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  When the two ships were safely locked together, a very tall, dark officer stepped aboard The Royal George from the American ship. The gentleman spoke to Captain Hardy, his voice low. At first they could not hear what he was saying, but then Captain Hardy’s voice rose. “There are most certainly no impressed men aboard my vessel, sir! I do not traffic in captives, American or otherwise!”

  “Then you will not mind assembling your crew for inspection, sir,” the well-modulated voice replied.

  “I bloody well do mind, but I’ll do it to end this stupidity! Bosun! Pipe the crew topside!”

  “Aye, sir!”

  Thomas Dunham had been staring hard at the American naval captain, and now a broad smile lit his features. What a coincidence! He began to push through the assembled passengers, waving his silver-headed cane as he went, and calling out, “Jared! Jared Dunham!”

  In the rigging of the clipper a sharpshooter placed there to oversee the decks saw movement in the crowd below. He saw a man push out onto the open deck and rush toward his captain, waving what appeared to be a glinting weapon. Being a hothead and a glory seeker, he waited for no order. Instead, he drew a bead on his target, and fired.

  Thomas Dunham clutched at his chest as the echo of the shot rang out over the water. He had a look of stunned surprise on his smiling face as he glanced down and saw blood seeping between his fingers. Then he fell forward. For a moment no one moved, and there was complete silence. Then the English captain broke the spell, rushing forward, and bending down to seek for a pulse. There was none. He looked up, horrified. “He’s dead.”

  “Thomas!” Dorothea Dunham fainted and Amanda collapsed with her.

  The face of the American captain had turned dark with fury. “Hang that man!” he shouted, pointing up. “I gave specific orders that there would be no shooting!”

  What happened next happened very quickly. From out of the crowd a tall girl wth silver-blond hair launched herself at the American. “Murderer!” she shrieked, pummeling him. “You have killed my father! You have killed my father!” He tried to protect himself from her blows, catching at her arms.

  “Please, miss, it was an accident. A terrible accident, but the culprit is already punished. See!” He pointed to his ship where the unfortunate sharpshooter was already hanging from the rigging, a frightening lesson to others who might be tempted to disobey orders. Harsh discipline was the law of the sea.

  “How many other deaths are you responsible for, sir?” The hate emanating from her icy green-blue eyes shocked him. She was so painfully young to hate so fiercely. A strange thought flitted into his mind. Would she love as violently as she hated?

  He had little time to wonder. She whirled away from him, turned, and whirled back as quickly. He felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. For a moment his vision blurred, and with surprise he realized that he’d been stabbed. The blood was seeping through his jacket, and his shoulder hurt like the very devil.

  “Who the hell is that wildcat?” he demanded as the English captain gently disarmed her.

  “This is Mistress Miranda Dunham,” said Captain Hardy. “It is her father, Thomas Dunham, the lord of the manor of Wyndsong Island, that your man shot.”

  “Tom Dunham of Wyndsong? Good God! He is my cousin!” The American knelt and gently turned the dead man over. “Dear Lord! Cousin Tom!” Horror passed across his face. Then Jared Dunham looked up. “There are two daughters,” he said. “Where is the other?”

  The surrounding crowd parted, and Captain Hardy pointed to two prostrate women being ministered to by other female passengers. “His wife, and Miss Amanda.”

  Jared Dunham stood up. He was pale, but his voice held authority. “Transfer them and their luggage to my ship, Captain. And the body of my cousin as well. I will return them to Wyndsong.” He sighed deeply. “I last saw my cousin in Boston three years ago. I’ve never been to the island, and he asked me if I didn’t think it was time I came to see it. I said no, that I expected him to live to a ripe old age. How macabre that I should first see my inheritance while bringing home my cousin’s body.”

  “Your inheritance?” Captain Hardy was clearly puzzled.

  Jared Dunham gave a bitter laugh. “My inheritance, sir. An inheritance I sought to avoid. Before you lies the body of the late Lord of Wyndsong Manor. Before you stands the new Lord of Wyndsong Manor. I was my cousin’s heir. Is it not ironic?”

  Miranda had been standing weeping silently since she had been disarmed. Now the full impact of his words penetrated her shocked, numbed mind. This man! This arrogant man who was responsible for her father’s death was the Jared Dunham who was to take Wyndsong away from her!!

  “No!” she shouted, and both men turned startled faces to her. “No!” she repeated. “You cannot have Wyndsong! I will not let you have Wyndsong!” and, hysterical, she began once again to flay wildly at him.

  He was weak from his wound, which was already aching like Hades. He was somewhat in shock himself, and his patience was just about at an end, yet he heard the pain in her young voice. He had obviously taken more than her father from her, although he did not fully understand. “Wildcat,” he said regretfully, “I am truly sorry,” and then his fist made contact with her little chin, and reaching out swiftly with his good arm he caught her as she fell. For a moment he gazed down at her tear-stained little face, and in that moment Jared Dunham was lost.

  His own first mate leapt forward, and he transferred his unconscious burden to the man with a sad reluctance. “Take her aboard the Dream Witch, Frank,” and then he turned to Captain Hardy. “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me, sir?” he asked.

  “That, sir,” said the Englishman with a half smile, “will depend on the size of her bruise, I fear.”

  Chapter 3

  MIRANDA OPENED HER EYES. SHE WAS IN HER OWN BEDROOM. Above her was the dearly familiar green and white homespun linen canopy. She closed her eyes. Wyndsong! She was safely home with Mandy, Mama, and Papa. Papa! Oh, God, Papa! Memory returned.

  Papa was dead. Jared Dunham had killed him, and was now going to take Wyndsong away from her. Miranda tried to sit up, but was assailed by a wave of dizziness. She lay back and breathed slowly, deeply, clearing her head. At last she was able to stand, and swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she slipped her slender feet into her shoes. Moving quickly across the room, she went through the connecting door into Amanda’s room, but her twin was not there.

  Miranda hurried through the broad, light upper hall of the house, and downstairs. She could hear the murmur of voices coming from the back parlor. Running, she burst into the room. Jared Dunham sat on the striped silk settee, her mother on one side of him, Amanda on the other. Fury filled her being. How dare that arrogant, beastly man be here in her house. As they all looked up at her, she snarled furiously, “What is that man doing here? He has no right here! I trust that someone has had the sense to send for the authorities. Papa’s murderer must be punished.”

  “Come in, Miranda,” said Dorothea Dunham quietly. Her blue eyes were red. “Come in,” she repeated, “and make your curtsey to your cousin Jared.”

  “My curtsey? Mama, are you mad? This man killed my father! I’d sooner make my curtsey to the Devil himself!”

  “Miranda!” Dorothea’s voice was sharp. “Cousin Jared did not kill Thomas. It was a horrible misunderstanding that caused your father’s death. It was not Jared’s fault. It happened. It is over, and no amount of raging on your part will bring my Tom back to life! Now make your curtsey to our cousin Jared!”

  “Never! Never to that usurper!”

  Dorothea sighed. “Jared, I must apologize for my elder daughter. I should like to tell you that it is grief, but I regret to say that from babyhood Miranda has been a rude and headstrong girl. Only her father seemed to have any control over her.”

  “You need not apologize for me, Mama. I am aware that Mandy is your pet, and with Papa gone I am quite alone. I need neither of you.”

  Both Dorothea and Aman
da burst into tears and Jared Dunham thundered at Miranda, “Apologize to your mother! Your papa may have cosseted you, but I won’t!”

  “Go to Hell, you devil!” she shot back, eyes blazing turquoise.

  He was off the settee and across the room before she could move. He dragged her back across the room and sat down again, pulling her over his knee. Shocked, she felt her gown being raised and then his big hand descended on her little bottom with a loud smack. “Bastard!” Miranda shrieked, but the hand spanked her without mercy until she suddenly began to cry. Then she was sobbing wildly, all her grief out in the open. Then he gently pulled her clothing back down and, lifting her up, cradled her in his arms, wincing as she pushed her head against his injured shoulder. Miranda was weeping bitterly now.

  “There, wildcat, there,” he soothed softly, surprised at himself. This gilt-haired little bitch had touched him unbelievably. One moment she had him in a black rage and the next minute he felt fiercely protective of her. He shook his head slightly, and his eyes met Dorothea Dunham’s. He was puzzled by the sympathetic amusement he saw brimming in them.

  Miranda’s sobs began to slacken. Suddenly aware of where she was, she scrambled from his lap, spitting like a wet kitten. “Y-you hit me!”

  “I spanked you, wildcat. You were very much in need of a spanking.”

  “I have never been spanked in my entire life.” His calm infuriated her.

  “A vast oversight on the part of your parents.”

  Furious, Miranda turned on her mother. “He hit me! He hit me, and you let him!”

  Dorothea ignored her daughter. “You have no idea,” she said to Jared, “how many times I’ve wanted to do that, but Tom would never let me.”

  Outraged, Miranda slammed from the parlor and tore back up the stairs to her room. Amanda was close behind her twin, for she knew the signs of a terrible tantrum. “Help me with this damned gown, Mandy.”

  Amanda began to undo the buttons. “What are you going to do, Miranda? Oh, please don’t be foolish! Cousin Jared is really very nice, and he is so upset that one of his men accidentally shot Papa. He has no wish to settle down yet, but now that Wyndsong is his responsibility it seems he must.”

  “I’ll destroy the island,” muttered Miranda.

  “And where will we go? Cousin Jared has assured Mama that the island is still her home.”

  “We can go back to England. You’ll marry Adrian, and Mama and I can live with you.”

  “My dear sister, when I marry Adrian no one is going to live with us except our children.”

  “What of old Lady Swynford?” Miranda was surprised by the firm tone in her quiet twin’s voice.

  “To the dower house at Swynford Hall! Adrian and I have already discussed it, and agreed.”

  Miranda yanked off her dress, undervest, and petticoat. “Then Mama and I will set up our own establishment! Hand me my breeches, Mandy. You know where they are.” She opened her bureau drawer, drew out a soft, well-laundered cotton shirt, put it on and buttoned it up. Amanda handed her sister the faded dark green corduroy breeches, and Miranda pulled them on. “Stockings and boots, please.” Amanda complied. “Thanks. Now run to the stables for me, darling, and tell Jed to saddle up Sea Breeze.”

  “Oh, Miranda, do you think you should?”

  “Yes!”

  Sighing, Amanda left the room. Miranda first drew on the light wool stockings, and then her worn but comfortable brown leather boots. Her backside still hurt, and she blushed with the sudden realization that Jared Dunham had seen her underdrawers! What a hateful beast he was, and Mama had allowed him to hurt her. In her whole life no one, certainly no man, had ever handled her so intimately.

  She could not remain on Wyndsong for long. A self-pitying tear slipped down her pale cheek. When Papa’s will was read they would be rich, and Jared Dunham could go to Hell. Now, she would enjoy her island. She slipped down the back stairs of the house, and out through the kitchen.

  Jed had Sea Breeze already out of the stable. The big gray gelding danced at the end of his rein, eager to be off. Up on her own horse, the familiar salt air in her nostrils, Miranda could almost believe it was still all the same, and then Jared’s voice cut into her dream.

  “Where are you going, Miranda?”

  She looked down, gazing at him full in the face for the very first time, and thought how incredibly handsome he was. His bronzed oval face was as angular as her own. It was a sensitive face. The dark hair was untidy, a lock that she longed to reach down and brush back tumbling over his high forehead. Beneath his bushy, black brows his bottle-green eyes glittered up from under heavy lids. The thin lips were slightly mocking.

  A wave of something unfamiliar swept over her, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. But then anger and sorrow surfaced once more, and she answered rudely, “The horse is mine, sir. Surely you do not object if I ride it!” Then she yanked Sea Breeze’s head about and cantered off.

  He shook his head wearily. He had been in charge of a mission to stop any English vessels he encountered, search them, and rescue any impressed American seamen found on board. For the time being his missions to Europe were finished, and he was free of intrigue. Now, thanks to that constantly disobedient fool, Elias Bailey, a good man was dead and he was stuck with an inheritance he hadn’t expected to have to cope with until late middle age.

  Worse—far worse—he suspected that he was going to be charged with the care of his late cousin’s family. Of course, that was the proper thing to do. The lovely widow, only twelve years his senior, would be no trouble. Neither would sweet, little Amanda, who would wed Lord Swynford in England next June. As to the other—Lord! What was he going to do with that headstrong, bad-tempered Miranda?

  Thomas Dunham, eighth lord of Wyndsong Manor, lay in state for two days in the front parlor of the house. His friends and neighbors came from both forks of the Long Island mainland—from the villages of Oysterponds, Greenport, and Southold on the north shore, from East Hampton and Southampton on the south shore and from the neighboring islands of Gardiner’s, Robins’s, Plum, and Shelter. They came to pay their respects, to console Thomas Dunham’s family, and to size up his heir.

  The day of the funeral dawned gray, windy, and threatening. After the Anglican minister conducted the services in the parlor and Thomas Dunham was laid to rest in the family cemetery on a hill near the house, the mourners returned to drink a glass of wine in memory of Tom Dunham. Then everyone left. Only Lawyer Younge remained to read the will.

  There were the usual bequests to loyal servants, and the official recognition of Jared Dunham as legal heir and next lord of Wyndsong Manor Island. Dorothea sat quietly, waiting for the revelation yet to come, but when it did it was worse even than she had known. For Tom, it seemed, had not told her everything. Thomas Dunham hadn’t simply made the suggestion that his heir marry one of his daughters, he had made it impossible for Jared not to wed one of them. Dorothea’s widow’s portion was safe but the remaining money went to a local church unless Jared Dunham married one of Thomas Dunham’s twins. Only in that case would the wealth be divided thusly: a generous dowry to the twin not chosen, and the bulk of Thomas’s wealth to the bride’s husband.

  The room’s five inhabitants sat in stunned silence. Lawyer Younge shifted uncomfortably, his brown eyes darting between the four Dunhams. Finally Jared said, “And what the hell if I had already been wed? Would the girls then have been penniless?”

  “We changed the will regularly, sir,” Younge replied.

  “Tom knew you were not … involved with anyone.”

  “Then if I am to save the Dunham wealth from the church I must marry one of these two girls.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jared turned to the twins, and appeared to study them very carefully. Both quailed under his scrutiny. “Amanda is far sweeter than her sister,” Jared said, “but I fear that, without her fine dowry, Lord Swynford will not be able to marry her. On the other hand, I fear that even with a large dowry
no one will have such a bad-tempered wench as Miranda. It is quite a quandary.”

  His eyes flicked swiftly over Amanda to rest on her older twin, and Miranda angrily felt herself blush. After a long silence, Jared said, “Since Amanda is already promised, I will not make her unhappy by forcing her into a marriage with me when she loves Lord Swynford. I must therefore choose Miranda.”

  Thank heavens, thought Dorothea. Well, Tom, something good has come from your terrible death.

  Amanda sat, weak with relief, her legs shaking beneath her gown. Thank God, she thought. June can’t come soon enough for me!

  Lawyer Younge cleared his throat. “Well, then, that is settled,” he said. “Mr. Dunham, I offer you my congratulations both on your fine inheritance, and on your upcoming nuptials. There is one other thing. Tom requested a one-month limit to mourning for him.”

  “In that case we will plan for a December wedding,” said Jared Dunham quietly.

  “I have no intention of marrying you.” Miranda finally found her voice. “Father must have been mad to make such a will.”

  “If you refuse, you condemn your sister, Miranda.”

  “Mama can make up Amanda’s dowry.”

  “No, Miranda, I cannot. If I am to take care of myself for the rest of my life I must hoard my widow’s mite carefully.”

  “Oh,” said Miranda brightly, “I understand now. Amanda is allowed to be happy. You, Mama, are also allowed to be happy. I, however, am to be the sacrificial lamb.”

  “You are seventeen, wildcat, and I am your legal guardian until you are twenty-one,” said Jared. “I am afraid you must do as I dictate. We will be married in December.”

  Miranda looked to Lawyer Younge for confirmation. “He can do this to me?”

  The lawyer nodded, his eyes not quite meeting hers. He damned well ought to feel ashamed, thought Miranda. This is no better than slavery!

  “Would you all leave us, please,” said Jared quietly. “I should like to speak with Miranda alone.”