aunt
Lydia was their only hope. Halfway to
Spain, Constance lay in her cabin with
one goal in mind, winning her aunt’s
favor so the Danbury name would not
come to ruin.
The reality of how far her family
had fallen in so short a time hit
Constance full force when a shrill
whistle barreled over the merchantman
Octavia
’s deck. All at once, the ship
recoiled and one thunderous volley after
another exploded, vibrating the vessel
from bow to stern. She stared wide-eyed
at the ceiling above her head, willing it
to hold firm, fearing its collapse.
Fighting back ghastly images of her
mother’s death at sea proved almost too
difficult a task. She knew well enough
what awaited if the ship sank — a
watery grave. She had borne that
experience ten years earlier, survived,
and found herself a motherless child as a
result.
The handle on the cabin door
jostled,
heightening
her
anxiety.
Hampered by the bolt she’d put in place
before retiring for the night, her would-
be intruder jerked the knob and thumped
upon the sturdy wood with vengeance.
“Lady Constance!”
Lieutenant Guffald’s voice set her
into action. Constance darted to the
door. The gallant officer calling her
name had nearly lost favor with his
captain for promising her uncle to give
her safe passage to San Sebastian.
Constance suppressed a shiver. Matters
were most grave, if Guffald attempted to
enter her cabin without waiting for her
admittance. He was a gentleman, one
unlike the man she was trying to escape.
Passing a terrified glance at her
governess, Mrs. Mortimer, Constance
opened the door. The lieutenant brushed
past her, pushing his way into the cabin.
He turned and hurriedly grabbed her by
the shoulders, casting aside propriety.
“Pirates have drawn alongside us
and have every intention to board.”
“Pirates?” The barely audible word
rushed out of her mouth and the irony of
the situation hit her with inescapable
force.
“I’ve come to warn you,” the
lieutenant continued. “Stay inside your
cabin. Bolt the door. Admit no one
inside until I return.”
Pirates.
Heaven help her, not
again! What was to become of her? Of
dearest Mrs. Mortimer?
The lieutenant spoke, his voice
barely audible to her ears. “Mrs.
Mortimer, I entrust Lady Constance into
your care. I beg you — after I leave,
make sure no one enters this room but
me.”
“I shall do as you say, sir,” the
older woman said, taking charge.
Another explosion pounded the
ship.
The
Oct avi a
listed. Constance
screamed. Lieutenant Guffald wrapped
his arms about her to keep her from
slipping to the floor. Thankful for
assistance,
Constance
ignored
his
possessive stare, and endured his
overprotective embrace until the vessel
righted and she could safely dislodge
their sinfully entwined limbs. The man
was not Lord Montgomery Burton, she
told herself. She had no reason to fear
him. With Grecian bone structure and
thick
disheveled
blond
hair,
the
lieutenant was a man prepared to
