She shook her head. “Nothing nefarious, I assure you. I suppose I . . .” She paused. What did she want? She wasn’t certain she understood her motivation herself. “This island is as close to paradise as anything I have ever seen, and the thought of anyone sitting here on the ship and missing it is positively criminal.”
He smirked and braced a hand on the doorframe. “So the do-gooder is out to rescue the lonely?”
“Are you lonely?”
He flushed. “No, I am not lonely.” He drew in a deep breath. “Miss Cooper, I have much on my mind and am extremely busy. I haven’t time for your philanthropy.”
“What are you doing, exactly, Mr. Crowe? Why are you here?”
“I have business in Port Lucy.”
“Government business?” She kept her voice as light and nonthreatening as she knew how.
“None-of-your-concern business,” he snapped.
“Nigel—may I call you Nigel?”
“No, you may not.”
“You may call me Isla. That we are adversaries is ridiculous.” Well, that was a stretch, and she readily admitted it. He worked for a government body aimed at severely restricting the lives of the very people she sought to help. “Although our professional lives may put us at odds, perhaps we can meet on common ground.” She smiled. “And might I suggest the ground outside right now? Truly, it is lovely, breathtaking, and to my knowledge, you’ve only viewed it from the deck. You’ve yet to go ashore.”
He studied her with narrowed eyes.
“I have no ulterior motive, nothing to hide, and I am only minimally armed.”
“Where?” He glanced at her waist as if looking for her ray gun.
She smiled. “That is a trade secret I am not at liberty to disclose.”
He raised a brow, and while she hadn’t meant to be suggestive, she couldn’t regret it because he seemed almost amused.
“You can see I have tossed aside convention and am casually dressed. The other gentlemen are in shirtsleeves and rolled-up trousers only, and much to our collective amazement, we are managing to behave with perfect civility and decorum.” She leaned forward as though sharing a secret. “We have even divested ourselves of footwear.”
He examined her as though she’d sprouted an extra head.
“I am planning to convince the captain and the cook to arrange for a picnic dinner we might enjoy outside. I do hope you’ll join us. It would be a pity to miss such beauty unhampered by noisy crowds.”
When he remained silent, she offered him a smile and a nod, and left his door. She didn’t hear it close, and she imagined him staring after her like a gaping fish. Heaven knew she’d have done the same thing had their roles been reversed.
When she reached the end of the corridor, she thought she saw a flash of something—a boot?—quickly climbing the stairs. She narrowed her eyes and quickened her step, running up the stairs and catching Daniel halfway across the upper deck.
“What were you doing?” As though she couldn’t divine the reason. He’d been worried Crowe would stab her or something equally horrific right there in the corridor.
Daniel stopped mid-stride and spun to face her. “Nothing.”
“You were spying on me.”
He exhaled. “Yes. Yes, I was.”
“And what did you discover?”
“That I must sharpen my reconnaissance skills. If you wait a moment for me, I’ll join you ashore.”
She laughed, unable to be irritated when she was flattered that he cared for her safety.
He disappeared down the stairs and reappeared in a few minutes in shirtsleeves and breeches. She swallowed. No jacket, no vest, certainly no cravat. She’d seen him dressed casually the night she’d helped Lewis, but she hadn’t had her wits about her enough to appreciate it. He looked carefree. Uninhibited. So ridiculously handsome. He’d also discarded his cuff links and rolled his sleeves up as he walked.
“Is the gangplank sufficient? We can always make use of the dinghy in the cargo hold.”
“Sufficient,” she echoed as he came to a stop at her side.
He glanced at her, a brow quirked. “Something amiss?”
She cleared her throat. “Nothing.”
He focused on her face. “Do you need a drink? Some water from the galley?”
Her eyes flicked against her will to the hollow of his throat, beautifully exposed without a starched cravat. She resisted the urge to fan herself. “Just a warm day. And we have canteens ashore.”
He studied her, and then a corner of his mouth lifted. “Something on your mind, Dr. Cooper? You suddenly seem out of sorts.”
He looked smug, curse the man. She swallowed and shook her head. “No, nothing in particular.” She walked toward the gangplank and felt flushed. Was she blushing? She rolled her eyes, chagrined.
Men and their egos—he wanted her to say something, to admit the sight of him had struck her dumb. “Hold these blankets.” She thrust them at him. “Since you’re here, you may as well be of use. Hand them to me when I’m on the gangplank.”
“I’ll carry them for you. It’s my pleasure.”
Isla held her skirt in one hand and stepped onto the large wooden extension, unwittingly flashing her leg. Daniel’s expression sharpened.
She paused, a smile stealing across her face. When she neared the bottom of the makeshift bridge, she turned and held Daniel’s arm as she slowly removed first one boot and then the other. Holding both boots in one hand, she straightened and again gathered her skirt into a bunch.
“Do remove your boots, Captain, unless you want the salt water ruining the leather. Here, I’ll carry the blankets.”
He glanced down at her legs again. The world saw them clearly when she wore breeches, but with a skirt on, it felt somehow scandalous, and she fought back a smug smile of her own. She took the blankets from him and stepped into the water, which hit her at the knee and splashed the ends of her skirt.
“Wait,” he said, and stripped off his boots, which he threw one at a time back up onto the deck. He pulled his trousers up to his knees, maintaining eye contact with a smile.
Drat. And just when she’d been feeling the upper hand. Before she realized his intentions, he’d stepped off the gangplank and swooped her out of the water. He held her against his chest and raised his eyebrows in innocence when she gaped at him.
She glanced at the shore, relieved to find it still unoccupied. “I am much too heavy,” she gasped on a horrified laugh.
“You forget,” he said easily as he walked through the water to the beach, “I am part-cyborg.”
“You are not ‘part-cyborg,’” she said, laughing in earnest.
“If I recall, Dr. Cooper, it was one of the arguments you used to bully your way onto my ship. ‘Captain Pickett, not only are you an illegal smuggler, you are half ’ton.’”
“I did not say any such thing!” She laughed so hard that she slipped, and he hefted her higher to maintain his hold.
“Be still, troublesome woman. This is how a smuggling pirate would behave, no? Carry you off under duress? I should act the part if I am thusly accused.” He grinned and made his way up onto dry sand, and she kissed the tip of his nose.
The action surprised him, and she was rather stunned, herself. His face was so close to hers, and with her arm slung comfortably around his shoulders, she felt a joy she didn’t think she’d ever had. An unfettered, excited, tumultuous feeling. “Adorable,” she whispered, amazed at how his carefree smile transformed his entire person.
He looked at her quietly. “That is something I have never been called in my entire life.”
“Impossible. Surely your mother—”
“I don’t remember,” he murmured.
He is going to kiss me again, and it will be lovely, here in the bright sun on this beautiful island with nobody but the two of us
—
“Captain!” Mr. Quince hallooed from far away.
Isla closed her eyes.
Daniel sighed. “Wonderful.” He lowered Isla to the ground and met her gaze.
She swallowed her disappointment and turned to wave at Mr. Quince. “Have you been at the waterfall again?” she called as he neared.
“Yes, yes! It is so refreshing, that pond.”
“You, sir, were to stay out of the sun,” she scolded and took the blankets to a grove of trees, where she laid them out in the shade. “You are quite burned!”
“Is it not incredible? I vow I have never seen sunlight like this in my life. My grandchildren would so enjoy it!” Mr. Quince had two canteens and held one out to Isla. “Fresh from the waterfall.”
She took it, then pointed to the blankets. “Sit,” she ordered. “You are redder than a lobster, Mr. Quince. I hope we can locate the herbs you mentioned to make a poultice.”
“Yes, of course.” He took a drink from his canteen and motioned at her. “I cannot sit while you remain standing, my lady.”
“Mercy,” she muttered and sank down onto the blanket. “Very gallant, I suppose, but what a silly rule.” She patted the spot next to her, and the older gentleman sat down with a small grunt.
“Ah, you younger generation. When I was your age, life was different.”
Isla smiled. “I have heard that before, and yet were there not times when you were willful, perhaps? Got yourself into a spot of trouble?”
His eyes twinkled. “A gentleman does not tell tales out of school. Is that not right, Captain?”
“Absolutely.” Daniel answered Mr. Quince, but his attention was on Isla, and his mouth held the ghost of a smile, as though they shared a secret.
The moment stretched.
“My, but it is warm.” She fanned herself with her hand. She found a small, smooth stick under one edge of the blanket. She dusted it off and held it in her teeth while shaking loose her braid and twisting her mass of hair atop her head. She maneuvered the stick into the knot to hold it in place and relished the breeze that blew against her neck.
She breathed a sigh of contentment and turned her face into the wind, closing her eyes and wishing she could live in the moment forever. No worries, no curse, no ill intent toward innocent people, only warmth and a breeze and the salty smell of ocean air.
She blinked her eyes open and looked at Daniel, who still stood, and motioned to a spot on the blanket. “Will you not sit?”
“I believe I’ll cool myself in the waterfall everyone seems so enamored with. I’m assuming Lewis and Bonadea are there?”
“Mmm, they are now.” Mr. Quince said, resting against the tree trunk with his eyes closed. “They went exploring earlier, wanted to get the lay of the land for this evening.”
“Was there a problem last night?” Daniel asked.
Mr. Quince opened his eyes. “I made certain to give myself the space I knew I would need. Lewis and Bonadea had a minor clash.”
Isla straightened. “They didn’t mention it.”
“They didn’t feel it worth mentioning, I suppose. Lewis remembers the encounter with more clarity. He was apparently the first to retreat, keep the peace. Says he had more of his wits about him.”
Isla looked at Daniel, her brain spinning.
He shook his head. “No.”
“You’ve no idea what I’m even thinking.”
“No, you are not putting anyone else under deep hypnosis.”
“I’ll not do anything to endanger myself or anyone else. Do you not find it interesting that Lewis still has a semblance of control over his actions all these days later?”
“Interesting, yes. In the manner of ‘Hmm, what an odd thing.’ Not, ‘Hmm, I’ll try it again when Daniel is nowhere around.’”
Isla opened her mouth, but Mr. Quince interrupted. “He is quite right, dear. You are of no service to anyone if you come to harm.”
Drat. Quince had the right of it. If she were hurt, and somehow worse than the last time, she couldn’t help the other shifters at all.
She released a frustrated sigh and stretched out on the blanket, her knees bent comfortably, and the breeze wafting across her skin. “I believe I shall rest and contemplate the meaning of life.”
“Ha,” Daniel said. “You’re not fooling anyone. Quince, watch her. She is conniving and resourceful.”
She closed her eyes. “What on earth could I possibly do here in broad daylight?”
“Quince, if she tells you to relax, to imagine each bone, muscle, and sinew growing heavy and yet weightless, plug your ears and run for the waterfall.” Daniel’s voice retreated as he walked toward the interior of the island.
“Mercy,” she muttered. “High-handed and interfering.”
“I am inclined to follow his advice, my dear. You’ll forgive me for saying it, but the morning after you aided Lewis, the captain was white as a ghost. And when I saw you later, you seemed much weaker than your usual healthy self.”
Her heart sank. She didn’t want to be ill. She didn’t want to be a victim of anything, least of all a curse. She didn’t want weaknesses, and she didn’t want to be brought low by something that could be a life-changing benefit for shifters. And she didn’t want Daniel Pickett to be afraid for her. She didn’t want him to worry or truly believe she might die while on his watch—a watch she had bullied her way onto.
Why was he so concerned? Because he was attracted to her? Because he was innately a good person? She supposed those were good enough reasons. She certainly didn’t want to see anyone die—just that afternoon she’d invited her nemesis to frolic in the sand because she worried he was lonely and sad. Daniel was duty-bound, and despite her initial impression of him, he was kind. Concerned for others. He put his own reputation and his business at stake to help the persecuted.
She cracked open one eye, turned her head, and found the spot on the sand where he’d held her like a child not thirty minutes prior, yet looked at her very much not like a child. She sighed and turned onto her side.
She liked him. She liked him very much. The worst part of that new awareness was that it was a lost cause. His life experiences were vastly different from hers, and he was adept at maneuvering in a social sphere that was foreign to her. She was the only woman on the entire ship. Who was to say he would have even spared her a second glance if she were one of dozens? Men did not seek romantic affection from Isla Cooper. They sought her expertise with knives, throwing stars, and learning how to function in society as a person who turned into a ferocious animal every few weeks.
Daniel had kissed her, and it had been wonderful—the sun and the moon and exploding stars—and there was undeniable tension between the two of them. She must be realistic, however, and not indulge any girlish expectations. He was a mature adult, as was she. She could enjoy a kiss or two and then continue on her way with fond memories and no hurt feelings. Perhaps she would see him in the future at a function in London, and they would chat and smile and remember that time when she’d needed a flight to Port Lucy and wasn’t it so funny how that had come about? Yes, yes, she’d certainly been a stubborn one! But my, how time has flown, and is this your beautiful wife? Oh, and children!
Isla stifled a groan and turned her face into the blanket. Daniel Pickett was the first man who had ever truly caught her eye. She worked all day, every day, with men of all shapes, sizes, and social statuses. She’d come to know many, some quite well, and yet there had never been this same pull she’d felt toward Daniel, nearly from the start.
What would become of this infatuation with the captain when they reached Port Lucy? Nothing. Their association would end, and she might never see him again. She didn’t know how long it would take her to find Malette—he and the others had insisted on helping her—but it could take more time than any of them had to spare. Daniel would eventually need to re
turn to London, and the other three had new lives to begin.
It was good that the whole bizarre event was nearly finished. Daniel hadn’t asked for the burden of responsibility for her—had tried hard to prevent it—but he had cared for her admirably. He deserved to be relieved of that burden, and it was fortunate they wouldn’t spend much more time together. It would be easier for her to dismiss whatever it was she thought she felt for him.
“I say,” Quince murmured, and Isla heard him rustle on the blanket.
She glanced up to see he’d straightened from the tree trunk and was looking intently over the water. She followed his gaze and saw Nigel Crowe making his way down the gangplank and into the water.
“Oh, dear. Does he not know to remove his boots?”
Isla winced. “I don’t suppose I gave him explicit enough instructions.”
“Did you invite him to join us?”
She nodded. “I aim to make a friend of him, Mr. Quince, for all of our sakes.” She looked at the older gentleman. “I shall give nothing away, so please do not worry. You and the others are my first concern, of course.” She looked at the man who was slogging his way through the water to the shore. “Perhaps I am hoping for miracles, but everybody has a story, and something tells me that man is fighting some demons.”
Isla supposed the situation could have been worse. Drawing Nigel Crowe from his cabin might have been a good idea, if awkward silences and palpable mistrust were just the thing to have at a gathering.
She had greeted Crowe warmly and suggested he would be ever so much more comfortable without his boots and heavy jacket, and when she’d taken him to the waterfall where Daniel, Bonadea, and Lewis were swimming—bare-chested, to her eternal embarrassment—they had not thrown rocks or held his head under the water.
As it was her idea to invite him, she took it upon herself to point out the items of interest she’d discovered—“These flowers are the brightest orange I have ever seen, and Mr. Bonadea tells me there are monkeys in the trees!”—and for his part, he did respond, albeit monosyllabically, with an almost pleasant expression.
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