The Raider's Bride - Softcover

Cates, Kimberly

4.26

468 ratings by Goodreads

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0671755080 ISBN 13: 9780671755089

Publisher: Pocket, 1994

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Unaware that Ian Blackheath is the ruthless leader of the patriot cause, Emily Rose, a British spy, falls in love with the notorious rogue. Original.

"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.

Chapter 1

Candlelight splintered in a sea of prisms, flinging miniature rainbows across the room aptly named the chambre d'amour at Blackheath Hall.

It was a room intended to tempt angels away from heaven's gates -- a sensual banquet of texture and color. Mythical lovers were painted in carnal ecstasy from floor to ceiling. Thick white furs were scattered near the hearth, while imported candies called Nipples of Venus waited on a silver tray to be tasted by tongues hungry from love play.

Countless women had been entertained in Ian Blackheath's notorious den of sin at house parties as decadent as any Roman orgy and at gambling fetes in which a king's ransom had been won or lost on the turn of a single card.

Yet beneath this seeming decadence even more sinister affairs had taken place. Blackheath -- that ruthless speculator whose loyalty was said to reach no deeper than the bottom of his own purse -- had enriched his treasury here with patriot coin.

Contraband weapons had been bartered in the dark of night. Precious guns and black powder that had been smuggled into the colonies on Ian's fleet of ships had been sold to desperate men eager to fuel the fires of revolution -- a cause so noble that everyone was certain a soulless opportunist like Blackheath could never understand it.

But tonight there would be nothing so amusing as loveplay or so exhilarating as a revolution happening in these opulent rooms. Rather, Ian could sense another type of battle brewing, if the expression in Anthony Gray's hazel eyes was any indication.

Ian supposed he should consider himself lucky that Tony had waited for the servants to scatter to the far wings of the house before beginning his tirade. But the footman who had served refreshments after they'd arrived at the plantation house had disappeared moments before, and it seemed Ian's brief reprieve was at an end.

Resigned, he lounged against the back of a crimson divan, and stretched his long legs out before him, a generous glass of brandy cradled in one hand.

He sighed. "I suppose it would be useless to point out that you could have followed the example of the other men and been indulging in your lady's charms at this very moment instead of wearing a rut in my Oriental carpets and peeling the paint off my murals with the heat of your scowls."

"What I'd like to do is wring your bloody neck!" The violence in Gray's usually reasonable tone made Ian grimace. "You cold-blooded son of a bitch!" Tony raged. "I practically begged you not to entomb Crane alive. Damn it, there was no reason to do it."

Ian skimmed his fingers beneath the thick fall of his dark mane, kneading an area where the knot of his mask had chafed hours before. "I should have guessed what your fierce insistence upon trailing me home from our raids meant -- a lecture in brigand etiquette."

"Damn it, Ian, this is no jest! I -- "

"Have mercy, Tony. Have mercy," Ian groaned, interrupting him. He leaned his head back against the red cushions. "The brandy has not yet taken effect. I assure you, there is no reason to stir yourself up into a tempest, especially over Lemming Crane."

"Oh, no," Tony blustered. "Nothing to stir myself up about. You just made me party to murder, for God's sake! Nothing at all out of the ordinary!" Tony's face washed red with fury. "I don't mind thievery. Robbing tax collectors has been tolerably amusing. And I've never balked at teaching some tyrannizing ruffian a lesson for tormenting someone weaker than himself. I've even grown fond of wearing those ridiculous masks and playing Robin of the Hood! But this business with Crane...it makes my blood run cold! I should have told you to go to bloody hell!"

"That would have made things a bit awkward, don't you think?" Ian observed idly. "Insubordination can be dashed inconvenient."

"Inconvenient!" Gray let out an impressive string of oaths, driving the toe of his boot into the leg of a mahogany table. A statue of Zeus in the guise of a swan seducing Leda teetered precariously, threatening to tumble into the tray of sweetmeats.

"There's no need to attack the statuary, Tony," Ian said, reaching out to steady the statue. "I can assure you that your soul is no more blackened by what happened tonight than it ever was. Lemming Crane will be Pendragon's guest only for this one evening. Then, when he is sufficiently miserable, I shall slip into a rear entrance of the cave and lead him back into the light -- along with a list of others foolish enough to serve as English spies."

If anything, Tony's face grew more thunderous, almost sick with betrayal. "You never intended to leave him there?" Tony gripped his own glass of brandy so hard Ian expected it to shatter. "All this time you planned to let him go?"

Ian raised one dark brow and nodded in assent.

"You bastard!" Tony hurled his glass against the wall, scattering shards of crystal across the room. "You could have told me what you were about!"

Ian cast a dismissive glance at the bits of glass. "I didn't know I was required to consult you."

"You always have before! From the moment we conceived the idea of Pendragon -- "

"We were both as drunk as lords that night, if I remember. A condition I intend to seek out tonight with great fervor."

"Ah, yes. Get bloody drunk! That way you won't have to deal with anything or anyone. You won't have to be responsible for your goddamn stubborn -- "

"How I choose to deal with my life is none of your concern," Ian said, cutting him off. "I know that you think I can't get along without your advice, Tony, but we'll both have to get used to some changes. When you wed the virtuous Miss Mabley three months from now I can hardly be running off to your bridal bower to discuss the most expedient way to extract information from a spy."

"Why the hell not?"

"You know why!" Ian snapped savagely. "On the night we decided to take the path of rebellion, we agreed we'd involve no women or children in our lives. We're hunted men, Tony. And a knife blade held to the throat of anyone we loved would jeopardize not only the two of us but the entire band as well. Tell me, if Atwood or Glendenning had your Nora trussed up in a cozy little cell, what would you sacrifice to save her? How far would you go to -- Hellfire, what's the point in hashing through all this again?" Ian bit off a curse. "It's for the best that you leave the raiders anyway. Any man as infatuated with a woman as you are with Nora can hardly be expected to summon up devotion to any cause except bedding her."

"You don't understand, do you?" Tony asked tightly. "I love her, but that changes nothing about how I feel regarding freedom. Independence. Because of Nora I have more to fight for. I want to start a family with her someday, Ian. A future -- "

Ian gave a dark laugh. "And to think everyone considers you the rational one between us. Ah, well, I've resigned myself to the fact that I can do nothing to sway you from this marriage, any more than I could stop you from getting into that duel with Manderly where you almost got your head blown off."

"You would compare love to that! By God, there are times when I think you've succeeded in forcing ice to flow through your veins in place of blood. Just two weeks ago you received a letter telling you that your only sister was dead, and you didn't show so much as a flicker of emotion. You merely tripled your wager and tossed out the dice."

Ian looked away as images rose unbidden in his mind. His sister, beautiful, selfish Celestia Blackheath, forever seeking love from any man who would pay attention to her, from their dancing master to their father's aged friends.

Ian had been just fifteen when he'd last seen her, but he would never forget how her eyes had shimmered with hate. She had loathed him, and he supposed he couldn't blame her. He had been Maitland Blackheath's only son, worthy of their father's constant albeit negative attention, while she was a mere daughter, to be shoved aside as if she were invisible.

There had been a time when Ian had wanted to mend things between them. Wished that they could share the grief over their mother's death, their father's selfishness.

But there had been no room in Celestia's heart for forgiveness. No common ground for them to forge even the most fragile tie. There had only been the end of any illusion that a family had once existed in Maitland Blackheath's elegant Boston home.

And now Celestia was dead.

Ian had lounged at the gaming table after he received the news, knowing that he should feel something -- sympathy, understanding, grief -- for this woman who had shared his blood. Instead, he had tightened a hard shell around his emotions, and had cast out the dice....

He drove away the memories and let his mouth curve into an arrogant grin, masking his feelings from Tony's perceptive gaze. "I won the wager that night, if I remember. Quite a handsome sum."

"Damn you, Ian, stop this!"

"You must forgive me if I don't have your reverence for the sacred institution of family, Tony. My father was a selfish bastard hungry for sons and my mother was a gentle, if weak, woman, desperate to do her duty by him."

Ian drained the brandy in a fiery gulp, the liquor loosening his tongue as he told about the childhood he'd barely spoken of in his fifteen-year friendship with Tony Gray. "I watched my mother waste away through three miscarriages and two stillbirths. I saw her bury three children who died before their first birthday."

He twirled the stem of his goblet in restless fingers, staring at the candle fire dancing in the cuts in the crystal. "She was bedridden when I was fourteen, and the doctor said there must be no more children. When I was fifteen, I watched her stomach start to swell, and I knew my father had refused to keep his infernal breeches buttoned."

Tony's face whitened with compassion. "I'm sorry."

Ian winced, uncomfortable as always at Tony's uncanny ability to see past his carefully guarded facade to the man beneath. He forced a bitter laugh. "My father was sorry, too. But he was far too virtuous a man to seek his pleasure in another woman's bed. Rather than condemn his immortal soul to hell for a dalliance, he condemned my mother to a slow, torturous death. That is what love means to me, Tony."

Ian stiffened, the words he had spoken suddenly seeming to penetrate the haze of brandy and bitter memories, making him aware of just how much he had exposed to his friend, just how vulnerable he'd allowed himself to become.

"It doesn't have to be that way," Gray said quietly. "Before I met Nora I wouldn't have believed that -- "

"Enough, by God's blood," Ian snapped. "I don't think I could endure listening to another litany of Miss Mabley's virtues. If you've finished lecturing me about my mistreatment of Lemming Crane, I'd appreciate it if you'd go off to woo your ladylove at once."

Tony started to protest, stopped. "All right. No more about Nora. But as to Crane..." Tony paced to the window, shattered glass crunching beneath his boots. "Ian, I was not the only one among the raiders who was troubled by what happened tonight. I could feel their horror at what you were doing. They were afraid of you. Sickened by what you had made them a part of."

"Fear of the demon Pendragon is the most effective weapon we have against the English. I'm certain that by morning half of Virginia will have heard of the fate Crane supposedly suffered. Any spies left in this vicinity should be fleeing from Williamsburg in terror."

"But your own men believe you murdered someone in cold blood."

"It's possible that their fear of me is the most important of all. It will keep them from questioning my orders at times when the merest hesitation might cost them their lives. I don't doubt it will save their necks one day."

"Either that or force them to betray you!"

"Does it really matter whether it's one of the Crown's wolves who unmasks me or one of my own men?" Ian stared meditatively into his brandy, swirling the amber liquid around the crystal bowl of his glass. "I suppose there are those who would say it should. I fear I am far too cynical to trouble myself over such vague distinctions. No matter who brings me to face the king's justice, I will end up just as dead."

"Sometimes I think that is what you want."

Ian gave a shrug edged with an unaccustomed weariness. "Even the most brilliant gambler eventually faces ruin, Tony," he said. "We cast the dice every time we put on our masks and ride. Someday, my friend, even Pendragon will have to lose." Ian finished the last of his brandy, grateful to feel it smoothing the rough edges the night's hunt had left inside him. "Of course," he observed, "I have read that death is the greatest adventure of all. What do you think, Tony?"

Ian levered himself to his feet and crossed to where a decanter glistened on a rosewood stand. Removing the cut-glass stopper, he poured himself another drink.

He drank deep of the brandy, hoping to dull emotions that were too sharp and cutting. Emotions he had escaped so often at the bottom of a bottle or in the arms of a beautiful woman.

But tonight he sensed that even those familiar remedies would not ease the restlessness inside him. He glimpsed Tony regarding him with those eyes that reminded him of a spaniel's -- soulful and caring, with an odd innocence despite years of hell-raking almost as distinguished as Ian's own.

Ian stripped off his frock coat and waistcoat, flinging them on the si�ge d'amour, a piece of furniture designed for entertaining multiple ladyloves at once. But even the sight of the damask-covered s�ge increased Ian's vague sense of loss, for it had been a gift from Tony, given as a jest one Christmas, in the days before Gray's devotion to the innocent Nora had dulled his thirst for such scandalous adventures.

With impatient hands Ian ripped free the neckcloth that had fallen in cascades of lace down his chest. "I think I preferred it when you were ready to call me out for a duel, rather than having you stand there with the look of a father confessor on your face."

"Then I'll leave you in peace -- just as soon as you tell me when we are to release our friend Mr. Crane from the cave."

"We?"

"Ian, until I place my ring on Nora's finger, you will not be rid of me. Crane must be half crazed by now, and a madman is a dangerous thing."

Ian forced a low chuckle. "Don't be an old woman, Gray! Crane will be so shaken after a brief stay as our guest that I could hold a loaded pistol to my heart, and I doubt he could manage to pull the trigger."

"In your current state you'd probably let him try it!" Tony snapped, but Ian could see him battling valiantly against the smile that threatened the corners of his mouth. "Tell m

From Publishers Weekly:

The wealthy and seemingly heartless Ian Blackheath is also Pendragon, the defender of American colonists and the scourge of Tories. He has sworn never to marry after seeing his mother fatally used by his father as a son-producing machine. In 1772, When Ian's estranged sister dies, leaving him her bratty eight-year-old daughter, Lucy ("I don't like other girls. They don't do what I tell them to"), Ian plans to ship the child off to boarding school. He brings her to British dressmaker Emily d'Autrecourt for some clothing, and she steals a wooden doll. But this doll contains a secret message for the Crown, for whom Emily is spying in exchange for a fresh start in the colonies. To get the doll back, Emily becomes Lucy's governess, and she and Ian find themselves strongly attracted to each other. Cates ( Crown of Flame ) compensates for a long set-up--which includes Emily's loss of her husband and young daughter--with endearing characters. Smart-mouthed Lucy is a refreshing contrast to the angelic children often found in romance novels, and Ian and Emily are realistically vulnerable. But an unbelievable ending mars this otherwise original story.
Copyright 1994 Reed Business Information, Inc.

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