Prologue
1808LANTIC BAY, CORNWALL
Benjamin Pedrick lowered the last cask of brandy onto the sandy cave floor just inside the entrance. He brushed back his mop of russet curls from his forehead. Cut short around the sides and back but kept long on top, his flaming locks were frequently in his eyes. He looked around, casting his gaze out at the open water as a galleon sailed away from the not-very-sleepy village. Movement on the cliffside above him had him turning to his right. He shaded his eyes as an angelic vision appeared. A woman with raven hair whipping in the wind pulled a shawl tighter around her narrow shoulders as she walked toward him. The shawl was unlike anything he’d ever seen, its ornate stitching and embellishments visible even from a distance. The ruby color reminded him of an approaching flame.
As she drew closer, he realized she wore a loose, flowing skirt beneath a hip-length tunic. There was embroidery along the hems of the tunic and skirt. He’d never seen the like before; every gown with which he was familiar had an empire waist, cap sleeves, and straight skirts. The stark difference between whathe was used to and what he now saw left him befuddled and curious.
When he stepped farther out of the cave’s mouth, the woman spied him and shifted her focus from the sea to Ben. Surprise registered on her face as she shaded her eyes. He could tell she hadn’t expected to encounter anyone along this stretch of sand. He glanced back at the galleon not far from the coast and wondered if the young woman realized the dangers of traversing the beach on her own when privateers sailed so close. She stopped before the beginning of the path down to the sand. Drawn like a lodestone, Ben began his ascent, but his father’s voice stopped him.
“Ben, stop woolgathering and check the cart.”
Ben looked back over his shoulder at his father, Charles, and sighed. At seven-and-ten, having his father announce his son was staring at the girl was nearly as disastrous as excisemen discovering their contraband. As he felt his cheeks heating, he cursed his fair complexion; he would be blushing by the time he reached the stranger. He knew his cheeks would soon match the shawl the mystery girl wore. He held his head high and continued along the path until he reached the clifftop.
“Good morning,” Ben greeted with a smile, hoping against hope his father’s voice hadn’t traveled.
“Good morning,” the mystery woman replied. There was a hint of mirth in her voice as she continued. “Woolgathering? Those are your sheep, but why would you gather wool here?”
The soft Cornish accent mixed with something else surprised Ben as he realized the girl was close to his age, maybe a year or two younger. He chuckled and shook his head. “Woolgathering means to be lost in your thoughts.”
“What were you thinking about?” Almond-shaped onyx eyes met his sea-foam green ones. Her bluntness took him aback.The curiosity in her gaze matched his, but he was uncertain if attraction caused it as it had for him.
“Making sure we don’t leave any sheep behind.” He’d come up with any excuse rather than admit the stunning stranger made his heart race and stirred thoughts he would share with no one.
“I’m Jemima.” The adolescent girl stuck out her hand. Ben looked at it before resting his hand beneath it, palm up, and kissed the air just above it. A charge ran between them when their palms touched. His gaze remained locked with hers as he straightened. Pink tinged her cheeks, and neither pulled away as soon as they should have. Perhaps his interest was reciprocated.
“I’m Benjamin, but I prefer Ben.”
“And I prefer Jemma.” She looked down to the beach where she saw two men; one clearly old enough to be Ben’s father, while the other was likely his brother. “You’re not from Lantic Bay.”
“No. Just visiting for the market.” Ben couldn’t explain why they were really there.
“And you just happened to be strolling along the beach.” Jemma cocked an eyebrow. No one came to Lantic Bay just for the market, certainly not people who emerged from a cave where it was common knowledge smugglers and privateers hid their illicit goods. Dread skidded along Ben’s spine as he prayed she wouldn’t grow too suspicious.
“Yes. Ships have always fascinated me. My father was a fisherman in his younger days. We were watching the galleon.”
Jemma’s open expression showed she didn’t believe him. She looked out to sea, the ship’s mast barely visible on the horizon. Then she returned her gaze to Ben. “We are alike then. Except my father wasn’t a fisherman, he was a sailor.”
Dread turned to apprehension as Jemma’s comment.Was.Had the man sailed for the British Navy? If he’d been an officer, did he still have connections?
Ben heard his father and his brother, Steven, approaching. He knew he would have to walk away soon, but he wished he could continue his conversation with the intriguing beauty. Her skin was a rich caramel that only made her eyes appear darker. Her straight, even white teeth contrasted with her complexion. Her lithe body appeared graceful in her foreign ensemble. She mesmerized him.
“Where are you from?” It was Jemma who asked the question.
“Bedruthan Steps on the southwest shore. What about you?”
“Most recently, just between here and Polruan. But I was born in Bikaner, India. I moved here as a young child.”
Ben looked around, realizing for the first time she was alone. “Where’s your chaperone?”
She straightened and raised her chin, an imperious look entering her charcoal orbs. “My father is likely the man waiting for you at The Cock and Bull. It’s the middle of the morning, and people know who I am.” Since she knew why Ben and his family were there, she knew where they’d venture to conduct the second half of their business.
“And who are you, Jemma?”
“Jemima Rowe, daughter of Sir Theodore and Lady Vinita Rowe.”
“A baronet’s daughter. My father is a baronet, too. Sir Charles Pedrick. That hardly seems reason to believe you’re safe walking alone along these cliffs. This is a smugglers’ village, as you’ve hinted. Unscrupulous men abound.”
“Are you one of them?”
