Wild Conquest

by Hannah Howell

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Romance; Scottish & Highlander; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

From New York Times bestseller Hannah Howell, a classic love story of a Scottish hero too wild to be tamed and the woman he's destined to set free . . .



Pleasance Dunstan is used to silently bearing the cruelties put upon her by her thoughtless family. But nothing can prepare her for the greatest indignity of all: being sold into servitude to a man as wild as Tearlach O'Duine. His untamed ways are whispered of throughout town, and he has set his sights on Pleasance to be more than his servant. He will have her in his bed.



Pleasance could escape this fate with a word, but her fierce pride keeps her silent. Instead, she follows her new master to the rough lands where he has made a home and finds a world beyond any she has ever known—a world of desire. For though he is her captor, only Tearlach can show her how freeing true passion can be . . . and while her servitude to him will one day end, nothing can stop the binding of their hearts . . .



Contains mature themes.

Release date: October 24, 2009

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 350

Sample

Worcester, Massachusetts Bay Colony—1769

“I do not wish to marry John Martin,” Letitia whined.

Pleasance watched her pouting younger sister closely, inwardly grimacing at her childish tone. From the moment Pleasance, Letitia, and their parents had sat down at the huge, heavily laden table to eat breakfast, her sister had kept up a steady stream of complaint. Although Pleasance continued to calmly eat her eggs and ham, she felt a tight knot of uneasiness begin to steal her appetite. She did not like the direction the conversation was taking. Whenever Letitia expressed displeasure, it cost someone dearly. And that someone was usually her.

She covertly watched her parents. Thomas Dunstan’s face was flushed, and Pleasance knew he was failing to control his anger with Letitia. He wanted a marriage with the wealthy Martins as a means to increase his own prestige. His wife, Sarah, was fiddling with her heavy lace fichu, a clear indication of her agitation. No doubt she had already been secretly planning an elaborate, ostentatious wedding. Pleasance’s elder brother, Lawrence, was studying with his tutor, and she was glad of it. Lawrence was exactly like their father, and there was already quite enough bombast at the table. Her younger brother, Nathan, was off on some mysterious business—probably eluding customs agents trying to collect unpaid duty on shipments he had made to the other colonies.

“John Martin is a fine young man,” Thomas Dunstan said, tugging his elaborately embroidered waistcoat over his rounding stomach before filling his plate with a second serving of smoked ham and scrambled eggs from the ornate pewter serving dishes. “He has a residence and a profession. He also comes from a family of prominence in the colony. The Martins are well respected in Worcester.”

“I am not concerned with that,” Letitia replied. “You said I could choose my own husband, Father. You promised.”

“And just whom do you think you want if not John Martin?”

“I want the Scotsman.”

A sharp pang ripped through Pleasance. She could feel the blood drain from her cheeks and tried to calm herself before anyone noticed. Her sister’s preference should not have come as such a shock to her, yet it had. She did not want to believe that her sister could be so cruel. The Scotsman, as her family insisted on calling him, was wooing her.

“The Scotsman?” bellowed Thomas. “That backwoods trash? He is not good enough for you. ’Tis bad enough that he is not of reputable English stock, but he is a common trapper besides.”

“You let him court Pleasance,” argued Letitia, carefully arranging her thick blond curls to drape artfully over her right shoulder.

“Pleasance is nearly a spinster. She cannot be as selective.”

“How kind,” Pleasance muttered, hiding her sarcasm by quickly taking a sip of tea.

“Well, you told me that I can be as selective as I want.” Letitia’s usually sweet voice had a distinctive edge. “And I have selected the Scotsman.” She turned to fix her steady gaze on Pleasance, her usually soft blue eyes hard and cold. “After all, if my dear sister finds the Scotsman entertaining, he cannot be so very bad a choice, can he?”

“You might call this man you claim to want so badly by his name,” Pleasance said, praying that for once Letitia’s demand would not be granted.

“Such a heathen name. I find it difficult to train my tongue to it.”

“If you listened to the man say it, Letitia, you might find it easier. It is ‘Tear’—as in rip—and ‘lach’—as in lack, or something wanting—then ‘O’Doone.’ Tearlach O’Duine. Simple enough, although I am sure I do not say it as correctly as he does. Tearlach is but the Gaelic word for Charles.”

“Then why not say ‘Charles’?” snapped Letitia.

“Because he is not an Englishman?” Pleasance replied sarcastically. Absently tucking a stray lock of hair back in place, she caught herself wishing her chestnut hair was the same much admired gold as Letitia’s, and silently cursed.

“Do not speak so pertly to your sister,” scolded Thomas, before turning to his youngest daughter. “Letitia, the Scotsman is rough, probably unschooled, and, as I have said, he is no more than a fur trader. They are a restless, undependable breed of men.”

“I do not care. I cannot dictate to my heart, Papa. It aches for Master O’Duine. I tried to summon up some feeling for John Martin to please you, but I cannot help myself.” Letitia’s full bottom lip trembled, and she dabbed at her eyes with her fine monogrammed linen napkin. “For Pleasance’s sake, I also tried to direct my affections elsewhere, but it was impossible. I fear I am sick with love for Master O’Duine.”

Pleasance felt close to gagging as Letitia tugged fretfully at one of her fat blond curls and put on her most forlorn expression, tears brimming artfully in her big eyes. It was a well-used ploy and it had never failed, and Pleasance felt a deep, almost irresistible urge to scream. She could see the beginnings of acquiescence on her parents’ round faces. Letitia was the jewel in the Dunstan family crown. Whatever she wanted, she got.

Pleasance wished her younger brother, Nathan, was here, for he had always supported her. But she was on her own. For once, she decided, she would fight for what she wanted. Tearlach O’Duine was worth the effort.

“I fear you are too late in making your desire known, Letitia,” she said. “Master O’Duine has chosen me.”

“Has he offered you marriage?” asked Sarah Cordell Dunstan, primly patting her mouth with a napkin as she watched Pleasance closely.

“Well, nay, not as yet, but he courts me assiduously.”

“But does not ask for your hand. It would appear, then, that he has not made his choice.” Sarah turned to Letitia on her left and patted her attractively plump hand. “Pleasance will step aside, dear, and you may have the Scotsman.”

“You make him sound like some bundle of pelts being tossed back and forth,” Pleasance said.

“Do not be so crude, Pleasance,” scolded Sarah, frowning. “The man is Letitia’s choice.”

“How nice. Mayhaps she is not his choice.” Pleasance could see from everyone’s expressions that they found that idea absurd. “He did come courting me, with barely a glance toward Letitia.”

“He undoubtedly felt that Letitia was far above his touch.”

Pleasance wondered how her mother could be so casually cruel. “I simply cannot tell the man to go away and start courting my sister.”

“What you can and will do is turn aside his attentions.”

“But that would be unkind and a lie of sorts, for I do not really wish to do it.”

Sarah Dunstan regarded Pleasance with cool disdain. “You would rather break your sister’s heart and defy your own parents than bruise the vanity of this Scotsman? Or is it your own vanity which persuades you to be so disobedient?”

Her mother’s anger sent a chill down Pleasance’s spine, but she stiffened and pressed on. “But you just said that the man is too common for Letitia. She would be marrying beneath her.” Such words tasted bitter in her mouth, but Pleasance knew that her family considered such differences important.

“Of course he is beneath her, but we must abide by our promise.”

“And I believe that the man has some potential,” Letitia added. “Why, using a little education, I am certain I can make him more presentable.”

“John Martin is already very presentable,” Pleasance argued.

“I want the Scotsman.”

“He lives in the wilderness, or did you forget that?”

“Nay, I did not forget. I am sure I can convince him to remain here and give up that wild land he owns.”

“But—”

“Enough!” Sarah snapped. “You are becoming tedious, Pleasance. The matter is settled. You shall turn Master O’Duine away.”

For a long moment Pleasance considered arguing further, but the rigid expressions on her parents’ faces told her that their minds were firmly set. Anything she said now would be treated as gross impertinence or unkindness toward Letitia. Both were considered great sins by her parents. Pleasance knew that continuing to argue would only result in them locking her in the attic for impudence, and she dreaded that. Even as part of her cursed her own weakness and scorned her deep need to please her stern mother and father, Pleasance resigned herself to losing the one man who had shown a real interest in her.

She tried not to think that she might be giving up her only chance at marriage…and happiness.

 

Pleasance sat on the hard marble bench in her mother’s tidy garden, the scent of roses heavy in the air, and watched Tearlach O’Duine approach. He wore the same courting clothes he had worn for the last two weeks. He always looked and smelled clean, but he must be low on funds or he would have had at least one other set of clothes.

She twisted her lace handkerchief in her hands and tried to match his smile of greeting. She was perspiring and knew it was not from the heat of the late July afternoon. It had been four hours since her parents had ordered her to set Master Tearlach O’Duine aside, and she had spent every minute trying to think of a way to please both her family and herself. There did not seem to be one.

Tall, lean, and dark, Tearlach O’Duine was a fine figure of a man. His snug black breeches and hose revealed long, smoothly muscled, and well-shaped legs. His black coat and silver-and-black waistcoat fit tightly over broad shoulders and a flat stomach. She liked the way the white lace at his cuffs and throat enhanced his sun-bronzed complexion. But when he stopped before her, lifted her hand to his lips; and brushed a kiss over her knuckles, she was torn between wanting to weep and the urge to run away. As she met his smoky gray eyes, she wondered how she could bear to reject him for herself, let alone send him into Letitia’s arms.

“Please sit down, Master O’Duine,” she said, and indicated a place on the bench beside her.

“Master O’Duine?” he murmured as he seated himself. “You called me Tearlach but yestereve.”

“In a moment of ill-advised forwardness. ’Tis hardly proper of me to address you with such indecent familiarity.”

“I had hopes that ye would be addressing me with far more familiarity soon.” He took her small hand in his and frowned when she tensed. “Mayhaps I go too quickly for ye. I have had little experience at courting a weel-bred lassie.”

“You do it with great charm and skill. I have no complaint at all.” Pleasance inwardly grimaced, for she knew she sounded as haughty and disdainful as her mother, but it was the only way she knew how to mouth the words her family was forcing her to say.

“Nay? Then why have ye become so cool and distant?”

Tearlach watched her look away, then shade her blue-green eyes from his inspection with partially lowered lids, her long dark lashes a perfect shield. Every instinct he had honed as a trapper was now telling him that something was very wrong. This was not the shy yet warm Pleasance he had first been attracted to. She was nervous, tense, even secretive. There was a cool, haughty tone to her voice that irritated him. Something had changed her, and in a way that he felt could only work against him. In fact, he was getting the alarming impression that he was about to be turned away, and he simply could not understand why. He began to grow defensive.

“I do not mean to act differently toward you, Master O’Duine.” Pleasance sighed and twisted her handkerchief. “You have been most gallant, and I have no wish to repay that with unkindness.”

“The more mealymouthed and polite ye become, the less I like it.”

Tearlach rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth in front of her. Pleasance cursed silently. The man was too astute. She had hoped to dim his interest by acting cool and aloof, so that he ended this courtship on his own. Instead he had already surmised her intention. He was not going to play along and let her do what she must with gentle subterfuge. That meant that she would have to lie, for she could not tell the man that her parents had ordered her to give him to Letitia.

She did not want him to know that she was so weak as to obey such an absurd command just to please her family. There had to be a point where family loyalty ended, where meekly obeying every command became akin to slavery. She feared that her need to please her constantly critical parents was beginning to make her act the fool.

She cringed slightly when he stopped to stare at her. Then, suddenly, she was angry with him. If she had not met him, if he had not touched her emotions in a way no other man ever had, she would not be in this awkward situation now. A small inner voice told her she was being grossly unfair, even a little ridiculous, but it did not soothe her temper. If he had acted like all the other men before him and pursued the beautiful Letitia, she could have remained blissfully ignorant of the pain, loss, and confusion she was suffering now.

“Some of us, Master O’Duine, have been trained in civility to others.” Pleasance did not need to see the way his eyes narrowed or the light flush that tinged his high-boned cheeks to know that she had spoken coldly and sharply.

“Something has happened between yesterday and now. When I brought ye a few posies yesterday and we sat right here and talked, ye were all smiles. Ye called me Tearlach and e’en allowed me a kiss. Aye, more than one.”

“I acted without thought as to how you might interpret my behavior or even to the propriety of it. If I led you to believe my acquiescence indicated more than mere flirtatiousness, I sincerely apologize.”

He flushed deeper with fury. “Ye are turning me away, shoving me aside like some bothersome child.” He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her to her feet. “Ye have played me for a fool, havenae ye?”

“Nay, I have not! It is my right to decide to end the courtship when and if I see fit. There is no sense in wasting your time or mine any further. After weeks of your skillful and arduous courting I simply do not have the depth of feeling for you that I should have by now.”

“No depth of feeling?”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Pleasance knew that she had made a big mistake. She could hear in his reply that he had interpreted her words as a blatant challenge to prove her wrong. She tensed as he pulled her into his arms.

“Master O’Duine, release me. You can prove naught by failing to behave as a gentleman.”

“I dinnae feel much like a gentleman at this moment. Aye, and ye have ne’er thought of me as one, have ye? That is what this is all about. Ye are as full of self-importance as the rest of your haughty family.”

“You are mistaken.”

“Nay, I think not. Ah, lassie, I really thought ye were one who would speak the truth.”

“I have spoken the truth.” But Pleasance could hear the lack of conviction in her own voice. She was a poor liar and the faint sneer that twisted Tearlach’s fine mouth told her that he thought so too. “Now, release me or I shall have to call out for my father or my brother Lawrence,” she threatened, thinking even as she said it that the portly Thomas and his lanky dandy of a son would be no match for Tearlach.

“And they will come hieing to your rescue, will they? I dinnae think so. Since the verra first day I came courting, they have left us to ourselves. I surmised that such a lax guardianship was because ye are a spinster.”

Pleasance felt her temper flare. She was weary of being called a spinster, a term she knew was never used kindly. This was Tearlach O’Duine’s way of striking back at her.

Before she could respond in kind, however, he tightened his hold on her. Despite her valiant efforts not to let his nearness affect her, she immediately forgot what she had wanted to say. Being pressed against his hard, lean body stole nearly every thought from her head. To her dismay, she could see that he knew exactly what effect he was having on her. A distracting, captivating warmth seeped through her at every place he touched. She knew she should pull away before he beguiled her, but all she wanted was to get nearer. He was holding her scandalously close, yet all she could think about was how she wished to act even more wantonly.

He touched his lips to the hollow by her ear, and she, shivered as heat entered her veins, robbing her of all resistance. For a moment she almost hated him. He was showing her all too clearly what she would lose by rejecting him, and the realization was too painful for words.

“Oh, aye, no depth of feeling, she says. Ye are too poor a liar to try and tell such a big one, lassie.”

“You have no call to insult me so, Master O’Duine.”

“I have more call than most. Ye mean to cut my pride with your lies.”

Tearlach was very angry. He had originally been drawn to Pleasance, instead of to her much prettier sister, for reasons some might call unflattering. Pleasance Dunstan was the older, plainer, and, rumor had it, the poorer of the sisters; therefore it would require less work on his part to win her. She might even be a more pliable wife, for she would be grateful for not being left ummarried.

It had taken very little time for Tearlach to realize that far more than those shallow reasons was attracting him to Pleasance, and he did not like it. He told himself to remain aloof, continuously warned himself against entertaining any more than the most superficial feeling for her, then ignored his own advice. That his original cynical mistrust was proving to be justified after all only added to his anger. So too did this proof that his judgment of women was seriously flawed.

This time he had really believed he had found a woman he could trust, one who would not look down her nose at a mere trapper from the western frontier. He wanted a woman who liked him for himself. He had let himself believe that Pleasance Dunstan was that woman.

He touched his mouth to hers and, when she meekly tried to turn her head away, caught her chin in his hand and held her steady. He savored the feel of her warm, soft lips beneath his, and that too increased his wrath. He wanted Pleasance Dunstan—badly—and he knew she wanted him. Yet still she was pushing him aside. There could be only one reason—she did not think he was good enough for her. Tearlach wished there was some satisfactory way to make her pay for that coldhearted snobbery. Instead, he would have to settle for making her fully aware of what she was denying herself.

He slid his tongue over her full lips, and she parted them for him. He held her as close as he could without hurting her as he stroked the inside of her mouth. A soft moan escaped her and he echoed it. He slid his hands down to her gently curved hips and pressed her loins against his, moving in an erotically suggestive way. It did not surprise him when she responded with an equally arousing movement. Their passion was perfectly matched.

But now he would never fully taste it, and that infuriated him.

It took all of his willpower, for Pleasance was so invitingly responsive, but Tearlach finally ended the kiss. He studied her flushed face, watched how her breasts rose and fell with her deep, unsteady breathing, and saw how desire had turned her blue-green eyes a deeper blue. She wanted him. Everything about her cried it out. He was nearly as caught up in his own need as she was, and he made no effort to hide it. Yet, despite the hunger that had them both trembling, she was going to reject him. Tearlach felt the urge to slap some sense into her and quickly stepped back.

“Despite all the heat we share, still ye will turn me away?” he asked, hating to ask yet tense with a need to understand her actions. “Why? It makes no sense to kiss me as ye do then tell me to go.”

Pleasance fought to clear the fog of desire from her mind and answer him in some intelligible way. “The reasons why I am sending you away and asking you not to return are not your concern, sir.”

“Nay? I am the one being shown the door.”

“Aye, and you are very slow to go through it, if you ask me,” she snapped, her temper frayed.

He stared at her long and hard. “Verra weel, mistress,” he finally said. “Ye willnae be troubled with my company again.”

Tearlach turned sharply and strode away. Pleasance sank onto the bench, still a little wobbly from the effects of his fiery kiss, and fought the urge to call him back.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why should I make this sacrifice, one that insults him and hurts me? ’Tis not as if Letitia has any difficulty attracting possible husbands.”

She battled the sudden rebellion that swept through her, but it was proving far stronger than her sense of duty. Letitia had not wanted Tearlach until he had ignored her. It was plain selfishness that drove her, and Pleasance did not see why she should give up something she wanted so badly just to placate her sister’s possessiveness.

Spurred by that outrage, Pleasance stood up and took one step after Tearlach before stopping abruptly. He was standing at the iron gate at the far end of the garden, the one that led into the front courtyard. Just as he passed through that gate, Letitia stepped up and slipped her arm through his. All the fight left Pleasance and she slowly sat back down. It was too late to take back her hurtful words now, and Letitia would never give her the chance to try.

The sudden appearance of Letitia Dunstan startled Tearlach. When the fulsome blond eased her arm through his, his first thought was to shake her off, but then he caught sight of Pleasance watching them. It was a petty act, and he knew it, but he turned his best smile on Letitita. He wanted Pleasance to feel the same pinch of pride that he did. A little voice in his head told him that it was far more than bruised pride he was suffering as a result of Pleasance’s rejection, but he stoutly ignored it.

“Ah, Mistress Letitia, ’tis pleasant to see a welcoming face,” he murmured.

“Oh, you poor man.” Letitia smoothed her hand over his arm. “Pleasance told me what she planned to do.”

“Did she.” Tearlach did not appreciate that his humiliation had been made a topic of discussion amongst Pleasance’s haughty family.

“I tried to counsel her against such a cruel rejection, but she would not listen to a word I said. Please do not think these are my words, and I do not wish to inflict any further pain, but—oh, dear, I am not sure I can speak such hurtful words aloud.”

Watching Letitia, Tearlach decided she would make a fine actress. He wanted to tell her to keep her dirty little gossip to herself, but curiosity won out over good sense. If Letitia knew why Pleasance was sending him away, he wanted to hear what she had to say. It could be no worse than all the possibilities he was conjuring up in his own mind.

“The truth may be painful, Mistress Letitia,” he said, “but ’tis always best to ken it.”

“Please be assured that I do not share my sister’s sentiments. I cannot understand how she came to think such things.” Letitia sighed and shook her head. “I fear my sister suffers from the sins of pride and vanity, Master O’Duine. Quite simply, she is under the delusion that she can do much better than you. I fear she sees you as some ignorant backwoodsman, which is silly of her. Anyone can see that you are a man of refinement who is working hard to overcome the limitations of your birth. I will say no more. It can only upset you.”

“Your kind heart becomes you, Mistress Letitia.” It surprised Tearlach that Letitia’s sweetly malicious speech should cut him as deeply as it did. He had suspected exactly what she was telling him. He had faced such snobbery before, endured that deep English prejudice against the Scots. That Pleasance Dunstan could cause that pain, that he had allowed her to penetrate his defenses to that extent, only angered him more.

He looked toward Pleasance. She was still watching him and Letitia closely, and he sent her a cold smile. It apparently annoyed her to see him with her sister, and he intended to make full use of that. Tearlach suspected that Letitia also considered him unworthy of her, beneath her in class and respectability, yet the smiling blonde was behaving quite flirtatiously. For a while, Tearlach would play along.

“Master O’Duine?” Letitia smiled up at him and lightly touched his cheek with her fingertips. “Allow me to try and make some form of amends. I feel so ashamed of Pleasance’s harshness. Come, let us go into the parlor and I will have lemonade served.”

“That sounds verra appealing.”

And Tearlach allowed Letitia to lead him into the house.

Pleasance slowly unclenched her hands. She stared at the four half-moon-shaped gouges in each palm. She had the sinking feeling that she had just made the biggest mistake of her life. Worse, she knew she had only just begun to pay for it.

“I want you to steal something for me.”

Pleasance gaped at her fair-haired sister. A month ago, when Letitia had demanded that Pleasance reject Tearlach O’Duine so that she could have the man for herself, Pleasance had decided that nothing else her family could do would shock her. She was not pleased to be proven wrong. She also felt she had done more than enough already for them; Letitia was appallingly audacious to ask for more now.

“Steal? Did you truly say steal something for you?” she asked Letitia.

“Aye.” Letitia pursed her lips in a sullen pout. “Why do you act so horrified? ’Tis not such a grand favor I ask of you. Why are you so reluctant?”

“Why? Because if caught, I would face hanging, the pillory, flogging, or virtual enslavement!” Pleasance paced her small, sparsely furnished bedroom before stopping to glare at her younger sister.

“I am well aware of the penalties for theft, Pleasance. There is no need to recite them,” Letitia grumbled.

“Yet you ask me to risk them.”

Pleasance frowned as she watched her voluptuous sister shrink down in her seat. Letitia always stood tall, straight, and proud—perhaps too proud, blatantly displaying the curves so many men ogled. Yet now she looked defeated and just a little afraid. Although instinct told Pleasance that it would probably cost her dearly, she felt her heart go out to her young sister.

“What is it you wish me to steal and why must I steal it?”

“Oh, thank you, Pleasance. Thank you!” Letitia immediately sat up straighter.

“Do not be so hasty. I have not yet said I will do it. I simply want to hear more about it. If your answers do not suit me, then I shall not risk it.” Pleasance moved to open a window, but it did little to ease the oppressive heat in the room, the late August night proving as hot as the day.

“I want you to steal some letters, some love letters.”

“What harm or threat can there be in a few innocent billets-doux?”

Letitia grimaced and ran a hand through her thick golden hair in an uncharacteristic gesture of agitation. “A great deal of trouble when they are letters, and rather explicit letters at that, which were written to a man other than the one I plan to marry.”

Nearly gaping, Pleasance sat down on her small bed. “You are to be married? Why have I heard nothing of this?” She feared her own agitation was revealed in the way she began to fidgit with a stray lock of her chestnut hair.

“Because it has yet to be announced. In truth, I have yet to be asked. But I shall be. I feel certain that Father has already been approached or will be within the next day or so.”

It was an arrogant assumption, but Pleasance did not argue. If Letitia said the proposal was coming, then it probably was. Nearly a dozen men had been lurking around waiting for some sign of willingness from her, for some hint that she would accept a proposal. Pleasance hated to ask, and dreaded the answer, but knew that the question hovering on her tongue was the only logical thing to say next.

“Who do you intend to marry?”

“John Leonard Martin.”

Surprise overwhelmed her relief, but was quickly followed by anger. John Martin had been their father’s original choice, but Letitia had repeatedly demanded the right to choose her own husband. Several of the young men courting her had eventually tired of her fickleness and had ventured toward Pleasance, only to have Letitia immediately regain interest and pull them back to her. In every case their parents had sided with Letitia, ordering Pleasance to give her sister precedence.

Letitia had claimed to feel both love and passion for Tearlach O’Duine, but only a few weeks after Pleasance . . .