Isla was proud of the fact that she controlled her tremors. She sat between Daniel and Lewis, occasionally shifting the monkey around to hide the fact that she was still shaking after nearly thirty minutes. Daniel’s distress rolled off him in waves, and Lewis was almost as intense, but he fought harder to tamp it down. He laughed and joked with the others, even traded a couple of comments with Nigel, who seemed as rattled as everyone else at the reaction the rogue firework had caused.
She ached for Daniel. Her feelings eclipsed her professional concern for Lewis by a landslide. She wanted to protect him from the terror that clearly still lurked beneath the surface. She’d heard of soldiers experiencing mirror reactions to their time spent in battle, often triggered by a sound or a smell. Most hid it, for fear they would be locked away, fit for only Bedlam. They were not lunatics, though, and Isla had just seen her theory proven firsthand by two men who were the antithesis of lunacy. She doubted there were two more practical, lucid men on earth than Daniel or Lewis.
It would bear further study, and she added it to her mental list of things to pursue when she returned home. How ironic that she’d told her mother she was leaving England for research purposes, and she was experiencing far more work-related issues than she’d imagined.
She oohed and aahed over the large bouquet of exotic flowers Mr. Quince handed her when they returned their attention to the birthday party. She realized he must have gone inland a fair way to find some of them. “It’s absolutely beautiful. I wish I could keep them alive forever.”
He nodded. “Put them in water for now, and then hang them upside down in a dark, cool place. They will not be nearly as vibrant when dried, but even dried flowers are beautiful.”
“I love them.” She set them across her knees.
To her surprise, Nigel extended a folded parchment to her. She leaned over Daniel to take it, but when she moved to open it, Nigel stopped her. “It is only a small birthday wish. You can save it for later.”
“That’s kind of you, Nigel, thank you.” She smiled, and it was genuine. The man had made an effort, even with his complex feelings toward her, and that meant something.
A quiet settled over the group, accompanied by the Victrola which played in the background.
Isla worried that Daniel would feel he’d spoiled the evening. “I thought someone mentioned dancing?” She was exhausted and feared she could do little more than sway back and forth.
Nigel withdrew his pocket watch and clicked it open. “It will be midnight in fifteen minutes,” he quietly observed. He looked at her, his expression unreadable, and then at Lewis and the others.
Bonadea looked stunned, and Lewis cursed under his breath.
“Right!” Quince stood and moved toward the tables. “We should, we must—”
“Leave everything,” Daniel ordered. “We’ll clean it in the morning before we depart for Port Lucy.”
“The bad weather has cleared, I take it?” Nigel asked him.
Again, Isla tried to read his expression and failed. His body language gave nothing away, other than tension.
Daniel nodded. “Smooth sailing, as it were.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Quite.”
Isla had assumed her exhaustion had been because she’d been swimming, and then her sunburn had left her feeling rather ill. She’d not realized it was so close to midnight. She fought a stab of alarm as she looked from where she sat to the ship. It wasn’t far, but it was dark. Sitting by the fire had enveloped her in a cocoon of safety. The inky, black void stretched outward, and she took in a deep, shaky breath.
“Samson, leave it for now,” Daniel called and stood, making his way across the sand.
“Miss Cooper,” Nigel said, and cleared his throat. “Isla, you seem quite tired.”
Lewis placed a hand on her elbow, but his attention was on Nigel. “He’s right, Isla. You should return to the ship immediately.”
“I imagine you will want to wait with the others, help them do . . . whatever . . . needs to be done,” Nigel said to Lewis. “Isla, I can take you to the ship in the dinghy.”
Isla nodded. He knew the others were shifters, of course he knew, but he didn’t seem inclined to catch them in the act. If anything, he was making every effort to get her away from them, whether for her safety or theirs, she didn’t know.
Daniel barked another order at Samson, who grabbed the stern of the dinghy, and Daniel jogged back to the fire circle. “Come.” He extended his hand to Isla, but she apparently wasn’t moving quickly enough to satisfy him. He picked her up, monkey and all, and quickly made his way through the sand to the water.
Isla looked back at the group. “Nigel!”
He joined them as Daniel lowered her into the boat with Samson. Nigel and Daniel pushed the boat into the water, and Isla breathed a sigh of relief when they both climbed in. Samson rowed them swiftly into the deepening water and Isla looked back at the beach in time to see the three men disappear into the island’s interior. She hoped they had enough time to put some distance between themselves before midnight hit.
“They’ll be along presently,” she mumbled and leaned against Daniel’s arm.
Nigel shook his head. “Please do not insult me.”
“They have hurt no one. Ever. Have never broken even one law.” Daniel’s voice was even, calm, and he wrapped his arm around Isla when she sagged forward.
“I am aware of that.”
Isla fought to keep her eyes open. “Been such a long day . . .” She hoped desperately that if she went under before Daniel could get her away from Nigel, that it would take some time before she turned blue or looked dead.
Daniel cursed under his breath and pulled Isla across his lap. The monkey squawked in protest, and she realized belatedly that she’d meant to leave him on the island. “Take you back in the morning, then . . .” she said and held the warm little body close.
Daniel murmured something to Nigel about being glad he’d realized it was so late in the evening, and the last thing Isla saw as her eyes fluttered closed was Nigel’s nod to Daniel, his face grim.