Page 1 of Moonstone Landing
Chapter One
Moonstone Landing
Cornwall, England
July 1805
“Of all thegall,” Lady Henleigh Killigrew muttered as the same man she had seen walking out of the early morning mist these past three days was here again, about to cross her garden with the arrogant air of someone who belonged.
But he did not belong here.
He did not own her garden or her newly acquired residence, Moonstone Cottage, to which the charming garden was attached.
“You, there!” she called out to him as he strode up the cliff steps toward her home. The steps led down onto a small sand beach that also belonged to her now. “Who are you and what are you doing on my property?”
He pretended not to hear her and simply continued to march along the flowered path. She would not mind so much if he were properly dressed. But this knave was wearing nothing but his breeches and boots, his shirt of an obviously fine white lawn material slung over his shoulder. No doubt he had gone for a dawn swim, for his dark hair was slicked back and damp curls clung to his neck. Water droplets gleamed across his firm, tanned chest.
He probably assumed she would be asleep at this early hour and thought he could impose with impunity.
“Sir!” She drew her robe tight over her nightrail and leaned over the balcony of her upper-story bedchamber, hoping to attract his attention before he disappeared around the side of the house. She had no idea who he was or where he went each morning. Perhaps it was to the nearby woods or down the lane toward the village of Moonstone Landing, although yesterday she had scrambled from window to window trying to spot him, to no avail.
If only he weren’t so arrogant about trespassing on her property.
If only he would put his shirt on instead of striding across her grounds with it casually slung over his shoulder, as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
She donned her slippers, grabbed the hunting rifle she kept by the side of her bed, and hurried downstairs to the front door. Perhaps it was a foolish thing to do, for she lived here alone, and the small day staff she maintained was not due to arrive for several hours yet.
Since the cottage was a new purchase for her, she had immediately hired a cook, maid, and groundskeeper earlier this week, but none of them would agree to sleep in because of some nonsense about a ghost in residence at Moonstone Cottage or some such foolish legend.
Well, she hadn’t seen a ghost, only this impudent gentleman.
She knew for certain he was a gentleman because his clothes, the little he had on, were too fine for a working man, although his body was surprisingly well-honed for a man of leisure.
The sun was beginning to burn away the mist, but smoky wisps of gray remained swirling about her legs as she hurried out of the cottage in search of him. The air was cool at this early hour and carried the scent of dew and salt from the nearby English Channel. “Blast it. Where did you go, you sneaky fellow?”
She walked around the house but saw no one anywhere, not a soul walking toward the woods or down the lane into town.
Several squirrels stared at her as she returned to the garden where she had first noticed him. Birds began to chirp amid the lush foliage, probably gossiping about the mad young woman running around in her nightclothes and toting a rifle she had never used before. She frowned up at the treetops to address the birds. “How hard can it be to shoot this thing? Just aim and fire.”
The birds eerily quieted.
She shook her head and walked to the flower beds on her way toward the cliff steps.
This area of Cornwall was known for its red stone cliffs and beautiful beaches, as well as its warm weather. Moonstone Cottage included ownership of a slight stretch of both cliffs and beach.
She gripped the sturdy wooden railing and peered over the red stone heights to the sandy beach below on the chance the trespasser had returned the way he came. But the beach was barren save for a few birds hovering over the mist-covered waves in search of fish.
The wind carried the sound of those waves gently lapping the shore. “This is maddening.”
What sort of man goes swimming in dark waters anyway?
The sun had not quite yet burned through the mist, so those wispy gray tendrils still hovered over patches of the water like so many silent ghosts.
A shiver ran up Henleigh’s spine.
She turned suddenly, sensing someone was close. She had felt an icy breath upon her neck. But when she turned, no one was there.
Is this why the birds had stopped chirping? The squirrels earlier scampering in her garden were now frozen in place, as though turned to stone.
