Free Brash by Margo Maguire

CHAPTER ONE

    Plymouth, England. Late February, 1816.
    “Damn me, but it’s cold,” said the newly minted Lieutenant James Norris to his younger friend, Lang Jameson. They were off to collect their mail and have a pint or two at the Black Raven, a favorite tavern among sailors on leave.
    Not that they had much time. Just an overnight reprieve from their duties on The Defender. Long enough to drink a few pints, read their mail, and perhaps sample the charms of a willing tavern maid.
    At least, that’s what James had in mind.
    “Aye,” Lang replied, as anxious as James to get indoors. They huddled inside their great coats and pushed into the crowded, smoke-filled tavern, and picked up their precious mail before collecting mugs of ale and finding a table.
    Through the tavern’s dingy windows, they could have looked out at the harbor, but both men were engrossed with their letters from home and hardly gave a thought to each other, let alone the view. At least, not until Norris looked up and saw his friend scowling fiercely.
    “What is it?” he asked as Lang shoved the missive into the pocket of his greatcoat.
    Lang did not reply, but thrust his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration. He gave a quick shake of his head, whether in disbelief or dismay, James could not say, even though they’d been friends through thick and thin these past five years.
    “I can see something is amiss, Lang,” James said. “You know you can—”
    Another voice interrupted Norris from ascertaining the source of Lang’s consternation. “Well, well, if it isn’t the fair young brother of Lady Christina Fairhaven. Which one are you?” The man sat down without being invited. He was several years older than Norris, and well-dressed, sporting a thick, black mustache beneath a long, thin, aristocratic nose.
    “I am Lang, the middle brother. And you, sir, are…” Norris saw Lang struggling for the man’s name, making it clear he barely knew him. “Viscount, er… ?”
    It seemed fairly obvious the viscount didn’t really know Lang, either. However, it did not stop the viscount from taking a seat with them. The man chuckled. “At your service, lad. Drink up.” He gave James a slight nod of acknowledgement and waved for a comely blond serving girl to bring them another round.
    “So. A couple of lieutenants, I see. You two lads just off your boat?”
    Norris bristled slightly at the reference to a boat when The Defender was one of the most magnificent ships in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. “We’re on leave, aye,” Lang replied. He took a long draught of ale.
    “And how is your lovely sister, Lady Christina Fairhaven?” the viscount asked. “Terrible news about her husband.”
    Lang’s features tightened and he gave a curt nod. Norris knew Lang had never particularly liked Lord Fairhaven – thought he wasn’t good enough for her. But then what brother ever did? Still, it had been an advantageous match, and that was the kind of marriage made by the sons and daughters of earls.
    They spoke no more of Lang’s sister, but of various amusements the viscount had enjoyed on a recent visit to Town. He seemed to be a man of vast experience, his presence welcomed at every soiree and in every drawing room in London. He was looking forward to the coming Season.
    They drank another ale but switched to whiskey as the viscount kept up his inane babbling. James only half-listened, preoccupied as he was on a glorious flirtation with the sweet blond tavern wench whose eyes promised a night of even sweeter pleasures. By the time Viscount Whosits took his leave, the girl had perched herself upon James’s lap and was whispering wicked nothings into his ear.
    James hardly took note when Lang got up and left the tavern to answer the call of nature, not when he had pretty Sally’s tongue swirling ’round his ear, and pulling his hand into her blouse.
    “Come on, my bonnie lad,” she crooned as she drew him up from his chair. “Come