AMBER
Lauren Royal
Author's Cut Edition
Novelty Press
AMBER by Lauren Royal - Author's Cut Edition
Published by Novelty Books, a division of Novelty Publishers, LLC, 848 N. Rainbow Blvd, Suite 4390, Las Vegas NV 89107
Originally published in paperback by Penguin Putnam Inc.
COPYRIGHT © Lauren Royal 2001, 2012
ISBN 978-1-938907-03-6
5th Edition, July 2013
Cover by Kimberly Killion
Book Design by Typesetter For Mac
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any manner whatsoever, electronically, in print, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of both Lauren Royal and Novelty Books, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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BOOKS BY LAUREN ROYAL
The Jewel Trilogy
Amethyst
Emerald
Amber
Forevermore (a Jewel Trilogy novella)
The Flower Trilogy
Violet
Lily
Rose
The Temptations Trilogy
Lost in Temptation
Tempting Juliana
The Art of Temptation
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Books by Lauren Royal
Inside Flap
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Epilogue
Thank You
Bonus Material
INSIDE FLAP
England & Scotland, 1668
Kendra Chase's brothers are telling her it's high time she get married. But although they've presented her with many wealthy, titled suitors, no man has caught her fancy—until her coach is held up by a dashing, mysterious highwayman. When she and the dangerous man are caught in a compromising embrace and her overprotective brothers insist they wed, Kendra cannot believe it. Are they really desperate enough to match her with an outlaw?
Patrick "Trick" Caldwell is the Duke of Amberley—and also the notorious Black Highwayman, an identity he has assumed in order to right past wrongs and serve his king. But his already complicated life becomes positively convoluted when he finds himself compelled to marry a red-headed temptress he's only just met. Caught in a web of half-truths and forced into a perilous mission, can Trick extricate himself and find love with the woman destined to steal his heart?
For my children
Brent, Blake, and Devonie,
who have eaten too many frozen pizzas
so that Mom could write
With love and thanks
for enabling me to see the world
again through a child's eyes,
and for always being there
to remind me what's really important
CHAPTER ONE
Sussex, England
June 1668
Kendra Chase adored her brothers, except when she wanted to kill them.
"Jason is right," Ford told her as they rattled down the road in a shabby public coach. "You're twenty-three years old, and it's high time you take a husband."
Kendra slanted a glance at the plainly dressed stranger sharing the coach with them. "Not the Duke of Lechmere," she said with an exasperated glare at her twin. "I won't be 'your graced' for the rest of my life."
Kendra's oldest brother, Jason, tried unsuccessfully to stretch his long legs. "And what, pray tell," he drawled in an annoyed tone, "would be wrong with that? I've never understood what you have against dukes." Crammed onto the bench seat between Kendra and his wife, Caithren, he sighed. "I only wish to see you live a life of comfort. Would you prefer to travel this way all the time?"
As if to drive home her brother's point, the springless vehicle lurched in and out of a rut, rattling Kendra's teeth. She gritted them. Though Jason was careful with money, he was, after all, the Marquess of Cainewood, and they did own a rather luxurious carriage. But one of its wheels had broken on their way out of London, and they'd been forced to take public transport—or else risk missing an urgent appointment back home at Cainewood Castle.
An appointment to introduce Kendra to the latest "suitable" man her brothers planned to foist upon her.
"My comfort isn't the issue here—"
"This is your last chance to make your own choice," Jason interrupted her, gathering the cards from the hand of piquet they'd just played. "If you won't marry Lechmere, you'll have to select one of the other men who have offered for you. Or I will do the selecting."
"The other men." Kendra tossed her head of dark red curls, not believing her brother's ultimatum for a moment. The wretched day had put him in a bad mood, but he was generally the most reasonable man she knew. "Old but well-off, or widowed and settled with children, or young but just plain boring. Stable, wealthy men in the good graces of King Charles, every last one of them."
Her brother's green eyes flashed. "Yes, perfectly acceptable, every last one of them."
"As it should be," Ford put in.
Mournfully shaking her head, Kendra sent Caithren an imploring glance. "They'll never understand."
Cait's eyes filled with sympathy and a bit of shared exasperation. She laid a hand on her husband's arm. "I've told you before, Kendra wishes to
marry for love, not—"
"Stand and deliver!" a deep voice interrupted from outside.
With an unnerving suddenness, the coach ground to a halt. Stopped in mid-sentence, Cait's mouth gaped, and Kendra's stomach clenched in fear.
Ford leaned forward and pushed open the door. A man on horseback—a highwayman!—poked his head inside.
The most compelling head Kendra had ever seen.
"You?" Jason and Ford said together.
They knew this man?
Since Kendra hadn't heard that either of her brothers had been hurt—or even robbed, come to think of it—most of her fear dissipated, and her heart lifted with excitement instead.
Nothing like this had ever happened to her!
Looking slightly disconcerted, the highwayman dismounted. "Aye, it's me," he said slowly. Beneath the mask that concealed the upper half of his face, a grin emerged. An engaging slash of perfect white.
Well, not precisely perfect. One of his front teeth had a small chip, but she found that tiny imperfection endearing. And he was dashing, not to mention forbidden. If any of her hopeful suitors had been like this man, she'd have married him in a trice.
She wanted to say something to make him notice her. But for the first time in her memory, her mouth refused to work.
His gaze swept the coach's dim interior as though she weren't even there. "You," he said succinctly, motioning to the whey-faced businessman seated beside Ford. "Get out."
"There be five of us in here, three of them men, likely with pistols," the man said stiffly. From his haircut, plain clothes, and the short, boxy jacket beneath his cloak, Kendra knew he was a Puritan. "Perhaps thee had better think again."
"Oh, it's violence you threaten, aye?" The highwayman's voice was deep and a little husky, with, curiously, the barest hint of an accent. "Perhaps you had better think again. My friends," he drawled, gesturing toward the hill behind him, "would make certain you cease to exist within the minute. Get out. Now."
Kendra looked out the door and up. Sure enough, there were a dozen or so men at the top of the hill, their guns trained on the coach.
The Puritan must have recognized the threat, for he reluctantly climbed down. Kendra shifted within the coach, the better to see out.
The victim was a good foot shorter than the robber, who looked impossibly tall and elegant in a jet-black velvet surcoat. Close-faced and resigned, the Puritan emptied his pockets and handed over his money, then turned to reenter the coach.
The highwayman reached to grab the victim's sleeve. "Not so fast."
Visibly shaken, the smaller man stilled but said nothing.
The highwayman shook him a little. "Surely a...man of business, such as yourself, will be carrying more gold on his person than this. Where is it? Sewn into your cloak? Hidden in your luggage?"
Though Kendra could see the rise and fall of his agitated breathing, the Puritan turned back boldly. "Surely thee has no need of gold," he spat out, tugging his sleeve from the bigger man's grasp while eyeing his groomed appearance and expensive, tailored suit. "A...gentleman such as thyself."
The highwayman's eyes were amber, edged in a deeper hue—bronze, Kendra decided—that now spread in toward the center as his expression hardened. "Your luggage and your cloak, then—seeing as you won't cooperate."
He swung his pistol in the coachman's direction. The driver scrambled down and fumbled with the ropes securing the passengers' belongings. A shove sent the Puritan's trunk to the rutted road with a decisive thunk.
"Your cloak." The highwayman held out his free hand, almost as though he were bored, while his victim struggled out of his plain mantle.
"What about them?" he sputtered, handing it over. His gaze swung toward the Chases.
The highwayman glanced inside and flashed Kendra's brothers a conspiratorial smile before answering. "They're friends. Good day."
"Good day? Good day?" The poor man was as red as a squalling newborn, and Kendra almost felt sorry for him—until she reminded herself that it was his ilk who had killed her parents during the Civil War.
Her brothers indeed carried pistols—and swords and knives and God knew what else—and had the man not been a Puritan, she was sure one or both of them would have jumped to his defense. But because of men like this one, Jason had been left to raise his orphaned siblings, all of them forced to spend the Commonwealth years in poverty and exile.
She turned to watch the amber man remount and make his way down the road and up the hill toward his cohorts. He'd been superb. Magnificent.
Romantic, she thought on a sigh.
Amber. His clean-shaven, suntanned complexion. His eyes, a deep gold the color of the finest liquor. The black plume on his cavalier's hat fluttered as he rode, and beneath it he wore a long, crimped brown periwig that rather reminded her of her twin Ford's hair. But she was certain the highwayman's real hair wasn't brown. Though many men had shaven heads under their periwigs, he wouldn't. His own hair would be cut short, but not off, certainly—she shuddered at the thought—and it would be golden. Amber.
"Are thee going to let him get away with this?" the Puritan demanded, clambering up and glaring at her brothers with their rapiers at their sides.
One of Jason's black brows rose, and he spoke for them both. "I expect so."
The coach lurched and they continued on, but the atmosphere was decidedly strained, and the Puritan got off at the next stop.
Kendra moved to sit in the now-vacant spot beside Ford. "A highwayman," she breathed as soon as the carriage resumed moving.
"Why didn't he rob us?" Caithren asked. "How is it you know him? He called you a friend."
"He uses the term lightly." Jason's smile was enigmatic. "We've run into him before. But he's never robbed us."
"He didn't look like he needed to rob anybody," Kendra pointed out. "His suit was nicer than yours."
He'd looked nicer than Jason all around, she mused. Not that Jason wasn't handsome, but he had the general look of her family, a look she was inured to, to say the least. This man, on the other hand, had looked...exotic. All golden and dressed in black—black suit, black shirt, black boots, black mask—not the look of your typical scruffy felon, that was for sure.
Jason shrugged, absently running a hand through his wife's straight, dark-blond hair. "Almost anyone can afford one nice suit of clothes, if he makes it his priority. You cannot judge a man by his looks, Kendra."
But of course she had. Judged him, and liked what she saw.
Jason raised Cait's hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles, earning a soft smile in return. "Perhaps we should turn him in," he suggested playfully. "This is getting to be somewhat of a nuisance."
"You wouldn't dare!" Kendra burst out. "He's...well...he'd fit in at court. And he robbed only the Puritan. I'd wager he's a Royalist."
"There could be a reward for him. And Lakefield House is in sad shape," Viscount Lakefield, otherwise known as Ford, lamented half-seriously. "I cannot live with Jason forever."
"Oh, yes, you can," Kendra said heatedly.
Jason turned to her. "Is it that important to you, then? I didn't realize your Royalist loyalty ran so deep."
"Well...it does," she declared, thinking about the highwayman's broad shoulders.
"Well, then." Ford's deep-blue eyes gleamed with mischief. "I suppose we'll have to leave him be. At least it provides him with a stake for the card games."
Jason glared at their brother.
"What?" Kendra asked. "What card games?"
"All highwaymen play cards," Jason said firmly. He picked up their own deck and shuffled it expertly, then dealt out new hands.
Kendra arranged her cards slowly, her mind not on the game.
She remembered the highwayman's voice. He'd spoken cautiously, as though he were considering each word. Not like her family. The Chases, as a rule, blurted everything that came into their heads, generally at the tops of their lungs.
"What was his accent?" she asked. "Did you hear it?"
"Scots, aye?" Cait said, exaggerating the burr she was born to. "Though I'd guess he hasn't been home for many a year. I'm surprised you even noticed."
When Jason looked up sharply, Kendra pretended to study her fan of cards. He frowned back down at his own hand. "Why do you want to know?"
Why? She could scarcely comprehend such a stupid question. She wanted to know everything about the mysterious highwayman.
"Just curious," she said lightly, leading with a jack of hearts. "Your turn."
CHAPTER TWO
The Duke of Lechmere turned out to be everything Kendra had feared and then some. He was the epitome of what she did not want in a husband.
His skin appeared to have never seen the sun. Only God knew what color his hair was, since it was hidden beneath a periwig dusted with enough powder to choke a horse. She suspected he was bald underneath, anyway. His eyes were a pale, lifeless gray.
Not that looks were paramount, but his suit was peacock satin, adorned with so much dangling ribbon and lace that it seemed to quiver when he breathed. No matter the current fashion, Kendra wasn't drawn to men who wore prettier clothes than she did. A simple, dark velvet suit—like those her brothers favored—was far more to her taste. Not to mention the expense of Lechmere's apparel could probably fund an orphanage for a month.
Having been orphaned herself at the age of seven, she would much rather have seen the money spent there.
And he was a duke.
"Kendra plays the harpsichord like an angel," Jason said, sending her into a coughing fit. While it was true she was a competent musician, she couldn't remember ever hearing her name and the word angel in the same sentence. At least not from her oldest brother, who had seen her through more than a few rebellious stages.
"An admirable accomplishment." The duke waved a hand bedecked with gaudy rings. "I should like to hear her play later."
"And she's a brilliant conversationalist," Ford added, focusing on the drawing room's carved wooden ceiling.
Interesting description, brilliant conversationalist, given that her brothers spent much of their time telling her to hush up. She would have to call Ford on that later.
After she figured out how to get rid of this mullipuff.