Chapter One
June1812
London, England
Ridge Claymoore walked in the front door of the White Horse CellarInnand paused, allowing his exposed eyeto adjust to the dimly lit interior.His other was covered with a black eye-patch,forhis intimidating guise as the sailor One-Eye had served him well in the past when it came to gathering information. It appeared his reputation continued to precede him,as, without fail, patrons atthe tables he passedshifted their seats out of the way to allow hima wide berth, their eyes quickly darting away rather than choosing to meet his direct stare.
At long last, his search for Simon Hindercray, Viscount Wistenberry, had led him here. While his missions for the Home Office generally consisted ofsmugglers and hardened criminals, Wistenberry was wanted as a foreign spy, and in times of warfare, such a treasonous offense wasregarded aseven moredire.Well-placed spiescould easilybe the deciding factor betweenwho took home the victory and who suffered defeat, and with England facing off against the French and thegrowing conflict in theAmerican Colonies, the effectscould bedevastating, if not crippling.
It wasClaymoore’sjob to make sure that didn’t happen.
After assisting the Crown in taking down one of the largest smuggling rings England had ever seen, it was brought to his attention, by one of his fellow agents,the Duke of Chiltern,that a silver snuffbox had been found that bore Wistenberry’s initials,connecting himwith Lady Cordelia Westchester, the Marchioness of Worthington.Unfortunately, by the time they realized the part Wistenberryhadplayed,he was nowhere to be found.
At the same time, it was discovered that Lady Isabella Resenfeld had gone missing. After putting the pieces together, it wasconcludedthat Wistenberry had convinced the lady to run away with him, as they had recently beenseenin close proximity together.
So Ridge, along withfellowagent, Logan Montgomery, had set off for Gretna Green in Scotland, the most likely choice for a hasty elopement.
However, they’darrivedtoo late, so they had headed back to London, stopping at every coaching inn along the way in the hopes that they might be able to catch Wistenberry and his wayward brideon their return. They finally uncovered a fortunate tip fitting the couple’s description, which had led them here.
Ridge scanned the interior, searching every face for his quarry, but there was no sign of him,nor his new wife. At this point, he was starting to get frustrated. Weeks of travel had yielded little fruit and he was ready to put an end to it.
And thatwas when he spied the barkeep.
A slow grin spread across his face, for it was someoneheknewrather well. It was one ofthecrewmen from his previous endeavor on board theClara Belle,onewho had also managed to elude the authorities after the raid. Apparently, he thought it would be in his best interests to hide in plain sight.
He was wrong.
And whilethe other man now knewwhohewas, that didn’t meanRidgecouldn’tstillinspire fear.
He walked up to the counter.
***
Isabellathought herdreams hadat long lastcome true. Unfortunately, thereality wasquite a different matter altogether.
Shestared at the simplesilverband encircling the third finger of her left handwith a heavy sigh.Her new husband had placed it there, justover the border of Scotland at Gretna Green. Ithadn’t neededto be encrusted with jewels, for she’dloved the simplicity of it, because it was a symbol of the vowsshe had Simon hadjusttaken.It might not havebeen the wedding shehadalwayspicturedas a child,butat leastshecould call herself Lady Isabella Hindercray, Viscountess Wistenberry. Her heart had beennear to bursting with happiness—at the time.
It hadn’t taken her long to findthat the fairy tale ending she’d been hoping for had been nothing but a sham. She realized, too late, that all the sweet words and compliments Simon had showered on her when he’d been pursuing herhad been empty and meaningless. After arather unremarkable wedding night, where their coupling had been uncomfortable and brief, with no show of affection whatsoever,she’d lainthere and stared at the ceiling,tearsstingingher eyes, while her new husband had rolled over and gathered his clothes.
“You should get dressed.” His tone had been almost curt, without even a hint of the love she held for him. “We need to return to London.”
With that, he’d walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a cold finality.
Looking back, she realized how naïve she’d been to believe a single word from a scoundrel like Simon Hindercray, but she had been blinded by herdevotion tohim. She’d easily fallen prey to his ploy of devoted suitor, ignoring the warning signs that told her he was merely after her dowry, but she’dignored them all, because he had promised her the onlything shehadeverwanted.
Love.
For a shy red-haired wallflower, shehadtold herself long ago that she should be contentto live the life of a spinster. But whenSimon had asked her to dance that fateful night at the Kensingtons’ ball, a man she’d adoredfor the past four years, she had seen a chance to live the life she’ddreamedaboutduring thenights she’d lain awake alone in her bed. Ever since she’d been a girl, she’d been a hopeless romantic, praying for the handsome knight to sweep her off her feet with a breathless kiss. She’d harbored this hope inher heart, locked it up inside, telling herself that someday her prince would come.
But never in all ofherfourand twenty years had she ever imagined thesurprisingturn of events that her life would take.While it was true she wouldn’t have to live with the scorn of being a spinster, it sounded so much worse to imagine that she’d been abandoned aftera meretwo days of marriage.
Upon arriving in Londonthat morning, Simon had taken her to the White Horse Cellar, a bustling coaching inn in Piccadilly. He’d escorted her into thetravelers’room and told her to wait there for his return while hetook their marriage certificate andwent to speak to her father alone, in hopes of diffusinganyunpleasantness that might arise from their elopement.
That had been hours ago. And while she hadn’t wanted to believe it, she could find no other cause for his disappearance, other than he had left her to her fate.
Of course, she could return home with her head hung in shame, but she wasn’t sure she could face her familyand admither ignorance. She considered taking the mail coach to Bath, for surely there was some sort of distant cousin thereupon whomshe might prevail, but then, shecarriedahandful ofcoins at her disposal. If she arrived with no prospects…
She sat near the edge of the room, hervalise in her lap, holding thefew hastily packed belongingsthat she’d thrown together when Simon had convinced her to run away with him. As she stared at the leather that held everything that she’d thought was important to her at the time, her vision blurred. A selection of haphazard clothes and personal toiletries was all that remained of her life as Lady Isabella Resenfeld.
