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cried out. Catching herself on the wall, she glimpsed a flash of gold in the moonlight as the shoe tumbled over the rocks to the beach far below.
    â€œHis lordship would never have picked someone like you, Christel Douglas.”

Chapter 1
    Nine years later
    London
    â€œI f we do not leave on the tide, we will not get out of London, my lord.” Captain Bentwell struggled to keep pace with Camden’s limping stride. “The child’s cabin has been heated as instructed.”
    With his daughter cradled in his arms, Camden St. Giles, the seventh earl of Carrick, turned east to look at the sliver of dawn breaking through the heavy clouds. He frowned. The trip to the docks had taken longer in the inclement weather, but even at this early hour, London’s maritime district swarmed with activity on and off the water as everyone attempted to beat the snowstorm bearing down on the Thames.
    â€œThen see that we get out, Bentwell,” Lord Carrick said as the captain opened the door into the companionway.
    â€œAye, my lord.”
    Camden stepped over the coaming, following his daughter’s stout nurse into the narrow corridor. Clearing his throat, Bentwell reluctantly added, “A woman came aboard late last night. She said she sailed from Boston—”
    Camden came to a stop abruptly in front of his daughter’s cabin. “This ship does not take passengers.”
    â€œI know, my lord.” Bentwell hastily lowered his voice. “But she claims to be a cousin to your dead wife. On the chance that she spoke the truth, I put her in your quarters. I did not know what else to do.”
    Despite himself, Camden felt himself turn toward his quarters and hesitate. But not out of caution or anger. His wife had had two cousins, but only one had been living in the colonies.
    Camden carefully handed his sleeping daughter to the nurse and told her to take Anna to her quarters. Mrs. Gables was like a stout brown workhorse, and he was sure that carrying a willowy eight-year-old to bed would prove to be no effort.
    Bentwell was working to prepare the ship to sail on the tide ahead of the storm. Indeed, the man had performed a miracle just having this ship and its crew prepared in the short time Camden had given him. Only yesterday, a missive had come from Camden’s solicitor reporting that Camden’s grandmother was ill.
    â€œSee that my daughter is warmed sufficiently,” Camden instructed the nurse. “I’ll check on you both shortly.”
    Removing his hat and gloves and stomping the snow from his boots, Camden slipped an enameled watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. “The wind has come round, and if it backs up too far easterly we will have a bloody time trying to get out of here,” he told Bentwell. “Have the customs officers finished their inspection?”
    â€œNot yet, sir.”
    â€œI will see to my guest. You see to the ship.”
    Captain Bentwell slapped his hat back on his grizzled head. “Aye, sir,” he hastily answered.
    For a moment after Captain Bentwell left, Camden was alone in the narrow, dark corridor. The idea of confronting the woman who had once been a familiar centerpiece in his mind brought silence to his thoughts.
    Nine years ago, he had first encountered his wife’s unconventional barefoot and half-dressed cousin collecting shells on the beach below the cliffs of Blackthorn Castle. Christel Douglas had been a seventeen-year-old sprite, the by-blow daughter of Lady Harriet’s oldest son, though he had not known this at the time. It had been the month of the Golden Masquerade Ball, the summer he had come home on leave from his duties with the Royal Navy to do his obligation to his family and marry.
    He had not willingly allowed himself to think about her in years.
    Yet his heart raced oddly as he opened the door to his quarters. Without removing his heavy woolen cloak, he ducked under the deck beams before walking