The Tainted Love of a Captain. Jane Lark
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I’d like to take the chance, before you begin, to say a thank you to the editor who discovered The Illicit Love of a Courtesan, the first of the Marlow Intrigues books, and believed in my writing and this series so much that she signed up all seven of the main books in the series.
When I decided to offer HarperImpulse The Illicit Love of a Courtesan, as it had already been published through a small independent publisher I wasn’t sure HarperImpulse would want it. My belief was that previously published books were often not wanted and so I only sent a tentative email saying ‘would you be interested in seeing it?’, it wasn’t even a submission. I can’t tell you how surprised I was to then receive an email saying, yes, with an expression of absolute excitement.
I was really surprised because I hadn’t sent the book, so Charlotte couldn’t have read it, but she’d said yes… I asked her then, ‘wouldn’t you like to read it before you say yes?’ The answer was, ‘I already have.’ Charlotte had bought and read the story. How wonderful! She has since then always believed in, and supported, my work and I cannot say how brilliant it has been to know I have had an editor who believes so wholeheartedly in my writing and is able to see what you see as readers.
Thank you, Charlotte Ledger, for fulfilling my lifetime dream and giving me this amazing chance to get my stories out into the world and bringing my work to life. Thank you too, to Suzy, who has taken up the baton of editor and polished off the last two books.
And thank you to my family for putting up with me spending all my time with a laptop in front of me!
Plus, I ought to remember in this, my great-uncle Baba, the black sheep of my Grandma’s generation, who lived in the small family cottage next to hers in Mobley, near Berkeley Castle in England, the namesake for Harry’s nickname.
Gareth’s touch on Harry’s arm drew Harry’s attention away from his dog. ‘Is that not the woman we saw here yesterday?’
Harry looked across his shoulder and smiled. ‘I believe so.’
It was a blustery day and in the grey sky above seagulls called out as they played on the breeze, flying into it and then letting it sweep them back. The women’s skirts were blowing about their legs as they held onto the brims of their bonnets.
The dog barked because the stick had been lifted and not thrown yet. Harry looked at the waves and hurled the piece of driftwood he’d picked up to play their game. Ash turned and ran after it, all enthusiasm, inspired by the energy in the weather. A few minutes later the dog returned, with the stick in her mouth and her tail wagging violently Harry patted the Dalmatian’s head and took the stick from her mouth then hurled it into the sea again. The pebbles on the shore stirred with the movement of both the dog and the waves as Ash raced into the foaming water.
‘She is smiling broadly and my bet would be she is smiling at you.’
Harry glanced over his shoulder once more. The woman was speaking to her female companion, who from her appearance he would guess to be a maid. He looked at his friend. ‘Or you.’
‘No. Definitely you.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I have neither the looks nor the reputation that make women whisper.’
Harry laughed as Ash returned. ‘You have a scarlet coat with epaulettes, the uniform works wonders, Captain Morris,’ he mocked his friend, then took the stick from the dog’s mouth and threw it into the shallow part of the waves again. Ash followed it.
‘The woman could not be more obvious. She has not taken her eyes off you.’
‘Then perhaps it is some young miss who has heard of my reputation and sees a monster to point at.’
‘She is not looking at you in disdain.’
Harry smiled at his friend’s amusement. He did not care why the woman was looking at him. Let her look. Ash came back and Harry threw the stick a few more times as Gareth continually glanced back and recounted how the woman continued to watch while she walked back and forth, beside her maid, along the path at the head of the beach.
When he’d had enough of being observed, like a spider in a jar, Harry looked at Gareth and suggested it was time to return to their barracks in Preston. He had to get back anyway. He was on duty later.
Harry walked off the pebbly beach as Gareth sent one last smile in the unknown woman’s direction.
They walked to the inn, where they’d left their horses side by side.
Ash kept close to Harry’s horse as they rode back, nipping at the horse’s hind legs on occasion if she had a chance.
Harry dismounted. The brick paved yard in the centre of the barracks was a huge square and the stalls about it held several hundred horses. He led Obsidian into one of the giant stable blocks, to her stall. He took off her saddle before brushing the horse down, while Ash retired to the corner of the stable and watched.
When Harry walked out of the stall the dog followed.
Ash slept under the desk by Harry’s feet as Harry served his hours of duty through the night and in the morning when Harry tumbled on to the bed in his quarters, Ash climbed up and lay beside him. Harry fell asleep as he stroked the dog’s ear.
A deafening explosion rang in his ears and it resonated through his chest. Then there were screams of retaliation and the thunder created by a cavalry charge. Harry awoke and sat up. His nose and mouth burned with the smell and the acrid taste of gunpowder and his mind was plagued with the sight of wounded men, blood and death. It was a relief to be awake.
He stroked Ash’s neck and the dog licked his cheek. ‘You, scallywag, Ash.’ He rubbed her stomach as she rolled onto her back.
Ash had come from a litter his sister Mary’s husband had bred for his son to choose from. Harry was offered one of George’s spares. The offer had been the gift of more than a dog, though. Harry had needed something to make him smile and his sister had spotted his need and given him Ash. He’d accepted the gift for the kindness it was and chosen the runt of the litter, although Ash’s playful character had grown beyond the weak puppy he’d carried away tucked inside his coat.
The dog sat up and licked his face again. ‘Good day to you too, you silly animal, Ash.’
Ash’s name had come from Harry’s niece, Iris; Ash for the sake of the black dots on her white coat.
Having Ash to amuse and pet had helped still his mind. It had quietened the sudden, violent visions during the day. The impacts of fighting a farcical war without enough equipment, ammunition or food and medicine were cut deep into his mind and the scars opened up whenever he was idle. His nightmares were of the tents full of wounded men as often as they were of the battles. He’d seen