Harrison Dyer left England to escape his painful past, but a storm at sea sweeps him into a world he never imagined. In the ancient kingdom of Siam, he meets Lamai, an alluring translator with scars of her own. To earn his way home, Harrison agrees to work for Lamai’s employer, a wealthy Portuguese businessman with dark appetites.
Abandoned by her father, the half-English, half-Siamese Lamai isn’t sure she fully belongs anywhere. She’s remained in Siam in hopes that her father will one day return, but her position leaves her in an apprehensive state of limbo. Surprisingly to both Lamai and Harrison, their tentative working relationship is a comfort and soon blossoms into a richer, more complicated connection.
But when he makes a shocking discovery of abuse and corruption, Harrison must risk his own freedom and a chance at happiness with Lamai for a greater cause. Only if they put their heads—and hearts—together can they finally find the peace and love they’ve been seeking.
Somewhere in The Gulf of Siam, June 1818
In the end, Harrison mused, it figured that a woman would end his life. For more than half of his twenty-nine years, he’d had a nagging suspicion that a female would be the death of him. There was surprise in the lady’s identity, for he’d assumed it would be a woman of a human persuasion that would do him in.
But then, blindness had always been his downfall. He should have known, should have at least given credence to the possibility of danger. She’d killed so many of her lovers before him, the sea had, and she’d kill countless more after he was gone.
“Mea culpa,” he whispered hoarsely through lips parched and peeling.
Eyes half-blinded by the relentless glare of the sun roved the clearest blue water he’d ever beheld. Tender puffs of cloud lazed their way across the sky. A steady, fine wind ruffled his hair and bobbed his lifeboat up and down. Too bad he’d no means of steering the fifteen-foot craft. No sign lingered of the typhoon that had overtaken Brizo’s Woe and dallied with the merchant vessel for days as if it were no more than a toy in a tub. A field of debris surrounded his rowboat, ragged lengths of plank dark with pitch, a grim honor guard that had escorted him since the accident.
Harrison scratched his bristled cheek; his sun-scorched skin smarted, tight and hot. Rocked by the sea, his lids slid closed against the merciless sun. One arm draped over the rail, his fingers trailing through the water. It was invitingly cool. How simple it would be to slip into the sea, to disappear beneath the surface with barely a ripple. Drowning was not an easy death—that knowledge won by witnessing it dozens of times in a single, harrowing day—but it would be quicker than this slow death by heat and starvation. He’d lingered on two weeks. The days had blurred into a singular episode of mundane terror.
Evaporating salt water caused his wrist to itch. Harrison pulled his arm back and rubbed idly, his dirty nails following the linear paths of scars carved into his skin. The nine months he’d spent aboard Brizo’s Woe as it voyaged eastward had finally freed him from the periods of despair that had plagued him since adolescence. Now that he’d come to value his life, he found it was abruptly over. The old habit of picturing—and planning—his exit from the mortal realm returned with ease, though he did so now with a sense of regret.
He would’ve liked to have completed the trade expedition, to have returned to England in triumph with a cargo of riches that would be the making of him and Henry De Vere, the friend who had employed him. He could’ve bought the land and breeding stock needed to begin the horse stable he used to imagine when his spirits were brighter. Or he could have returned to sea, helped De Vere and Sons Shipping Company become a force to rival the East India Company.
The nanny goat bleated. Begrudgingly, Harrison opened his eyes and turned to regard his companion. Tilda the goat picked her way through an assortment of tin cups and a cooking pot set out to capture rainwater. He set the cooking pot at her feet. “Here now, have a drink.”
Collecting a little water daily had been no hardship; it had rained every afternoon since the storm. Even now, nonthreatening clouds gathered on the horizon, heavy with the day’s allotment of moisture. Harrison wondered, not for the first time, whether or not this ready supply of water was a mercy. Perhaps it only delayed the inevitable, but he could not stop himself from swallowing the life-sustaining fluid, even as he questioned the wisdom of it.
Pivoting, he made his unsteady way on hands and knees to mid-ship, to the chest his friend, Lord Sheridan Zouche, had gifted him upon Harrison’s departure from England. He’d spotted it bobbing in the water when the rowboat was lowered into the frothing chop and dragged it into the little vessel, rescuing it from the watery grave from which he could not save so many men.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Boyce had a lifelong dream: to be an astronaut. She has recently made peace with the fact that this dream is unlikely to come to fruition. Good thing, then, she had another dream: to be an author. This dream comes true every single day, and she couldn’t be more grateful. Ms. Boyce lives in South Carolina with her husband, children, and her personal assistant/cat.
Find Elizabeth Boyce on Facebook, on Twitter @EBoyceRomance, and via email at firstname.lastname@example.org.