Shanna Read online

  KATHLEEN E.

  WOODIWISS

  SHANNA

  Contents

  Part One

  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10,

  11, 12, 13, 14

  Part Two

  15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20,

  21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Praise and Acclaim

  Other Books by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Part One

  Is this the horrid dragon beast

  Of sinew strong and deep of chest

  And never needing rest?

  A steed, the best?

  Then seize a saddle from the rack

  And strap it on the beastie’s back,

  Of courage never have a lack,

  No turning back.

  The beast has served and flown the earth around.

  You’ve sought your treasures, forced him to the

  ground.

  You loose the reins, your goal is found.

  He turns around.

  Long of fang, the fiercest eye and talons, not

  discounting,

  No fault of choice, nor better beast you’d ever take

  ahunting.

  But now you’re caught and find

  the peril is

  dismounting—

  Chapter 1

  Midnight, November 18, 1749

  London

  NIGHT GRIPPED THE CITY with cold, misty darkness. The threat of winter was heavy in the air. Acrid smoke stung the nostrils and throat, for in every home fires were stirred and stoked against the seaborne chill that pierced to the bone. Low-hanging clouds dribbled fine droplets of moisture which mixed with the soot spewed forth from London’s towering chimneys before falling as a thin film that covered every surface.

  The miserable night masked the passage of a carriage that careened through the narrow streets as if it fled from some terrible disaster. It jolted and tottered precariously over the cobblestones, its high wheels sending mud and water splattering. In the calm that followed the coach’s passing, the murky liquid trickled slowly back to mirrored pools pocked with droplets or neatly patterned with ripples. The driver, ominously large and cloaked in black, hauled on the reins, hurling an oath down at the team of dapplegrays, but his voice was lost beneath the heavy thud of pounding hooves and the rattle of churning wheels. The din of the ride echoed in the chilling night until it seemed to come from every direction. The dark shape of the carriage flitted through dim pools of light cast from the flickering door lanterns of the baroque facades it passed. Grinning gargoyles stared down from high above where they squatted on stony eaves, thin runnels of rain dribbling from their carved granite mouths as if they hungered for the prey passing below their perches.

  Shanna Trahern pushed back into the plush, red velvet seats of the carriage to brace herself against the breakneck speed. She was little concerned with the murk beyond the leather shades, or, indeed, with anything but her own thoughts. She sat alone and silent. Her face was devoid of expression, yet now and then the lantern would swing with a jolting lurch of the carriage, and its weak light would catch the hard, brittle gleam in the depths of the blue-green eyes. No man gazing into them now would have found a trace of warmth to cheer him or any hint of love to comfort his heart. The face, so stirringly beautiful and young, was dispassionate. Without the usual audience of male admirers in attendance, there was no need to portray a charming or gracious image, though it was rare indeed that Shanna Trahern exerted herself beyond a momentary whim. If it met her mood, she could enchant anyone, but now her eyes showed a stern determination that would have shriveled any but the most heroic spirit.

  “I am cursed,” the fair lips curled. “Were I heaven blessed, I would not be about this errand. What other woman must venture out upon the streets on a night such as this to ease the torment of her state?” Her mind raced along its well-traveled path. “What cruel twist of fate that I be born beneath the blighting branches of my father’s wealth? Would that I were poor and thus could know that a man wanted me for myself.”

  She sighed in introspection and let her mind probe once again her reasoning as if to find a flaw. Neither her beauty nor her father’s riches had aided her. A three-year stint in the best schools in Europe and Britain had bored her to distraction. Those so-called ladies’ schools had dealt more with court manners, fashion, and the various tedious forms of needlework than with techniques of writing or dealing with numbers. There she had been pursued for her beauty and exposed to the insincerity of young roués seeking to extend their reputations at her expense. Many had felt the prick of her scorn then, disheartened, sulked away. When it became known that she was the daughter of Orlan Trahern, one of the richest men ever to frequent the marketplace, all those young men in needy circumstances came seeking her hand. She could abide these milksops no better than the rest and heartlessly dashed their dreams with words as painful as a dagger’s blade.

  Her disenchantment with men led to her father’s ultimatum. It had begun simply enough. On her return from Europe he had chided her for not finding a husband.

  “With all those eager young studs of the courts posturing about you, girl, you couldn’t even get yourself a man with a name to bring recognition to your children.”

  His words had nipped at Shanna’s pride, bringing a rush of tears to her eyes. Heedless of her distress, her father had ranted on, setting the spur deeper.

  “Damn me, girl! What have I built my fortune for, if not for my own kin? But seen to your way, ‘twill go no further than your grave. Blast it all, I want grandchildren! Are you set to be a spinster who rejects every man that comes courting? Your children could be powers at court if they have a title to aid them. They’ll need but two things to be successful in this world and accepted by royalty. I give them one—wealth—more than you can spend in a lifetime. You can gain them the other—a name no one would dare question, a name with a lineage so pure and fine ‘twill need a good stock of common blood to strengthen it. Such a name can do as much to open doors as riches. But with no other name than Trahern, they’ll be little more than merchants.” His voice had sharpened in anger. “ ‘Tis my hell that I am given a daughter with the looks to choose among the bluest lines, one to make barons, earls, even dukes fawn and drool upon themselves for the want of her. But she dallies like some dreamy twit for a silver knight on a white charger who might match her own untouched purity.”

  Shanna’s folly had been in answering her father rashly and with heated words. They were soon engaged in a stormy exchange which had ended abruptly when he slammed down his brawny fist and dared her to speak further. His angry glare had burned into her.

  “You have a year to settle your fancies,” he roared. “Your period of grace ceases on your first-and-twentieth year, the day marking your birth. If you have not wed into a family of the aristocracy by then, I’ll name the next ready swain still young enough to get you with child as your husband. And if I must drag you to the altar in chains, you will obey!”

  Shanna had been stunned into incredulous silence at his crudity, but she knew with a sinking heart it was no jest. Orlan Trahern’s word was a promise never broken.

  Her father continued in a somewhat subdued tone. “Since we are ever at odds these days, I will give you ease of my presence. Ralston sails for London on my business. You will go with him, and Pitney as well. I know you can bend Pitney around your little finger—you’ve done it ever since you were a child. But Ralston should be able to keep the two of you out of mischief and honest enough for what I want. You may take your maid Hergus as well. On the second of December next, your year is done, and you will return to Los Camellos with or without a spouse. And if �
��tis none you’ve found, the matter shall be out of your hands.”

  Orlan Trahern had known a hard life as a youth. At the age of twelve, he saw his father, a Welsh highwayman, hanged from a roadside tree for his crimes. His mother, reduced to working as a scullery maid, died just a few years later of the ague, weakened by years of overwork, meager food, and cold winter drafts. Orlan had buried her and had sworn he would make a better way for himself and his own.

  Remembering the gray oak where his father had swung, the lad had worked hard and wisely, careful to be scrupulously honest. His tongue was quick, as was his wit, and his mind was agile. He soon grasped the ways of money, rents, interest, investments, and, most of all, the calculated risk for high return. Young Trahern first borrowed money for his ventures but soon was using his own. Then others began to come to him for money. Anything his talents touched fattened his coffers, and he began to acquire country estates, townhouses, stately manors, and property. In return for notes redeemable by the Crown he had accepted a grant to a small, verdant isle of the Caribbean to which he immediately retreated to enjoy his riches and more leisurely manage the flow of wealth into his accounts.

  His successes had earned him the title “Lord” Trahern from dirty-faced vendors and crafty merchants, for he was indeed the lord of the marketplace. Aristocrats used the title out of necessity when they went to him for loans, finding small comfort in having to beg him for moneys but considering him well beneath them they rejected him socially. Orlan yearned to be accepted as their peer, and it was difficult for him to accept that desire in himself. He was not a man to crawl, and he learned to pull the strings well on a man’s life. Now he tried to do it with his only child. The slights that he had received during the years spent accumulating his fortune were in a large part responsible for the rift that now made his beautiful daughter withdraw into herself.

  But Shanna was of the same temperament as her stubborn and forthright father. While Georgiana Trahern was alive, she had soothed the rifts and softened the arguments between her husband and child, but her passing five years previous had taken from them their mediator. Now there was no one who could gently dissuade the willful, elder Trahern or ply the daughter with her duties.

  Still, with Ralston to guarantee that she abided by her father’s demand, Shanna had known no opportunity to be anything but compliant to his wishes. It had not taken her long after returning to England to become lost in a multitude of names that accompanied various odd and assorted titles, baron, earl, and the like. Dispassionately she could name the flaw in each suitor; an obtrusive nose on this one, a roving hand on that one, a twitching brow, a wheezing cough, a pompous pride.

  The sight of a threadbare blouse beneath a waistcoat or a rumpled and empty purse hanging from a belt abruptly cooled her to offers of marriage. Aware that a handsome dowry would accompany her and that she would eventually inherit a fortune large enough to stagger the wits of the most imaginative, the swains grew zealous and attentive, exceedingly considerate of her smallest desire, except the one she declared most often. They ignored her pleas to remove themselves from her presence and usually had to be assisted by Mister Pitney. Frequently among the courting bachelors quarrels broke out, resulting in blows, then brawls, and what had begun as a quiet social event or a simple outing often dissolved into ruins, with Shanna being safely escorted home by her guardian, Pitney. Some wooers were subtle and devious while others were bold and forceful. But in most she saw the desire for riches exceed desire for her. It seemed none cared for a wife who, with love in her heart, would share simple poverty but rather saw first the gold in her father’s hand.

  Then there was another sort who actively worked to get her into bed without the ceremony of marriage, usually for the simple reason they were already attached to a wife. A count wanted her as his mistress and passionately vowed his devotion until his children, numbering six, interrupted his proposal. These encounters far outweighed the good and with each, Shanna was left with a little less to endear men to her.

  Not the least of her troubles was that her year in London had come near to being totally disastrous for mere existence’s sake. The Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle had let loose soldiers and sailors upon the city and a good lot of them, bolstered with the false courage of gin, had taken to thievery to survive, making the night treacherous for those who innocently wandered the streets. Shanna had, but only once, and that occasion had been enough to dissuade her from further venturings. But for the swift and capable strength of Pitney setting the miscreants to rout, she’d have been divested of her jewels and no doubt her virtue as well. In April she had been nearly trampled to death when escorted to the Temple of Peace to hear a concert of Handel’s Music for the Royal Fireworks. In truth, it was the fireworks that had caused the commotion, setting to blaze the rococo edifice, which the King had ordered built to celebrate the Treaty of Aix. In horror Shanna had watched as a young girl’s skirt caught aflame. The lass was hastily stripped to her stays and her gown trampled until the fire was put out. A moment later Shanna herself escaped questionable injury when her escort of the evening seized her and dragged her to the ground. She might have believed his protestations that he was only seeking to save her from a wayward rocket if he had not loosened her own laces considerably in the process. The cannon’s blast was mild in comparison to Shanna’s rage and, heedless of the mob which surged around her, whether to ogle her half-clad bosom or to escape the flames she could not determine, Shanna drew back her hand and sent the viscount to his knees with a stinging slap. She had then stalked through the mass of people, regaining her carriage and some semblance of modesty. Pitney’s bulk had prevented the young lord from joining her, and Shanna had made the journey back to the townhouse alone.

  But that was all in the past now. What mattered was that her time of grace was almost gone, and she had failed to find an acceptable mate. However, she was a woman with a mind of her own. Like her father, Shanna Trahern could be shrewd and clever. This was one of those times which demanded all of her cunning. And she was desperate enough to try anything to escape the fate the elder Trahern planned for her. Anything, that is, but fleeing altogether. Honesty prevailed when she admitted to herself that, despite their differences, she loved her father deeply.

  This very afternoon lagging hope had been rekindled when Pitney, a truly loyal friend, had brought long-awaited word to her. Even the ever-watchful Ralston had been taken care of. It was an exceptional turn of good fortune that he was called away in the early morning hours to investigate the damage to a Trahern merchant ship which had run aground near the Scottish coast. Since Ralston would be gone at least a week or perhaps more, Shanna felt confident she would have this matter behind her before he could return. Then if all went well, he would find the deed done and have no chance to set it awry.

  Confiding in Ralston would have been the same as informing Orlan Trahern himself, and Shanna had to take special care to insure that Mister Ralston was convinced of her sincerity and the validity of her actions. If her father ever suspicioned that she had been up to some chicanery, there would be more than his rage to contend with. He would see his word carried out forthwith, and she had no desire to live with the consequence, whoever the fellow might be.

  Shanna grew anxious in the sheltered interior of the luxurious Briska, and the voice of the wheels as protection, she tested the name that was so new on her lips, so full of promise.

  “Ruark Beauchamp. Ruark Deverell Beauchamp.” No one could deny such a fine distinguished name, nor the aristocracy of the Beauchamps of London.

  A slight twinge of conscience invaded the moment as the carriage drew her ever closer to her moment of reckoning, but Shanna summoned her courage in defense of herself.

  “ ‘Tis not wrong! ‘Tis an arrangement to profit us both. The man will see his final days eased and be laid in an honorable grave in return for his temporary service. In two weeks, my year will be up.”

  Still, apprehension began to gnaw at the edge of her resolve
as questions by the dozen flew at her like bats in the night. Would this Ruark Beauchamp be sufficient for her cause? What if he were some hunchbacked, rotten-toothed beast of a man?

  Shanna set her jaw, lovely in any mood, with the willfulness of a Trahern and looked for a diversion to ease the multitude of fears which threatened to envelop her. Drawing aside the leather shade at the window, she peered out into the night. Shreds of fog had begun to seep into the streets, half masking the darkened dram shops and inns they now passed. It was a dreary night, but she could abide fog and dampness. It was storms she feared, lending little comfort and peace to her mind when they raged across the land.

  Letting the shade fall into place again, Shanna closed her eyes, finding no release for her tensions. In an effort to still the trembling that possessed her, she pressed her slender hands deep into a fur muff, clenching them tightly together. There was so much depending on this night. She could not expect everything to go well, and doubt thwarted her attempts at calm.

  Would this Ruark laugh at her? She had swayed the hearts of many men. Why not his also? Would he deny her plea with a cruel jest?

  Shanna shook the qualms from her mind. She primed her weapons, arranging the daring décolletage of the red velvet gown she had chosen. She had never fully exercised her wiles, but she suspected a sane man could hardly refuse a full broadside of tears.

  Somewhere a bell tolled in the night.

  The wheels of the carriage thumped against the cobblestones, and Shanna’s heart seemed to match the rapid pace. Time hung motionless as uncertainty pecked at the outer limits of her mind, and somewhere deep inside she wondered what madness had spurred her to start this thing.

  An inward cry surfaced to consciousness. Why must it be like this? Had her father lost the sense and tenderness of love in his greed and desire for court acceptance? Was she only a useful pawn for some greater gambit? He had loved her mother deeply and had given no heed to the fact that Georgiana had been the daughter of a common smithy. Why must he then push his only child into a relationship she would abhor?