Excerpt2

EXCERPT FROM 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.
It was absurd. His ship, The Star of the West, had been a merchant vessel manned by a crew of honest seaman.
Besides, he was an American, by choice, if not by birth. How could anything he’d done against the Crown be
treason?
The hulking guard withdrew a key and unlocked his cell. It was the first time that door had been opened
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 there was someone 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 moment he’d discovered Talon’s mother was pregnant.
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, the same 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.
Sutcliffe's footman stepped forward, but Sutcliffe stayed him with an arrogant wave of his gloved hand.
“Leave us, Lionel. He's far too weak to do me any harm.”
Lionel pinned Talon with an intimidating glance then shrugged and left the room.
Talon burned with mortification. He hated his obvious weakness, hated that his father was right. He was in
no shape to strike fear into anyone. “What are you doing here?”
Sutcliffe gave him an arrogant smile. “Arranging your pardon, of course. You're a free man, Montgomery. All
you need to do is walk out that door.”
Despite his hatred, Talon couldn't contain the dizzying sense of hope his father's words provoked. He wanted
out of this place. He wanted to lift his face to the sun just one more time...
It would be worth any price he had to pay. And the watchful look on Sutcliffe's haughty face assured him
there would be a price.
The truth of it hit him like a fist in the gut. Sutcliffe had left him to rot for a reason. He'd wanted to make
certain Talon was desperate enough to agree to whatever he was about to demand.
“What do you want from me? You wouldn't help me when I needed it. Why bother now?”
Sutcliffe smiled again, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. “I've been busy. I attended to this as soon as I was
able.”
With those few careless words, Sutcliffe managed to express how utterly unimportant he found the life of his
bastard son.
“I didn't ask you to help with my release. I needed you to use your influence to intervene on behalf of my
crew. It's the only thing I've ever asked of you, and now seventy good men are dead.”
“Don't work yourself into a state,” Sutcliffe said. “Your disreputable crew is safe and sound, sailing one of my
ships to Barbados as we speak.”
Relief washed over Talon with the force of a hurricane. He'd been haunted with guilt, knowing his men had
died while he still lived. Now he swayed dizzily with the knowledge that Sutcliffe had saved his crew from
the gallows.
Sutcliffe frowned and shoved a chair in Talon's direction. “Here, boy. Sit down before you fall.”
The last ounce of Talon's strength deserted him. He had no choice but to take the offered chair. Sutcliffe
ensured his capitulation by handing him a tray loaded with fresh bread, cheese, and wine.
Talon's stomach growled, brought to life by the sharp, wonderful scents. He lifted a piece of crumbling bread
to his lips with a trembling hand, eyeing Sutcliffe warily lest he try to snatch it away.
“You're far too thin and filthy as hell, but that can be remedied,” Sutcliffe mused while Talon devoured the
food he'd provided.
Talon paused long enough to raise a sarcastic brow. “If you needed me fat and clean, you should have
arranged for my release months ago.”
Sutcliffe threw back his head and laughed. “By God, boy. There's more of me in you than I'd imagined, but
I'm glad to see it. You're perfect for what I have in mind. Absolutely perfect.”
Sutcliffe's words should have alarmed him, but the warmth of the room, coupled with the solid feel of good
food in his stomach, stole over him, filling him with lethargy. Sutcliffe had spared his men. He was willing to
listen.
“What am I perfect for?” He was curious despite himself. Why would a man like Sutcliffe go to so much
trouble to ensure the cooperation of an American sea captain? It made no sense.
“I need an heir.”
Talon straightened, unamused. “You have an heir.”
Sutcliffe waved his hand dismissively. “Lansdowne is an embarrassment to me. I procured him the loveliest
bride in the land, hoping to dissuade him from his perverted ways, but I don't think he's so much as touched
her hand in passing during the two years they've been married.”
Nausea twisted in Talon's gut. He had an inkling of where this was leading, and he didn't like it, not one bit.
He knew of Viscount Lansdowne’s preference for men. He'd once stalked his half-brother, Daniel, through the
streets of London, curious to see what his life might have been like if his mother had been the earl’s wife
instead of his mistress. He'd seen far more than he'd wanted to. “What does this have to do with me?”
“I want you to escort Lansdowne and his young wife to my plantation in the Carolinas. He's become a
liability. I don't want him to return until Lady Kathryn manages to conceive a child.”
The utter ruthlessness in Sutcliffe's eyes when he spoke of banishing his only legitimate son sent a shiver up
Talon's spine. Perhaps he was the lucky one after all.
“I doubt he’s capable of siring a child,” Talon muttered, disgusted with the entire subject.
“I'm counting on you.” Sutcliffe leaned forward with sudden intensity. “You're my son, more like me than
Daniel could ever hope to be. If you father Lady Kathryn's child, I'll have a grandson worthy of my title.”
The earl's outrageous suggestion hung heavy in the air. “You want me to seduce Daniel's wife?” Talon shook
his head in stunned disbelief. “What makes you think I'd do something like that?”
Sutcliffe sat down behind the warden's desk and steepled his fingertips. “I've asked myself the same question
time and again. What would it take to bend a man like you to my will?"
In answer to his own question, Sutcliffe lifted one broad shoulder in a careless shrug. “I'd thought a few
months of deprivation would make you more open to suggestion. But then I had a chance to visit with some of
your men, and I think I discovered what it is you'd sell your soul for.”
“Go to hell,” Talon snarled. “You don't know anything about me.”
“You want land. Land in that heathen country you call home.” Sutcliffe smiled benignly. “I can give it to
you. In fact, I'm prepared to deed you the title to my newly acquired holdings in Carolina. It's a lovely place,
I've been told. Two thousand acres west of Charleston. A plantation called Holyoke. Perhaps you've heard of
it?”
“You know I have.” Talon felt stripped, his most secret dream laid bare beneath his father's steady gaze. He'd
meant to buy Holyoke one day, leave the sea and settle down in a place where titles meant nothing.
“It's yours. I'll have you on a ship to the Carolinas as soon as I can arrange it. All you have to do is seduce a
lovely young woman. Then you can walk away and never look back.”
“I'm not like you.” Talon stared down at his empty plate, the food he'd eaten churning in his stomach. “I
won't do it.”
Sutcliffe sighed and got to his feet. “I'm sorry to hear that. I'm very sorry indeed.”
He strode to the door and rapped twice. The burly guard appeared immediately. “I'm finished with him. He
refuses to listen to reason. You may escort him back to his cell.”
Talon knew the earl expected him to change his mind. He watched the guard approach, his heart pounding in
his chest. He tried to work up the courage to defy Sutcliffe, to go back to his cell and die rather than give his
father the satisfaction of breaking him.
But he couldn’t do it. He couldn't go back down into that cold, dark hell. He wanted to live, damn it. He
wanted the chance to make the son of a bitch pay for asking this of him.
“All right,” he said. “I'll do it.”