The Lady's Second-Chance Suitor, Scott, Regina [e novels to read online .TXT] 📗

you, wewill return here, again and again, because this is where you made a man of me.”

“This is where we both remembered our dreams,” she said. “Tostand beside each other. Forever.”

~~~~~~

Dear Reader

Thank you for choosing Hester and Rob’s story.I’ve always had a soft spot for first loves reuniting. If you do too, and youhaven’t read the other books in the series, you might try the first book, TheMatchmaker’s Rogue, to see how Jesslyn and her love Lark, Hester’s brother,came back to each other.

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Turn the page for a peek at the sixth book in the Grace-by-the-Seaseries, The Siren’s Captain. Privateer Quillan St. Claire fears no man,not even Napoleon, who is breathing out threats against him for the many timesQuill has thwarted his plans to invade England. But when a French sopranoarrives in Grace-by-the-Sea with a message from the tyrant, the valiant captainmay truly be in danger at last, of losing his heart.

Blessings!

Regina Scott

Sneak Peek: The Siren’s Captain, Book 6 in theGrace-by-the-Sea Series, by Regina Scott

Grace-by-the-Sea, Dorset, England,October 1804

Quillan St. Claire, formerly of HisMajesty’s Navy, leaned against the pale blue walls of the assembly rooms andscanned the well-dressed attendees at the annual Autumn Serenade. Row upon rowof chairs crossed the polished wood floor, all aimed at a dais that had beenerected under the musicians’ alcove at the head of the room. He applaudedpolitely as Mrs. Marjorie Howland, mother of his friend James, finished a sweetmelody on her harp. That was the eighth act of local talent since he’d walkedin the door, and at least a few had gone before he’d arrived fashionably late.

Arriving at all had been his first mistake. He enjoyed goodmusic as much as the next fellow, and it was nice to see his neighbors show offskills they generally reserved for family. But he had no family here. He wasthe outsider, the stranger. Oh, he had no doubt the people of Grace-by-the-Seawould welcome him into their homes. He’d been invited enough times when he madehis rare appearances at church services, the assemblies, or the spa that formedthe backbone of the local economy.

It was better to remain aloof. Safer for his work. And hecertainly didn’t want anyone guessing who was behind the rumors of a Lord ofthe Smugglers plying his trade hereabouts.

He almost left then, but he gave the room one last scan. Hisappearance would be worth the effort if he located the latest French agent toinfiltrate the little village. They had been arriving with alarming regularitysince Napoleon had begun massing his troops across the Channel with theintention of invading England: French spies masquerading as spa visitors,smuggling rings intent on taking England’s secrets to France. He knew the smugglingtrade. He had enough friends among the Royalists hiding in France that he couldbring back information England badly needed to stopthe tyrant.

So long as no one suspected that was his true motive forsailing out at night.

But everywhere he looked, he saw faces he’d been seeingsince he’d come to live in Dove Cottage at the top of the village three yearsago. He could rule out anyone associated with the vaunted Spa CorporationCouncil. The members and their families were located near the front, rightbehind the row of Regulars, those visitors who could not seem to pry themselvesfrom the elegant spa. He recognized the silver-haired mane of Lord Featherstoneand the auburn tresses of Mrs. Harding, who had recently returned to theirshores with her betrothed, Mr. Warfield Crabapple.

Nearby were the ranking members of the area—Lord Peverell,his sister, and his betrothed, the widow Mrs. Todd, as well as the dowagerCountess of Howland, her recently wed son, and his bride. Only the last gavehim any twinge of concern, and not because he suspected her of spying. Theformer Rosemary Denby had once made it apparent she would have liked him topursue her acquaintance. He’d rebuffed her, soundly. A mistake that. Thereweren’t many ladies with her intellect, wit, and courage.

Not that he was looking to further his acquaintance with anylady. Though he had been interested any number of times, the all-consuming lovethat had claimed so many of the eligible bachelors of Grace-by-the-Sea hadnever overtaken him. He began to think himself immune. Sadly.

He kept his gaze moving over the merchants near the back,the servants standing along the walls, waiting to be of assistance to theirmistresses and masters, the Inchley family, who managed the rooms. No onelooked particularly out of place.

He puffed out a sigh. He prided himself on being a particularlykeen observer. He had subscribed to Lord Nelson’s approach before he’d evenheard of Britain’s Naval leader. Knowing what a person wanted and supplying itor threatening to deny it had seen him through his earliest years at thefoundling home in London, his short tenure at Eton, and his rise through theranks of the navy.

His skills had failed when it came to the French spies thatcontinued to sneak into the area. Indeed, the villains had been largelyuncovered through the agency of the ladies of Grace-by-the-Sea, who had proventhemselves a savvy lot.

Dignified in his evening black, James stepped up onto thedais then, as he had for all the previous performers. “Thank you, Mother.”

As the lady moved off the dais and Mr. Inchley came toposition her harp to one side, James faced the audience. He might never haveserved on the deck of a frigate, but that short-cropped blond hair, featuresthat ought to have been carved in stone, and muscular build lent him an air ofcommand.

“We are fortunate to have such a generous group of friendsand neighbors willing to share their talents with us,” he told the audience.“Another round of applause, if you please.”

The soft thud of