Authors: Janelle Taylor
But today, she was pervaded with restlessness and anger; she was infused with defiance and daring. The mid-day sun warmed her body and silky head, increasing her desire for release. She glanced around, noting her solitude.
Did she dare to wickedly strip off her clothes and go for a swim? What harm could it do? No one could see her. Impulsively she cast aside all modesty. She
yanked off her garments and carelessly tossed them upon the grass, then dove into the pond. The water was cooler than she had imagined; yet, she relished the feel of it against her smooth skin.
She could do little swimming due to the smallness of the lakelet; yet, she could float and dip with gay abandonment. The water was like a cool and silky caress, vanquishing her tensions and cares. A wonderful sense of reckless adventure flooded her. She laughed to herself, weighing this wanton streak which had just emerged, seductively savoring it.
Growing weary of floating, Alex climbed upon the grassy bank to lie in the warm sunlight. She fanned out her long hair like a silvery gold halo. She lay upon her back and closed her tired lids, allowing the sun to dry her from head to toe. Her fatigued mind and relaxed body were gradually lost to peaceful slumber.
Not far away, another young defiant person had just faced a similar stormy confrontation with a loved one who did not comprehend the inner forces which drove him. The younger lord of Farrington Manor had recently returned home for a genial visit with his aging, revered grandfather, only to have his joyful arrival spark a war of wills.
Spencer Farrington headed his chestnut roan to that one spot of solitude and refuge which he had accidentally discovered as a lad, a secluded area which bordered the next landowner’s property.
His thoughts were as swift and as urgent as his breakneck pace. His mind raged at the helplessness which he was experiencing, an annoying emotion
which only his grandfather could inspire. A man unaccustomed to failure, uncertainty, and weakness, he fumed at these undesirable emotions and the bitter cause for them.
How could he tell his cherished grandfather that he had not only come home to visit with him, but to secretly spy for the American government? The patriotic old cuss would never comprehend his many reasons for wanting a hasty and lasting peace between the two countries which he loved and honored. Yet. his own loyalties lay with his adopted homeland across that wide and wonderful expanse of blue which he had so recently conquered. How could he explain the importance of a mission which would appear treasonous to Grandfather Will? How could he possibly convince that old fox that only by outsmarting and outmaneuvering the Crown could real peace be won? America was not the one who had instigated the rapidly growing troubles between them; Great Britain was the aggressor. Great Britain, along with Napoleon, was gradually crippling American commerce with the Orders in Council and the Continental System.
He couldn’t tell Grandfather Will these things for several other reasons. His furtive missions and his disguise had to be guarded well. He would place the old man in grave danger and great distress by confessing the truth. For at the crux of these covert matters was his deadliest secret of all. How could he possibly confide that he—Spencer Farrington—was the notorious Captain Joshua Steele of the privateer ship Black Mist, scourge of the British navy? A spy…
a privateer…
He shook his full mane of raven black hair which fell loosely over his temple. Devilish lights of rebellion and stubbornness sparkled within his grayish blue eyes, eyes which could take on the brittle coldness and stony hardness of deadly steel. His strong jawline and chin appeared to be of finely chiseled granite which revealed a fearless contempt and total disregard for danger and authority. His towering frame of over six feet rippled with muscles of smooth, firm iron. His slightly weathered, tawny skin spoke of an existence among the raw elements of nature.
Perhaps it had appeared insensitive and even cowardly to brashly swagger from Farrington Manor right in the middle of their heated dispute. Yet, it was clearly evident their verbal battle was taking a toll upon the enfeebled, elderly Will who continued to rule Farrington Manor with an iron hand and unbending nature. Things hadn’t changed; Will persisted in viewing him as an unruly, selfish, irresponsible youth. Will blindly refused to recognize the obvious changes within his grandson, who would eventually inherit his powerful position and large wealth.
The quarrel had centered upon the same three topics: home, marriage, and a respectable Farrington image. Spencer could understand Will’s desire for his permanent return to Farrington Manor. But, Will could not accept the fact that his only heir was now firmly and happily entrenched in a new life in America. Will had scorned the carefree, bachelor life
which Spencer was reputed to enjoy with numerous women and under very dangerous conditions. Will had stormed about the “wild oats” which he mistakenly presumed Spencer was indiscriminately sowing and rapaciously reaping in that crude frontier called America.
But marriage had been the main concern of his dear grandfather, a man who had been like a stern and loving father to him from the age of fifteen when his father and mother had both died of an unknown disease.
Marriage? Stephen Spencer “Joshua Steele” Farrington? The independent, enterprising, adventurous bachelor who guarded his freedom and pleasures as closely and fiercely as his life! No way! Besides, he had yet to meet any female who had more to offer him than a lovely face and a compliant body. Women were to be enjoyed, not wed and then chained by his side day and night for the rest of his life. Marriage was a stifling trap which he fully intended to avoid like the plague!
Sir William Farrington wanted nothing less than for Spencer to instantly select some highborn lady from his endless list of eligibles and to marry her within the next month or so. Will had shouted and even threatened Spencer with disinheritance if he refused to settle down within the next year, present the proper image for a Farrington, and have children who would be the future heirs of the Farrington prestige and fortune.
What was the big rush? he fumed. After all, he was only thirty-two years old. There was plenty of time to
snare some mildly acceptable female whom he might learn to tolerate at his side for at least part of the time. At present, his life was too complicated, too perilous, too blissfully full to settle down. And, a vicious war was brewing…
From his own observations, husbandly duties slowly drained a man of his prowess, his sense of adventure, his contentment. It gradually choked and entrapped him until he was nothing more than a rotund lord sitting before a cheerless fire, smoking a smelly pipe, waiting for several noisy brats to be put to bed, dreading his marital duties with some witless and plump wife, sneaking off to join his expensive mistress, taking care of mundane business affairs, growing old and weak and useless, missing out on the very best years of his life, wishing his boots were firmly planted upon the rolling deck of his ship with the ocean breeze caressing his serene face…
What angered Spencer the most was Will’s audacity in actually approaching another lord about an arranged marriage to his no doubt dumpy, spinster daughter! What female of any value, would permit a repulsive union with a total stranger? What lady of any quality couldn’t find her own mate? How dare Will take it upon himself to imperiously choose him a wife, a proper mother for his future sons, a woman to share the most personal and valuable parts of his life!
Spencer could almost hear Will’s amused, mocking laughter and none-too-gentle scolding. What if she was wealthy, refined, vivacious, charming, and beautiful! Oh yes, Will had also mentioned a noble
lineage and rebellious air to match his own! There were plenty of available women with those same traits. What made Will think this particular female was so rare, so deserving of becoming Lady Farrington? Why would Will force such a spoiled, haughty lass upon his grandson? Spencer had no time for taming a pampered she-cat. If this female was truly so matchless, why was she still unattached at nineteen? Didn’t her constant refusals to countless suitors betray her vanity and undesirable traits? She surely had Will fooled!
Men could be selective in marital matters; women could not, Spencer speculated. What gave this vain, willful female the right to scorn so many men whose genteel births and family fortunes made them valuable conquests? What kind of man could she be waiting for, if she even desired wedlock?
Baffled and annoyed, he wondered why these men discarded their pride to grovel at the feet of an ice maiden. He was sorely tempted to meet her just to satisfy his curiosity. But time prevented such a spiteful pleasure. Will would not take kindly to his deflowering and disgracing of Lord Charles Hampton’s daughter. No doubt he would retaliate with an enforced marriage to the little tempestuous Circe! Lady Alexandria Hampton was a dreadful disease to be wisely avoided…
A low, humorous chuckle came forth. He hadn’t even asked any questions about her. He had overheard enough colorful gossip to size her up accurately. His debate with Will had ended with his adamant refusal to meet or to further discuss Lady Hampton. No
matter, he would never marry any woman under such despicable circumstances. He growled to himself in his black mood, “If and when Spencer Farrington weds, it will be to the most fascinating, unique woman in the world. And I certainly won’t be the one to melt that hard, cold statuette of ice!”
A man of his reputation and prowess didn’t require any assistance in that particular field. If there was one thing Spencer could too easily accomplish, it was to have any woman he desired. He considered women as weak, frivolous, sexually ravenous, and dull-witted creatures. He had grown weary and bored with their clingy, possessive, irritating ways. He despised the flagrant flauntings, the crocodile tears, the rash threats, the foolish and annoying pleas, the voracious appetites, and the irritating farewells: the whole, sticky process of never being satisfied with the only parts of himself which he was willing to share: his sensual body and his lusty appetite. Never would he share his heart, his mind, his freedom, his soul!
His turbulent thoughts whirled madly within his handsome head. His impending mission entered his already crowded brain. This trip would not be a tranquil one. There was great peril in his daring plans to steal the maps and documents from Lord Grantley’s safe and to spirit them back to President James Madison. Still, he had willingly taken on this dangerous mission; he was probably the only one who could pull it off with any measure of safety and success. Then, he was to head to Spain to confer with Joseph Bonaparte, that ineffective Frenchman to
whom Napoleon had given the Spanish Crown.
Napoleon wasn’t fooling anyone; it was no secret that he was holding King Ferdinand VII prisoner in Bayonne. It was also no secret that the Spanish had held elections in Cadiz, proclaiming a liberal constitution and suppressing the infamous Inquisition, futile and heroic as it was.
But Spain controlled Florida, that area too close for comfort if lost to hostile British hands. Since France ruled Spain, Spain owned Florida, and France was presently battling Great Britain, the natural thing for them to do was offer the capable Americans a stronghold in Florida to protect her and America from British invasion. Now, all Spencer had to do was convince Joseph Bonaparte to agree to their location in San Augustin as mutual protection for both sides. It seemed a logical and reasonable proposition. Trouble was, the Bonapartes were not known for their wisdom, tolerance, or kindness.
Spencer was intrigued by his unknown British contact who had demanded that an American representative hurry to London and steal a package of maps and papers which he claimed could affect America’s survival and defense. Why wouldn’t Madison divulge that man’s identity to Spencer, his trusted friend and employee? Madison should know by now that nothing could extort anything from Joshua Steele! In this case, Spencer felt Madison was being too secretive and protective. Still, Madison frequently jested, “A man can’t let slip what he doesn’t know, Spencer. Besides, I gave my word of honor that his
name would never depart my lips. One day you’ll meet him; that I promise you.”
Since his present visit had reopened old wounds, the only course left open to Spencer was to pick up the package in England, complete his mission to Spain, return to America with the dispatches and report from Bonaparte, and later return to Farrington Manor to bravely face the odious marriage that Grandfather Will wanted so desperately before he passed on. However repulsive, Spencer would eventually grant him his wishes.
Spencer reined in his horse, curiously studying the white Arabian stallion lazily grazing without a tether or saddle. He wondered why anyone would be so careless as to allow such an exquisite beast to roam freely. No matter, he had enough problems of his own without giving time and energy to some stranger’s foolish dilemma. He tied his reins to a nearby bramble bush.
He strolled over to the thick line of trees, avidly searching until he found the path into his secret hideaway. It had been many years since he had ventured here. He hoped the small pond was still there, as harmonious and entrancing as ever. It would be a miracle if the enclosed area was not completely overrun with tall grasses and tangly vines.
Pushing aside the last hanging branch, he stepped into the sunlit clearing. He halted and closed his blue eyes, slowly taking in the fragrant, fresh air. He gradually released it once he had savored its heady, pleasing essence. His intent gaze began to lazily pass
over the azure pond and the small gray boulders at the far end of this unique haven.
His inquisitive orbes of steel blue stopped abruptly in stunned disbelief as they settled upon the magnificent creature who was sleeping so peacefully in his private domain. He rubbed his eyes in astonishment, then shook his head to clear it of this breathtaking illusion. He crossed the short distance which separated them in three easy strides, his black boots whisking silently over the lush grass. He wistfully gazed down at the enchanting goddess who lay slumbering at his feet.