Curse of the Kingsmans 2: the Devil's Diary

By Ethan Somerville and Max Kenny

Beautiful young Catriona Neville, named after her great Aunt Catriona the Pure, is anything but sweet and innocent. She reads forbidden books, runs away from home and dreams of being a wild adventuress. She is betrothed to be married to a pleasant, but shy young man named Edward, and although she likes him, he is simply not exciting enough. She yearns for someone dark and mysterious to sweep her off her feet and carry her away to exotic lands.

Then she meets a tall, handsome merchant sea captain named Thomas Aubrey, who seems to embody everything she has ever dreamed of. Unfortunately, Captain Aubrey is a notorious philanderer who desires men as well as women, and steals away her fiance Edward.

Catriona is devastated. She starts having strange dreams about Captain Aubrey, and believes her own wanton desires are to blame. She vows to be good - then Captain Aubrey returns, claiming that she is constantly in his thoughts, and that they are meant to be together. Catriona can only resist his promises of freedom for so long until she has to run away to sea with him...

...And then, when he finally has her in his clutches and cannot escape, Captain Aubrey reveals who he really is.

Be warned: this story contains both gay and straight sex scenes.

Also available:
Curse of the Kingsmans - a romantic restoration-age adventure involving a haunted castle, smugglers and a cursed family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Storm Publishing
• Release date: Sep 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301987634

Ethan Somerville

Ethan Somerville is a prolific Australian author with over 20 books published, and many more to come. These novels cover many different genres, including romance, historical, children's and young adult fiction. However Ethan's favourite genres have always been science fiction and fantasy. Ethan has also collaborated with other Australian authors and artists, including Max Kenny, Emma Daniels, Anthony Newton, Colin Forest, Tanya Nicholls and Carter Rydyr.

Book preview

Curse of the Kingsmans 2

The Devil’s Diary

Ethan Somerville

And

Max Kenny

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SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Storm Publishing on Smashwords

Curse of the Kingsmans 2 – the Devil’s Diary

Copyright © 2010/2017 by Ethan Somerville and Max Kenny

www.stormpublishing.net

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Prologue

Some survivors of a vicious pirate attack managed to escape by jumping into a longboat before the enemy ships could draw alongside. These lucky individuals were then able to return to civilisation to alert the authorities that the vile sea-robber known as the Prince of Darkness was once again prowling the Caribbean. A fleet of Navy vessels immediately set out from Jamaica to scout the surrounding sea for the evil pirate’s fleet.

The Prince of Darkness had been stalking the seven seas for many years and seemed to have the Devil’s own luck. But the Queen’s fleet finally caught up with him off the coast of Venezuela. Using descriptions provided by the sailors who’d escaped to deliver the news, the naval officers saw right through the detailed disguises the pirate’s ships had adopted. A great chase ensued. The prince’s fleet made for one of his secret bases, but the more powerful Navy ships were faster, and he was ordered to surrender.

I shall surrender when Hell freezes over! roared the pirate prince. He turned to his men; We will fight until no-one is left alive!

His men agreed with a unanimous cheer.

Surrender is the coward’s way out, not mine! the prince yelled. Prime all guns!

In a matter of minutes the prince’s ships, guns and sailors were ready to fight and die for their captain.

Unfortunately for him, the British Navy had far superior numbers and fire-power. One by one, the pirate prince’s vessels were overrun and sunk. He was shocked to see his men leap into the sea rather than be dragged back to the mother country. He realised everything he’d fought for was being destroyed all around him in a hail of blood and thunder and fire. I shall die fighting, he thought, convinced his own end was near, I won’t let them take me alive!

But then, one of the captain’s men, a lookalike, dressed himself as his admiral, and made a great show of leaping into the water and drowning himself.

The decoy worked, and news soon reached England that the dreadful pirate was dead at last - drowned off the coast of Venezuela.

Seeing their culprit die, the British Navy made the mistake of easing their attack, realising they couldn’t afford to lose any more ships or men.

Only one ship of the pirate’s seven escaped in the ensuing disorientation. She was called Satan’s Revenge. Battered but still afloat, she managed to conceal herself in a secluded bay where emergency repairs could be carried out. As soon they reached safety the pirate prince collapsed on deck from sheer nervous exhaustion. For a while his men feared he wouldn’t survive, but the expert care of his loyal crew eventually pulled him through.

When he recovered, the prince’s remaining sailors told him their only recourse was to retire quietly into the jungles of South America and try to eke out a living there.

But the pirate prince did not agree. He had too much unfinished business and wanted to return to England.

For once his men disagreed vehemently with their charismatic captain. To sail right into the lion’s mouth was suicide!

But the Prince of Darkness would not be swayed. He didn’t like loose ends.

Some of his men decided the devastative Navy attack had unhinged their captain’s mind. They believed he had seen too many fights, survived too many narrow escapes, and was starting to doubt his own mortality. He had lived on the edge of danger too long. Not wishing to follow the prince to his doom, these sailors jumped ship at Venezuela and disappeared into the jungle to begin their new lives by themselves.

The pirate prince assured the loyal remainder that they would not be apprehended. This trip would be their last to the mother country, and afterwards they would sail away forever to spend the rest of their lives in quiet prosperity in some tropical paradise. The tattered sails of the great, but tired old ship Satan’s Revenge were turned into the wind, and the last remaining ship of the pirate’s mighty fleet set out for England.

But a few days out from Land’s End a terrible storm blew down from the north and tossed Satan’s Revenge about like a leaf on the wind. Mountainous waves battered her fragile wooden hull and nearly swamped her. She almost finished her days as yet another hulk on the bottom of the ocean. However, after a valiant effort, she emerged from the tail-end of the terrible storm with her sails in tatters, rigging flapping like broken loom strings, masts and knees sprung, and hull pocked with holes. She was taking on water and bailers had to work night and day just to keep her afloat.

However, the pirate prince refused to give up; not when he had come this far. He managed to get the ship a few leagues along the south coast of England and manoeuvre her into Plymouth Sound. He had a few contacts in the world-famous harbour that he could trust to help mend the ship and guarantee their safety.

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Chapter 1

Shivering in the January chill, a young woman sat alone on a stone garden bench. This impressive seat had been carved some thirty years earlier by a romantic restoration-age mason for lovers to meet and caress. She was attempting to untangle a string of pearls with slim, gloved fingers, her bare head bent over them with the futile concentration of someone bored out of her mind.

Her name was Catriona Neville and she was a breathtaking beauty. Her skin shone a perfect milky white, complimenting the wavy, white blonde hair that flowed like a silky carpet over the shoulders of her thick fur cloak. Large violet-blue eyes sparkled mischievously beneath long, curling lashes. They framed a gentle, Grecian nose above full red lips that were often lifted in a cheeky smile. Even her teeth were straight and pearly white.

But only Catriona knew that her smiles were false. Though she wore a simple winter frock and cloak, the shape of her young body completely hidden beneath numerous layers, she still managed to look dazzling.

Eventually she threw the string of pearls down in frustration and looked up, scanning her surroundings, searching for something that wasn’t there. All around her stretched her mother’s flower and herb garden, although very little now grew in those snow-covered plots. A small forest of leafless beeches, oaks, elms and ashes planted on the day of her birth obscured her view of the Elizabethan house at the bottom of the hill. The sharp contours of this huge E-shaped edifice, known as Darien Grove, had long since been softened beneath a thick growth of ivy.

The January day was unusually warm, hence Catriona’s bare head. The sun shone from a deceptively blue sky, and the snow reflected its blinding glow into Catriona’s eyes. This was the first time she had ventured outdoors since Christmas and she welcomed the break. She doubted she could have borne her senile old great-aunt Catriona the Pure forcing her to sew yet another mind-bogglingly boring quilt or pillow-case. Out here she could at least escape from the ladies of her household; aunt, governess, mother, sister, and simpleton of a maid, Mary Anne.

At first Catriona had welcomed her family’s move to Devon, even though it had meant leaving all her friends in Northumberland. Her restless soul had welcomed the change with open arms. But now, after five years of little activity or excitement, Catriona again yearned for change. She lived for the five-page letters from her best friend from the north; Cassandra Fenwick, and always answered them eagerly. Cassie’s last missive had described the wild, tempestuous weather plaguing the castle; snowdrifts many feet deep; freezing temperatures, and blizzards so thick that not one of the castle’s occupants had dared to set a single foot outside.

Catriona had already sent Cassandra her reply and was now waiting impatiently for a new letter. She had long since exhausted her father’s library, unbeknown to him of course, and theorized on such ancients as Plato, Aristotle, Archimedes, Democritus and Epicurus, and such moderns as Newton, Locke, Leibnitz and Descartes. She had devoured all of Shakespeare’s plays and poems, agonised over Milton’s Paradise Lost, longed to be Dante’s traveller of the Ethereal Spheres, yearned for the completion of Chaucer’s Canterbury tales and shivered for the tortured soul of Marlowe’s Faustus. All the writings and books stored in her father’s growing library had, at some stage during the past five years, been purloined by the restless Catriona and her insatiable appetite for something to do. Anything to be free from the interminable needlework and knitting her elders claimed all well-bred girls were required to do. Oh, how she hated them! Why did she have to spend so much time knitting and sewing? Reading, walking, painting and writing were all far more interesting!

But most of all, Catriona wanted to travel the world. She day-dreamed of circumnavigating the globe, searching for Eldorado and exploring the tropics and unknown beyond India. She had read all about Columbus’ discovery of the West Indies, Drake in his Golden Hinde and Raleigh bringing back tobacco and potatoes from the New World. She ached to visit Virginia, the land named after the chaste Queen, Penn’s Sylvania, and the beautiful Caribbee with its bloody history of pirates. She had already encountered most of these rogues in Esquemelding’s History of the Sea Rovers.

Catriona had even read Dampier’s best-selling, but rather unflattering, account of New Holland.

Oh anywhere, anything - just let me escape from this cold, wet little island and its melancholy shades of green! The restless girl clasped her gloved hands together and offered a silent prayer to the Lord. Even if I must stay here, God, then at least let me visit London! Anything ere I go insane!

She fell back against the seat and gazed despondently into the bright winter sky. Newton must have gotten his theories wrong somewhere, she thought darkly. Time may be constant everywhere else in the Universe, but here it only seems to travel at half normal speed!

Maybe I should get Tommy to saddle up Nesta, so I can at least gallop in the woods, she thought. But then what would I do for the rest of the day? The hours stretched ahead like a Roman road with no curve or obstacle to mar its uninteresting path. Only occasionally would something curve the road; Christmas, a ball, a family reunion of Nevilles... She looked forward to these events with a happy heart and usually enjoyed herself as she liked meeting new people and hearing their tales of the world. She longed for the day when one of those dashing adventurers would whisk her off to a distant land of excitement. So far all had somewhat patronisingly informed her that women weren’t allowed on ships as they were bad luck.

Catriona remembered back to when she had first arrived in Plymouth, Chastised once too often by overbearing elders, she had escaped from the house and attempted to stow away aboard an East-Indiaman anchored in the Sound. But she was soon discovered by a very amused sailor, who gently, but firmly put her ashore and sent her home before she could get herself hurt. When her parents found out about the incident they had her soundly whipped and sent to her room. Catriona may have borne scars from the beating, but she still yearned to stow away on one of the many ships floating on the misty waters.

Miss Catriona? a soft Devon accent brought her out of her reverie. She looked up to meet the black-button eyes of her maid, Mary Anne. She was a tiny slip of a thing, quite wanton, with black corkscrew curls, freckles, and a bubbly sense of humour. She reminded Catriona of a little monkey dressed in maid’s clothes.

What is it? Catriona asked. Despite her small, delicate appearance she had a deep, husky voice that quite disgusted her. She wished for a more conventional squeak like Mary Anne’s. Despite the fact most men thought her voice delightfully seductive, Catriona hated it. She liked to sing, but her sultry tone simply did not lend itself to nightingale notes.

The Missus told me to tell ye Master Cheyne’s arrived.

Thank you, Mary, Catriona smiled disarmingly. Mary Anne nodded and scurried off.

She had given her maid a typical smile that no-one could have seen through. She wanted to see her betrothed, but was not ecstatic enough to actually grin. Her lack of feelings for young Edward Cheyne shamed her. Why can’t I be satisfied with him? she wondered.

Edward Cheyne was comely enough. He was a little too boyish for her tastes, and rather short and feminine. He had a gentle, handsome countenance, the demeanour to match, and a good, but distressingly plain dress sense. However she knew that Edward, despite his meek looks, possessed great reserves of strengths. He knew how to duel with swords, he could hunt with falcons and dogs, control a horse better than anyone she knew, and spouted endless tales about London; the city she longed to visit. However, Edward preferred drawing to duelling, writing letters to hunting, reading to riding - and he absolutely hated London! He avoided unhealthy excesses of excitement and thus would never show Catriona the excitement she craved. Sometimes, when she was in the mood for a healthy argument just to get her blood flowing, his stubborn docility positively infuriated her. How on Earth could she marry someone who constantly refused to take a challenge?

Catriona’s younger sister, Delilah, would be a far better match for Edward. In history, Delilah had been a sultry, scheming seductress, but in reality Delilah was an innocent girl with flyaway hair and an enchanting smile. There was nothing passionate or secretive about Delilah Neville. Unlike Catriona, she was perfectly content to embroider her life away and never set foot in her father’s sacred library. She was open, carefree and like the rest of the inhabitants of Darien Grove - an infernal bore!

Good morning Catriona, Edward’s soft voice extinguished her dark thoughts. She looked up and smiled her deceptive smile as Edward shoved his hands into his coat pockets as though awaiting an invitation to sit. She patted the seat and he sat, rubbing his hands and exhaling steam.

If only he’d fill out a little more, Catriona thought fervently. He’s too thin! The enormous blonde wig he wore made him look top-heavy. Because his doe-brown eyes were windows to his soul Catriona felt like she could read his very thoughts. He had a small, straight nose and full red lips like a girl’s. He had no deep desires and no unpredictable character traits. He was a quiet man; an uncomplicated man and despite all he had seen and done, a dead boring man!

Catriona had to mentally pinch herself for thinking so ill of such a good man. She forced herself to smile again as he regarded her questioningly.

You’re a little quiet today, my love, he said softly. He leaned forward to drink in a little more of her peerless beauty. Even though he was no connoisseur of women, he knew Catriona was considered to be one of the loveliest girls in the land.

I was just ruminating.

Edward’s thin, semi-circular eyebrows lifted. Sometimes Catriona used disturbingly large words. Fortunately he was well read enough to know them. Ruminating? What about?

The future. Catriona looked into her own. She saw her delicate beauty spoiled by the great weight of a child in her belly, distractedly knitting babies’ clothes. No, that’s not me, she thought vehemently, that’s Delilah! My sister would be happy as a brood hen, but not me! I want to enjoy life, not waste it away in a boring marriage! Land’s End may still be miles away, but as far as I’m concerned, Plymouth is the end of the world!

I know we’ll be very happy together. Edward gripped her gloved hand and squeezed it a little too fervently. My dear Catriona – I won’t let any harm come to you. We shall always be content.

Catriona nodded, but her thoughts were still elsewhere. She dared not speak as she knew she would only lie to him. Her father had always told her to; Make your husband happy, even though it may mean foregoing happiness yourself. Catriona knew she would never be happy with Edward. His placidity would starve her of the excitement she craved.

Yes, Edward, she mumbled. We’ll be ... content.

Her parents desired the marriage between Catriona and the son of a wealthy knight. Even though the Neville family was old and illustrious, Catriona’s particular line had recently fallen on hard times. Mr Neville had attempted to gain fortune by investing in the East India Company, but because of recent losses to pirates in the Indian Ocean, the returns weren’t bringing him as much income as he’d hoped.

Moved by Catriona’s words, Edward gently tilted her head back to brush his lips against her own. His mouth may have been cold, but almost immediately a wonderful warmth washed over her. She wrapped her arms about Edward and pressed herself against his firm, young body, craving more of the strange feelings he aroused in her. Butterflies took flight deep in the pit of her belly and the kiss grew more passionate. Lips grew hot and parted. Tongues met and entwined. Breaths grew short and ragged. Catriona squirmed in his embrace. Suddenly Edward drew away, his heart pounding. He feared the strange feelings threatening to engulf him.

Catriona looked up in disappointment as he drew away and tugged on her hands. Come, ‘tis much too cold out here. Let us retire to the Grove.

Very well.

They passed through Zipporah Neville’s garden and made their way down the winding paved path to a side entrance. Above their heads, small, slightly arched windows peeped through the wisteria, jasmine and ivy like the beady black eyes of Mary Anne.

Edward led Catriona up the marble steps and held the great wooden door open for her. In the high-roofed dining hall, the midday meal had already been laid on the table. A fire roared in the grate at the far end, and flickering candles on side-boards and in the candle-ring gave the hall a lively, cheerful atmosphere. Those seated at the long wooden table talked among themselves and servants giggled in the corners. Catriona seemed to be the only one unaffected by the pervading cheerfulness. Grumpily she took her place opposite her sister, who was being her usual, nauseatingly sweet self.

Edward sat down beside her, opposite the lady of the house. Zipporah Neville smiled in greeting. So nice to see you here, Edward. Lovely weather for winter, is it not? She was still attractive despite her plumpness and failure to produce a son and heir. She wore her blonde locks curled into a modest Fontange that sat atop an oval face not unlike Catriona’s. But where Catriona was fresh and youthful, Zipporah was statelier and experienced, a respectable matriarch. She was an obedient wife to her old-fashioned husband.

George Neville sat at the head of the table; a stout, ruddy-complexioned country gentleman who took no nonsense from anyone; servants, wife or children. But despite his continual preaching from the Good Book, he was prone to vanity and not a single black curl fell out of place on his voluminous peruke. He also liked his drink and was often tipsy, although never on Sundays.

With such plain, puritanical parents, why am I so different? Catriona wondered. Why am I so wayward and secretive? Why do I doubt everyone’s words of truth and try to find my own answers? Why do I disobey my parents and read books no well-bred lady should even look at? Why do I crave something I can never have? Why on Earth can’t I just be happy?

I’m glad to be here, Edward declared as the midday meal was brought in; a sumptuous feast of roast pigeon, lobster, rabbit, lamprey pie, mutton and strawberries for dessert. Wine was served with the meal, and after Delilah was made to say Grace, George poured himself a liberal glassful.

Edward tucked in his napkin and daintily picked up his fork. I drink to Catriona Neville. He lifted his glass of water