His uncle wanted him dead. Instead, Nicholas Collington was given to pirates.
Robbed of his rightful title and position, Nicholas survived. Now he rides the high seas, helping the wronged and avenging the downtrodden while the man who stole his life goes unpunished. But it’s time to reclaim his title and lands...time to make his uncle pay. However, to get close enough, Nicholas has a role to play.
Grace Thonburg is a gentle soul. Ostracized by the Ton after an accident leaves her maimed, she is content to minister to the villagers with her dear friend and elderly vicar, Finn. But Finn must leave, and a new vicar has arrived--A man so powerful and handsome that Grace is attracted to him in ways she hardly understands. She has accepted that she will never find love, but is this new vicar heaven sent? He seems unconcerned with her past or her position in Society...Yet, she senses he's hiding something.
After Nicholas assumes the role of the town's new vicar, his desire for revenge pales when compared to the desire he feels for Grace. But she is a lady, and he is a pirate.
After Nicholas assumes the role of the town's new vicar, his desire for revenge pales when compared to the desire he feels for Grace. But she is a lady, and he is a pirate.
He loves her unconditionally, but can he win her heart or will the weight of Nicholas's secret quash their new-found love?
excerpt:
He had been told the day he was born was idyllic and filled with promise.
His father paced the study in the silent manor, fear and hope wrapping their way around his heart. It was his duty to produce an heir, and it had taken ten years to accomplish the task. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, which he quickly mopped away with his crisp, monogrammed handkerchief. His wife was his life, more necessary than the air. He prayed she would survive the birth for without her, he could never go on.
Upstairs, the child’s mother brought him into the world of earldom. He was the first born male, the heir, the hope for the future. His titles were long and his riches unequalled, but as his mother held him close, all she saw was her longed-for child. They told him how she refused to give him to the nurse. Instead she held him, kissed him, and cried tears of joy, completely besotted.
He had felt the love of his mother everyday of her short life. He knew her gentle instruction, her warmth, and her graceful care. Never had there been a day that her laughter hadn’t rang out like a song throughout the manor, tickling his father’s serious eyes. Her gifted fingers flew over the piano keys, filling his memories with her music. In every corner of every room, her presence was evident. Always with a soft hand upon his shoulder, a kind word, and an eager ear—a mother’s love made perfect.
And when he looked into his father’s eyes, although he was too young to name pride and acceptance, he saw that he was exactly what he ought to be. He felt his value, his worth, and even his adoration.
Instead of the earl apparent, he had been treated like a royal prince, a valued treasure, a precious son. Every day of his first nine years had been light, burden-less, and filled with happiness.
Then, at just over nine years old, an eruption of the cruelest kind destroyed his life, as he was ripped from the only world he had ever known, and thrust into the darkest, most vile, inhumane place for a young child.
His life became distinctly separated into two parts; before and after. The memories of his former life, these stories of his birth, the knowledge he once knew of love and kindness, the memory of all that was pure and clean, he locked tightly inside a small brass chest, the key had been turned many years ago, and left somewhere in the depth of the Atlantic.
Every so often, his mind would recall that deeply buried coffin of memories, but never would he delve inside, for he no longer felt he deserved even a glance at such things. Over the years, he had come to wonder if the memories of his childhood were real or if in desperation, his mind created them as a way to cope with the harsh reality he had endured. And so, when those thoughts came, his mind, now well-trained, would recoil from that path, and return to the present.
At present, his consuming hunger for vengeance was his only driving force. He fed it as it roared, and it was sated for a while. And when it demanded more, he gave it more.
His father paced the study in the silent manor, fear and hope wrapping their way around his heart. It was his duty to produce an heir, and it had taken ten years to accomplish the task. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, which he quickly mopped away with his crisp, monogrammed handkerchief. His wife was his life, more necessary than the air. He prayed she would survive the birth for without her, he could never go on.
Upstairs, the child’s mother brought him into the world of earldom. He was the first born male, the heir, the hope for the future. His titles were long and his riches unequalled, but as his mother held him close, all she saw was her longed-for child. They told him how she refused to give him to the nurse. Instead she held him, kissed him, and cried tears of joy, completely besotted.
He had felt the love of his mother everyday of her short life. He knew her gentle instruction, her warmth, and her graceful care. Never had there been a day that her laughter hadn’t rang out like a song throughout the manor, tickling his father’s serious eyes. Her gifted fingers flew over the piano keys, filling his memories with her music. In every corner of every room, her presence was evident. Always with a soft hand upon his shoulder, a kind word, and an eager ear—a mother’s love made perfect.
And when he looked into his father’s eyes, although he was too young to name pride and acceptance, he saw that he was exactly what he ought to be. He felt his value, his worth, and even his adoration.
Instead of the earl apparent, he had been treated like a royal prince, a valued treasure, a precious son. Every day of his first nine years had been light, burden-less, and filled with happiness.
Then, at just over nine years old, an eruption of the cruelest kind destroyed his life, as he was ripped from the only world he had ever known, and thrust into the darkest, most vile, inhumane place for a young child.
His life became distinctly separated into two parts; before and after. The memories of his former life, these stories of his birth, the knowledge he once knew of love and kindness, the memory of all that was pure and clean, he locked tightly inside a small brass chest, the key had been turned many years ago, and left somewhere in the depth of the Atlantic.
Every so often, his mind would recall that deeply buried coffin of memories, but never would he delve inside, for he no longer felt he deserved even a glance at such things. Over the years, he had come to wonder if the memories of his childhood were real or if in desperation, his mind created them as a way to cope with the harsh reality he had endured. And so, when those thoughts came, his mind, now well-trained, would recoil from that path, and return to the present.
At present, his consuming hunger for vengeance was his only driving force. He fed it as it roared, and it was sated for a while. And when it demanded more, he gave it more.
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