Chapter One
Africa, 1899
Abigail Huntington took a deep breath of humid air as she stepped off the ship that had been her home for months. She was finally in Africa.
The trip had been much more difficult than she had ever imagined. It wasn’t until she departed England that she learned she abhorred sea travel, or rather her stomach did. Most of the trip had been spent in her bed trying to keep down what little food she could eat.
But all that was past her now. Her gaze scanned the bustling port of Cape Town. She'd read so many stories of Africa in the papers and heard from travelers throughout society. She had seen drawings, but nothing prepared her for the raw, untamed beauty before her.
It wasn’t the city or port she looked at, but the land far in the distance. It beckoned her with a siren’s voice she had been unable to ignore.
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the unmistakable roar of a lion in the distance.
“The lion is a ways off, miss,” said a young lad with a heavy accent as he carted her luggage off from the ship.
Abby turned to look at the dark-skinned lad and grinned. He seemed so earnest, his voice filled with as much authority as a boy could muster. “Will you protect me?”
The lad’s face cracked into a wide smile. “Not me, miss. You need a hunter if you be venturing past the port.”
Abby opened her reticule and pulled out two coins that she handed to the lad with a wink. “Thank you for the advice.”
“Is the lad bothering you?”
The smile slipped at the sound of the husky, velvety smooth voice behind her. She slowly turned around, and promptly forgot all about the lion.
For if ever there was a predator in the form of a man, he was standing before her. She had to tilt her head back to look at him, he was so tall. Instantly, she was mesmerized by his coffee-brown eyes. They held sadness too great to be hidden, and it tugged at her heart.
A tan-colored hat hid most of his black hair, while the ends brushed his shoulders in soft waves. Brows of the same black slashed over his eyes, while lashes, thick and long, framed his eyes.
There was a slight crook to his nose alluding to a possible break. His face was all hard lines and angles while his wide lips were the only thing she would call soft about him. His top lip was slightly fuller than the bottom.
Her gaze traveled down to his wide shoulders and thick chest covered in a faded blue shirt. His chest tapered to trim hips encased in brown breeches that tucked into tall black boots, scuffed and dusty.
All in all he was the epitome of rugged. He looked as if he had seen all of Africa and found her lacking. Abby lifted her eyes to him to find him silently watching her.
She doubted there was much that could affect the man before her. In fact, she’d wager all her money that he was a man who sought adventure. It could be the only reason he was in such a wild land.
She drew in a breath and squared her shoulders. She mustn’t forget why she was in Africa or the plan she spent years formulating.
Abby raised her chin and gave a steely stare to the hulk of a man before her. If there was one thing she had learned from her father, it was how to bend people to her. “You’re Mr. Rye, I presume.”
A part of her hoped he was Channing Rye since he seemed capable enough. But another part of her – a part that couldn’t stop looking at all the muscles clearly outlined by his shirt – hoped he wasn’t Channing. Because if he was, she was going to have a hard time completing her mission with such a gorgeous man beside her.
Channing Rye inclined his head, a lock of black hair falling over his forehead when he removed his hat. “At your service, Miss Huntington.”
“I thought you’d be older,” she said, more to herself than him.
“And I thought you’d be...”
He trailed off and she narrowed her eyes. “You thought I’d be what?”
“Well,
Africa, 1899
Abigail Huntington took a deep breath of humid air as she stepped off the ship that had been her home for months. She was finally in Africa.
The trip had been much more difficult than she had ever imagined. It wasn’t until she departed England that she learned she abhorred sea travel, or rather her stomach did. Most of the trip had been spent in her bed trying to keep down what little food she could eat.
But all that was past her now. Her gaze scanned the bustling port of Cape Town. She'd read so many stories of Africa in the papers and heard from travelers throughout society. She had seen drawings, but nothing prepared her for the raw, untamed beauty before her.
It wasn’t the city or port she looked at, but the land far in the distance. It beckoned her with a siren’s voice she had been unable to ignore.
Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the unmistakable roar of a lion in the distance.
“The lion is a ways off, miss,” said a young lad with a heavy accent as he carted her luggage off from the ship.
Abby turned to look at the dark-skinned lad and grinned. He seemed so earnest, his voice filled with as much authority as a boy could muster. “Will you protect me?”
The lad’s face cracked into a wide smile. “Not me, miss. You need a hunter if you be venturing past the port.”
Abby opened her reticule and pulled out two coins that she handed to the lad with a wink. “Thank you for the advice.”
“Is the lad bothering you?”
The smile slipped at the sound of the husky, velvety smooth voice behind her. She slowly turned around, and promptly forgot all about the lion.
For if ever there was a predator in the form of a man, he was standing before her. She had to tilt her head back to look at him, he was so tall. Instantly, she was mesmerized by his coffee-brown eyes. They held sadness too great to be hidden, and it tugged at her heart.
A tan-colored hat hid most of his black hair, while the ends brushed his shoulders in soft waves. Brows of the same black slashed over his eyes, while lashes, thick and long, framed his eyes.
There was a slight crook to his nose alluding to a possible break. His face was all hard lines and angles while his wide lips were the only thing she would call soft about him. His top lip was slightly fuller than the bottom.
Her gaze traveled down to his wide shoulders and thick chest covered in a faded blue shirt. His chest tapered to trim hips encased in brown breeches that tucked into tall black boots, scuffed and dusty.
All in all he was the epitome of rugged. He looked as if he had seen all of Africa and found her lacking. Abby lifted her eyes to him to find him silently watching her.
She doubted there was much that could affect the man before her. In fact, she’d wager all her money that he was a man who sought adventure. It could be the only reason he was in such a wild land.
She drew in a breath and squared her shoulders. She mustn’t forget why she was in Africa or the plan she spent years formulating.
Abby raised her chin and gave a steely stare to the hulk of a man before her. If there was one thing she had learned from her father, it was how to bend people to her. “You’re Mr. Rye, I presume.”
A part of her hoped he was Channing Rye since he seemed capable enough. But another part of her – a part that couldn’t stop looking at all the muscles clearly outlined by his shirt – hoped he wasn’t Channing. Because if he was, she was going to have a hard time completing her mission with such a gorgeous man beside her.
Channing Rye inclined his head, a lock of black hair falling over his forehead when he removed his hat. “At your service, Miss Huntington.”
“I thought you’d be older,” she said, more to herself than him.
“And I thought you’d be...”
He trailed off and she narrowed her eyes. “You thought I’d be what?”
“Well,
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