The Slide Into Ruin Read online

  The Slide into Ruin

  A Daughters of Disgrace Historical Romance

  Bronwyn Stuart

  The Slide into Ruin

  Copyright© 2020 Bronwyn Stuart

  Kindle Edition

  The Tule Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  First Publication by Tule Publishing 2020

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-952560-25-5

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  Dedication

  This book goes out to my deck builder, my ride to the airport, my handyman, my spider killer, my kitchen installer, my caravan renovator, my babysitter, my lawn mower, my tree trimmer, my veggie garden expert, my shoulder to lean on, my go-to for a vent, my confidant, my lemon meringue chef, and so, so much more.

  My Rock.

  My Hero.

  My Dad.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  The Daughters of Disgrace series

  About the Author

  Prologue

  At the first sound of shuffling feet, the ex-pirate turned legitimate captain known as Darius held his breath and stilled his entire body. Who he waited for, friend or foe, he would soon discover.

  The nicely appointed rented room above the noisy tavern was cloaked in darkness, but he didn’t need the light to see. Spending more than half of his life at sea, and in the dark beneath decks, had leant his vision an almost supernatural edge.

  The shuffling paused on the other side of the locked door, there was a mutter and what sounded like…kissing? Darius swore under his breath but held his position. This was his second-to-last loose end before he left England behind forever and he had to ensure there were no outstanding debts of his own, imagined, obligated or other. The many and varying sins of his youth would not catch up with him in the following years. He wanted to wipe his slate clean after these last errands. It’s why he hid in the dark awaiting a man who probably would rather drive a knife in his back than offer absolution. On one level, he did deserve it.

  Finally, the bedroom door opened, and a dim pool of candlelight fell across the floor. His heart thumped against his ribs and his hands grew clammy with the effort it took not to reach for the pistol resting safely in the holster beneath his coat. If he died tonight, then so be it.

  Two figures entered, one very large and definitely male, the other slight, a woman. He’d hoped for only the man but the woman might very well mean Darius would walk from the room rather than be carried out in a box.

  His fingers twitched to hold his weapon as the candlewick was placed to the lantern and the entire room lit, chasing away the shadows.

  First a feminine gasp, then a masculine oath, then the sound of a hammer being pulled back from the chamber of a long-barrelled, gleaming pistol pointed in his direction. How he missed swordplay on the decks of a ship. So much more intimate. So much fairer in a fight than lead balls impossible to dodge or deflect.

  Darius didn’t rise. He didn’t react at all other than showing his hands were bare in a gesture of defencelessness. A gesture he hoped would be believed in order not to feel the scorching kiss of one of those bullets.

  Captain Richard Germaine spoke first. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  He may as well get straight to the truth of the matter. “I came to make amends.”

  “You kidnapped my daughter!” Germaine countered with an angry wave of the pistol.

  “I kidnapped her from her kidnapper.”

  “And then you married her to him, the bloody Butcher of the Battle!”

  “A man she is deeply in love with.”

  “You could have conked him on the head and left him to rot. Better still, you could have thrown him overboard instead of scaring Daniella into thinking it was her you were after.”

  Darius smiled. Of course, she would tell the story her way. “She has your stubbornness. Someone had to make her see the truth.”

  Germaine sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, bidding the woman to do the same while also keeping her close, gun still in hand while he rubbed the bridge of his nose with the other. “Why did you get involved? You had to know your presence would have stirred rather than assured.”

  “Perhaps that’s why? I believe you once labelled me a troublemaker.”

  “I labelled you a good many names, lad. I was right about most of them. What kind of trouble are you causing tonight? We thought you’d be on your way back to Boston and Montrose.”

  He should have been. He owed Deklin Montrose, his employer, more than he could ever list but there was the matter of debts to be collected from three men in London first. Then he would be free. Free to start his life afresh with means and respect. He and Montrose were fast friends—nothing would ever change that—but Darius paid his dues. He would never be beholden to another as long as he lived. They would be equal partners in the shipping venture or nothing at all.

  “No trouble,” Darius assured the man who had once tried to take a young boy under his wing only to receive a mutiny for his trouble. The deep scar on Darius’s collarbone suddenly throbbed as if his miserable conscience resided right there just next to his neck.

  “I need to know…” How could he put it? How could he ask for forgiveness without seeming weak, needy or vulnerable? Perhaps all three?

  “Need to know what?” Captain Germaine grew nervous, moving closer to his ladylove as though he needed to protect her from him.

  Darius swallowed uneasily, the long years of guilt lodging in his throat. “I need to know that I’ve atoned for my actions all those years ago. That there is no ill feeling or thoughts of retaliation between us?”

  “You did this, you kidnapped my daughter—”
r />   “—from her kidnapper. At the time I honestly thought I was saving her.”

  “You did all of this to apologise for a decades-old mutiny?”

  Darius was rather confused about the turn of events himself. When he’d been a mischievous pirate on the high seas, he’d known when to stay and when to leave with his hide intact. He seemed to have lost the life-saving ability on the crest of a wave somewhere between Boston and Scotland. “You once intimated there was something I could do to make it up to you but you failed to say how.”

  “Why now? Why not five years ago? Six?”

  “I mean to build a life for myself, a real life, and I don’t need old ghosts tracking me down. I mean to make friends now, no more enemies.”

  The captain shook his head and rubbed his neck. “Always were a strange lad. Is this the last time we’ll be seeing you?”

  Darius nodded and stood slowly.

  “Well then I’d say we are even, you and I.”

  “No hard feelings?” Darius’s outstretched hand was enveloped in a much larger, more weathered one, shook once, twice, a third time. Freedom, the very air almost whispered. But it was more than a word for him. It was a promise.

  “What will you do now?” Germaine asked.

  “I have business in England.” Darius walked to the door, stopping only to look back one more time as the captain still shielded his ladylove with his body, offering her his protection as well as his heart. And she was a lady, this one, right down to her toes. An English rose.

  How he longed for someone to protect, to give his heart to. But he was a bastard. He had no name other than the one he’d given himself and no English lady would give her heart into his keeping. His past was not only splattered with blood, it was drowned in it, along with piracy and worse. Eventually he would take a bride but not from the English. He only craved a peaceful, easy existence in Boston with a woman who cared nothing for names, for titles, for society. There they cared a lot less about who you were. As long as a man worked hard and paid his way, he was accepted. Darius could live with that.

  “Business for Montrose?” Germaine prodded.

  He drew a deep breath. Hastily scrawled words written on tattered paper flashed across his mind as he shook his head. “No. Not for Montrose.” He bid a quick farewell and closed the door behind him.

  He was on his own now. This time it was personal, a matter of pride, of honour and perhaps revenge.

  As his fingers twitched once more to hold his weapon, Darius thought it might even be about death. About decades-old hurts and more recent deceptions giving him reason enough to eliminate the Earl of Wickham, his despicable sire, from his life, and this world, once and for all.

  Chapter One

  The ex-pirate known half the seas over only as Darius crashed through thick, snow-burdened foliage with several curses. Words that would blister the skin off a sailor had there been one around to hear. Not that there was.

  He cursed again.

  His coat fit like a second skin yet ice-cold water sought its way in to trickle down his back, adding yet more layers to his misery and frustration. How the hell did a man get lost on his own land? For two hours he’d been fighting his way through dense plantations, the thick pine beginning to feel as though it reached out to slowly strangle the life from him.

  His first mate, now in the implausible position the English labelled a valet, had warned him to get his bearings right before setting off to survey what was now his. The house he could finally, after so many years, call home. He’d laughed in Wiggins’s face. Darius had grown up running this land. He knew it as well as the back of his now tanned and scarred hand.

  At least he thought he did.

  With little sense of direction surrounded by trees and soil, having been at sea for over a decade, and no familiar landmarks to save him, he was thoroughly lost. To make matters worse, he would be late for lunch. The men—his men—would come to find him and rescue him.

  They were going to roast him alive. Lord Lost they would call him for the foreseeable future. It would be unbearable.

  After the third time walking past what looked suspiciously like the same still, snow-covered giant, he decided drastic action was necessary. Shrugging off his thick overcoat, Darius dropped it onto the frozen undergrowth and then stood back to gauge the best way up. If he climbed high enough, he might just glimpse the old slate roof of the house and be home within the hour.

  His hand stopped mid-air near the first branch.

  Home.

  He’d never thought to call any house he slept in home but from the moment he’d walked through the door two days before, he’d felt it. It was a right he’d been denied as a child. Privilege, power, even a warm bed, a hot meal and a kind word had been out of reach for the bastard son of an earl. An earl who should have met with an unfortunate accident rather than a title, lands and gold. His grandfather had always tried to make Darius feel welcome, to feel at home, to help him to find peace and belonging even though his sire hated his every breath. He’d known a small measure of acceptance in that house, once upon a time, but had been too frightened to really reach out and grab it lest it be snatched from his grip.

  Everything was different now.

  He needed it now.

  It was finally all his and no one could take it from him without ending his life.

  Only a quarter way up the monstrous pine, he heard the crunch of footsteps from the forest floor below. The shrouded figure of a man approached slowly, his hooded gaze turning in the direction of Darius’s discarded coat.

  Darius dared not move. He didn’t recognise the figure as one of his sailors and he would not be caught unarmed or vulnerable. Reaching into the waistband of his trousers, he pulled out his gun and cocked the hammer. In the preternatural silence, the noise deafened and he flinched.

  The intruder didn’t seem to hear as he crouched to inspect the jacket. He looked first left and then right but thankfully not up. Shrugging, he abandoned the coat and walked off. Darius swiftly climbed down and gave pursuit. This man was on his land and he didn’t take kindly to strangers. Especially strangers who could be agents for the earl.

  Keeping a fair distance was easy until the snow began to fall again in earnest. Even under the wide-spread branches visibility was reduced and Darius was forced to get closer. He had to know what the man wanted before he sprung any kind of trap. Was he headed in the direction of the house? Was it his intent to steal or to murder?

  Oh, the irony, Darius thought with a wry smile followed by a wet shiver. After spending the better part of fifteen years plundering and pillaging English naval ships and less than reputable trading vessels, it would serve him right to be fleeced in the same way.

  Suddenly the intruder veered off to the right and Darius wondered if he’d been discovered lurking in the shadows. If that was the case, then why not stand and fight? Why lead him even farther into the forest?

  A man could have his throat cut out here in the snow and his body wouldn’t be discovered until late spring, if at all. He swallowed and cursed the thick scarf he’d scoffed at, instead leaving it hanging on a hook by the massive front doors of his new home.

  Before much longer and just when Darius prepared to call out and put a halt to the chase, the intruder slowed and came to a stop in front of a small tree, not much older than a sapling but already over the man’s head in height. He reached out a gloved hand and gave the tree a shake, dislodging the freshest of the snow in a white cloud. From the deep recesses of his coat, he pulled what looked to be a broken saw, the blade long ago snapped in half, jagged and wicked despite the defect.

  When he placed the blade against the tree he paused and lowered his head for a moment before pulling the teeth of the saw over the trunk, close to the ground.

  “Stop right there,” Darius called out in warning, no longer satisfied to simply observe. There was a puzzle here and he needed to work out what the hell was going on.

  The stranger froze but didn’t turn
or call back.

  Darius drew a deep breath in an effort to sound more commanding. “Step away from the tree and turn around. If you run, I will shoot you in the back.”

  The saw made barely a sound as it fell to the powdery ground next to quite possibly the longest rain slicker he’d ever seen, the dark, worn leather covering legs and boots. Slowly the man turned and for a moment hope bloomed in Darius’s chest that it was all just a simple misunderstanding and he wouldn’t have to mete out his first act of punishment to a trespasser. Hypocrite he might be but he wouldn’t abide treachery in his home.

  Hope was short-lived as the stranger suddenly took off back into the tree line. Darius had only one shot but maybe it would be enough to scare?

  He raised his arm and fired, the bullet hitting the tree next to where the man had just disappeared. The report didn’t echo for long but the sound was loud enough. There was a cry of pain and for a moment he wondered if he’d accidentally shot the man after all. He was used to sighting and firing from the rolling decks of a ship, not the uneven snow-covered grounds of a hellish pine forest.

  Not more than ten steps into the tree line of a particularly ancient planting, the trunks several feet wide in diameter, the man lay sprawled on the ground clutching his ankle, his hood still pulled so far forward Darius couldn’t yet see his face.

  “I told you not to run,” Darius taunted softly as he approached. He reloaded his gun just in case he had the need of it, confident the intruder was unarmed. He would have shot back otherwise. Wouldn’t he?

  Finally, the stranger found voice. “How could you shoot at the back of an unarmed person? What if you’d actually hit me?”

  Darius froze to the spot, his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth and his blood ran cold. The pistol fell to his side as his breath fogged before his face and horror dawned. “You’re a… You’re a…” He just couldn’t form rational thought let alone coherent sentences.