Fresh Fiction: Review: The Smuggler And The Society Bride by Julia Justiss

When a man has spirit and is adventurous, he is considered daring and mayhap even heroic. So when faced with shaming not only herself but her family, Honoria headed straight for her Aunt Foxe's home by the seacoast. Sennlack Cove, CornwallThe shriek of gulls swooping overhead mingled with the crash of waves against the rocks below as Lady Honoria Carlow halted on the cliff walk to peer down at the cove. One might wonder that the sea's violent pummelling against the rocky coast, the thunder of the surf, and the slap of windblown spray and raucous screeching of seabirds could soothe one's spirit, but somehow they did, Honoria reflected as she picked her way down the trail to the beach. Though Tamsyn, Aunt Foxe's maid, had tacked up the skirts of her riding habit, the only garb Honoria possessed suitable for vigorous country walking after her hasty journey from London, the hem of her skirt was stiff with sand when she reached the beach. The water lapping at the beach in the cove looked peaceful, inviting, even. Resolutely focusing on the beauty of the cove, Honoria considered taking off her boots and wading into the water. With spring just struggling into summer, unlike the sun-warmed pond back at Stanegate Court, the water sluicing in the narrow inlet from the sea was probably frigid. Narrowing her eyes against the glare, she watched a small boat skim toward the cove. A second boat popped into view, apparently in pursuit of the first, which tacked sharply into the calmer waters of the cove before coming about to fly back toward open water. While the first boat sailed out of sight, she saw the dark form of a man tumble over the side of the second skiff. The boat must have struck a submerged rock, Honoria surmised as she transferred her attention from the little vessel, now being battered by the incoming waves, to the man who'd been flung into the water. Seconds after submerging, the man surfaced, then in a flail of arms, sank again. Though the waters of the cove were shallow at low tide, the man would still need to swim some distance before he'd be able to touch bottom. She hesitated an instant longer, watching as the man bobbed back to the surface and sank again, making no progress toward the shallows. Still encumbered by chemise, blouse and stays, she couldn't swim as well as she had in those childhood breeches, probably not well enough to reach the man and bring him in. Shivering at the water's icy bite, Honoria pushed through the shallows as quickly as the sodden skirts of her chemise allowed, battling toward the struggling sailor. She had about concluded in despair that she would never reach him in time, when suddenly, from the rocks far above the water at the trail side of the cove, a man dove in. Honoria halted, gasping for breath as a rogue wave broke over her, and watched the newcomer swim with swift, practiced strokes toward the downed sailor. Moments later, he grabbed the sinking man by one arm and began swimming him toward shore. Weighed down by her drenched clothing, Honoria stopped in the shallows to catch her breath and observe the rescuer swim in his human cargo. Her admiration for his bravery turned to appreciation of a different sort as the man reached shallow water and stood. Face flaming, Honoria jerked her eyes upward, noting the long white scar along his ribcage and another traversing his left shoulder, before her scrutiny reached his face—and her gaze collided with a piercing look from the most vivid deep blue eyes she had ever seen. There the resemblance ended, for the jolt induced by this man was both a stronger and a much more pleasant sensation. Even had he not just recklessly leapt off a cliff into swiftly moving tidal water, his commanding countenance with its determined chin, high cheekbones and full, sensual lips, would have proclaimed him a self-confident man of action. A commanding man, she saw belatedly, who was now subjecting her to an inspection as intense as hers of him had been. 'Is it Aphrodite you are, rising out of the sea?' Honoria's face flamed anew as his comment reminded her she was standing in ankle-deep water, the soggy linen chemise that clung to her legs and belly probably nearly transparent. By the time she'd covered herself and bent to retrieve her jacket, skirts and shoes, a crowd of men was walking toward her along the narrow beach. After pulling the half-drowned mariner onto the shore, he straightened, breathing heavily, while the man at his feet retched up a bounty of Cornish seawater. Quickly dragging the man inland, one held him fast while another applied a blindfold and a third bound the man's hands. Being a newcomer, our soggy friend—' Kessel nodded toward the man being carried off by the villagers '—is far too apt to point a pistol at one of them— and you, too, if he'd known who it was that rescued him.' 'Aye, better to have let the sea take him,' declared another man as he halted beside them. 'Well, the sea didn't, Johnnie,' Dickin said, 'so 'tis no point repining it.' 'Perhaps someone ought to give the sea a hand,' the man muttered. 'What daft idea was it to call for the cargo to be moved inland in full daylight, with a new man on patrol? 'Aye—nearly drowning the man in the bargain,' Dickin said. 'What care you if there is one King's man less?' his brother replied angrily. After watching the brother pace away, Gabe said, 'Promise me, Dickin, the revenuer will get safely back to town?