Shipwrecked with the Captain Read online

  All she remembers...

  ...is feeling safe in his arms!

  Part of The Governess Swap: Shipwrecked governess Claire Tilson wakes in Captain Lucien Roper’s arms—with amnesia! Her handsome rescuer believes she’s a member of the aristocracy he detests, yet he risks all to see her “home,” where she learns she’s betrothed to a wealthy stranger. Claire is convinced she doesn’t belong here...and Lucien is the only man she trusts to uncover her past and claim her future!

  The Governess Swap

  Swapping lives, becoming wives!

  A chance meeting onboard a ship changes the lives of Lady Rebecca and governess Claire Tilson forever.

  When Claire is believed drowned, Lady Rebecca assumes her identity to escape a forced marriage and enters the employment of handsome viscount Lord Brookmore...

  Until Claire is found! The humble governess finds herself in Lady Rebecca’s shoes—literally—and about to wed an elderly baron...unless his charismatic nephew claims her for himself!

  But what will happen when their ruse is revealed?

  Read Lady Rebecca’s story in

  A Lady Becomes a Governess

  Read Claire’s story in

  Shipwrecked with the Captain

  Both available now

  Author Note

  Bath is one of those rare places where you can squint and almost believe that you’ve been transported to Regency England. When I visited in 2017 with my friend Kristine Hughes Patrone of Number One London Tours, I certainly indulged in that fantasy! Kristine and I were in Bath only a little more than a day and it was a rare scorcher, but we managed to visit the Royal Crescent, the Circus, the Assembly Rooms, the Pump Room—all the major sites in Bath. I loved the golden glow of the Bath Stone and the classical Georgian architecture of this historic city.

  So when I was writing Shipwrecked with the Captain, I knew Claire and Lucien needed to travel to Bath to give me the illusion that I was back in that beautiful city, walking the same streets and visiting the same sites as they were. It was a pleasure!

  DIANE

  GASTON

  Shipwrecked with

  the Captain

  Diane Gaston’s dream job was always to write romance novels. One day she dared to pursue that dream and has never looked back. Her books have won romance’s highest honors: the RITA® Award, the National Readers’ Choice Award, the HOLT Medallion, the Golden Quill and the Golden Heart® Award. She lives in Virginia with her husband and three very ordinary house cats. Diane loves to hear from readers and friends. Visit her website at dianegaston.com.

  Books by Diane Gaston

  Harlequin Historical

  The Governess Swap

  A Lady Becomes a Governess

  Shipwrecked with the Captain

  The Society of Wicked Gentlemen

  A Pregnant Courtesan for the Rake

  The Scandalous Summerfields

  Bound by Duty

  Bound by One Scandalous Night

  Bound by a Scandalous Secret

  Bound by Their Secret Passion

  The Masquerade Club

  A Reputation for Notoriety

  A Marriage of Notoriety

  A Lady of Notoriety

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  To Jane Austen, who briefly lived in Bath and in whose footsteps I was honored to walk.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Tempted by the Roguish Lord by Mary Brendan

  Chapter One

  June 1816

  Lucien Roper stood at the rail of the packet ship, watching the Dublin harbour recede into the distance. He inhaled the salty breeze and felt the bracing wind on his face. Voices of the sailors tending to their tasks rang in his ears.

  Only a few more days, then, with luck, he’d be back on the deck of a ship of his own, with his old crew, and back to the life from which he’d received so much. A fortune in prize money. Recognition and respect. A place he belonged.

  A woman’s laugh sounded over his shoulder, its sound so joyous, so unlike his restless mood that he turned, startled. She wore a grey cloak, shrouding her face.

  What pleased her so? he wondered.

  This was the sacrifice the navy life demanded of him. He was not free to court a young woman with a joyous laugh. Not for him to marry a woman and leave her for his mistress, the sea. He’d seen what happened when a navy man married and he and his wife spent most of their days apart.

  As his own parents had done.

  It had been a long time since he’d suffered the effects of having an absent naval father. Lucien himself had been at sea for more than twenty years now, since the age of twelve. This was his life and before it, a mere memory.

  He was eager to get back to it. His beloved Foxfire had been sold for breaking up, no longer needed now the war was over, and the Admiralty had promised him a new ship. Of course, there were dozens of captains like him, clamouring for a ship, but he’d earned a spot near the top of the list. At least with the wind this brisk they could count on making it to Holyhead by the next afternoon and he’d be in London a few days later.

  He studied the sky and frowned. This crossing would be rough. Maybe too rough. Likely their departure should have been delayed a day, but the sooner he reached England, the better.

  Still...

  He sauntered over to where the packet captain stood.

  ‘We’re in for a patch of bad weather,’ Lucien remarked.

  The Captain knew who Lucien was—a decorated navy captain, a hero of the Adriatic Sea and Mediterranean.

  ‘What?’ The Captain looked surprised Lucien had spoken to him. ‘Oh. Bad weather. Yes. Must sail through it.’

  Lucien had made it through many a storm. He’d make it through this one. He’d prefer, though, that the Captain seem less preoccupied and better able to attend to the weather and what was happening on his deck.

  Like noticing the young grey-cloaked woman back away from sea spray and stumble a little.

  ‘Would it not be a good idea to order passengers to stay below?’ Lucien asked him in a tone more demanding than questioning.

  ‘Hmm?’ This Captain was as sharp as a slop bucket.

  Pay attention, man.

  ‘The passengers,’ Lucien snapped, gesturing to the young woman, ‘should stay below.’

  ‘Oh?’ The Captain’s brows rose. ‘Of course. Was about to make that order.’ He called one of his men over. ‘Tell the passengers to remain below.’

  Lucien shook his head in dismay and strode away. He trav
ersed the deck and, out of habit, took notice of the seamen preparing for the storm. He scanned the sails and the ropes. All seemed well enough. Shipshape. He glanced back at the Captain who held a hand to his chest and seemed to be studying his coat buttons.

  Lucien expelled a frustrated breath. He’d better get below himself before he began barking orders.

  He walked to the companionway and opened the hatch. At the bottom of the stairs stood two women, both in grey cloaks. Which was the woman with the captivating laugh? He could not see the face of one, but the other was a beauty. An expensively dressed beauty. He might have spoken to them and hoped to finally see who had uttered such a lovely laugh, but it was clear he’d intruded on them. They stepped aside.

  He nodded and passed them, but turned back. ‘You ladies should stay in your cabins. The sea is rough. Do not fear. A seaman will bring your meal to you.’

  At least he hoped such an arrangement would be made—if the Captain thought to order it.

  Lucien continued to his cabin.

  * * *

  Claire Tilson had quickly averted her face when the tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered gentleman opened the hatch and descended the stairs. Her heart was already beating fast; this encounter—this lady—had been disturbance enough, but she’d glimpsed the man on deck and he was every bit as handsome as she’d suspected, with thick brows and eyes as light brown and as alert as a fox’s.

  What was wrong with her? Taking notice of any man. She’d just fled from the country house where she’d been governess to three lovely little girls, because their father had tried to seduce her—practically under the nose of his sweet wife. He’d sworn his undying love. As if she could trust a man who so ill-used his wife.

  Claire shook herself. She need not be distracted. She needed, instead, to address this lady standing next to her, this lady she’d met a moment ago.

  This lady who looked exactly like her.

  Same brown hair. Same hazel eyes. Same face.

  What do you say to a stranger who looked like your twin?

  Lady Rebecca Pierce was her name, she’d said.

  Claire waited until the handsome gentleman disappeared into one of the cabins near the end of the corridor, but she debated whether it was her place to ask for explanations.

  ‘We should do as he says, I suppose,’ she said instead. She went to a nearby door and opened it. ‘My cabin is here.’

  What she wanted to say was, Wait. Talk to me. Why do you look like me? Where are you from? Are you a relation?

  Claire would love to have some family relation to claim her.

  She ought not to push herself on a lady, though. She took a step across the threshold.

  Lady Rebecca called her back. ‘I would like to speak with you more. I am quite alone. My maid suffers the mal de mer and remains in her cabin.’

  Claire glanced down. ‘The sea has never bothered me. I suppose I have a strong constitution that way.’

  ‘Will you talk with me?’ Lady Rebecca asked. ‘Maybe there is some sense to make of this.’ Her hand gestured between them.

  Claire gazed into her cabin, perfect for a poor governess, but unsuitable for a lady. ‘You are welcome to come in, but there is very little room.’

  ‘Come to my cabin, then,’ the lady said. ‘We may be comfortable there.’

  Claire followed Lady Rebecca to her cabin, which included a berth larger than the one in her cabin and a table and chairs that provided a view of the sea through a porthole. As the gentleman had said, the sea was rough, with choppy waves and white foam.

  Lady Rebecca waved towards a chair, inviting her to sit. When they were both settled across from each other at the table, Lady Rebecca asked, ‘Where are you bound, Miss Tilson?’

  Claire would have thought she’d ask the obvious question, the one that burned inside her—why do we look alike?

  ‘To a family in the Lake District,’ she responded. ‘Not a family, precisely. Two little girls whose parents were killed in an accident. They are in the care of their uncle now, the new Viscount Brookmore.’ And with any luck at all, the Viscount wouldn’t often be in residence.

  ‘How sad.’ The lady frowned sympathetically.

  Yes. The little girls were alone in the world. Claire knew how that felt.

  But she did not wish to dwell on gloomy feelings, not when her life might improve. ‘And you, Lady Rebecca? Where are you bound?’

  ‘To London,’ she replied.

  ‘London!’ Claire smiled. A city of shops, palaces, theatres and town houses in picturesque squares. The Tower. Westminster Abbey. Hyde Park. ‘How exciting. I was there once. It was so...vital.’

  ‘Vital, indeed.’ Lady Rebecca, looking like Claire herself, appeared scornful.

  Claire peered at her. ‘You sound as if you do not wish to go.’

  The lady met her gaze. ‘I do not. I travel there to be married.’

  Claire’s brows rose. ‘Married?’

  Lady Rebecca waved a hand. ‘It is an arranged marriage. My brother’s idea.’

  There were worse things than an arranged marriage. ‘And you do not wish to marry this man?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Lady Rebecca straightened in her chair. ‘May I change the subject?’

  Claire blinked. She’d forgotten herself and had spoken out of turn, as if they were equals. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean to pry.’

  Lady Rebecca shrugged. ‘Perhaps I will tell you the whole story later.’ She leaned forward. ‘For now I am bursting with questions. Why do we look alike? How can this be? Are we related somehow?’

  The same questions Claire longed to ask.

  They discussed possible family connections, but came up with none that connected them.

  It would have been more of a surprise if they had been relations. Lady Rebecca was the daughter of an English earl whose estate was in Ireland and Claire was the daughter of an English vicar who’d rarely travelled out of his county.

  They had both grown up in English boarding schools, however, although Lady Rebecca’s was a rather progressive school in Reading and Claire’s Bristol school had catered to girls like her, who would eventually have to make their own way in the world. It was through her boarding school that Claire had procured the governess position in Ireland.

  Lady Rebecca blew out an exasperated breath. ‘We are no closer to understanding this. We are not related—’

  ‘But we look alike,’ Claire finished for her. ‘An unexpected coincidence?’

  Lady Rebecca stood and pulled Claire towards a mirror affixed to the wall.

  ‘We are not identical.’ Claire was almost relieved to find some differences. ‘Look.’

  Claire’s two front teeth were not quite as prominent and her eyebrows did not have Lady Rebecca’s lovely arch, and Claire’s eyes were closer together. Still, the differences were so minor as to be easily overlooked.

  ‘No one would notice unless we were standing next to each other,’ she admitted.

  ‘Our clothes set us apart. That is for certain.’ Lady Rebecca turned from the mirror and faced Claire. ‘If you wore my clothes, I’d wager anyone would take you for me.’

  Claire admired the travelling dress Lady Rebecca wore, a vigonia-wool confection with ribbon trim at the hem. She’d also admired Lady Rebecca’s cloak, grey, like hers, but of a much finer wool. ‘I cannot imagine wearing fine clothes like yours.’ She sighed.

  ‘You must wear them, then.’ Lady Rebecca’s eyes—so like Claire’s eyes in colour and shape—brightened. ‘Let us change clothes and impersonate each other for the voyage. It will be a great lark. We will see if anyone notices.’

  Claire was horrified. ‘Your clothes are too fine for you to give up. Mine are plain.’

  ‘Precisely.’ Lady Rebecca crossed her arms. ‘But I believe people pay more attention to dress than to other aspects of one�
�s appearance. Perhaps even more than one’s character. In any event, I think there is nothing undesirable about wearing a simple dress.’

  Claire’s dress was certainly simple. A plain brown poplin.

  She touched the fine wool of Rebecca’s travelling dress. ‘I confess, I would love to wear a gown like this.’

  ‘Then you shall!’ Rebecca turned her back to her. ‘Unbutton me.’

  They undressed down to their shifts and swapped dresses, acting as each other’s maids.

  ‘Fix my hair like yours,’ Lady Rebecca said.

  Claire pulled Lady Rebecca’s hair in a simple knot at the back of her head, feeling inexplicably sad to make Lady Rebecca as plain as she.

  ‘Let me do yours now.’ Lady Rebecca removed Claire’s hairpins and her hair fell on to her shoulders. She brushed Claire’s hair high on her head and, with a little pomade, twisted curling tendrils around her face.

  Claire and her likeness gazed in the mirror again and laughed. They had indeed traded images.

  There was a rap at the door.

  ‘Answer the door as me.’ Lady Rebecca grinned.

  Impersonate a lady? ‘I could not.’

  Lady Rebecca gave her a little push towards the door. ‘Of course you can!’

  Claire straightened her spine as Lady Rebecca sat back down at the table.

  Taking a deep breath, Claire opened the door.

  It was a seaman deftly balancing a tray as the boat continued to pitch. ‘Some refreshment, m’lady.’ He took her to be Lady Rebecca!

  The lovely clothes made Claire feel like a lady. ‘Thank you.’

  Would he also assume Lady Rebecca was the governess? Claire gestured to her. ‘Miss Tilson passes the time with me. Will you bring her food here for her?’

  ‘That I will, miss.’ The crewman stepped into the cabin and placed the tray on the table right in front of Lady Rebecca. He returned a moment later with two more trays. ‘Your maid, miss?’

  Claire looked to Lady Rebecca for guidance, but the lady turned away.

  Claire finally answered, ‘My—my maid is resting. Perhaps you might leave her tray here, as well? We will tend to her.’