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  Critical acclaim for the marvelous

  romances of

  Jude Deveraux

  TEMPTATION

  “An exciting historical romance that centers on the early twentieth-century women’s rights movement…. Filled with excitement, action, and insight…. A nonstop thriller.”

  —Harriet Klausner, Barnesandnoble.com

  “[A] satisfying story.”

  —Booklist

  “Deveraux[’s] lively pace and happy endings…will keep readers turning pages.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  HIGH TIDE

  A Romantic Times Top Pick

  “High Tide is packed full of warmth, humor, sensual tension, and exciting adventure. What more could you ask of a book?”

  —Romantic Times

  “Fast-paced, suspenseful…. [A] sassy love story.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Exciting…may be Jude Deveraux’s best novel in her stellar career…. Fans of romantic suspense will gain much pleasure.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Author’s Note

  My fictional town of Warbrooke is set in what is now the state of Maine. During the 1760s, however, when The Raider takes place, that area was part of what was then called the Massachusetts Commonwealth. The land was later split off from Massachusetts, and entered the Union as Maine, the 23rd state, on March 15, 1820.

  Chapter One

  1766

  ALEXANDER Montgomery leaned back in the chair and stretched his long, lean legs across the carpeted floor of the captain’s quarters of The Grand Duchess and watched Nicholas Ivanovitch berate one of the servants. Alex had never seen anyone with quite as much arrogance as this Russian.

  “I’ll have your head if you misplace my buckles a second time,” Nick said with his heavy accent and husky voice.

  Alex wondered if in Russia grand dukes were still allowed to behead people who displeased them.

  “Go now. Out of my sight,” Nick said as he waved a lace-encased wrist toward the cowering servant. “You see what I have to bear,” he said to Alex as soon as they were alone in the cabin.

  “It’s a great deal, yes, I can see that,” Alex agreed.

  Nicholas raised one eyebrow at his friend, then looked back at the charts spread across the table. “We’ll be docking about a hundred and fifty miles south of this Warbrooke of yours. Think someone will be willing to take you north?”

  “I’ll manage,” Alex said nonchalantly, putting his hands behind his head and stretching even more, his long body taking up most of the cabin space. Long ago he’d schooled his handsome face to conceal what he was thinking. Nicholas knew some of what his friend was feeling, but Alex didn’t allow anyone to see the depth of his concern.

  Months ago, while Alex was in Italy, he’d received a letter from his sister Marianna begging him to come home. She had said that he was desperately needed. She had told Alex what their father had forbidden her to tell: that he, Sayer Montgomery, had been badly injured in an accident aboard a ship and his legs had been crushed. They hadn’t expected him to live, but he had and he was confined to his bed now, a cripple.

  Marianna had gone on to say that she had married an Englishman, the customs inspector for the little town of Warbrooke, and he was…She hadn’t gone into detail of what her husband was doing, probably because she was caught between loyalty to her husband and loyalty to her family and the townspeople she’d known all her life. But Alex could sense that there was much that she wasn’t telling him.

  She’d given the letter to one of the many seamen in Warbrooke and hoped that it would reach Alex and that he could come home. Alex had received the letter soon after he’d docked in Italy. The schooner he’d sailed out of Warbrooke on over four years ago had gone down three weeks before and he’d been waiting on Italy’s sunny coast, not trying very hard to find another position as ship’s officer.

  It was in Italy that he’d met Nicholas Ivanovitch. Nick’s family in Russia was first cousins with the tzarina, and Nick expected people the world over to be aware of this fact and to treat him with the awe and subservience that he thought his position gave him.

  Alex had stepped in and saved Nick’s thick neck from a gang of roving sailors who didn’t like what Nick had said about them. Alex had pulled his sword, tossed it to Nick, and then drawn two knives, one for each hand, from his belt. Together the two men had fought back.

  It had taken them an hour, and when they were finished, they were covered with blood, their clothes were in shreds, but they were friends. Alexander was treated to the Russian hospitality that was as generous as the Russian arrogance. Nick took Alex aboard his private ship, a lugger, a ship that was so fast that it was illegal in most countries since it could outrun anything on the seas. But no one bothered the Russian aristocracy since they followed no laws but their own.

  Alex settled down on the opulent ship and for a couple of days enjoyed being waited on, his every wish anticipated, his every wish fulfilled by the army of cowering servants that Nick had brought with him from Russia.

  “We’re not like this in America,” Alex had told Nick after his fifth mug of ale. He talked of the independence of Americans, of their ability to create their own country from a wilderness. “We’ve fought the French, the Indians, we’ve fought all the world and we’ve won!” The more he drank, the more he rhapsodized about the glories of America. After he and Nick had put away most of a keg of ale, Nick brought out a clear liquid he called vodka and they started on that. Say nothing else about the Russians, Alex thought, they can drink with the best of them.

  It was the next morning, when Alex’s head was splitting and his mouth tasted as if he’d just licked the bottom of a ship clean, that the letter arrived. Nick was topside, taking his bellyache out on his cringing servants, when Elias Downey asked permission to come aboard and talk to Alexander. Nick was diverted from his shouting and complaining long enough to escort the man downstairs—he was dying of curiosity to hear what this man’s message of great importance was.

  Alex merely rolled his eyes when Nick poured three glasses of vodka and set them on the table.

  Alex ignored the roaring in his head as he listened to the tales Elias had to tell about what was happening in Warbrooke. He scanned the letter from his sister, but there was much that she’d not told him.

  “That man she married is evil. He steals from all of us,” Elias was saying. “He took Josiah’s ship from him, said he thought there was contraband on it. He done it all legal and proper like, weren’t nothin’ any of us could do to stop him. If Josiah could come up with sixty pounds, he could sue your brother-in-law to get his ship back. That ship was all that Josiah had in the world and now he ain’t even got that.”

  “What did my father do?” Alex asked, leaning forward. “I can’t imagine him letting his son-in-law take a man’s ship.”

  Elias’s eyelids were beginning to droop with the effects of Nick’s vodka. “Sayer ain’t got no legs. They might as well have been cut off. He just stays in bed. Nobody expected him to live but he did—if you can call that livin’. He lays in bed, won’t even hardly eat nothin’. Eleanor Taggert runs the place.”

  “Taggert!” Alex scoffed. “They still live in that backwater shack, still trying to control those damned kids of theirs?”

  “James went down with his ship a couple of years ago and Nancy died havin’ the last young one. A few of the bo