Daniel instructed Samson to head directly for the cabin in the swamp where Quince and Bonadea had waited.
“Oh, my dear,” Quince said as soon as they had all gathered in the wheelhouse later that night. He took Isla’s hand and led her to the sofa. “You look much improved.”
She smiled, exhausted but happy. “Thank you, Mr. Quince. I feel refreshed.” She looked at the rest. “I am so grateful for all of you. You’ve saved me, and that is a debt I can never repay though I will spend the rest of my life trying. And Nigel—” She paused, tears gathering. “I am so sorry about everything. I am sorry for my part in anything that has caused you unhappiness.”
Nigel shook his head. “I am the one who must apologize.” He cleared his throat and addressed the small group. “I wish to clear the air between us.”
“I wasn’t aware it was muddled,” Daniel said with a smile.
Nigel nodded but his face remained solemn. “I sabotaged our flight to Port Lucy to delay Isla’s arrival, as I’m sure you all suspected.”
Daniel exhaled slowly. “I did, though I had no inkling of the motivation behind it.”
“My mother is—was—unpredictable, often left home on a whim. She tracked me with her staff and globe, and she always knew my location to the tiniest degree, while I had only a vague sense of where she was at any particular time. When we left England, I knew she was at the mansion, but I needed time. I was at a loss in deciding how to keep Isla away from her but still obtain the things she would need for the cure.”
“So you sabotaged the ship to buy time?” Lewis clarified.
He nodded. “It was a risk, but then I also knew that you would be forced to put the ship down somewhere for the others to shift over the Full Moon Phase. Malette knew I was approaching, of course, but her talents weren’t limitless—she didn’t know Isla was on board. I figured she may search me out and demand to know why I’d abandoned my post, but I was desperate. The closer we flew to Port Lucy, the sicker I felt. I’d been trailing Isla for nearly a year, had come to know her character from afar. She did not deserve the curse that had been placed upon her.”
He looked at Isla. “Somewhere in the middle of my family mess was a smart woman who did the right thing for everyone all the time. I thought she was ridiculous at first. I couldn’t believe someone with a kind heart, a genuinely kind heart, actually existed.”
Crowe lifted his shoulder, and a muscle moved in his jaw. “And Isla was flying straight to my mother. At the time, I felt I had no allies, could rely only on my own judgment, which was little more than panic.”
He shook his head with a half-laugh. “Isla found her way, barefoot and weaponless, through a forested jungle that has taken more than one victim to his death. Of all women in the world, I could not have intentionally chosen a worse candidate for abduction and a lecture about what she ought to do. I should have given her information about Malette months ago. I should have included all of you in my speculations concerning my mother’s possible reaction.”
“So your vitriol about shifters really was just a performance,” Quince said.
Nigel nodded. “An effective cover. And when I needed to ‘perform,’ I envisioned my brother.” He smiled, jaded, then cleared his throat and addressed the three shifters. “I wish you all the best of everything, and I am better for knowing you. I thank you for your friendship despite my churlish behavior.”
Quince, Bonadea, and Lewis each shook hands with him.
As Isla thought back on their rushed departure from London and the odd mix of personalities aboard, she would never have predicted such an outcome in a million years.
“I, again, offer my thanks to you all,” she said, looking around the room at each of her friends. “And Nigel, thank you for the socks and for breaking me out of the dungeon.” She smiled at him, thinking of the things she’d learned about him the last few days. “I used to believe you were quite odious.”
He laughed, a genuine sound of mirth, one she’d never heard from him. “I am quite odious. But then, you’ve met my mother so it stands to reason, no?”
Daniel shook his head. “You are not your mother.”
Isla agreed. “Definitely not.”
Their journey back to England was filled with card games, conversation, and even hours of comfortable silence. Isla found the companionship comforting. Nigel was returning to England with Isla and Daniel, and though she missed Quince, Lewis, and Bonadea, she was happy they were settled into their new lives.
She made notes on her experiences with Lewis and his reaction to the deep hypnotherapy, as well as notes about her tie to Malette as she was dying. She made new lists, detailing such things as “Islands to Visit for Future Holidays,” “Ten Reasons Why Melody Is Not the World’s Worst Sister,” and “Ten Ways Isla Will Be a Better Sister.”
Nigel drew anything and everything in his sketchbook. When he reluctantly showed her and Daniel his drawings, Isla pretended amazement as though she was seeing them for the first time. As Nigel grew more comfortable in their company, Isla realized how funny he was. His sense of humor before had always lent itself to . . . well, nothing like humor. Now the cutting jabs and jaded remarks had a softer edge—there was no malice behind it, just a delightfully dry wit.
Daniel caught up on business matters—paperwork and details he’d neglected on the voyage to Port Lucy—and more often than not, the group gathered together in the wheelhouse to visit. The sunny hours were bright, and cloudy hours were cozy.
Isla loved to sit in the comfortable window seats high above the rest of the ship, watching Daniel monitor the weather and fly the ship. She would often daydream about shoving him against the wall and kissing him senseless as he’d done to her all those weeks ago.
They were only a few days away from arriving in England when Daniel made a surprise announcement one evening after lunch.
“I think it is time that we had a dance on deck under the stars tonight.”
Isla smiled in surprise. Nigel and Samson stared.
Daniel shrugged. “We were supposed to have a ball on the beach for your birthday, remember? And I ruined it. So I’ve decided to make it up to you. Please meet on deck this evening at six o’clock for dinner.”
Isla looked at Samson. “Is this your idea?”
Samson shook his head, eyebrows raised. “Amazingly, no.”
Daniel checked the Victrola on the deck, making certain it wouldn’t fall over if the ship caught a burst of wind. He straightened his sleeves, secured his cuff links, and snapped his formal captain’s jacket firmly into place.
Nigel appeared on deck in his finery, his nostrils already flaring with irritation. “I’ve never danced a day in my life. I’ll man the Victrola.”
“Nonsense. You just sway around; there’s nothing to it.” Daniel slapped his shoulder.
He turned to see Isla emerge from the stairwell, poised but uncertain on the top step. She wore the blue skirt and white blouse he remembered from their vacation on the island, but she’d also added an outer corset—one from Port Lucy, he noted, not one with pockets for throwing stars—that accentuated her assets to perfection.
As he approached, her eyes widened. “My goodness,” she said, “I’d forgotten how commanding you look in your finery!”
He was silently relieved by her approval. They had all become informal in the days since leaving Port Lucy, and he remembered her first reaction to him in his shirtsleeves and breeches. That she approved of his entire formal ensemble appealed to the masculine sense of pride he usually pretended he didn’t have.
“And you are a vision of loveliness.” He kissed her hand with a flourish. “As you have enjoyed lamentably limited time dancing and flirting, I thought it appropriate for you to refresh your skills before we return home.”
“Because I will suddenly be spending so much more time at balls and soirees?” She raised a brow, smiling. “I am on the shelf, or have you not heard?”
“Fine wine is never ideal when first bottled.”
She laughed out loud. “It is good that I didn’t know you as a younger girl. I would have been unable to string two words together.”
He bowed and led her out onto the deck. She spied Nigel, and her eyes sparkled.
“Mr. Crowe, how mysterious and dashing you are, with just a hint of danger! You do turn out nicely when not manacled to a wall.” She winked, and he chuckled.
He took her fingers and placed a kiss on her hand. He paused, seeming to search for words and coming up short. “You are beautiful, Dr. Cooper,” he finally murmured. “And kind. And a very good friend.”
She blinked and quietly exhaled. “Likewise, Mr. Crowe.”
Samson appeared on deck from the galley, a waiter’s linen draped over his arm. “Honored guests, your meal awaits.”
Isla fairly glowed as she threaded one hand around each gentleman’s arm. From the moment they sat at the table together and Samson served them a limited meal of white fish and potatoes, Daniel observed her with new eyes. He paid attention to every movement, every glance, the smallest of gestures toward him. She placed her hand on his when teasing. She blushed, repeatedly, when he plied her with compliments or murmured an innuendo in an undertone. She sought out Nigel’s contributions during the course of polite conversation but simultaneously leaned closer to Daniel.
She joked about the smallest of details from stories he’d shared and even after a conversation with Crowe or Samson, her eyes found their way back to him. There was a familiarity about her behavior with him that should have taken months to achieve. He could only attribute it to the inordinate amount of pressure they’d been under from the first moment she caught his arm and demanded passage. She’d eased him back from the brink of madness when he’d gone mentally back to the war. She’d trusted him to comfort her through her most vulnerable times, honored him by allowing him to stand guard over her.
He blinked when she asked him something. “I’m sorry?”
“I believe I was promised a dance,” she said.
“It would be my greatest pleasure.” He pulled her chair out as she stood and escorted her from the meal.
Samson hurried over to the Victrola and spun the crank. He lifted the needle and strains of a waltz sounded from the large horn.
Daniel bowed, Isla curtsied, and with her hand in his and his arm around her back, he stepped into the familiar movements, surprised—and yet not—at the ease of it. She was physically adept, even while still recovering from the awful injuries Malette had inflicted, comfortable in her skin and accustomed to efficiency of movement in her work and training. They moved together without a stumble, without a single misstep.
The night took on a surreal feel—Samson had strung the beach lights across the deck, and the stars blinked through clouds. The sensation was flight, untethered by anything.
The waltz ended, and though Daniel slowed their movements, he didn’t fully stop.
She met his eyes and lightly arched a brow. “Are you going to kiss me tonight, Captain Pickett? Perhaps steal one from me behind a potted palm?”
His lips quirked. “A pity there are no potted palms on deck.”
She shrugged airily. “Yes. A pity indeed. But perhaps we don’t need one. We seem to be quite alone.”
He glanced around the deck and realized Crowe and Samson were indeed absent. He could only imagine Crowe had suggested it to the ’ton, and Daniel vowed to thank the man later.
He stilled, one arm around her, and placed his hand alongside her cheek. He lowered his mouth to hers, slowly, wanting the moment to last forever. He touched her lips with his and closed his eyes, his heart thumping at her sigh. She wound her arms around his neck, and he pulled her close, devouring her like one starved, and yet realizing he could never get enough.
She gripped his hair and met his ardor, and he smiled against her lips. “All you needed was to ask, Dr. Cooper.”
“I would never want to seem too forward, Captain Pickett,” she said, slightly winded.
“Am I hurting you?” He ran his hand gently over her shoulder where the dragon had sunk her claws in deep.
She shook her head, her lips looking delightfully kiss-swollen in the soft light. “Do you know how badly I would have to be hurting right now to protest?”
He laughed softly and bent down to lift her into his arms. He carried her to a nearby deck chair and settled onto it, holding her. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he tipped his head back. The sky flew by overhead, and now that they were still, he noticed the chill. He sat up and maneuvered out of his jacket, smiling at her laughter as he nearly dumped her onto the deck. They settled back into the chair, and he draped his coat over her.
“We’ll stay out here until you’re too cold,” he murmured.
“This is perfect. We’ll stay here until your legs are asleep.” She turned her face to his neck, nuzzling with her nose and placing a soft kiss above his collar.
He lost track of the time. They looked at the stars, he told her about the origins of his love of airships and sailing, and she told him about the first flight she’d ever taken—which had been on a Pickett airship.
“Little did I know,” she whispered.
“Little did you know.” He kissed her forehead.
She tilted her head back and reached up, pulling his mouth to hers.
He was lost, completely and utterly, until he heard a rough throat-clearing. At the far end of the deck, Nigel Crowe climbed the stairs to the wheelhouse with Samson on his heels.
Isla lifted her head and looked at the other two, and then back at him. She bit her lip, but then smiled, and he was sure he’d have seen a blush if the light had been bright enough.
She touched her forehead to his. “Thank you, Daniel Pickett, for taking such good care of me. I would have you know it has meant the world to me. You mean the world to me.”
His throat burned, and he captured her lips one more time. “And you to me, Isla Cooper. I cherish the day you bullied your way into my life.”
She closed her eyes and smiled. She wound her arms around his broad shoulders and squeezed gently. “Smartest thing I’ve ever done in my life was threaten you with exposure of your nefarious deeds.”
“Smartest thing I’ve ever done was capitulating to you.” He lifted his head and winked. “Besides, you were wearing all that weaponry. I could hardly resist.”
Her lips twitched at the corners. “You removed my weaponry, if I recall.”
“And if I recall, I missed some. You held out.”
“I had to! Leaving a girl utterly defenseless like that . . .”
“You clawed your way barefoot through a tropical jungle and then faced down an entity of true evil, all without a single weapon.” He shook his head. “I’ve experienced enough extreme emotion in the last two months to last an eternity. Please do not ever leave me.”
“Never.”
“Will you marry me? You must.”
She smiled. “Of course I will. And not just because you saved me from the dark.”
“Good. Tonight, then.”
She blinked. “Tonight? You want to marry tonight?”
“Yes. We’ll use Crowe. As an agent of the Crown, he’s authorized.”
She was flabbergasted. “Daniel—”
“We managed to bring you back from the brink of oblivion and have waited long enough; we are sleeping in the same bed tonight. I’ll not be the one to tarnish your good name, so we will marry, and then not only will people not disapprove of us sharing a suite, they will wish us well.”
She gave him a faux pout. “You know how fussy I am about important society events. I cannot believe you will not be even a bit sensitive to my socialite proclivities.”
“Mm-hm. Also, I don’t care what you wear as long as you include the thigh dagger.”
She laughed, tipping her head back and genuine joy rippled through her entire frame. She was strong, whole, and free. And very much in love. “For you, Captain Pickett, I’ll even include the throwing stars.”
“Yes, please.” He smiled and lowered his lips to hers.
“One more,” she murmured.
“One more.”