She laughed again, calling out in Matarengi. He took up his machete and hacked his way through the thick undergrowth, cutting away fronds from giant tree ferns and tall stems of yellow ginger.
He stopped when a flash of ivory in the trees caught his eye. Sheathing his machete, Trevor gazed through the jungle growth. What he saw almost stopped his heart. A few yards away, Joya was up a towering acacia tree, perched on a thin limb, stretching to reach an orchid. Umbaba waited at the base of the tree, ready to break her fall.
Trevor made his presence known, waved at the younger man, and then held a finger to his lips. Thankfully, Umbaba did nothing to alert Joya, but the look he gave Trevor was not welcoming.
Trevor doubted the man held any regard for him, especially if Joya had told her friend all she had been through in England. He tried smiling. Umbaba glared but did not give him away.
Up in the branches of the tree, Joya chatted away, climbing ever higher. When Trevor saw how far she had gone, he almost forgot to breathe. One false step and she would break her lovely neck.
He set down his pack and his rifle and, quickly signing his intention, convinced Umbaba to step back, then took the man’s place beneath the tree. Concentrating on the orchids, Joya never looked down.
With his heart in his throat, Trevor watched her pry off three plants and drop them into a burlap bag at her waist. Satisfied with her prize, she began the climb down.
Umbaba called to her, directing her descent. Joya felt around with her feet, choosing footholds as she worked her way down, using staggered limbs as steps. He had no sooner decided she was actually going to make it safely to the ground when she gave a short, high-pitched squeal and came flying through a series of limbs that gave beneath her weight.
She landed in Trevor’s arms with enough force to knock him off his feet, but he cradled her so that she suffered no injury when they hit the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, burlap and crushed specimens.
Stunned, she looked up at Umbaba. When she realized that someone else had caught her, she whipped around and recognized Trevor. She gasped and jumped to her feet, her first words to him in Matarengi. Then she shook her head, as if to clear it.
“What are you doing here?” she cried.
“I am here under royal orders from the queen.”
“The queen sent you? Did she like the orchid? Did she send you back for more?” She adjusted the faded trousers tied low around her hips and brushed her hair out of her eyes.
“She loved the orchid. She also told me that you are a rare treasure and that I should not let you get away. She told me to go after you.”
“Is that why you came? Because of an obligation to the queen?”
He tried to pull her into his arms, but she stepped out of his reach.
“I came after you because I want my wife back. My first wife. My only wife.”
“But I was a terrible English wife.”
“I don’t want an English wife. I want you.” He indicated Umbaba with a nod. “Can you ask him to go back to camp?”
She was staring into his eyes the way she had on the day he had saved her from Roth, as if he had hung the moon and all the stars. She spoke to Umbaba and after a long, heated conversation, the native finally left.
“You were about to tell me why you want me back instead of looking for a proper English wife,” she reminded him.
Trevor was desperate to hold her in his arms. “I prefer not to shout,” he said, lowering his voice. “You’ll have to step closer.”
He held his breath until she moved close enough for him to take into his arms. When he felt her arms slip around him in return, he tightened the embrace. Tenderly, he kissed the crown of her head.
She was alluring, totally captivating even though dressed in nothing more than what he had found her in before—mud-stained, ragged trousers that came up to her shins, and a thin, time-worn linen shirt knotted over her midriff. He smoothed his hand over her slim waist, traced the swell of her hip, and kissed her fully.
Now that he had her in his arms again, everything else he had come to say could wait, save one.
“I love you, Joya. I need you in my life forever.”
* * *
In disbelief, Joya leaned back Trevor’s his arms so that she could look into his eyes.
“Are you certain, Trevor?” Had he at last come to believe in something he could not see, something he could not classify, or order, or categorize?
“I am very sure. I love you and from now on I plan to tell you so many times a day that you will beg me to stop. I want you beside me. Always. My life was so empty without you that I saw no reason for what I was doing anymore. There was no purpose to those long hours of work. Money meant nothing compared to you. The night you left I searched for you and when I couldn’t find you, I was like a madman. I felt things I never thought I was capable of feeling. I was lost, and I’ve been lost, and will be until you tell me you will come back to me.”
She searched his eyes and saw the truth in them. Blinded by tears, she went up on tiptoe and brought her lips to his. It felt so good, so very right to have his arms around her again.
She loved him desperately and knew she always would, but still she found herself wondering…at what cost? She took a deep breath. There was no denying her love for him, but she did not think she could ever endure what had happened to her in London again.
“I cannot go back with you, Trevor,” she whispered. “Even though I love you with all my heart, I cannot live in London.”
He smoothed back her hair, kissed her cheek, her eyelids, the tip of her nose.
“You won’t have to live in London. But wouldn’t you consider a few visits to see your sister?”
Janelle. That part of herself that she had sought for so long, only to lose her again.
“How is she?”
“Well and happy, but missing you terribly. Obviously you didn’t get our letters.”
“What letters?”
“I sent you letters and so did Janelle. Your sister wrote to you nearly every week.”
She thought of the expression she had seen on her father’s face whenever she had asked whether there had been any letters for her, and found that she was more hurt than angry that he had deceived her again.
“Papa must have kept them,” she realized with a shake of her head. “But what of Mandeville Imports, Trevor? How can you manage your family’s business if you are not in London?” The hope that had quickly blossomed began to fade. What kind of a reaction would Adelaide have to a reconciliation between them? “And what does your grandmother think of your coming after me?”
“I have sold Mandeville Imports and all the rest of it.” Before she could respond, his handsome features darkened and his eyes were shadowed with sadness. “Grandmother had a stroke the day after you left. She died two weeks later.”
“Oh, Trevor, I know you loved her. Could it have been my fault? I thought she would be so pleased by my leaving.”
“You aren’t in any way responsible. The doctor told us she had been failing for a long time. She was too stubborn to let it show. There is much to explain, much more to tell you, but right now, all I want is you.”
She could not resist him any more than she ever could. She gave in to some very persuasive, long, hot kisses, sighing when he slipped his hand beneath her shirt and grazed the curve of her breast with his fingertips. He began to nuzzle her cheek and whisper in her ear.
“What would you say if I suggested that we make love beneath that acacia tree over there?”
* * *
Trevor was certain his lovely little wife was just about to acquiesce, for she was eyeing the ground below the tree, when suddenly a twig snapped behind them and Dustin Penn’s voice rang out. “Take your bloody hands off my daughter, Mandeville!”
Trevor heard Joya sigh, “Papa.”
It was, indeed, her papa, and he did not sound any more welcoming than he had the first time Trevor saw him.
“I mean it
, Mandeville, get your hands off her and step away.”
Joya pulled out of his embrace. Before Trevor was able to turn around she snapped, “Oh, Papa, put down that gun, for heaven’s sake. Do you honestly think I would let you shoot Trevor?”
Dustin Penn chose to ignore her.
“Hands up, Mandeville, and turn around slowly.”
“Penn, have you lost your mind? She’s still my wife.”
“Not here she’s not. She banished herself.”
“Papa, I’ve changed my mind. I want to be un-banished.”
Trevor winced. Un-banished? He slowly turned with his hands in the air. Not only was Dustin Penn holding a gun on him, but they were surrounded by a host of Matarengi bearers armed with spears and shields.
“I’m sure we can sit down and talk this over like reasonable men.”
“I strive never to be reasonable or normal, Mandeville, so don’t insult me.”
Suspecting that Penn enjoyed playing the role of great white hunter, Trevor decided to hold his temper and humor him. The situation was ridiculous. He would be damned if he took the orchid hunter or his threats seriously.
“You hurt my girl, Mandeville.” Dustin Penn kept the gun trained on him as Joya walked over to his side. “Now you will have to pay the price.”
“Papa, please. Put down that gun. It doesn’t matter that I’m not a good English wife. Trevor doesn’t care.”
“I never cared about that,” Trevor added quickly. “Don’t tug on his arm, Joya. Not while he’s got that rifle pointed at me.”
“Where did she get the notion she wasn’t good enough?” Penn held firm and ignored Joya the way he might a pesky fly. The gun never wavered.
“From my grandmother, unfortunately. I had no idea that she wanted Joya out of my life so desperately. She did everything she could to make Joya feel insecure, for a reason that made sense only to Grandmother until the night Joya left and the truth was finally revealed. Don’t shoot me, Penn. I want to show you something.” Trevor slowly reached into his pocket. “These will help me explain—” He pulled out the matching silver combs and held them in the palm of his hand.
“Mama’s comb?” Joya walked away from her father, concentrating on the identical silver pieces in Trevor’s hand. “Why, there are two of them!”
“That’s right,” Trevor said, handing them both to Joya.
“They are just alike, Papa, except that one is not as tarnished.” She turned them over and over.
Penn finally lowered the gun. “What are you up to, Mandeville?”
“I am hot and I am hungry and I am trying to win my wife back, Penn. Do you think we could go to your camp where I can sit down and explain?”
* * *
This is the way it should be. This is where he belongs.
Back in the orchid camp, Joya watched Trevor accept water from one of the men. She could not take her eyes off him. This is the way he should always be, she thought over and over. Gone were his somber dark clothes, his shining waistcoat, his stiff collar and tall beaver hat. Gone was the preoccupation that had never left his eyes in London. He was dressed in his khaki clothes, sun helmet, leather gaiters, and muddy boots. Here he was vibrantly alive, free of the heavy responsibility he had shouldered as the heir to the Mandeville business fortune.
She decided that he actually enjoyed sparring with her father. There was not only a twinkle in Trevor’s eye, but a smile hovering about his delicious mouth.
“You were about to explain something to me, Mandeville, so I’ll thank you to quit staring at my daughter and start talking.”
Joya could not believe her eyes when Trevor actually winked at her. Then, in an instant, his smile faded. He held out his hand for the combs. She gave them over to him, as curious as her father was about what he was going to say.
“It was a stroke of luck when Joya left me this comb the night she ran away,” he told them. “If she had not, I would never have known that Clara Hayworth was my mother.”
Penn came up off his campstool to stand over Trevor. His frown was fierce. Doubt and suspicion filled his eyes.
“What are you saying? How dare you make such a claim?”
“So you didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“That Clara Hayworth Penn, your wife, was my mother.”
Joya gasped.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” her father yelled. “How could she have been your mother? Your father was James Mandeville. My Clara was only a housekeeper for the Oateses.” He sank back down onto the stool, slapped his hands on his thighs, and shook his head.
Joya grabbed her amulet pouch. It had felt so empty since she had given Trevor the comb. Afterward, she had sorely regretted leaving the memento behind.
Was he telling her now, that because of that comb he had discovered that Clara, the woman she thought of as her mother, had given him life? She shook her head and whispered, “How could that be?”
She listened while he told them everything Adelaide had related to him the morning after he had found the second comb. She tried to imagine her mother being wooed by James Mandeville, then having to live in shame in a shabby room somewhere in London. She pictured Clara starving, fearing for Trevor’s life if she did not give him up to Adelaide and James.
Trevor did not look at her until the end of his tale and then he said, “I swore to myself that I’d never make you cry again—and now I have already broken that vow.” He turned to her father, who was still sitting in stunned silence. Trevor said, “Shoot me if you must, Penn, but I’m going to hold my wife.”
“Why is it every time you come to this island, you upset our world with some revelation from the past?” Her papa rubbed his eyes. “Clara never even told me she had worked for Mandeville, let alone that she had a son by him. It appears that she kept her promise to your grandmother and took the secret to her grave.”
Joya let Trevor enfold her in his warm embrace, knowing his loss was far greater than hers. He would never, ever know what a truly wonderful mother Clara had been.
Each lost in their own thoughts, they fell silent until Joya suddenly remembered all the letters she had never received.
“Why did you keep Trevor’s and Janelle’s letters from me. Papa?”
Her father never flinched. Nor did he even try to deny any wrong. “I would do it again,” he said almost proudly. “I was determined not to let them hurt you any more, girl. At least not here, on my island, where I have a say about it.”
“You’ll never change, will you Papa?” She knew he had acted out of love. He had only tried, in his own way, to shield her from the pain of missing Janelle, of what Trevor’s letters might have done to her. Just as Clara had done that by agreeing never to tell Trevor that she was his mother, hoping to save him from humiliation and shame.
How often, she wondered, are family secrets kept, how often are the wrong choices made, all in the name of love? Her father had been wrong, but stubborn defiance remained in his eyes.
“You were very lucky this time, Papa,” she told him, “that things have worked out between us.”
“Someday, Mandeville,” he told Trevor, “when you have a daughter, you’ll understand why I did it. You will be willing to do anything to assure her happiness.”
“I won’t forget this, Penn. If I am lucky enough to ever have a daughter, remembering what you’ve done might help me be a little more understanding and a little less of a tyrant.”
Her father obviously knew he was in the wrong, for he held his temper and tried to change the subject. “So the orchid Joya found pleased the queen, did it?”
“Joya found it?” Trevor frowned.
“She damn near drowned taking it off a log in the middle of the river. I thought it the finest I’ve ever seen.” Her father was beaming with pride at her accomplishment. “Did you receive the royal appointment? Should we be calling you Sir Mandeville? Or Lord Something-or-other?”
“Neither,” Trevor said, but he was smiling.
&nbs
p; Joya was crestfallen. If the queen had not granted him an appointment, even though she thought the orchid stunning, then it had to have been because of her social blunder.
“Oh, Trevor, I’m so sorry.”
He quickly reassured her that the queen had actually found her charming the night of the reception, then he related the story of his second private audience with Victoria.
“The queen loved the orchid, and Prince Albert accepted it for the exhibition. He was upset that I did not name it for the queen, for it was the loveliest orchid anyone has ever seen. There was only one person in the world I could have named it for. I call it Phalaenopsis joyata.”
“You gave up a royal appointment to name it for me?”
“I would give my life for you, Joya.”
She could barely see him through the tears in her eyes. Despite the fact that her father was watching, that she was a banished wife, that she would never, ever be an English lady, she kissed Trevor.
When the kiss ended on a sigh and a promise, he told her, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Joya. Nothing I wouldn’t give up to have you, for you mean more to me than anything in the world.” He cupped her cheek, smiled down into her eyes, and added softly, “I have another surprise.”
“Haven’t you said enough?” her father grumbled.
Ignoring him, Trevor smiled secretively. “Janelle is waiting for us at the beach house.”
“Janelle is here? On Matarenga?” She hugged him tightly. “Janelle is truly here? Oh, we must go back! There are still a few hours of daylight left—”
“Not enough,” Trevor said.
“We’ve got to pack up our shipment first. We can leave in the morning,” her father added.
She stared at them both as if they had lost their minds. “But Janelle is here. She’s waiting for me.”
“We can’t leave until dawn, Joya,” her father said.
“He’s right,” Trevor added.
She looked from one to another. “I liked it better when you two did not agree.” Then she told Trevor, “You can put your pack in my tent.”
The Orchid Hunter Page 29
