Page 1 of The Lady’s Sweet Revenge

Chapter One

May 1815, The Coast of Scotland

Blinking into the darkness, Harlow Haverston tested the binds on her wrists. As her hands were tied in front of her, it was easy work to reach up and remove the sodden gag from her mouth.

Despite her throbbing head, a painful reminder of the earlier attack, she focused on what to do next. It took another few moments for Harlow to realize the swaying beneath her was not caused by dizziness, but that she was in the holds of a ship. The groaning of the vessel and slapping of waves against the hull proved her theory correct.

Hearing footsteps above her, she resisted the urge to scream out for help. No doubt everyone aboard was well aware she was there and had assisted in her capture. There would be no help found here.

It had seemed like no less than forty men had overpowered her uncle and their groom before pulling her from her horse. One moment they’d been riding in a secluded area in Hyde Park, enjoying the early morning sun before the heat of the late May afternoon chased them indoors. The next moment, they were overrun by bandits and she was knocked over the head and dragged away.

She shivered, despite the muggy warmth of the room she was in. It would be an easy thing to give into panic. She didn’t know why they had taken her, what they planned to do with her, or even where she was or where they were taking her.

“Focus on what you can control,” she said aloud, quietly. Hearing the shaky quality of her voice shamed her even if no one was there to hear it but her. She was a Haverston, and Haverstons didn’t crumble into a fit of tears.

Or at least that is what her brothers—all five of them—always told her anytime her lip began to tremble with the slightest hint of imminent tears.

But she had to think even her sturdy older brothers would be just as frightened and worried in this situation. She wished even one of them was with her now. Or Uncle Edgar. What had happened to him after she’d lost consciousness?

Uncle Edgar, her mother’s younger brother, had always been more like another brother, not that she’d needed another. But he was doting and kind while her brothers, protective as they were, often tried to do things without her.

She’d been determined to follow them wherever they went. Their constant challenges had gotten her into plenty of scrapes as a girl. Though nothing as serious as the one she was in now.

Her mother and father, the Duke and Duchess of Ardmere, must be beside themselves with worry. Being the youngest and a daughter, Harlow was often treated as something of a princess by her parents, which often gave her brothers more reason to keep her out of their mischief.

She always seemed to be caught in the middle. Not strong enough to keep up with her brothers, but too strong-willed to be coddled by her loving parents.

And now, it seemed, all her attempts to find a place she fit in had been nothing but a waste of her time, for she was going to die at sea.

But as she sat up, allowing her head a moment to right itself, she was determined not to let that happen. Besides, if they’d wanted her dead, there would be no reason to take her with them. They could have simply done away with her in the park and avoided all the extra effort of kidnapping her.

A cold thought wound through her throbbing head. She swallowed, trying to keep from being ill. For the fact they’d taken her could mean she faced an even worse fate than death.

For now, she was alone in this room, still intact as best she could determine. The only pain came from her head in the place where they’d struck her.

These ravenous barbarians she’d created in her mind, based on the quick glimpses she’d had of the men who’d pulled her from her horse, must have had orders to deliver her unharmed. For it didn’t seem likely men like that would have much by way of patience.

Which meant, according to all she knew about kidnappings from reading Theodore Stonecliff novels, they needed her alive for their purposes.

Her father, the Duke of Ardmere, was among the richest men of the ton. A fact Harlow attributed as the reason she’d not yet wed at five and twenty. The sizeable dowry her father offered attracted the worst fortune hunters in Society. Fortunately, her brothers were able to tell her who was and was not acceptable. So far, in these last eight years of dancing with every marriageable man in London, none of them had gotten the approval of her brothers.

She could almost laugh at how little it mattered that Lord Resch didn’t own enough horses, or how Lord Wenwrike slurped his tea. She should have married by now.

The offers had become fewer each year as she got older and less desirable, according to the ton. And now she would be ruined if anyone found out about this. Being ripped from her horse in the park and put aboard a ship with no chaperone.

She would likely be ransomed for a hefty sum. And her father would pay it without batting an eye, the sooner to have her back home. The useless princess, saved by her father’s fortune.

“No,” she whispered as her fingers clenched into fists. She would need to do better. She needed to get free before her father had to part with so much as a shilling for her return. And once she did, she would accept the next offer of marriage she received, regardless of what her brothers thought of him.

She could very well die on this ship not ever knowing the touch of a man, but, by God, if she lived she would find out. She only needed to escape this godforsaken ship.

But how?

Growing up with so many brothers, they had often spent their summers in the country playing bandits and highwaymen. She, being the only female, was always set as the hapless victim. Of course, escape hadn’t been her biggest concern because they were her brothers and meant her no harm. Usually. She did remember one such time they had left her tied to a tree and then the call from the kitchen of warm pies caused a distraction that left her stuck there for more than an hour.

She’d found a sharp rock on the ground and had all but worked her way through the ropes when they finally returned—Thomas, the youngest brother, with blackberry jam still on his face—to cut her loose. They’d praised her on her skills in escaping and the six of them had spent the rest of the afternoon devising ways to get out of certain knots.

The next day their attentions had drifted to something else. Harlow shook her head wishing they’d spent more time practicing and embracing such a skill since it would be quite useful to her now.