CHAPTER FOUR
“I’m shocked that you gave up a chance to see her again.”
Hayden was vaguely paying attention to Robert, and he waved away the comment. “There was no reason to take her to supper.”
“Must there be a reason to tarry with a pretty girl?”
They were on the beach at their camp outside Santa Cruz. The sun was hot, but the palm trees provided a bit of shade. They were sitting by the fire, eating their afternoon meal.
His ship—that he’d stolen and renamed Nine Lives—was anchored off shore. Sailors were on the deck, completing their chores. He hadn’t finished the repairs or assembled a full crew yet, but he would. Then he’d proceed to London.
“I shouldn’t have asked her to supper in the first place,” he replied to Robert’s question. “What would we have talked about?”
“How about the color of her eyes? Women drool over compliments like that.”
“You would know, I guess.”
Hayden certainly didn’t.
As a young man in England, he hadn’t done much courting. He’d figured there would be plenty of opportunity for wooing potential brides in the future. Instead, he’d let himself be swept into the London demimonde. He’d graduated from university and had moved to town. He’d started to gamble and chase doxies, but the wrong affair with the wrong doxy had brought it all crashing down quickly enough.
He’d had a brief fling with a married lady whom he hadn’t realized was married. Her husband had been a decorated soldier in the army, and while he’d been away serving his country, she’d been in London, behaving like the trollop she was.
He’d crawled into her bed exactly once, then friends had warned him off. But a few months later, she’d claimed she was increasing with his child. Hayden had never believed he was the father, but when her husband had come home on furlough, he’d had quite a strident opinion about what had happened.
He and Hayden had fought a duel, and Hayden had nearly been killed, which had set every imaginable catastrophe in motion.
His parents had been livid, and to cover up the scandal and to keep him from being arrested, they’d whisked him out of England. He’d passed a fraught, tension-filled year with them in Italy. In the beginning, as he’d convalesced, he’d been horrid to them.
Slowly, he’d calmed and had remembered the person they’d raised him to be. He’d stopped being an ass, and their relationship had been restored to where it had been before he’d been driven mad by drink, gambling, and frivolity.
When they’d headed for home, they’d been caught in that terrible storm in the Mediterranean, and his parents had drowned. The crew and the other passengers had drowned too.
He was the sole survivor, and he greatly regretted that he’d been so awful to his parents during those early months in Italy. Because of his actions in London, he’d been ashamed and ill and perilously wounded, and he’d taken it out on them.
The good news—if such a tragedy could contain good news—was that the woman with whom he’d dallied had suffered an accident and miscarried the baby. His mother had received a letter from a friend who’d been tracking the situation for them, and the information had been an enormous relief.
He didn’t have a bastard son wandering around London and confused about where his father had gone.
The entire episode had altered his view of amour. He only dabbled with whores, and he was very careful to never sire a child.
For the past decade, his world had been one of men and the sea. If he fraternized with the other gender at all, it was for illicit sexual purposes. He had no idea how to chat with a gently-bred young lady who’d grown up sipping tea in London drawing rooms.
“You gave her some money,” Robert pointed out.
“Yes, all the coins in my purse.”
“You’re a milksop after all. She batted her big green eyes at you, and you jumped to assist her.”
“You would have too.”
“No doubt.”
Robert liked women, and whenever he was in a port, he’d choose a paramour who was far removed from the tarts working at the taverns and brothels. He constantly tried to create some semblance of a normal life, but he never stayed in a place for long. He would flirt with a fetching girl, then leave. Sometimes, he’d visit the same port—and the same girl—again, but more often than not, he never returned.
Hayden’s conduct had been much more restricted, so he’d never had those sorts of encounters. Even if he’d had them, he would never have led on a female with false promises.
“Tell me more about her father,” Robert said. “I’m curious about this licentious, drunken vicar.”
Then he commenced a story about a preacher he’d once met who’d had bad habits, but Hayden wasn’t really listening.
He was thinking about Helen Barnes, thinking he should have done more to aid her, but thinking too that he’d done enough. He had no duty to her, and he had to cease his obsessing.
As he ignored Robert and wasted energy pondering her, he noticed a skiff sailing by. There were always boats traveling from one side of the island to the other. It was a mountainous region, so some locations were more easily accessed that way.
The vessel was loaded down with too many passengers, mostly women and children, with their trunks, boxes, and crates of chickens. It was too close to the breaking surf to be able to maneuver safely.
He frowned, worried that the creaky craft might simply tip over. The spot wasn’t that deep, but if it flipped, everyone would get soaked, and some very plump chickens might die.
Hayden interrupted Robert’s tale. “Look at those idiots.”
He went into his tent and retrieved his spy glass. He stared out, wondering if he knew the dolt piloting it, wondering if he could find him to scold him later. Yet when he saw who was crammed in the seats, he shook his head in exasperation.
“You’ll never believe who’s on board,” he said to Robert.
“Who?”
“Miss Barnes.”
There was a young lady next to her with the same dark hair who had to be her sister.
Just then, a wave crashed over the bow. Passengers shrieked and lurched away, and the shifting of their combined weight left the boat off balance. Another wave crashed, and the whole bloody thing flopped over.
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Hayden muttered.
He was already running into the calamity as, behind him, Robert was hollering for his two boys, Will and Tom, to help. The other men in the camp dashed into the water too.
No one was in much danger of drowning, but the waves were smacking into people. Luggage was floating, children crying, and chickens screeching with a noise he’d never heard chickens make before.
He raced by the drenched group, only having eyes for one person in particular. In her heavy black dress, complete with petticoats, shoes, bonnet, and jacket, she couldn’t stay on her feet. Waves kept slapping into her, knocking her over. She’d come up sputtering, disoriented, then she’d disappear.
“Miss Barnes!” he shouted. She surfaced for air, and he shouted again. “Helen!”
She managed to turn toward him, and he swooped in and grabbed her.
“Mr. Nine Lives!” she said, and she repeated his name over and over.
She clung to him, snuggled to his chest, her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. They were bobbing together, the tide gradually pushing them in.
“You crazed lunatic,” he chided. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’ve never been so glad to see someone in my life!”
“How have you survived this long on your own?”
“I never had any problem in England, but on Tenerife, I’m constantly landing myself in jams.”
“And I’m constantly witnessing them. It’s quite exhausting.”
Frantically, she glanced about. “Where is my sister?”
“She’s already out.”
Will and Tom had dragged her in, and Hayden’s men were chucking stragglers up on the sand. People were coughing, weeping, searching to be sure relatives were accounted for.
As for himself, he wasn’t inclined to rescue anyone else or to arrive on the beach. Once he did, he’d have to release Miss Barnes, and he was in no rush.
“I was afraid I would drown,” she said.
“It’s not that deep. The waves are just strong here. You were whacked pretty hard.”
“I’ve never learned to swim!”
With that, she burst into tears, and she snuggled herself more tightly to his chest.
He was charmed by her and how she knew she was safe with him. Her face was nestled at his nape, and he was clutching her bottom, but she was so distraught she didn’t realize how inappropriately he was holding her.
Her current proximity was generating all sorts of lurid scenarios he shouldn’t be considering with regard to her. She was a vicar’s daughter! He should have been ashamed of himself—but he wasn’t. Instead, he was thinking that a brief amour with her might be the cure for what ailed him.
Finally, it was shallow enough that he couldn’t continue to pretend they were floating. He stood and carried her the rest of the way, but she didn’t let go.
Her sister ran over, calling, “Helen! Helen! Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Becky.”
“I’d like to kill that idiotic captain,” her sister seethed.
“So would I,” Miss Barnes agreed.
“You told him the boat was too crowded, but he wouldn’t listen. If I were a man, I’d pound him bloody.”
Hayden peered down the beach, seeing that Robert and Will would probably do exactly that. They were escorting the captain off into the foliage where they’d have no observers as they inflicted some bruises.
“I thought I’d perish!” her sister said, and her voice oozed with excess drama. “I thought we were dying!”
“We weren’t dying,” Miss Barnes firmly replied. She noticed she was cuddled to him. “Put me down, Mr. Nine Lives.”
They were nose to nose, and he stared at her, reminding himself of how pretty she was. She was drenched, her clothes sticking to her in the most interesting places, and he raised a brow, informing her that his masculine sensibilities were very happy. Then he slid her to the ground, her descent very slow so he felt every inch of her as she glided down.
“Is this Mr. Nine Lives?” her sister asked.
“Yes, Becky,” Miss Barnes said. “Mr. Nine Lives—”
“It’s just Nine Lives,” he explained. “There’s no need for mister.”
“Becky, this is Nine Lives. He’s very gallant and has saved me on several occasions.”
Her sister meticulously scrutinized him, then she grinned. “I’ve heard all about you, Nine Lives.”
“I’ll bet none of it was good.”
“Oh, it was all very, very good.”
“Nine Lives,” Miss Barnes said, “this is my sister, Miss Becky Barnes.”
Miss Becky laid a hand on her forehead and moaned. She actually moaned. “I declare, Nine Lives, I was certain we were done for.”
“The water is only a few feet deep.”
“We didn’t know that! You’re so dashing and brave. Thank you!”
She was a ridiculous flirt, and her imprudent demeanor validated his decision not to aid Miss Barnes. Her sister was absurd, and it was a mystery how she and Miss Barnes could possibly be such close kin.
Robert’s son, Tom, hustled up. He had blankets for the ladies. They accepted them and tugged them over their shoulders. They didn’t need the blankets to keep warm. The temperature was hot, the sea balmy, but their wet garments were displaying an immodest amount of physical detail that shouldn’t have been revealed to the lusty sailors who were lurking.
Miss Barnes studied the chaos on the beach, then the foundering skiff. Clearly, she wouldn’t be departing. Not that afternoon anyway.
She sighed with frustration and with what sounded like fatigue. “What a mess.”
“It definitely is,” he concurred. “Why the boat? Why didn’t you hire a driver and a carriage?”
“I couldn’t find a driver, and at our hotel, the man at the desk said his cousin could take us in his boat, that it would be cheaper and quicker.”
“Obviously, he was wrong.”
“What should we do now?” Her beautiful green eyes were focused on him with stunning effect. “I have no idea what’s best.”
He should have remained silent or should have claimed he had no idea either, but when he opened his mouth, the words that emerged were, “You can stay here with me.”
She frowned, assessing the scattered camp, the tents and thatched shelters that they’d hastily constructed.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Miss Barnes, I’m sure. You can rest and regroup while I make travel arrangements for you. I’ll get you where you’re going.”
Her sister practically busted with excitement. Before Miss Barnes could decline, Miss Becky piped up. “We’d be delighted to stay with you. You’re very kind.” Miss Barnes looked as if she’d complain, but Miss Becky cut her off. “Isn’t he being kind, Helen? He didn’t have to suggest it, and he’s already been such a blessing to you in numerous ways.”
Miss Barnes snorted at that. “I wouldn’t exactly call him a blessing.”
“Neither would I,” Hayden said.
He nodded to Tom who was hovering and eager to assist however he could.
“Take them over to my tent, Tom,” Hayden told the boy.
“Your tent?” Miss Barnes scowled. “Absolutely not. We can’t impose.”
“I offered, Miss Barnes,” he responded. “You’re not imposing.”
Miss Becky grabbed her and led her away. “Don’t argue, Helen. Just be grateful.”
“I’m grateful,” Miss Barnes insisted, but when she glanced back at him, her exasperation was evident.
Her sister glanced back too and asked, “Will we be your guests for long?”
“Long enough that I can guarantee you arrive at your next destination.”
“Will you help us locate our father?”
“Becky!” Miss Barnes scolded. “Don’t be a nuisance. He’s provided much more aid than we deserve.”
“You haven’t been a bother,” Hayden lied.
“We have too,” Miss Barnes countered. “We’re just so desperate to find him.”
Hayden hated to distress them, but he blurted it out anyway. “I’m not convinced he’s on Tenerife, Miss Barnes.”
“Don’t say so, sir.”
“You’ve been searching for a month, and the island’s not that big.”
“He wouldn’t abandon us.”
Hayden couldn’t guess if that was true or not, but he gestured to Tom. “Why don’t you go with Tom? He’ll get you settled and comfortable.”
She dawdled as if to question him further about his plans for them, but he couldn’t imagine what he intended. For the moment, he’d decided they could tarry for the evening. How about tomorrow and the day after? How long would he put up with them? And to what end?
Why welcome two pretty females into his camp? It would only be courting disaster.
He waved her away, and she trudged after her sister.
He watched them warily, terrified as to his purpose, terrified that he might be a bit mad over her. Perhaps he was. Miss Barnes had that effect on a man. What was he to do with her?
* * * *
Helen slipped out of the tent and stood for a minute, listening to the night sounds. It wasn’t that late, but the sun set early in the tropics, with no dusk lingering, so it was dark and quiet. A group of sailors was sitting around a fire quite a distance from where she was. They were staring at the flames and passing a bottle of liquor. They didn’t notice her.
She’d been tossing and turning, but she couldn’t calm sufficiently to doze off. Ultimately, she’d snuck outside, hoping the fresh air, clear sky, and lapping surf would relax her.
What would happen in the morning? What should they do? What shouldn’t they do? What was best? What was worst?
Becky was asleep, stretched out on Nine Lives’s large bed.
His tent was spacious and fancy, the sort she envisioned an African explorer might cart along on a safari. It was filled with a sofa, dining table and chairs, lamps and dressers. All of it was constructed from the finest wood and fabric, as if Nine Lives was very rich and appreciated quality.
She was incredibly intrigued by him. Who was he? Why was he on Tenerife? Where was he headed next? What would he do when he arrived?
Trunks and crates lined the walls, and they weren’t locked. She was an unwanted guest so she hadn’t snooped in them, but she wondered if he might not be a pirate or smuggler. Was he? And if he was a criminal, what should her opinion be about that fact?
During their brief acquaintance, he’d been generous and obliging. He’d given her money. He’d protected her from nefarious characters in town. He’d hauled her out of the ocean after her boat flipped over. He’d even fled his quarters for her and Becky.
In a different period in her life, she might have worried about his motives. After all, she was a young lady of limited means who was in dire straits. It would be easy for an unscrupulous cad to take advantage of her, but he didn’t seem to expect any boons from her in exchange.
She was a person who fretted, but for once, she wouldn’t fret. She’d let the lazy days play out. She’d move forward a step at a time. Sooner or later, she had to wind up in a good spot. Didn’t she?
She walked down to the water, the sand cool on her feet, and she realized she’d never walked barefoot in the sand before. She’d always been too conscious of her attire, of being conservatively covered so as to reflect her father’s role in the world.
But after their boat had capsized, all of their belongings had been soaked. Tom Stone, who was very handy in a crisis, brought them new garments to wear while their own dried.
She’d interrogated him as to why—in what was obviously a men’s work camp—they would have trunks of women’s clothes. He’d been evasive as to the origins, but Nine Lives had ordered the items delivered, and his word was law.
Initially, she’d been hesitant to accept the gift, but after Becky had stripped out of her wet things and put on a dress that was pretty and more functional for Tenerife than their black, wool London clothes, she’d relented and put on a dress too.
It was exactly what she’d needed, the fabric light and airy, the sleeves short, the neckline scooped, so she wasn’t baking in the heat. She understood they would have to return them to Nine Lives when they departed, but she was seriously wondering if she dared ask to keep some of them.
Previously, he’d scolded her about her unsuitable apparel, so she suspected he might be amenable.
At the notion, she chuckled and shook her head. She was very British and would never beg for charity, but her predicament was altering her conduct and attitudes.
The night was riveting, the stars so bright she felt she could reach out and touch them. The moon was rising, casting stark shadows in every direction. It was an intoxicating moment.
She stopped and lifted her hands to the heavens, praying for her poor deceased mother, that she was resting in peace. Praying for all the families her father had harmed with his philandering. Praying no angry husband ever murdered her father. And—as always—praying for him, that he was safe, that she would locate him.
The breeze shifted, and she smelled the smoke of a cheroot. She spun around, searching the palm trees that lined the beach. The glowing tip was visible.
“Hello, Miss Barnes,” a man said.
“Hello, Nine Lives.”
Her pulse fluttered with excitement. Since she’d been hustled away to dry off, she hadn’t seen him. She and Becky had been fed and pampered, but he’d been noticeably absent. She’d wanted to inquire as to his whereabouts, but she hadn’t supposed it was any of her business.
“What are you doing out of your tent?” he asked.
“It’s your tent.”
“Yes, it is, and I offered it to you. Why are you out of it?”
“I couldn’t sleep. How about you?”
“I couldn’t either, but then, I rarely can.”
“Why can’t you sleep?”
“Because too many bad things have happened to me in the dark.”
“What sorts of bad things?”
He didn’t answer, but gestured for her to approach.
“Come over here,” he said, and it was definitely a command.
“Why?”
“Don’t argue. Just come.”
He was a very imposing fellow and, as with all the sailors in the camp, she couldn’t refuse to heed him.
She went over to where he was sitting on the sand, his back leaned on a palm tree. He was holding a bottle of wine, and he took a long swallow.
“Are you a drinker?” she asked.
“Yes, but I don’t imagine you are.”
“No.”
“Maybe you should start. If you imbibed once in awhile, you might be happier.”
“I’m happy now.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
It was a huge falsehood, and she was lucky he couldn’t see her eyes. He’d know she was lying. She’d endured some very hard years, raising Becky after her mother had died, then having to watch over her father during his many scandals. They’d had to move frequently, had had to scheme and finagle to save his reputation, position, and income. Eventually, his mischief had been their ruin, but what had she expected?
He’d gotten involved with a married woman who’d grown obsessed with flamboyant Simon Barnes. She hadn’t been furtive about their affair, so it had been quickly exposed.
Then she hadn’t exhibited an ounce of remorse, which had outraged rural morals, but who wouldn’t have been outraged? Simon was reckless and ridiculous, and if Helen had had any pride or sense, she’d have cut ties with him ages ago.
Instead, she worried about him, and she felt sorry for him. She was a Christian who hated to judge others—especially her father who’d never been able to behave any better.
“Sit down,” Nine Lives said.
“I shouldn’t.”
“It wasn’t a suggestion, Miss Barnes. Sit!”
“All right, all right.”
She plopped down next to him, not letting her body touch his. She vividly recollected every second of their escapade in the waves where he’d carried her to shore. She’d wrapped her arms and legs around him in a very inappropriate manner, and it had been the most thrilling interval of her life.
She was anxious to try it again soon and often, so she had to keep her distance. It was a constant concern that she had her father’s blood running in her veins, and she’d always wondered—should she be tempted—would she act as wickedly as he was inclined to act?
“I’m calling you Helen,” he announced out of the blue.
“I don’t give you permission.”
“Your opinion is irrelevant. I’ve decided and that’s that.”
“Do you always get your way?”
“Yes, always.”
“Why must you be so adamant?”
“For a very long time, I didn’t have any control over what happened to me. Now I can bark orders, and people have to obey.”
“Are you a bully in disguise?”
He pondered, then nodded. “Yes, probably.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “You may call me Helen. What should I call you?”
“Nine Lives. What would you suppose?”
“Are you ever going to tell me your real name?”
“No.”
“Why won’t you? Are you a criminal? Are you wanted by the law? Is that it? If I learned your true identity, would I be able to turn you in to the authorities to receive the bounty on your head?”
“We’ll say that’s exactly the reason.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re a criminal? Seriously?”
He chuckled. “I’ll let you speculate.”
“That’s not funny,” she scolded. “If you’re a brigand, we can’t remain here.”
“We’re not in London, Helen. In a place like Tenerife, you have to pick your friends wherever you find them.”
“And you’ve been very friendly, but with my being in a strange land and on my own, I have to be doubly vigilant.”
Her comment had him laughing. “You? Be vigilant? I have yet to witness any sign that you pay attention to hazards.”
“I’m not usually so inept. I’ve merely suffered some mishaps is all.”
“From which you’ve needed regular rescuing.”
“You were simply in the vicinity when they occurred. I’m not ever this clumsy.”
“Of course you’re not,” he sarcastically retorted.
“I have Becky to protect.”
“She’s in no danger from me.”
“She is if you’re a bandit.”
He scowled and asked, “Do you ever stop talking?”
The rude query incensed her. “You’re the one who demanded I sit. If you weren’t eager to chat, why invite me?”
“I haven’t been around women much the past few years. I forgot how…loud they can be.”
“Loud!”
“Can’t you be silent for a minute and enjoy the dark and the quiet?”
“If you intend to insult me, I won’t stay here with you.”
She would have jumped up and stomped off, but he laid a palm on her thigh, the sudden feel of his hand on her leg keeping her right where she was. He shifted even nearer, and he studied her as if hoping to figure out what drove her, but it wasn’t difficult.
She was a very ordinary female who’d like to lead an ordinary life, but she’d wound up rearing her unruly sister and playing the role of dutiful daughter to her unruly father.
She’d like to have what all wives had—an adoring husband, a cozy home, a house full of boisterous children—but with her father’s penchant for causing disasters, she feared she would never be shed of him. If she didn’t stand by his side to rein in his worst impulses, who would?
He doted on her, and he was kind and fun-loving. His misdeeds had been committed against his parishioners. Not her or Becky. To them, he’d always been wonderful.
Yes, he was a sinner. She admitted it, and she forgave him. It was her nature to forgive, and while she occasionally wished she could be tougher or less merciful, she wasn’t a harsh, unbending person and never had been.
“I hid all afternoon and evening,” he said. “I was avoiding you.”
“Why?”
“You fascinate me, so I decided I better steer clear.”
“I fascinate you?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t imagine why I would.”
He appeared to be pouting. “I don’t want to be fascinated.”
“Then don’t be.”
“I can’t help myself.”
“Is it something I’m doing?” she asked. “If so, tell me and I’ll quit doing it.”
“It’s not any particular behavior. It’s just…you. You tempt me beyond measure.”
She laughed. “You’re being ridiculous. I’ve never tempted a man.”
“You probably have, but you’re so blind that you were oblivious.”
“There you go, insulting me again. If you’re trying to win me over, you’re not succeeding.”
“I don’t care if I win you over. I don’t care if you like me or if you’re glad to be in my camp or anything else. I’m merely stating the facts. You fascinate me, and I’m aggravated.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Too much, but not an amount sufficient to cure what’s ailing me.”
“And what is that?”
“You! Haven’t you been listening?”
With that, he dipped down and kissed her.
She’d been kissed a few times, back when she’d been an adolescent who’d presumed she’d be courted, then wed by a respectable fellow. So it wasn’t her first experience with amour. Still, she hadn’t expected it, and she most especially hadn’t expected it from him. Had he been considering it during their whole conversation? It was bizarre to suppose he had been.
His rash act only indicated he was correct that he’d had too much to drink. Had he been sober, he likely wouldn’t have contemplated her at all.
She eased away, a hand on his chest to ease him away too. The moon shone down on him, making his golden hair look silver. His blue, blue eyes glittered like diamonds. He was completely focused on her, absolutely riveted, and she couldn’t believe how thrilling it was to have him assessing her so keenly.
No man ever had.
“This isn’t a good idea,” she claimed.
“So? You’re a female. Why would it matter what you think?”
“You seem to be in an odd mood.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“If I uttered a comment that would—”
He cut her off. “Helen?”
“What?”
“Be silent for once. Please!”
He kissed her again, and while she’d truly meant to protest, she didn’t. She couldn’t.
She yearned to be close to him in a way she didn’t understand. She knew nothing about him, not even his name, but she suspected many nefarious details: that he might be a pirate or other sort of criminal, that he regularly engaged in illegal activity. But she wasn’t concerned about any of it.
Even though she’d always lived with her father, he’d never taken charge of her or their life. At an early age, she’d had to assume control, so she’d been on her own with no one to watch over her, no one to lean on in times of trouble. Nine Lives offered a type of manly strength that intrigued her very much.
She wanted to lean on him. She wanted him to watch over her, and she couldn’t conceive of what to do except kiss him back. Practically of their own accord, her arms rose and wound themselves around his neck.
With her small sign of acquiescence, he moaned with satisfaction and deepened the kiss, his tongue flitting into her mouth.
He pulled her to him so the front of her body was pressed to his, her breasts rubbing his chest. The intimate contact ignited feelings she’d never previously noted. She was electrified, on fire. Her innards were rioting, her heart racing, her pulse pounding in her ears.
He lifted her onto his lap. Her hair was down and tied with a ribbon. He yanked the ribbon away so the soft strands were loose, and he could riffle his fingers through them. The move was scandalous and exhilarating, and she felt like a total wanton.
Where was the modest vicar’s daughter she’d always been? Where had that prim, stuffy girl gone?
She was craving things from him she couldn’t define. His naughty hands were roaming everywhere and generating sparks, and she hated that she was so reticent and reserved. She’d like to entice him as a woman should, to act as a strumpet would, but she was clueless as to how.
She couldn’t say how long they loafed on the sand, but it had to be hours. The moon drifted from the eastern horizon to where it was directly overhead.
Gradually, he drew away, and he murmured, “What’s happening to us, Helen?”
“I can’t begin to guess, but why did we stop?”
“The better question is, why did we start?”
“Are you wishing you hadn’t kissed me?”
He made a sound that could have been a laugh or a groan. “No, I’m not wishing that.”
“What are you wishing then?”
“For the foreseeable future, you’ll stay at my camp.”
“I can’t. I have to search for my father.”
“I’ll send some men to search for you. If you trot off on your own again, I’ll worry too much.”
“You’d worry about me? Really?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember anyone ever worrying about me before.”
“Well, I won’t claim I’m glad to be the first. Why doesn’t your father worry? He should.”
“He knows I can take care of myself.”
“If that’s what he supposes, then I declare him to be an idiot.”
She might have argued the point, but she often thought her father was not only an idiot, but certifiably insane too. She wouldn’t defend him. He was undefendable, and when she was snuggled with Nine Lives, she had other issues—more important issues—to keep her busy.
He stared at her forever, and he seemed on the verge of sharing a profound statement or perhaps a vital secret. She was convinced he had many of them, and she hoped he’d seize the poignant moment and confide in her.
In the end though, he set her away and said, “You should get back to the tent.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, and you have to quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like the vixen you are.”
He deemed her a vixen? How exciting! Still though, she felt compelled to object.
“I’m not a vixen.”
“You couldn’t prove it by me.”
“I’ve tantalized you, but how have I managed it?”
“There’s no explaining it, Helen. It just is.”
“Will you be here tomorrow?”
“Off and on.”
“Don’t hide from me.”
“I won’t.”
He delivered a final kiss that was desperate and full of longing. Had she inspired longing? How utterly peculiar.
“Go now.” He gestured to the camp. “For if you don’t, I can’t predict what might transpire.”
“What might?” she inquired like the innocent maiden she was.
“The fact that you have to ask tells me that I shouldn’t come within a hundred yards of you.”
“I’m not sorry we did this. Don’t you be sorry either.”
“I won’t be sorry. Don’t you fret over it.”
She was anxious to tarry, anxious to confess how much she liked him, how flattered she was that he’d noticed her. It was such a marvelous gift to discover he viewed her as being special and unique. Yet she had no idea how to voice those remarks, and she was positive—should she reveal personal emotions—he’d be aghast.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said. “Yes?”
“Oh, yes, Helen. You’ll definitely see me.”
“Swear it.”
He chuckled. “I thought you didn’t believe in swearing.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“I swear I’ll be here.”
She grinned up at the sky. “You swore, and we weren’t struck by lightning. I’ll take that as a very good sign.”
She pushed herself to her feet and hurried away, but an ear was cocked in his direction, expecting he’d call her name or offer some other delicious comment, but he was maddeningly silent.
When she arrived at the tent, she glanced back, but he wasn’t there. Apparently, he hadn’t watched her depart, and on realizing he hadn’t, she was terribly disappointed.
My, my, but wasn’t she in trouble?