Author's Note: This is my second fanfic in progress. I hope you enjoy it. Remember~review me! I'd like to know what you think~if not many people comment on it, I'm just going to trash it. For those that are reading this, much thanks for giving this story a chance!

No, I do not own Sailor Moon.

Enjoy~

Whispered Secrets in the Night

Prolouge:

Year of 1802

Night was always the worst. Serena stared out through the wavy glass panes that distorted the darkness, saw only her weary reflection, and wondered how much longer she could stand it.

As far back as she could remember, every day of her twenty years, Serena Overton had worked from the first hint of dawn till blackness curtained the windows of the Sterling Tavern.

"Serena, you better stop your daydreamin' and get back to work. You know your papa will be back any minute and there's customers with empty tankards out there." Her best friend, Mina Dyan, a slender, golden-blonde haired woman three years older than Serena, stood at the kitchen door.

Smiling, Serena replied, "Sorry, I didn't mean to be gone so long, Ken Johnson is back in port. He was telling me about his trip down from Hayfax. I guess they ran into some weather and one of the mast went down. Nearly sank the entire ship."

"Ken always could tell a tale. Don't worry about it. We just now started getting busy. The Lightening's dropped anchor andthe crew has begun drifting in. They're going to be a handful tonight, seein' s they have been at sea for nigh on two months."

Serena groaned as she walked out of the kitchen and into the smoky, dimly lit taproom. "I swear Greg's crew is the worst of the lot. I don't look forward to their arrival." The tavern was nealry a hundred years old, with heavy oak beams and flagstone floors. Pewter scores lined the walls, casting shadowy candlelight against the smoke-darkened wood. Though her father loved the old place, Serena despised it.

"They're a rowdy bunch," Mina said, "and no mistake. We'll be sporting bruises from our backsides to our knees come tomorrow."

"Not me. I'm sick to death of these damnable sailors and their pinching and pawing ways. The first man who lays a hand on me will be feeling the weight of a tankard against the side of his head."

Mina just laughed. "Your papa wouldn't like that much. Bad for business. He likes you to keep the sailors happy."

But Serena didn't really care what her father liked. He certainly didn't care what she liked or wanted. All he cared about was his tavern and making more money. He was always so proud of the place, a legacy for his son. Only he never had a son.

In truth, his wife had died giving birth to his one and only heir, a petite daughter, with Fiona's silver-gold hair.

The bitter fact was he would never have a son. A daughter would have to suffice, but Damon's resentment of the fact hovered like a huge, dark cloud over Serena's head every minute of every day.

"You went to the market today, didn't you?" she asked Mina. In a simple black skirt that showed a bit too much ankle, a lace-up stomacher, and a scoop-necked white peasant blouse that exposed the tops of her breasts, she leaned over to mop up a spilled tankard of ale, her single long braid sliding over one shoulder.

"Actually, I just got back," Mina said.

"So what interesting tidbits of gossip did you hear?"

"I did hear a bit of news you'll want to hear."

"Good news, I hope. I could stand little of that for a change."

Mina moved behind the wide plank bar to tighten the loose bun on a cask that had started dripping brandy. "Word is that Midnight's comin' in. It should be docking anytime now."

Serena's heart began thudding uncomfortablly. Midnight. Her pulse inched up several notches. "I thought Captain Delaine was headed back to England. I didn't expect we'd be seeing him again for at least a couple more months."

Mina shrugged her shoulders. "I wouldn't know about that."

Serena's hand shook faintly. Absently, she walked away, her mind on the big, full-rigged ship Midnight and its handsome owner, Captain Darien Delaine. Or more accurately, Captain Delaine, Duke of Ware, his newly inherited title as much a surprise to him as it was to everyone else.

Recalling his lean, dark, slightly arrogant profile, she thought that it proably should have been. He had always had a presence about him. His aristocratic blood was appartent in every gesture, every self-assured movement. He was born to command and it showed in every line of his darly attractive face, from the high-carved cheekbones to the firm set of his well-formed, deliciously formed, lips.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with narrow hips and not an ounce of spare flesh over his bones. He was solid and sinewy, his hair ebony-black. Darien Delaine was a man among men. His crew knew it and so did Serena Overton.

Which is way, for as long as she could remeber, she had bee a little in love with him.

"Better start moving, girl," Mina nudged her toward the bar. "Damons coming down the stairs."

Serena sighed and nodded, pasted on a smile, and set to work. The afternoon slid past and evening crept in. the taproom had begun to fill up. Smoke hung in patches above the wide plank bar, burning her lungs with the harsh smell of tobacco. Raucous laughter drifted into the heavy, age-darkened rafters.

God, she hated this place. If the Lord would grant her a single wish, it would be escape from the mindess drudgery and endless hours of bordom at the Sterling Tavern.

Someday, she thought wistfully. Someday I'll find a way to leave.

~*~The next chapter will be out as soon as I recieve at least five reviews. For those that have read this, much thanks, and especially to those that submit a review. Hope everyone (who celebrates) Thanksgiving had a wonderful holiday. Take care~