If you like this online read you'll enjoy Bronwyn Scott's books!

The Earl's Forbidden Ward
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Grayson Prentiss had minutes left to live. He had no illusions about how long he’d survive in the frigid, churning waves of the Atlantic if the ship sank. So—futile though it might be—he threw all his muscle into turning the great wheel of the ship in a last attempt to counter the fierce storm winds, relentlessly driving the Bluehawk off course.

Above him, thunder boomed over the cacophony of waves. Jagged lightning slashed a brief illumination of the ship’s ragged rigging and revealed the few men left to man the sails. In that moment, Grayson knew it wouldn’t be long before the ship gave way completely to the destruction of the storm.

The storm had overtaken them two days ago despite the captain’s best efforts to outrun the foul weather. When the captain’s strength gave out, Grayson had taken over at the helm, struggling to keep the ship on course. But his skills and the sturdy build of the Bluehawk had not been enough. Nor had it been enough to save the ship’s precious cargo, the financial salvation of his family waiting in England. None of them, let alone the valuable cargo of cotton and indigo from the Southern States, would see the fair shores of England again.

The ship keeled hard to the right and Grayson’s feet slipped. Only his strong grip and the rope he’d knotted to his waist and tied to the ship’s wheel-well prevented him from slamming into the ship’s sides. A crewman screamed as he slid past Grayson, catapulting over the edge into the roiling seas even as Grayson reached out a hand to seize him.

Breathing hard, alternately cursing and praying between hard-won gulps of air, Grayson righted himself and reclaimed the wheel. He shouted encouragement to the men remaining on deck, though the words were useless, swallowed by the wind and inevitability. Around him lay shattered pieces of wood, parts of the ship that had already succumbed to the weather. Above him, a snapping sound drowned out the storm and grabbed his attention. Lightning struck and Grayson saw the mast nearly split through, teetering in its downward descent.

Grayson dodged to the right as the massive post crashed onto deck, destroying the ship’s final hope of outlasting the storm. Flame from a toppled lantern burst into the night. Fire spread on the deck in spite of the wet weather. Grayson slipped and felt the heat of flames as he collided with the starboard wall. Heat surrounded him. Below him the cold Atlantic mawed.

The rope that had so recently been a source of safety now dangled him in a perilous purgatory. Grayson fumbled at his waist for the knife strapped to his belt and used the sharp blade to saw through the rope. To stay meant he would burn. To choose the sea kept him alive, even if it only prolonged the inevitable. Grayson chose life. He made a final slice through the coarse hemp.

For the sake of the nearly bankrupt viscountcy, for the sake of his two brothers, for the sake of his cousin Julia, Grayson took his chances with the sea.