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By Danelle Harmon

He sought after no girl, other than one made from sails and wooden and wind ... good-looking, wily Irish privateer Captain Brendan Jay Merrick is operating from a painful earlier -- and struggling with for a brand new nation's destiny whilst he arrives within the colonial city of Newburyport, Massachusetts, with plans for shipwright Ephraim Ashton to construct his awesome new schooner. Brendan's bold sea battles opposed to His Majesty's fleet have made him a legend in his followed state -- yet one examine the rushing stranger and Ashton's daughter Mira begins planning of her personal. . . .
She sought after no guy -- yet him.
Brash, hot-tempered, and born at sea in a raging gale, Mira Ashton is greater than so much males can deal with. Disguising herself as a team member and sneaking aboard Brendan's newly-built Kestrel, she turns into the schooner's best gunner . . . and the captain's so much outrageous distraction. As wish ignites among them, Mira unearths herself competing opposed to Kestrel for Brendan's love. but if tragedy moves, Mira needs to sign up for forces together with her strong rival in a bold event that turns the tide of conflict and brings wonderful victory to the colonists, the captain . . . and the girl who has captured his center.

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He grinned on the suggestion and stepped up his speed, forgoing the packed sleigh tracks in want of the deep drifts bordering the line. Snow yawed into his boot tops and numbed his chilly feet, yet he pressured his legs to work flat out, pumping up his middle and producing lots of heat. He became onto excessive highway. monstrous, good-looking houses rose out of the snow, their many-paned home windows gleaming with candlelight. wooden smoke lay seriously upon the brittle air, blending with the tangy odor of the ocean and clean, fresh wind. He heard revelry and laughter coming from one domestic, the faint tinkle of a harpsichord from one other. He saved strolling, a bit swifter now. Snow draped the Beacon Oak’s immense branches, swirled out of the black sky, and whispered opposed to his chilly cheeks. From someplace off within the evening, he heard sleigh bells and the far away whicker of a horse. Mira Ashton, out for a force together with her wee grey colt? He grinned, and, floundering in a glide, moved a section toward the relative safeguard of the road’s aspect. simply in case. by the point he noticed the anchor, shapeless below a foot of snow, that marked Ephraim’s grand mansion, Brendan’s breeches have been damp, his wool stockings soaked, and his coattails caked with snow. however the sight of the dependent Georgian used to be sufficient to make him fail to remember his soreness. The chimney despatched up a curl of smoke that seemed silver opposed to the black, low-hanging sky. Snow lay like frosting at the roof, and massive icicles spanned the space among eaves and floor, gleaming and twinkling like diamonds within the candlelight that shone from each window. It used to be a panoramic sight, for the home looked as if it would upward thrust immediately up from a mattress of sunshine. And inside of that condominium used to be Mira Ashton. Brendan’s middle started to race, and he trembled with worried pleasure. She used to be the single one he was hoping to provoke with Kestrel’s luck on her maiden cruise; the satan take the remainder of town! He hit a probably bottomless glide, sank the entire method to his hip, and guffawing with boyish exuberance, scooped up a handful of snow and tossed it playfully at a darting shadow. He neglected, in fact. religion, no matter if he’d been attempting to hit the cat, he would’ve overlooked. He’d by no means be nearly as good a marksman as Mr. Starr! nonetheless chuckling, he watched because the animal fled, bounding during the snow until eventually it reached front steps, the place it reared up on its hind legs and scratched pitifully on the door. It stopped in midclaw to curl its head round and stare at him, tail twitching and ears pasted angrily to its cranium. Haughty creatures, cats! maybe a snow-shower could convey this one all the way down to its right station in lifestyles. Grinning, Brendan bent, scooped up one other snowball, and aiming for a risk free spot at the door a number of ft above the cat’s head, drew again his arm and fired his missile not easy. The door opened, and the snowball stuck Matthew Ashton complete within the face. His spectacles went flying. “Son of a whinge! ” Yelling in Ephraim-like rage, Matt clawed the snow from his eyes, dropped to his knees, and swept his arms over the frozen steps in a determined look for his spectacles.

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