Chapter One
London—1810
“You’ve got a visitor, Montgomery.”
Deep in the bowels of Newgate Prison, Talon Montgomery looked up from the corner of his dank, windowless cell. “A visitor?” His words were little more than a hoarse rasp. He hadn’t spoken in months, not since he’d realized nothing he said would entice the guards to release him.
He shielded his eyes from the glare of the guard’s lantern with a grimy hand, blinking and uncertain. A visitor? He’d been trapped down here for what seemed an eternity, accused of treason and branded a pirate. They claimed he’d been spying for the Americans, looting English ships for military secrets and wealth.
He accepted the charge of piracy, even though he was technically a privateer, but he hotly denied the treason. He was an American, by choice, if not by birth. Unfortunately, his letter of marque from the American government had been ignored, and he’d been thrown in this cell to rot. He’d been sentenced to death, and he couldn’t imagine why they were dragging it out.
The hulking guard withdrew a key and unlocked his cell for the first time since his mockery of a trial. The grinding rasp of the key brought long dead reflexes to life.
Was he hallucinating? He had to be, because freedom lay just beyond that open door. All he had to do was get rid of the guard…
“You wouldn’t make it two feet,” the man warned, hauling Talon off the floor with one beefy arm.
Talon fought a wave of nausea and humiliation. The good health he’d taken for granted all his life had deserted him. He battled to find the strength to remain standing instead of wilting at the man’s feet in an ignoble heap.
The guard grinned. “Not so high and mighty now, are we, Lord Pirate?”
Talon shook off the man’s hands, bracing his own against the iron bars for support. “Where are you taking me?”
“There’s a fancy gentleman waitin’ to have a word with you in the warden’s office.” Still chuckling, the guard shoved Talon toward his cell door. “I don’t imagine the bloke wants to be kept twiddlin’ his thumbs by the likes o’ you.”
Talon let the guard prod him down the narrow corridor, unable to accept the fact that he had a visitor. Who could it be? His valiant crew had been dead these many months, and he had no one else.
He wondered if this was a ruse, some strange new form of torture to make him confess. If so, perhaps this time they’d succeed. He could bear anything but false hope.
Halfway to the warden’s office, the cobwebs cleared and he realized therewassomeone in his life with the power to arrange such a visit. Sudden fury sparked within him, burning away months of apathy and despair.
Sutcliffe! Had he come to gloat? To see Talon broken and humbled once and for all? His anger gave him the strength to climb the endless flight of stairs.
At last the guard shoved him into a warm, brightly lit room. “Here he is, sir. Let us know when you’re done with him.”
Talon stood in the doorway, blinking against the light, tension coursing through him as he struggled to get a clear look at the two men who waited inside. One was a giant of a man, dressed in silver and blue livery that bore the Sutcliffe crest. Hired muscle, Talon thought in disgust, dismissing him.
The other man stood in front of the crackling fire, warming his gloved hands. He didn’t turn around when Talon entered the room, which wasn’t surprising.
James Sinclair, the Sixth Earl of Sutcliffe, had first turned his back on his bastard son twenty-nine years ago, the day he’d discovered Talon’s mother carried him in her womb.
Talon slumped against the wall, glaring. He’d swallowed his pride and sent his father an impassioned plea for help after his arrest, only to be completely ignored. If there’d been anything left in him of the boy who’d once yearned for his father’s love, Sutcliffe had killed it then.
“Damn you,” Talon muttered. “Damn you to hell.”
Sutcliffe laughed and turned to look at the son he’d never wanted.
Talon drew in a sharp breath, startled. He hadn’t been face to face with the man who’d sired him since he was a lad of twelve. He’d forgotten how much he resembled the man.
They shared the same unusual coloring — inky black hair and icy blue eyes. Sutcliffe’s harsh, uncompromising features were more deeply lined and his ebony hair had turned gray at the temples, but there was no denying they were father and son.
The earl assessed him with a critical gaze. “I’m glad to see five months in prison hasn’t broken your spirit.”
Five months. Five months since he’d taken a breath of air that wasn’t fouled by the odors of death and decay. Five months since he’d felt the sun and wind on his skin or eaten a decent meal.
It had seemed far longer.
Talon’s fury burst through the dam that had held it, a torrent of all the injustices he’d suffered since his arrest. He pushed off the wall, hell bent on murder.
