The other marks made him suspect langur monkeys as the culprits who had played havoc with the baskets and shells. On the far side of the camp, he discovered a long scrape in the sand that led into the trees. It looked as if the mats had been bundled together and dragged away.
She had done this. She had taken everything and left. Probably so that he couldn’t find her again.
He swallowed hard as a fresh wave of guilt careened through him. Forcing it aside, he searched for the signaling device she had made. He found it leaning against a tree, left behind, thank God. He picked it up and raced back toward the shore. Tracking down Ashiana would have to wait.
He could only pray that the shiny bits of metal from the Valor would be enough to catch the meager sunlight.
Two hours of searching for her turned up nothing.
“Ashiana!” He had crisscrossed the island’s forest but could find no clue as to where she had gone. He had caught a glimpse of her tiger, prowling among the trees, but there was no sign of Ashiana. The scrape of the dragged mats had ended in a tangle of vegetation—as if she had vanished into the air.
His worry deepened with every passing minute. “Ashiana! I’ve sighted a ship. They saw my signal and they’re coming for us.”
Finally, he circled all the way back to the place where he had begun his search.
“Ashiana! Where in the blazes have you gone off to?” He stopped and leaned one hand against a huge gray sal tree.
“What kind of ship is it?”
Saxon straightened and spun around. Her disembodied voice seemed to come from the humid air itself. He turned fully around and saw nothing.
“Look up,” the voice suggested.
Tilting his head back, Saxon spotted her at last.
From high in another giant sal several yards away, she peeked at him over the edge of…he wasn’t sure what it was, but it appeared to be some sort of platform of sticks and bamboo lashed together with vines.
How in the world she had constructed it up there—much less why she hadn’t settled for simply moving to a new location—was beyond him. She had moved her entire shelter, more or less, into the tree. It must have taken days of work.
He felt a surge of admiration at her ingenuity, and at the physical strength that lay beneath her delicate femininity.
“It’s the kind of ship that’s going to get us off this island,” he replied at last. “What does it matter what kind of ship it is?”
“How do I know there is a ship at all?” she asked warily. “You might be lying just to lure me down there for your own…purposes.”
“Ashiana, we don’t have time to argue. The ship will be here any moment.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“If you want me to come up there and get you, I will.”
“I doubt that you could,” she shot back.
Muttering a curse, Saxon stalked over to the tree, but was forced to a halt when confronted with the thick, smooth trunk. There didn’t seem to be any footholds, and it was much too big around to shimmy up. How the devil had she gotten up there?
He stepped back and stared up at her. “What made you decide to live up there with the monkeys in the first place?”
“I much prefer their company to yours!”
“It’s a deserted island, for God’s sake. You didn’t need to move into the trees to avoid me.”
“I did not wish to be ambushed again!”
Her declaration knifed through him. He finally understood what she was saying: she had gone to all this work, all this time and trouble, probably strained herself to exhaustion—solely to save herself from his physical attentions.
The thought struck him like a blow, right to the center of his chest. Hellfire and damnation, had it been that awful for her? He knew he had behaved like a selfish blackguard, had taken pleasure without giving any in return, but he hadn’t realized…
He clenched his jaw, trying to keep both of them focused on the vital matter at hand. “Ashiana, come down from there,” he said gently. “There is a ship. They might be here already.” He paused, adding, “I give you my word I won’t touch you.”
“Your word,” she choked out. “I am supposed to trust your word?”
“How about if I tie my hands behind my back?”
“That I would like to see.”
“I could also leave you here.” Saxon knew he didn’t mean it, but apparently she believed him.
He heard her gasp. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
At the sadness in her voice, he almost took it back. He gritted his teeth and let the threat stand, since it seemed the only way to get her out of the tree.
Her face disappeared from the edge of the platform.
A moment later he heard her moving around. Then an airy whoosh and a rustle of wet leaves overhead splattered him with raindrops.
To his utter amazement, she appeared on the ground at the base of a tree a short distance away, clinging to a vine she had wrapped around her waist.
He blinked, again feeling admiration at her daring. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“I was raised on an island much like this one. You may not believe anything I say, but it was the truth.” She let go of the vine.
There was that word again. Truth. “Are all Ajmir princesses taught to swing through the trees?”
“I was adopted.”
She seemed to think that should explain it. When she didn’t move, he stepped toward her.
She tensed as he came near, and he realized it must take courage to face the one thing she found more terrible than the worst monsoon or a tiger’s claws.
Him.
It was only when he drew closer that he could see her clearly in the shifting light that filtered down to the jungle floor. She looked drawn and tired. Dark circles showed beneath her lower lashes. Her skin had lost any hint of freckles or sun, as if she hadn’t ventured beyond her sanctuary. And he didn’t have to touch her to know that she had lost weight. His eyes knew her body that well.
“Dear God, Ashiana, are you all right?” he asked with concern.
“Oh, stop,” she said sharply. “You have already done enough. Didn’t it make you feel better?”
“Didn’t what make me feel better?”
“The way you tricked me.” Her blue eyes, so large against her pale skin, suddenly glistened. “That day when you swept me into your arms, you made me believe that…that you care for me. But then you showed me quite clearly that you do not.” Her voice wavered, then strengthened. “Did it not make you feel better to have your moment of revenge?”
Saxon felt as if she had just slashed him with a blade. Revenge? She thought he had sought her out that day to take revenge? That had had nothing to do with it. He had been drawn to her by a need he couldn’t begin to fathom let alone explain. By some mysterious power that bound him to her even after everything that had happened—even knowing she belonged to another man.
By a desire to make her his once more before they were separated forever.
And by a stupid, selfish male urge to create a memory she would never forget, no matter how many nights she spent in her prince’s bed.
Well, congratulations, D’Avenant, you accomplished that.
“Ashiana, I’m sorry,” he choked out, his gaze dropping to her damaged corset, which he had all but torn off her. “I never meant to…I was not trying to take revenge—”
“Indeed? I think you managed quite well.”
“You said yes,” he reminded her defensively. “More than once.”
Her eyes flashed blue fire. “Only because you tricked me! And I hope you enjoyed yourself, Captain D’Avenant, because I will never say yes to you again. That was the last time you will ever touch me! I will never again offer you so much as a kiss, you English scoundrel.” A tear slid down her cheek and she whirled away from him, clearly not wanting him to see. But it was too late.
That single tear had burned him. He couldn’t even speak.
“I will not tolerate being called chura anymore, either,” she railed at him. “You are the only thief here, not me. Let us at least be clear on that. Your motives and your actions have been—”
“Ashiana, I didn’t spend two hours tracking you down to argue with you. We need to get to the shore—quickly. Are you able to walk or should I carry you?” He reached for her.
She darted away from his touch. “I can walk quite well, my lord.” She addressed him frostily. “I do not need to be carried.”
Gritting back an oath, Saxon turned and led the way though the trees at a fast pace. But he was careful to match his strides to hers so she would be able to keep up without exerting herself.
“Your entire problem,” she commented as she walked beside him, “is that you seem to think that you are better than me. But of course, arrogance is a common trait among you English.”
She said “you English” with brittle contempt, classing him with the worst of his people, purposely trying to irritate him.
To his annoyance, it worked.
“You will soon have ample opportunities for comparison,” he informed her lightly.
“Why is that?”
He glanced down at her. “The ship that’s coming to our rescue. You asked what kind it was. The answer is that it’s English.”
Saxon set Ashiana down on her feet a few yards from the beach, within the forest shadows.
He dodged her open hand as it came at him, catching her by the wrist. “We’ll have no more of that, Princess.” He had scooped her up the second she tried to flee to her treetop sanctuary—and his left cheek still stung from where she had slapped him.
He could hardly fault her for giving him a good solid thwack, since he thoroughly deserved it.
One, however, was enough. The lady’s strength was equal to her fury.
She stood frozen, glaring at him, breathing as heavily as he was. Carrying her in his arms had been sheer torture. Her tattered garments covered precious little, and the heat of her body and her wriggling efforts to get away had left him with an unsteady heartbeat.
She tried unsuccessfully to pull free from his hold. “I warned you not to touch me again—”
“We don’t have time to discuss your new rules.” One glance at the shore revealed two white boats lancing through the waves, headed for the beach. He could see uniformed Royal Navy officers and seamen in each—heavily armed.
They were only being cautious, not knowing who had signaled or what awaited them. The ship that had anchored in the inlet, Saxon noted to his relief, was what he had guessed from a distance: a modest-sized fourth-rate. He had almost feared that the Hindu gods had tossed Greyslake into his path once more, but it seemed they had something else in mind for him.
He turned back to Ashiana, still holding her arm. “I want you to stay put,” he commanded, emphasizing his order with a steely gaze. “Don’t let them know that you’re here until I call for you.”
He could tell by her mutinous glare that she meant to run the minute he let her go.
“Ashiana, I will now have the help of several dozen Englishmen to track you down,” he warned. “And it’s not that big an island.”
The defiance melted right out of her at his threat, though her eyes still expressed in no uncertain terms that she condemned him to Shiva the Destroyer’s darkest lair. “As you command, my lord.”
It bothered him that she refused to call him by his given name.
It shouldn’t, but it did.
He let her go. “These are not the same men that attacked the Valor, so everything should be fine. But if anything happens to me, run for that tree-house of yours and don’t come down until they’re gone.”
Her eyes widened. “If anything—” She stopped herself. Her expression returned to cool disinterest. “Very well.”
“And do not make trouble.” He turned to walk out of the trees.
“I will do whatever I must to get you out of my life, Angrez,” she assured him.
He stopped in his tracks, his back to her. “The feeling is entirely mutual, Your Royal Highness.”
Exasperated, Saxon went down to the shore to greet their rescuers. He glanced back over his shoulder, casually, just once. Ashiana stood where he had left her.
Leading the dozen men up the beach was a tall young officer wearing a perfectly spiffed blue-and-white uniform, every gold button polished to a high gloss. With his white wig, keen green eyes, and gleaming saber, he looked like he had just stepped out of a Royal Navy recruitment poster.
Saxon held out his hand. “Greetings, Captain. You’re a welcome sight.”
“Good God!” The man’s wary expression became a smile. “An Englishman! Of what ship, sir?”
“The Indiaman Valor. She went down about a month ago.”
The captain shook Saxon’s hand vigorously. “Storm?”
“Fire.” Saxon saw no sense in making accusations—against another Navy captain—that he could never prove.
“Blasted bad luck. We hadn’t heard a word of it, Mr.…?”
“Captain,” Saxon corrected. “Saxon D’Avenant.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up to the brim of his tricorne. “Of the D’Avenant shipping family? The late Duke of Silverton’s son?”
“The same.”
The man sheathed his sword and shook Saxon’s hand again. “Captain Andrew Bennett, of His Majesty’s sloop Crusader. An honor to meet you, sir.”
“The honor appears to be mine—isn’t it a bit unusual for a Navy captain to leave his ship for a shore party?”
“I insist on taking whatever risks my men take.” Bennett flashed a rakish smile. “I trust you won’t inform the Admiralty of my nefarious lack of respect for regulations.”
Saxon laughed, feeling an immediate kinship with the man. “You can trust me on that score.” He found himself shaking hands and accepting introductions from the other officers before he could get any more information out of them. “If you hadn’t heard of the wreck, that means none of my men returned to the mainland?”
“Not that I know of.” Bennett shook his head with regret. “But we came out of Fort St. David on the east coast over a month ago.”
“Lucky for me that you came this way. What’s your destination?”
“Home, Captain. And it’s not luck at all. In another week or so, ships in these lanes will be thick as pickpockets at St. Bartholomew’s Fair. Half the Navy has been ordered back to England. Trouble with the French.” His expression turned grim. “Afraid we haven’t time to turn back and take you to the mainland. Home will have to do instead.”
Home? God in Heaven, how many years had it been since he had set foot in England? Saxon nodded slowly. There was no reason for him to go to the Andamans now; the sapphires weren’t there. And if fourth-rates like the Crusader had been ordered home, he could guess that the more powerful third-rates would be on their way back as well.
Including the Phoenix. England was where he would find Greyslake—and finally have the chance to make the murdering bastard pay for the lives he had taken.
“Home will do quite well,” Saxon said with anticipation.
“Excellent.”
“Are you the only survivor, sir?” one of the officers asked.
“No, there’s one other.” Saxon turned toward the forest, tensing. “Ashiana?”
She stepped hesitantly out of her hiding place and stopped a few paces beyond the trees, her eyes wide at the gathering of uniformed men arrayed before her.
Saxon heard the quick intake of masculine breath all around him. Protectiveness and possessiveness flooded him. She was trying to cover herself, and her tumbled hair helped, but the Navy men were getting more of an eyeful than they would in a brothel.
“It’s all right,” he said to her gently in Hindi. “Come on.”
She walked forward, slowly.
Bennett exhaled and spoke in a dry, wondering whisper. “This would be your…wife?”
“No.”
The curt denial
was no sooner past his lips than Bennett doffed his coat. “A passenger on your ship, then?”
“Something like that.”
Bennett crossed the sand and met Ashiana halfway. Saxon watched as the Navy captain gently wrapped his coat around her slim shoulders and buttoned it at her throat, smiling down at her. She looked up at him with an expression of surprise and gratitude.
Saxon had to clench both fists against the sudden impulse to punch his rescuer in the jaw.
None of the men around him noticed his reaction; they were too busy being entranced.
Bennett bowed, took Ashiana’s hand lightly in his, and kissed it. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady. Captain Andrew Bennett at your service. The Crusader and every man aboard are yours to command.”
Saxon frowned at the display of gallantry. “She doesn’t speak much English.”
Bennett gave him a perplexed look. “Why, she looks as British as a queen! What are the lady’s origins?”
Saxon wrestled with what he should say. She was about to spend months at close quarters with these men. It would be wise to afford her as much protection as possible.
“She was born of English parents but raised in India.” His gaze settled on Ashiana’s bright eyes, her glossy hair, her full lips—and he knew he was the only man present looking at her face. The rest kept subtly glancing at her legs: bare, tempting curves that peeked out from the bottom of Bennett’s blue coat.
Saxon decided to embellish the tale.
“Her father was an earl, I believe. From Dorset or something like that. Quite wealthy. Crème de la crème. She was separated from her family when she was a young child. They’ll be thrilled to have her back. Probably see that you receive a knighthood, at the very least.” His eyes met Ashiana’s. “Beyond her parentage, to be honest, the lady is still a mystery to me.”
He doubted she understood either his words or the undertone of irony.
“Have you any belongings you need to gather?” Bennett addressed Saxon but kept his gaze on Ashiana. “We really should be off. No time to tarry when the King calls, you know.”
One Night with a Scoundrel Page 25
