The Black Morass (Pirates of the Coast Book 1) by Barbara Devlin

her sudden absence, opened and gaped wide, jeopardizing the foundation upon which he built his stage, threatening to swallow him whole.  If only she had played her part, but the mere wisp of a girl outwitted him.  For a while, he remained rooted to the spot, hoping to glimpse her aboard the naval ship.  Impatient, he craned his neck and then caught sight of her in a skiff, accompanied by three redcoats, as a deckhand rowed her to the docks.
    Each successive rise and fall of the oars increased the space between them, yet he maintained his post, struggling to preserve the connection, however fleeting.  And although he could not see clearly, he swore she watched him.  A dull ache flickered in his chest, the pain increasing in direct proportion to the ever-growing distance from Madalene.
    Weighted by some mystical burden, which tightened its stranglehold about his throat, squeezing, choking, threatening to wring the air from his lungs, he clutched tight the rail but found no relief or support.  Instead, the invisible torment delved deep into his gut, unfurled, and spread, increasing the agony ravaging his soul, and he fought for breath.
    When she reached her destination, she disembarked and disappeared in the crowd, and he dug his nails into the wood rail.  It was time to admit the real reason he rejected her, and it had nothing to do with pride, plunder, or possession.  “I am sorry, Mon Chou , but I had to surrender you.  I am a wanted man, and I could not endanger you, because I love you, too.”
    Tyne cleared his throat.  “Have you decided on a new course, Cap’n?”
    There were countless journeys Jean Marc could have chosen, but he could not respond.  Drowning in some foreign hell on earth, he emitted a feral growl and pushed from the rail.  “Take us to the windward side and drop anchor, as we will go ashore just after dusk.  And if you wish to retain use of your teeth, you will wipe that smirk off your face.”
    #
    It was early in the afternoon, as British Army Lieutenant Lowe steered the wagon past a stately stone gate, which bore a sign marked, The Fair Winds, and Madalene hugged her sacks of personal belongings and tried to ignore the heartache that threatened to tear her in two.  At the end of a long and sandy drive, lined with palm trees, loomed a large, two-story house with six massive columns spanning the front, a balcony rimmed by wrought iron railing at top center, and black shutters framing each window.
    If she had any assumptions regarding how a plantation house should look, The Fair Winds exceeded her expectations.  When Lieutenant Lowe reined in, a dark-skinned woman appeared at the door and then disappeared inside the home.  Shortly thereafter, an older gentleman and a young lady strolled onto the porch.
    “Let me help you, Lady Madalene.”  Lieutenant Lowe jumped to the ground and then turned to hand her down.  “Lord Livingston, I have brought your daughter to you, safe and sound.”
    “Madalene?”  The grey-haired, distinguished elder with familiar blue eyes, which welled with unshed tears, pressed a hand to his chest.  “Is that you, dear child?”
    “Papa?”  She dropped her things and ran into his waiting embrace.  “Oh, papa, it has been so long.”
    “My darling girl, at last we are reunited.”  At first, he hugged her, but then he held her at arm’s length.  “Let me look at you.  You are the very image of your mother, God rest her soul.”
    “What is she doing here?”  The pregnant blonde cast a countenance of unmasked loathing and cradled her large belly.
    “Now, now, Prudence.”  Papa chuckled.  “Am I to be caught in the middle of two strong-willed females?”  With a twinkle in his stare, he drew Prudence, who appeared not much older than Madalene, to his side.  “Allow me to introduce your stepmother, Lady Prudence, countess of Livingston.”
    “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Prudence.”  Fighting to conceal her shock at