The Midnight Hour - All Hallow's Brides - Beth by Maggi Andersen and other news.

I've sent my Poe inspired novella off to the publisher! You might remember Beth from Governess to the Duke's Heir - the Dangerous Lords series.  Beth was only thirteen in that story and is grown up now. She faces her first London Season with some trepidation, but never expected it to become dangerous! 
I'm beginning my new NEVER series. (Covers coming soon!) I can't wait to write the first book, Never Doubt a Duke, but first must write the introductory novella, The Scandalous Lyon, which features the Duke's younger brother, Justin. It is part of Dragonblade Publishing's Connected World series, The Lyon's Den. The  Black Widow of Whitehall. Released early next year!

When doors creak and ghostly whispers are heard in the midnight hour, this stunning collection of Gothic Regency Historical Romance is sure to leave you breathless with Poe-inspired, romantic dreams…

 

 

Pre-order: AMAZON

This is my second foray into Dragonblade Publising's wonderful Connected World series, Seduced by the Pirate was my first. I had so much fun writing it. If you haven't read it, here's a taste:

AMAZON 

Read Free on Unlimited!

When a hardened pirate meets a proper English rose...

Read for Free with Kindle Unlimited!

A bitter man, pirate Jack Shadow Stirling cares for little but his ship and his crew. But disaster strikes the Golden Orion; driven leagues off course in a storm, his men begin dropping like flies from typhus. Forced to anchor in a bay on the West Africa coast to see to his men and mend damage to the hull, Jack and three of his crew go in search of fresh water and meat to shore up their dwindling supplies. What he finds surprises him - an English lady, whom he likens to a rare orchid, is treating the sick from a nearby village, while her botanist brother, Alexander Bromley, searches for specimens.

Startled by pirates invading her small camp, Lydia Bromley snatches up her pistol and aims it at the tall, dark-haired, handsome devil who leads them. Unfazed, he grins at her and warns her that should she shoot him with a muff pistol, she would fail to kill him. But he would be annoyed.

Thus begins Lydia's journey, discovering the love and romance she’d thought denied her... with a pirate! 

Chapter One

Off the west African coast, 1738

Spyglass to his eye, Jack Shadow Stirling, searched the horizon. So named by his men because of his ability to sneak up on and outmaneuver unsuspecting ships with his fast brigantine. In the distance, a whale breeched the waves and gulls soared overhead. A storm-petrel flew by on the way to feed in calmer waters as the temperature plummeted.

Peter Johns, his first mate and quartermaster, joined him at the helm. “No sign of land, Jack?”

“No. No sign of that seadog, Cordova, either, thank God.” Jack collapsed the spyglass and handed it over. “There’s a storm coming.” He rubbed the rough skin on the scar marring his temple and narrowed his eyes against the glare. Above them, the main topsail began to flap violently. “How are the men?”

“Davy’s bad,” Pete said grimly. “We might lose him.”

Jack uttered a string of curses and banged his fist on the wheel. His men were dying after catching typhus, picked up at their last port of call a week ago. “With luck, if we can reach an English or Portuguese trading post and get fresh food and water, the men will have a fighting chance. Then we’ll head home to Puerto de los Dioses.”

“I’ve had another look at the charts. We are several days away from the English post at Senegambia. Less, if the wind favors us.”

“Let’s pray it does.”

On their way back to their home base living on rations of bone soup and biscuits, the livestock eaten, they’d been drawn off course after Jack’s enemy, Captain Delmar Cordova, at the helm of his big Spanish schooner, Santa Maria, fired on the Golden Orion, their cannon shredding the fore topsail. Jack had taken evasive action, while the schooner, under full sail with the wind behind it, had forged ahead. Jack, riled by the captain’s attack, followed in pursuit. They were deep in the Atlantic Ocean, far from home when his men began to drop like flies. Without the manpower to defend themselves, they’d become easy prey. With the change of the wind, the Spaniard’s vessel fell behind and was soon lost, leaving Jack with no recourse but to make for land.

During the night, the wind picked up. Exhausted after only an hour or so of sleep, his eyes gritty, Jack took the helm as the wild seas drove the ship toward an outcrop of rocks.

“Is there anything more God has in mind for us?” Pete yelled.

Jack brushed the rain and sea spray out of his tired eyes. “More like the devil. Best we pray, hard.”

Standing on the tilting, rain-washed bridge, Jack stared with grim concentration, his knuckles white as he fought to hold onto the wheel to guide his ship away from land until the storm blew out. Ahead, jagged rocks erupted, lashed by a swirling sea of foam, the ship drawn irresistibly toward them.

The helm swung wildly as the bosun shouted an order to reef their sails.

The ship lurched on, but a grinding sound rent the air as the keel struck submerged rocks.

“Sounds like the hull’s been breached,” Pete shouted.

“When the storm’s abated, send Benjamin down to check.”

Sometime later, the early morning was sparkling and clear. The storm, while savage in intensity, had suddenly blown out to sea during the night.

The able-bodied of his crew scurried around the ship.

Benjamin emerged from the hold. “Looks bad, Cap’n. I’ll mend it as best I can with sailcloth and tar.”

Jack ordered them to head for land.

“Boom about!” cried his sail master.

Five hours later, leaden with fatigue, Jack scanned the waters as they limped along. They were hundreds of nautical miles off course. He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. Was it possible they’d come out of this? His thoughts went to his sick men below. He left the poop deck and made for his cabin to consult the charts again. He was hunched over them at his table when the cry came from Jimmy in the lookout. “Land ahoy!”

Jack climbed quickly to the poop deck and took out his spyglass.

As they sailed closer to the African coast, a small bay appeared in Jack’s spyglass, and within it, a long arc of golden sand rimmed by dense jungle. A few miles into the interior, an escarpment rose above the trees, a waterfall tumbling down in a shower of spray. Not far from it, smoke spiraled into the air.

“I know of no settlement here,” Pete observed when he looked through the glass. “That’s miles farther up the coast.”

“Best we don’t chance our luck by trying to reach it,” Jack said.

Ahead, waves broke in a froth of foam over a reef. Pete looked doubtful. “Can we get the ship safely through?”

Jack eyed a narrow channel of deep water. They had to. And his shallow-hulled brigantine was perfect for the task. “We’ll drop anchor and undertake repairs in that sheltered bay. There’ll be food and fresh water. Let’s hope the natives are friendly.”

Pete gave a gloomy shake of his head. “This is known to be voudon country.”

“Muskets beat a voudon spell every time.”

Holding his breath, Jack took the wheel and guided his ship through the channel. Pete nodded approvingly as they reached the quiet bay and dropped anchor. A rivulet disappeared into the lush foliage at the far end of the beach.

The ship rocked gently. The sunlit, crystal-clear water lapped gently at the hull. A school of fish darted beneath the surface.

“Get Benjamin to check whether the repair is holding. He might need to shore it up again. Let’s hope that holds until we get back to base.” If they did.

 They were undermanned, and with Cordova in the vicinity, their problems seemed insurmountable.

“We’re out of salted beef. I’m sending the men to catch fish and hunt up some fresh meat,” Pete said.

Jack leaned over the rail beside his lieutenant. “We’ll make for that waterfall. It’s possible we can travel a fair distance by canoe along that stream, before we have to hack our way through. Leave someone to guard the sick. Send Aden back in the boat with the water.”

“Aden fell sick last night.”

Jack groaned. Not the cabin boy, too, barely thirteen. “Poor lad. Send one of the others, then.”

Water casks were lugged ashore, while others set out to fish and hunt.

Half an hour later, Jack, Peter, Sam, a spirited, towheaded youth of twenty, and Will, a dark-haired, quiet Irishman of some twenty-eight years, pulled the canoe across the narrow strip of sand to the mouth of the stream. Although not yet noon, the sun beat down mercilessly as they lowered the canoe into the water. Climbing in, they took up the oars.

They rowed beneath a canopy of shiny green foliage, blocking out the sky, their labored breaths inhaling the warm air. Moss grew on the trunks of the trees and vines climbed everywhere, filling the air with pungent smells. Their presence brought on an ear-splitting cacophony from brilliantly colored parrots and monkeys swinging away through the branches.

The men, sweating profusely, were forced to rest their oars when the stream narrowed and became impassable.

“It might widen farther up,” Pete said, wiping the sweat from his neck.

Jack took stock. By his calculations, they were as near to that smoke as the water would take them. “We’ll continue on foot. Let’s see where that trail goes.”

Gathering up their muskets and shot, they dragged the canoe onto the bank and set out. Jack ducked to avoid a green snake coiled around a branch. Somewhere to the left of them came the unmistakable yowl of a leopard.

“I’d rather take my chances on the sea,” Sam muttered, his red-gold hair bright against the foliage.

Jack wasn’t about to disagree with him. The air was suffocating, and who knew what lay ahead.

After tramping another mile or so, their clothes wet and sticking uncomfortably to their bodies, they emerged into a clearing to find a hut with a thatched roof. Half a dozen men and women from the local tribe gathered outside it with a gaggle of naked children playing in the dirt at their feet. They all screamed and scattered like seals facing a shark.

“What the hell?” Pete murmured, staring at the hut.

Jack had not expected to find white men this deep in the jungle, let alone a woman standing at the door of the hut. Tall and slim and in a high-collared, white dress devoid of panniers or embellishment, her heavy coil of dark hair was drawn into a bun at her neck.

She emerged from the dim doorway and into the light. Her fine brown eyes narrowed, and she raised a pistol in both hands, aiming it somewhere in the region of his heart.

***

Pirates. And Alex had been gone since daybreak. Distracted by the amused expression on their leader’s face, Lydia tightened her grasp on the pistol to prevent her hands from shaking. The brute wasn’t afraid of her.

“I think you men should return to where you came from. There’s nothing here for you.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears. There was no mistaking who they were. Three of the men wore loose, short coats with large buttons, fitted striped breeches, and kerchiefs beneath their caps, a brace of pistols slung from silk around at their necks. Two carried muskets.

Their captain cast her a lazy glance, unnerving her further. “I’m afraid I can’t obey that request, madam.”

Short of breath, she backed into the room as he stepped through the door. A handsome devil. His white shirt lay open to the waist, displaying a tanned, well-muscled chest. His breeches clung to powerful thighs, and he wore black boots. His hair, long and straight against his neck, was a deep black. She took in his brace of pistols and a blade tucked into his breeches.

A long silence stretched between them as they eyed each other. His dark brows lifted as he took her in from head to foot. Affronted, she did the same. With a quick, in drawn breath, she took note of the fierce-looking cutlass hanging at his side. She firmed her grip on the pistol, despairing of her trembling fingers. Was there a hint of lust in his gaze? Aware of how vulnerable she truly was, she hated to feel so completely at his mercy.

“I do hope you don’t intend to shoot me with that, madam.” His firm lips smiled, revealing white teeth and transforming his face. He ran his fingers over his upper lip and sharp jaw sporting a small goatee. “That muff pistol is unlikely to kill me, but it will annoy me.”

He pulled off his broad-brimmed hat which sported a curling ostrich feather. “Jack Stirling, captain of the Golden Orion, at your service.”

Showing how unconcerned he was, he ambled closer. Her nervous gaze took in his lean, olive-toned face and cut-glass cheekbones. There was a half-circle scar on his temple like some kind of brand and a gold ring in his ear. Despite his courteous manner, there was an unmistakable air of danger about him.

She took a long, deep breath. “Miss Bromley, Captain. Why are you here?”

“I have a sick crew. My men are in sore need of medicine and food. Any help you are able to offer will be gladly accepted.”

Gladly accepted or taken by force? Distracted by his voice, which was deep and melodic, she lowered the gun but still kept a fierce hold on it. “What ails your men?” Wounded robbing some unfortunate trading vessel in the name of King George, she’d wager, but didn’t dare say. She wasn’t that foolish.

“Typhus,” he said, a frown drawing his black brows together. “We have lost ten men, and I don’t wish to lose more.”

“Typhus? I doubt I can…”

He turned away from her, cutting her off. Glancing around the hut, his alert eyes took note of her table of potions, the mortar and pestle, and the dried herbs. “You are treating the natives?”

“Only for minor complaints. My brother Alexander would be of more help to you. He is a man of science as was my father.”

“You have medicines?”

“Not for typhus.” She stood aside. “You must be parched. I have little to offer you and your men. Some lemon water, perhaps?”

“We’d be grateful.” The captain gave the order. Two of his crew waited outside. The slightly built, shorter man with pale blond hair came into the room. “Pete Johns, Miss Bromley.”

She thought him surprisingly polite and far less troublesome than his captain. “Mr. Johns.”

Lydia poured the drink into the only two mugs she had. “I’m afraid you will have to take turns.” She offered a mug to the captain, but he signaled to the other man to take it.

In the hope of getting rid of them fast, Lydia took out a plate of fruit. She returned for the bottle of lemon water and poured more of it into the mugs.

Unfortunately, their captain remained inside. As she scrutinized him more, she was surprised to discover he had dark blue eyes. “What are the men’s symptoms?”

“Fever, a rash on their chest, and a headache. When they complain of a pain in their stomach and back, they die not long after.”

“You must get rid of the rats. They will be spreading fleas.”

“Good God, woman, all ships have rats!” he growled, sounding bitter.

“You have picked up infected rats, Captain. They are spreading the disease.”

He didn’t argue, but folded his arms across the expanse of his chest. “What else can be done?”

“You must bring the fever down. Make sure they have plenty of water to drink. I have herbs which could help ease their discomfort, but nothing which will cure them.” She had gathered a few plants from the jungle, which were spoken of in a tome she’d brought with her, but most came from England. A suitcase full along with food stuffs like preserved fruits and jellies that she simply could not live without. It had annoyed Alex at the time, but no longer.

“You’ll come?”

“No! I can’t leave here.” She eyed him, not trusting him an inch. “My brother will soon return. And the natives won’t stay away long. Some tribes are not so friendly. If you hear drums, I would advise you to return to your ship.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I shall await your brother.”

“It might be a long wait. Once he’s discovered a rare specimen, he might not return until nightfall,” she said. “And the natives in need of my care will not come back while you are here.”

“We don’t intend to remain here any longer than we must. Once my crew is better and we’ve taken on provisions, we will be gone.”

The men hung around outside the door, talking in rough voices. They looked menacing with their guns and cutlasses, it was no wonder the natives had fled.

“While you wait for Alex, Malik can show you where to pick edible vegetables and fruits,” she suggested, hoping to be rid of them sooner.

She beckoned to her small helper, a boy of eight or nine, who followed her about like a puppy. He had been wedged in a corner, silent with fear. Lydia gestured to him, and with a few words and hand signals, made him understand. Looking pleased but shy, he came forward.

The captain remained while the others followed the boy along a beaten path through the palms.

“Malik will scale the fan palm for its fruits,” she said. “The palm is good for charcoal and firewood, if you have need of them. I extract oil from the seeds and ferment the flower spikes to make palm wine.” She gestured to the bottles on the shelf. “Care to try a glass?”

His mouth twitched. “You are not trying to poison me, are you, Miss Bromley?”

“Should it be necessary, Captain?” she asked, reaching for the bottle. The shelf was too high for her; she would need the stool.

His big body came too close, his male scent strangling her breath. He removed the bottle from the shelf and offered it to her. “I would prefer a better death,” he said with a wry smile.

How the white-toothed grin transformed him. But the threat that emanated from his very presence still hovered in the air. Lydia took the bottle, startled when her fingers touched his. She removed the top and poured the greenish liquid into a glass, willing her hand not to shake. She held it out to him.

He took a good swallow and raised his eyebrows. “Not bad.”

“I admit it doesn’t equal the wine you would drink. Spanish, perhaps?”

His lips lifted wryly. “England and Spain are not on good terms, Miss Bromley.”

“I imagine you’re provided with a Letter of Marque from the king to relieve Spanish ships of their wine.”

He chuckled, not at all offended. “Unfortunately, the last Spanish ship got away, so our reserves are low.”

          “Put your hands where I can see them and turn around,” came a gruff command from the door.