Gaelen Foley is the New York Times bestselling author of rich, bold historical romances set in the glittering world of Regency England and the Napoleonic Wars. Her books are available in twelve languages around the world, and have won numerous awards, including the Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award for Best Historical Adventure.
Gaelen holds a BA in English literature with a minor in philosophy and it was while studying the Romantic poets, such as Wordsworth, Byron and Keats, that she first fell in love with the Regency period in which her novels are set. After college, she dedicated herself completely to her artistic pursuits, spending five and a half years moonlighting as a waitress to keep her days free for writing and honing her craft.
Gaelen lives near Pittsburgh with her college-sweetheart husband, Eric, and a mischievous bichon frise called Bingley. She is hard at work on her next book.
To find out more about Gaelens books visit her website at www.gaelenfoley.com
Chapter 1
Cornwall, 1816
She was to be given to him as a gifta plaything for some powerful, dark stranger. How her life had come to this, Kate Madsen could barely comprehend, but her rage at this horrifying fate was muted by the drug her kidnappers forced down her throat.
The tincture of the poppy soon dissolved her will to fight.
Within half an hour of being made to swallow it, it had tamed her temper, blurred her mind, quelled the usual sharp-tongued retorts she blasted at her captors, and left her hands limp instead of her usual clenched fists when the smugglers wives came in to prepare her for her doom.
Barely two-thirds conscious, capable only of dull-witted yess and nos, she was uncharacteristically docile as the women washed her roughly and dressed her like a harlot for their lord.
Kate did not know what the smugglers had done to anger the dread Duke of Warrington, but from what she could glean, she was to be the virgin sacrifice by which they hoped to appease his wrath.
His appetite for women was known to be voracious.
This, along with his expertise in all manner of violence, was, she had heard, why the locals privately called their landlord the Beast.
None of it felt real. When she saw her reflection clad in the indecent shred of white muslin they had made her wear, she could only laugh bitterly. She knew she did not have a prayer. Half-naked, she shivered uncontrollablynot so much from the cold but in terror of the night ahead.
Only the sedative offered sweet refuge, carrying her fears away to oblivion, like so much chimney smoke torn asunder by the winter wind that even now was howling through the seaside village.
The women nearly scalped her while combing out the tangles in her long brown hair. They sprinkled her with cheap perfume, then stood back to admire their work.
Right pretty, one weathered sea-wife declared. She dont clean up too badly.
Aye, the Beast should fancy her.
Still too pale, another said. Put some rouge on her, Gladys.
It all seemed to be happening to someone else. A slimy daub of pink-tinted cream rubbed into her cheeks none too gently, then her lips.
There. This done, they pulled Kate to her feet and started herding her toward the door.
Through her dulled, distorted senses, the prospect of exiting the cramped room that had been her recent prison roused Kate slightly from her stupor. Wait, she forced out in a mumble. I... dont have any shoes.
Thats so you wont try runnin away again, Miss Clever! Gladys snapped. Here, finish your wine. Id take it if I were you. Hes like to be rough with ye.
Kate stared at her, her glassy eyes widening at the warning, but she did not argue. She took the cup and gulped down the last swallow of drugged red wine, while the crude harpies cackled with laughter to think they had finally succeeded in breaking her will.
Lord knew, if not for the strong dose of laudanum they had given her, she would have been screaming bloody murder and fighting them like a wild thing, just as she had on the night of her abduction about a month ago.
Instead, she simply finished the cup and handed it back to them with a grim, lost gaze.
The women bound her wrists with some rope, then took her downstairs to the ground floor of the cluttered little house.
In the room below, grizzled old Caleb Doyle and the other male leaders of the smugglers ring were waiting to take her up to the castle. She could not bear to make eye contact with anyone, humiliated by the way they had made her look like a whoreshe, who had always valued herself for her brains, not her looks.
Thank God, none of them saw fit to mock her. She did not think what was left of her pride could have borne it.
Despite the heavy, rolling fog that hung over her mind, she noticed how somber the mens mood was. There was none of the cheerful vulgarity she had come to expect from the citizens of the smugglers village.
Tonight, she could almost smell their fear, and it multiplied her own exponentially.
Good God, what manner of man were they taking her to, that he could make these rough criminals tremble like whipped dogs at their masters approach?
Finally made a lady of the little hoyden, have ye? Caleb, the smugglers chieftain, grunted at his wife.
Aye. Shell show some manners now. Dont worry, usband, Gladys added. Shell soften his anger.
Lets just hope he takes the bait, Caleb muttered. He turned away, but Gladys grasped his arm and pulled her husband aside.
Youre sure you want to risk this?
He scoffed. What choice do I have?
Though the couple kept their voices down, Kate stood close enough to hear their tense exchangenot that she was able to make much sense of it, with her usually sharp wits deliberately dulled, as was no doubt their plan.
Why dont you just talk to him, Caleb? Aye, hell be furious, but if ye explain what happened
Im done groveling to him! her husband shot back angrily. Look at the answer our fine duke sent back the last time we asked for help! Coldhearted bastard. Rubbin elbows with princes and czars, wrapped up in God-knows-what dark dealings on the Continent. His Grace is too important to be bothered with the likes of us these days, he said bitterly. I cant even remember the last time he troubled himself with a visit to Cornwall. Can you?
Its been a long time, she admitted.
Aye, and he only came back this time on account of the blasted shipwreck! He dont care about us anymore, never mind were his own people. You ask me, hes forgot where he came from. But this little lesson ought to help remind him.
Caleb!
I aint afraid of im! Dont worry. Once hes had the girl, hell be up to his neck in this, too, whether he likes it or not. Then hell have no choice but to help us.
Aye, and if youre wrong, there will be hell to pay.
I expect there will be, he replied with a hard glitter in his shrewd old eyes. But look at my choices, Gladys. Better the devil you know.
