Dark Rider

  THE UGLY DUCKLING

  “Bravo! [An] intense thriller. [The Ugly Duckling] is a real knockout.”

  —Atlanta Journal

  MIDNIGHT WARRIOR

  “A magical, memorable story tinged with enchantment and brimming over with passion and perils.”

  —Romantic Times

  THE BELOVED SCOUNDREL

  “All the makings of a classic romance—an intriguing hero, a strong and endearing heroine and a fascinating plot.”

  —USA Today

  THE MAGNIFICENT ROGUE

  “Iris Johansen demonstrates her unique and incredible talent with [this] romantic drama.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  THE TIGER PRINCE

  “If you are looking for a unique, unforgettable reading adventure, this book is for you!”

  —Rendezvous

  THE GOLDEN BARBARIAN

  “Sizzling tension … an exciting tale … the stuff which leaves an indelible mark on the heart.”

  —Romantic Times

  STORM WINDS

  “Johansen serves up a diverting romance and plot twists worthy of a mystery novel.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  LION’S BRIDE

  “Lion’s Bride is all any reader could ask for … and more.”

  —Rendezvous

  DARK RIDER

  A Bantam Book / May 1995

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1995 by Iris Johansen.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information address: Bantam Books.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-81571-2

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, New York, New York.

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Other Books by This Author

  About the Author

  Prologue

  September 15, 1795

  Marseilles, France

  “You demon from Hades, come back here!”

  Cassie jumped over a small cask and darted around a sailor.

  “You know what will happen if I have to come after you!”

  Oh yes, she knew. She would be forced to listen to one of her nurse’s long lectures and then be locked in the ship cabin for hours and hours. But she had seen the crew load horses, two beautiful horses, and she would not lose this opportunity because of Clara’s threats. Some things were worth any punishment her nurse could inflict.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Clara was stalking after her, her face twisted with anger.

  Darting around a corner, Cassie dived behind a pile of trunks. She held her breath as she heard the swish of Clara’s stiff skirts.

  She waited two minutes more before peeking around the trunk. Clara was not in sight. Her breath released in an explosion of relief. She started running back the way she had come.

  “And what have we here?” Papa was standing at the rail with another man. “Come here, wild one.”

  She skidded to a stop in front of him and sighed resignedly. It could have been worse. She could not count on her father to stop Clara from punishing her, but he might lessen the sentence. Papa was not like other grown-ups; he didn’t shout or frown or shake his head. There was even a chance she might persuade him to go with her to see the horses.

  “What a sweet child.” The man to whom her father had been talking was looking down at her. “How old is she?”

  Her father smiled proudly. “Cassandra is eight. Cassie, this is my friend, Raoul.”

  Raoul knelt before her. “I’m delighted to meet you, Cassandra.”

  He was smiling, but his gray eyes were as cold and unblinking as the garden snake she had put in Clara’s bed last week.

  “You’re a lucky man, Charles. She’s as lovely as your beautiful wife.”

  Why was he lying? Clara had told Cassandra over and over that she was as ugly as a toad. She had said that beauty was founded in obedience and a bad girl like Cassandra would never be anything but homely. She had come to realize that Clara didn’t always tell the truth, but there was a chance Clara was right about Cassie’s lack of beauty. Mama was always gentle, always obedient to Clara, and no one could deny she was pretty. Cassandra set her jaw and said clearly, “That’s not true.”

  The brilliant white smile on Raoul’s lips never faltered. “Modest as well as comely.” He patted her cheek and rose to his feet. “We must be sure to find a suitable match for her when you return.”

  “Match?” Her father looked dismayed. “You think I’ll have to be gone that long?”

  “We both know that’s a possibility. Naturally, I’ll let you know the moment it’s safe for you to return.” He clapped her father on the shoulder. “Don’t look so morose, my friend. Tahiti is supposed to be a beautiful land. I was just talking to Jacques-Louis David about it last week, and he was saying what a thrill it would be to paint in such a place. You may be inspired to create a great masterpiece.”

  “Yes …” He lifted Cassie in his arms and gazed blindly down at the dock. “But it’s so far away.”

  “Distance is safety,” Raoul said softly. “You’re the one who came to me in a panic. You even moved from Paris to Marseilles to escape him. Have you changed your mind now? There’s a possibility you may be safe here for a time. Do you wish to stay and chance letting him find you?”

  “No!” Her father’s face paled. “But it’s not fair. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s done.” Raoul cut into his sentence. “Now we must protect ourselves from the consequences. Why do you think I intend to change my name and cut all my former ties? Now, do you need more funds for the journey?”

  “No, you’ve been more than generous.” He tried to smile. “But you’ll remember to let me know as quickly as possible? My wife has a delicate constitution and is not pleased to be going to such a savage land.”

  “She will thrive in Tahiti. The climate is much more pleasant than that of either London or Marseilies.” Raoul smiled again. “Now I must go. Good journey, Charles.”

  “Good-bye,” he said faintly.

  “And good journey to you, little mademoiselle.” Raoul turned his smile on Cassie. “Take care of your father.”

  Exactly like the garden snake. Her arms tightened fiercely around Papa’s neck. “I will.”

  They watched him move down the gangplank and walk across the dock.

  Papa tugged at her hands. “A little air, ma chou.” He chuckled. “You cannot protect me if you choke me to death.”

  Her gaze never left Raoul’s retreating back. “I don’t like him.”

  “Raoul? You don’t understand. He’s my good friend and wants only what’s best. You heard him say he wanted you to take care of me.”

  She was not convinced, but grown-ups never paid attention when she argued with them. She laid her head on his shoulder and whispered, “I’ll always take care o
f you, Papa.”

  “My big girl. I know you will.” He bit his lower lip as his gaze went back to Raoul, and he added absently, “But it’s not Raoul who is the danger, it’s the Duke.”

  Cassie knew about dukes. Clara had told her with great enthusiasm of all the aristocrats who had lost their heads on the guillotine. Clara was English, like Mama, and had no use for French aristocracy. But, then, Clara had little use for anyone. “Like the dukes who died in the Place de la Concorde?”

  “No, he’s a British duke.” He suddenly turned away from the rail and set her down. “Now I must return you to Clara and your mother. The ship is about to depart.”

  “I want to stay with you.”

  “Do you? I’d like to stay with you, too, but Clara will be most upset with both of us.” His eyes suddenly lit with boyish mischief. “Where will we hide?”

  She was already prepared. “Down with the cargo.” The cargo hatch had been her destination when Papa had caught sight of her. “We can stay with the horses.”

  He laughed. “I should have known you’d find horses even on a ship.”

  “Beautiful horses. Clara won’t look there; you know she hates them. I’ll get your easel from the trunk, and you can paint them.”

  “Excellent idea.” He took her hand and set off down the deck. “You see, you’re already meeting all my needs.”

  As she always would, she resolved, her hand tightening on her father’s. Mama had told her once that Papa was not like other men. He was an artist who needed all their love and care so that he would be free to paint beautiful pictures and give his gift to the world. He must not be bothered with the concerns that plagued lesser men. That rule surely meant he must never be as frightened as he had been a few moments ago. She knew how terrible fear made you feel. When she was smaller, she had let Clara frighten her.

  Yes, she would protect him from Clara and the snake he had called Raoul, and this British duke. She would protect him from everyone who might ever hurt him.

  One

  April 4, 1806

  Kealakekua Bay, Hawaii

  “Come with us, Kanoa,” Lihua called out as she waded into the surf. “Why stay here on the shore when you could be where there is fine food and finer gifts? The English are beautiful and make love like Gods.”

  English. Cassie gazed out at the gleaming lanterns lighting the sleek lines of the ship in the darkness. The Josephine was smaller than the other ships that had come to the bay, but that did not mean it did not bring danger. She had been uneasy since she had come to the village that afternoon and Lihua had told her of the ship that had sailed into the bay two days ago. She had attempted to convince her friends that these foreigners might be a threat, but the village women had laughed at her. Still, she had to try once more.

  “You know I can’t go. I’ve already been here too long.” She clenched her hands as she watched a dozen women run into the water. “And you should not go, either. Have you learned nothing? You should not sleep with the English. They bring disease and they care nothing for you.”

  Lihua grinned. “You worry too much. It’s not certain that Captain Cook’s sailors gave our people the French sickness, and these English care enough to bring me pleasure for the night. It is all a woman can ask.”

  It was all Lihua ever asked, Cassie thought with exasperation, all any of them ever asked. Pleasure for the present, pay tomorrow. Ordinarily she had no quarrel with the philosophy, but not when she could see danger looming.

  “Come with us,” Lihua coaxed. “Besides the sailors there are two who lead, a chief and his uncle, who captains the ship. I will let you have the chief, who knows many ways to please a woman. He is very beautiful and has the grace and the lusty appetite of that stallion you love so much.”

  “Chief? There is a noble chief on board that ship?”

  “The sailors say it is the same as our chiefs. They call him Your Grace.”

  A duke. She felt a faint stirring of memory of that long-ago day in Marseilles. Foolishness—there could be no connection. “What is his name?”

  “Jared.”

  “No, his last name.”

  Lihua shrugged. “Who knows? Why should I ask such things? It’s not his name that makes me cry out with pleasure. It is his big—”

  “Lihua, come along,” Kalua, Lihua’s sister, called from the surf. “You cannot convince her. And why give her the chief? We will share him as we did last night. She would not know what to do with him.” She added with teasing scorn, “She is a virgin. She lies with no one.”

  “It is not her fault,” Lihua said defensively. “She did not choose not to give and take pleasure.” She turned to Cassie. “I know Lani decided for you because she fears the ugly one will punish you, but surely just one time would not hurt. You can swim out to the boat and taste the English chief and then swim back. A woman should have a stallion for her first lover.”

  “He will be too big for her,” Kalua protested. “If I’d had such a one for my first man, I would never have taken another.”

  “You were only thirteen. She rides that huge horse, her woman’s veil cannot still be there. The fit would be tight but not—”

  “What is he doing here?” Cassie interrupted, her gaze on the ship. She was accustomed to their frank discussions of a sexual nature and no longer paid attention to them.

  “I’ve just told you.” Lihua giggled. “But I refuse to tell you more; his skill is beyond description. You must find out for yourself.”

  “These English don’t sail into a harbor just to bring pleasure to women. Ask him why he is here.”

  “Ask him yourself.” Kalua turned and struck out for the ship. “I have other things to occupy me.”

  “I must go.” Lihua waded farther into the sea. “Kalua may decide not to share the Chief.”

  “Do you know nothing about him?” Cassie called after her. “How old is he?”

  “Young.”

  “How young?”

  “Younger than the uncle.”

  “How old is that?”

  “I pay no attention to a man’s age, if his vigor is strong. You know it’s of no importance to me.”

  It might be of importance to Cassie. Her father had never mentioned the Duke again after they had fled from Marseilles, but he must have been at least her father’s age to inspire such terror.

  “What is there to know?” Lihua asked. “He is English, he comes here from Tahiti and knows our language. He probably wants something from King Kamehameha, as all the other English did.” She reached deep water and struck out after the other women. “And he is a true stallion.…”

  “Find out his name,” Cassie called, but she doubted if Lihua heard. It probably didn’t matter. The memory of that day was so faint, she couldn’t remember if Papa had mentioned a name. Besides, the prospect of there still being a danger to Papa was slight. British ships had come and gone over the years with no ill consequence. Not many men would travel halfway across the world to destroy an enemy.

  She could hear the laughing chatter of the women as they called back and forth to one another in the darkness. She should not linger there. Coming to the village was forbidden, and if she did not get back to the cottage soon, Clara would discover where she had been. What did it matter? Clara would probably find out anyway, and she wanted these final delicious moments of freedom.

  She drew a deep breath of the soft salt-laden air and dug her bare toes into the wet sand. She thought she heard Lihua’s laughter. Her friends were swimming happily through the cool, silken water. Soon they would be welcomed on board the ship and coupling with joy and vigor. Sweet heaven, her nipples were actually hardening as she envisioned the act, she realized ruefully. Of late her body was constantly betraying her. Lani said it was natural, that her body was ready for a man and the ripening was as beautiful as the blooming of a flower. Yet, if that was true, why wouldn’t Lani let her lie with—

  “Are you truly a virgin?”

  She stiffened and then whirled t
o face the man strolling out of the thatch of palms. He spoke in the Polynesian language she had used with her friends, but there could be no doubt that he was not one of them. He was as tall, but leaner, and moved with a slow, casual grace, not with the springy exuberance of the islanders. He was dressed in elegant tight breeches, and his coat fit sleekly over his broad shoulders. His snowy cravat was tied in a complicated fall, and his dark hair bound back in a queue.

  He is very beautiful and has the grace and lusty appetite of that stallion you love so much.

  Lihua was right. He was beautiful. Exotic grace and strength exuded from every limb. High cheekbones and that well-formed, sensual mouth gave his face a fascinating quality that made it hard to tear her gaze away. A stray breeze ruffled his dark hair, and a lock fell across his wide forehead.

  Pagan.

  The word came out of nowhere and she instantly dismissed it. Clara used the term to describe the islanders, and she would deem it totally unfitting for civilized young noblemen. Yet there was something free and reckless flickering in the stranger’s expression that she had never seen in any of the islanders.

  Yes, he must be the English, and he was coming from the direction of Kamahameha’s village, she realized. Lihua was right, he probably wanted only supplies or trade rights, as the other English did. She did not have to worry about him.

  “Well, are you?” he asked lazily as he continued to walk toward her.

  He might not be a threat, but she answered in Polynesian with instinctive wariness. “You should not eavesdrop on others’ conversations. It’s not honorable.”

  “I could hardly keep from hearing. You were shouting.” His gaze wandered from her face to her bare breasts and down to her hips swathed in the cotton sarong. “And I found the subject matter so very intriguing. It was exceptionally … arousing. It’s not every day a man is compared to a stallion.”

  His arrogance and confidence were annoying. “Lihua is easily pleased.”

  He looked startled, but then a slow smile lit his face. “And you are not, if you’re still a virgin. What a challenge to a man. What is your name?”

  “What is yours?”