“If you keep kissing me like that,” he chuckled, “I’ll never leave this cabin.”
Caralyn grinned. “That is my intention, Captain.”
“Hmm, if that is your intention, then I’m more than willing and able to comply.” He touched his lips to hers, unable to resist another taste. “But I’m sure someone will be knocking on this door before too long.” He stroked her cheek then stood and strode to the door. “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee and a biscuit in a moment.” His hand rested on the doorknob, but he didn’t turn it. Reluctance to leave her swelled in his heart and his gaze remained on her. He wondered what she thought, what ideas were going through her mind, but her countenance revealed nothing. He sighed, gave a slight nod then finally left the cabin.
• • •
As soon as the door closed, Caralyn scrambled from the bed, slipped into her robe, and rushed to the small mirror hanging on the wall. Her reflection stared back at her. She hadn’t changed. Except for a rash of redness on her cheek where his whiskers had chafed her skin, a glow to her features, and slightly swollen lips, she looked exactly like herself. No sign hung around her neck to proclaim her a loose woman, no tattoo stenciled across her forehead said she’d given herself to him.
She may look the same, but she certainly didn’t feel the same.
Oh dear God, what have I done?
Remorse and shame made her stomach clench, made her face flame with embarrassment as she remembered how uninhibited she’d been, allowing him to touch her, taste her in the most intimate of places. Last night, she could understand her actions. Almost. She had been carried away by her emotions, but this morning when she’d had the opportunity to make him leave, why had she let him stay? And why had she begged him—begged him—to make love to her?
“It’s senseless to ask yourself these questions,” she spoke aloud to her reflection. “You know exactly why you did what you did.”
His touch was magical, the heat of his breath on the back of her neck thrilling, the warmth of his lips as they brushed against her skin oh, so delicious, the feel of him inside her too wonderful to describe, the emotions too powerful to forget. If she never felt this again, she would always keep these memories in her mind.
She turned away from the mirror, away from the blush that stained her cheeks, dumped the rust tinged water from the basin, refilled it then bathed. The cool water did nothing to eliminate the flush heating her skin, nor did it help to stop the reprimands swirling around her brain or the memory of their shared intimacy.
She dressed in a white cotton frock with swirls of green and gold then cleaned up the cabin, her face growing warmer as she picked up the pile of clothes from the floor and put them away. She glanced toward the bed, the rumpled sheets, the pillow indented where her head had been, and quickly adjusted the bedding, hoping to erase all signs of their lovemaking.
With the cabin spotless, Caralyn paced the floor, unsure of what to do next. Afraid the crew would take one look at her and know what she’d done, she didn’t want to go up on deck, not yet, but staying in the cabin wasn’t an option. Tomorrow would bring the same worries, the same sense of guilt, and her parents hadn’t raised a coward. She sat on the bed, remembering what had occurred on the mattress, then rose and flounced into the chair beside the stove only to realize the chair held memories, too—his mouth on hers, his hands caressing her, her body responding to his every touch. Warmth heated her cheeks. Indeed, her entire body felt as if flames raced through her veins instead of blood.
She rose and began to pace.
A knock sounded on the door. Caralyn opened the portal but it wasn’t Tristan with the promised coffee and biscuit. Temperance stood in his stead, her eyes sparkling behind the lenses of her glasses, her skin glowing. Marriage agreed with her.
“What’s wrong? Are you unwell? You’re usually on deck before the rest of the crew, having your coffee as the sun comes up.” The woman studied her from head to toe. “What happened?”
Caralyn felt her cheeks grow hot and she wondered, though she wore no sign, no tattoo, if the woman saw all her secrets. She took a deep breath to still the frantic beating of her heart. “I’m fine, just a little tired,” she lied as she opened the door wider and allowed Temperance to enter.
“I’m moving my things into Brady’s cabin today.” The woman swept into the room, her sharp gaze missing nothing, which made Caralyn glad she’d cleaned the cabin. Her eyes flitted toward the bunk. Neatly made, the bed bore no evidence of her night—and morning—of passion.
Temperance chattered about the plans she and Brady had made but Caralyn wasn’t listening as she helped pack her friend’s belongings in the trunk they’d purchased in Puerto Rico. She held a frilly petticoat in her hand with the intention of folding it neatly, but stopped and stared into space. A lump formed in her throat. Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision. Her fingers gripped the petticoat and twisted.
“Caralyn.”
“What?”
“You’re ripping my petticoat.” Temperance grabbed the garment, folded it quickly, and placed it in the trunk. Hands on her hips, she faced Caralyn, eyes unblinking behind the lenses of her glasses. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I . . . Nothing.”
Temperance quirked an eyebrow. “I think I know you well enough to know when something isn’t right,” she said then reached out and took Caralyn’s hand. “You can tell me, Cara.”
There were some things Caralyn couldn’t bring herself to admit and making love to Tristan was one of them, but there were other worries she could discuss.
“We’re running out of time, Temperance,” she said, though she found it difficult to speak over the constriction in her throat. “If we don’t find Izzy’s Fortune, I’ll have to—”
“Have to what?”
“Marry that stodgy old earl’s son. I don’t want to. I don’t know him, don’t love him. How can I let him . . . how can I share the marriage bed? How can I spend the rest of my life with a complete stranger?”
“Come. Sit.” Temperance led her to the bed and forced her to sit then sat beside her. Caralyn stared at the floor, her hands twisting in her lap until Temperance demanded, “Look at me.”
She glanced at her companion, her friend, and saw compassion and sympathy reflected in her eyes, which made the lump in her throat grow larger, almost choking her.
“You’re not the first woman to find herself married to a man she doesn’t know. Arranged marriages happen all the time. From what I’ve seen, they seem to work and you’ll grow fond of each other over time.”
“Fond? Over time?” Caralyn rose from the bed and began to pace. “I want much more than mere fondness, Temperance. I want love and passion, like my parents. I want what you have found with Stitch.”
And I think I’ve found it. With Tristan. She didn’t say the words aloud, but they flitted through her head and she realized they were true. The constriction returned to her throat and she grew dizzy. When had she fallen in love with him? Was it last night when he’d brought her to the heights of passion? Or this morning, when she’d given herself to him once again?
Caralyn shook her head and tried to clear the fog from her mind. She attempted to pay attention to the advice Temperance offered but the questions kept coming. With a painful thud of her heart, she realized she’d been falling in love with the captain from the moment she met him. He hadn’t swept her off her feet as she always thought she wanted a man to do, hadn’t whisked her away on horseback from the steps of the church as her father had done with her mother. There were no thunderbolts of realization, no bright flashes of light. Falling for him had been far more subtle.
“What does finding Izzy’s Fortune have to do with anything? That blasted treasure. If not for this search, you’d already be in England, getting to know the man you’re to marry.”
“What?”
Temperance inhaled deeply and made a face, one filled with frustration. “I asked what finding Izzy’s Fortune has to do with
getting married.”
“It has nothing to do with getting married. Izzy’s Fortune is my salvation.”
“Your salvation?” Her brows drew together in a frown. “I don’t understand.”
Caralyn sat on the bed beside her companion and lowered her voice. “My plan is to take my share of the treasure and buy myself out of the betrothal.”
Temperance gasped and her face took on a rosy hue. She blinked several times in quick succession then shook her head. “Oh, Cara, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I don’t think that’s possible. The promise your father made on your behalf is binding.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought, then released it. “Who told you such a thing was possible?”
“My father,” she said. “He told me as much. If I can replace the dowry he agreed upon, I can be released from his promise.” She hugged herself, excitement bubbling within her veins. “I can’t wait to see the look on the old earl’s face when I drop a bag of gold in front of him.” She took Temperance’s hand in hers and squeezed. “You’ll help me, won’t you, Temperance?”
“Yes, of course,” she agreed, but the tone of her voice held skepticism and uncertainty.
Caralyn ignored the niggling doubt in the back of her mind and rose from the bed. “You mustn’t tell anyone. This must remain our secret. Agreed?” Temperance nodded but said nothing. “Good. Let’s finish packing later. I’m dying for a cup of coffee. And one of Hash’s biscuits.”
Chapter 17
“Land ho!” Mad Dog shouted from the heights of the crow’s nest. With those two words, excitement bubbled through Caralyn and made her belly quiver.
She stood on the quarterdeck but glanced behind her to see Tristan at the helm, the wheel in his confident hands, the same hands that brought her so much bliss. She held her breath as her anticipation increased ten-fold.
The Adventurer had become too small, the nearness of Tristan too close. Since the night of Stitch’s wedding to Temperance and the awakening of her desire, she couldn’t stay away from the captain. The heat in his eyes warmed her blood, the magic of his touch stayed with her even after he stopped, the intense pleasure they shared, too much to deny.
She had no willpower, no strength where he was concerned. The days were filled with warm breezes, beautiful sunshine, and the vast expanse of ocean but the nights—oh, the nights—were full of white-hot passion. Whatever shame she’d felt had long since disappeared in his warm embrace.
After the confession they were both promised to others, they’d spoken briefly of the obligations made for them by their respective families and the unhappiness with decisions not in their control. Each knew they had no choice and would marry the people chosen for them whether they wanted to or not. Caralyn did mention, in jest, that she often thought of buying her freedom with her share of Izzy’s Fortune. After that, they’d made a mutual agreement not to discuss their future plans and for once in her life, Caralyn was living for the moment and the moment alone.
He grinned in her direction and her entire body tingled with expectation. With effort, she turned away from his devastating smile so full of promise and shaded her eyes against the sun. Tiny dark dots on the horizon met her stare and grew larger as the wind-filled sails brought them closer.
Caralyn left the quarterdeck and ran to the captain’s cabin, her pounding heart filled with hope. She prayed, with every ounce of belief in her soul, the treasure would be here—had to be here. She changed out of her gown and donned the familiar, comfortable trousers and loose shirt.
By the time she returned topside and joined Tristan at the helm, the islands were in full view and as beautiful as she remembered. They sailed past the Island of the Sleeping Man with its thundering waterfall and hidden cove to the next—the island indicated on Pembrook’s mural.
Waves crashed on a long white beach. Sand gave way to rows of palm trees, which swayed in the breeze. Beyond the palms: lush, dense jungle. Cedar, mahogany, and rosewood trees filtered the sunlight, their limbs full of colorful birds. Supple flowering vines and woody lianas twisted and climbed around thick trunks toward the leafy canopy above and life-giving sunlight. Vibrant ferns in every shade of green imaginable covered the forest floor. Orchid, hibiscus, and Poinciana blossoms punctuated the unending field of dark brown bark and shiny leaves, but not one path dotted the landscape, at least not that she could see. Time and nature had played a cruel trick and the trail in Pembrook’s mural had disappeared, overgrown with ferns and smaller trees vying for their little patch of sun.
Caralyn’s heart sank, and yet a shiver of anticipation raced down her spine as Tristan gave the order, “Mr. Anders, blow your whistle for me.”
The young man complied and the crew sprang into action. Sails were furled and the anchor dropped with a splash into the crystal blue waters. The ship bobbed in the waves. Another toot on the whistle and the crew gathered on the quarterdeck.
“Are you ready?” Tristan asked as his gaze met hers. The sparkle in his sherry-colored eyes warmed her to her toes, the smile on his face made gooseflesh break out over her entire body.
Caralyn grinned. “Oh, yes!”
He took her hand in his as if he didn’t care who saw them and together, they walked across to the deck. Caralyn’s face flushed beneath the curious scrutiny of both Socrates and Temperance, but neither said a word.
Tristan paced as he addressed the crew, his hands clasped behind his back. Caralyn watched him, fascinated by the strength in his stride, the expression he wore.
“This is it, men. Our last chance to find Izzy’s Fortune,” he said as he strutted across the deck, his hard-soled boots clicking with each step. She detected a note of sadness in his voice. It mirrored her own.
Time had run out.
If they didn’t find the treasure now, she’d have to give up her search, go to England . . . and marry. The realization increased her determination.
“How will we find the treasure?” Mac stood before him, hands on his hips, his mustache a brilliant white slash across his upper lip.
“I wish I knew how to answer, Mac.” Tristan stopped his pacing and studied the Scotsman. He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh of frustration. “The painting on the wall beneath the chapel showed a path that ended with an emerald. I can only assume that’s where the treasure is but I see no such trail. Changes have occurred since Pembrook was last here.”
He sighed again and stuck his hands in his pockets. “We’ll have to search the island, step by careful step. Izzy’s Fortune could be anywhere, hidden in a cave, buried beneath the ground.”
“If it’s here, we’ll find it,” Mad Dog said, and the men gave a shout of agreement. Tristan smiled. Indeed, his grin lit up his entire face and Caralyn’s heart thudded hard in her chest.
Tristan turned to Hash. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to stay here on the Adventurer.”
The big man looked almost relieved as he nodded and continued to pet the cat in his arms. “’Course, Cap’n. Smudge and me’ll keep the stew simmering and the coffee hot.”
“Good man,” Tristan said with a grin then addressed the crew. “Get our supplies and fill the longboats.”
Caralyn stood back, Temperance on one side of her, Jemmy on the other and watched the activity on deck. Though she longed to help, she knew she’d only be in the way.
The quivering in her belly had not lessened. In fact, it had grown. Excitement, anticipation, and eagerness to finish this quest and find Izzy’s Fortune surged through her veins.
“Are we gonna hunt for treasure, Miss Cara?”
Caralyn glanced at the boy she’d come to adore and grinned. He looked so sweet, so grown up as he stood beside her, his hand in hers. The cowlick at the back of his head stood straight up, and she resisted the urge to smooth it down.
“Yes, Jemmy, we’re going to search for Izzy’s Fortune.”
“Can I help?”
“May I,” she corrected him, having picked up the habit from Trista
n. “Of course you may.”
He grinned at her with all the enthusiasm and energy of a little boy, and Caralyn’s heart swelled with love.
“What if it’s not here?” Temperance whispered.
“It’s here,” Caralyn said. “It has to be.”
“But what if it’s not? What if—”
“Temperance, stop!” Caralyn drew in her breath and held it while she mentally counted to ten. “I cannot allow myself to believe this journey has been for nothing. The treasure is here. It must be.”
The woman nodded but remained silent, although the expression on her face mirrored her doubt. With a conscious effort, Caralyn ignored her companion’s skepticism and gave her attention to the activity on deck.
Within a short span of time, the boats were loaded with every thing they’d need—shovels, pickaxes, machetes, lanterns, candles, ropes, and pulleys. The boats were lowered to the water.
White-crested waves propelled them toward the shore with ease. Socrates and Mad Dog jumped from the bobbing vessels and pulled them onto the sand with the swell of the surf.
Once on the beach, Tristan offered her his hand to help her from the boat. Caralyn smiled at him, the heat of his touch warming her soul. She studied the tree line then closed her eyes and pictured Pembrook’s mural in her mind. When she opened them again, she saw exactly where the path had been, or at least, where Pembrook had placed it in his painting.
“We should start there,” she said as she drew Tristan’s attention and pointed toward a spot directly in front of them.
“Are you certain?”
“As certain as I can be. If you close your eyes and remember the mural, you’ll see it, too.”
He did as she requested. A grin spread his mouth as his eyes flew open. “You’re right.” He chuckled then grabbed her around the waist and brought her closer to plant a light kiss on her nose.
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