Page 1 of The Pirate's Stolen Bride
CHAPTER ONE
A SIMPLE MISUNDERSTANDING
Miss Harriet Turner lived life by the rules. How, then, had she ended up far away from everything she’d ever known, in a rough-looking tavern with a carved wooden sign out front bearing an image of a rooster riding a bull?
Her lips twitched into a smile before she schooled them into the placid mask of a woman who didn’t notice cheeky, slightly off-color roadside signs.
The rough Cornish inn and taproom was no place for a lady. Technically, she wasn’t one, which meant that Uncle Monty expected her to behave with even greater decorum than a real duchess, like her mother. Harriet cast a curious glance around the tavern. The village they had just driven through, Cavalier Cove, seemed as quaint as all the other ones they had passed on their journey.
This place, however, apparently had a personality behind its charming exterior. The Cock and Bull Tavern where they had stopped to ask for directions was certainly…lively. The two men slumped over a wooden bench with tankards of ale set before them eyed Harriet and her uncle with suspicion.
Her uncle’s thumped fist on the bar prompted her to wince.Not this again.
“No, we are not here in search of lodgings,” Lord Montague, said with evident exasperation. “We want directions to Viscount Prescott’s estate.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir. Do I look like someone who hobnobs with toffs?” The girl behind the counter looked around Harriet’s age, perhaps a bit younger. She guessed around nineteen. “I’m only a barmaid, you know. Dunno nuffin’ about nuffink.”
Harriet bit back a smile at the girl’s exaggerated accent. This was not the first time her stuffy, aristocratic uncle had rubbed a less distinguished member of society the wrong way and gotten a stubbornly unhelpful response. She adored her Uncle Monty, but he had no idea how to interact with ordinary people—including his own niece.
Outside, a frightful honking drew Harriet’s attention to the window. Her amusement died instantly as three rough-looking men rode their horses straight into a flock of geese. The birds hissed and raised their wings menacingly.
If the birds didn’t like these men, then neither did she. Harriet always trusted an animal’s judgment of a man’s character. She did not always trust her Uncle Monty’s.
Her uncle dropped a coin on the counter and slid it across the scuffed wood with a grating scratch. Harriet winced.
“Find someone who does know,” he ordered. “Your father, for example.”
Harriet wanted to bury her face in her palm. She knew he was tired from their long journey, but this was not the way to get the information they needed. Once Uncle Monty got it into his head that a person wasn’t being sufficiently respectful, he would obstinately press the issue—even if there was no way for the other person to know he was a duke.
Uncle Monty loathed relying upon his title, especially when he was traveling. He believed it led merchants and innkeepers to overcharge him. Yet he still expected to be catered to like one.
Sure enough, the barmaid rolled her eyes and sauntered away, drying a tankard with a dish towel. But the canny girl’s attention cut immediately to the door when the bell overhead tinkled jauntily and the three men strode in.
Her eyes widened, and she hurried away. The men drinking sat up straight and muttered to one another while casting dark glares at the intruders.
Interesting.
Harriet edged behind her uncle’s broad back. His height and muscularity should deter these…highway robbers? But no, they bore insignia that looked official even though she couldn’t quite identify it. Unease roiled her stomach.
As if she didn’t have enough to worry about already.
“What is your business in Cavalier Cove?” demanded the clear leader of the trio, an older man with a nose that appeared to have been broken at least once. He stared down Uncle Monty with unyielding flintiness.
“I might ask the same question of you,” he said, straightening to his full height to look down on the intruders.
Oh, dear. This wouldn’t go well. She knew better than to try and speak up, but oh, how she wanted to try and stop him. Harriet had never been what you might call brave. She was used to being forgotten, overlooked, and otherwise ignored. Mostly, she preferred it that way.
“I am Patrick Leacham. We represent His Majesty’s Waterguard. We’re looking for a French smuggler. Goes by the name Le Fantôme.”
“Scoundrels, the lot of them,” muttered a female voice from behind her. Harriet turned to find the scowling barmaid had returned, without her father.
“Who are they?” Harriet asked softly.
“Riders,” the girl answered, as if that explained anything. “The Waterguard is part of the Customs and Excise office. The Riding Officers patrol the shore on horseback, and boat crews patrol near shore in smaller vessels. This lot has been after the Phantom for years. Especially that Leacham fellow.” She jerked her head at what Harriet thought was the leader. “Got a vendetta against him.”
Uncle Monty’s baritone rose. Harriet made a face. “I apologize for my uncle’s behavior.”
The barmaid laughed. “He can yell at the Riders all day long as far as I’m concerned. I’d rather have a smuggler for a customer than these fools any day. At least smugglers pay well and don’t threaten Pa.”
