“ ‘… she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn.’ ”
He paused so Trini might translate. The glowering chief shook his head as if saddened by the fate of the hapless child.
“ ‘… And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round them …’ ”
Emily had squirmed through seven interminable Christmas pageants at the seminary. Pageants where Cecille du Pardieu played Mary while she got stuck as the far end of a sheep or donkey. But as she closed her eyes, it was as if she were hearing the power of the old, old words for the first time.
“ ‘… And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people …’ ”
She opened her eyes, blinking away the tears caught in her lashes. The hut seemed to reel, pivoting slowly around a man with somber gold eyes caught in a web of sunlight. It sparkled across his hair, glinted off the gold watch case that lay against his breastbone.
Emily shoved herself away from the hut, clapping a hand over her mouth. A hysterical giggle escaped her, then another. The dashing rogue Justin Connor a missionary? Had her father bequeathed both his gold mine and his daughter to a madman? What had he done with the gold? she wondered. Given it to the natives to buy supplies? Or Bibles?
She doubled over, clutching her stomach as helpless laughter crippled her. How could she have let her own suspicions and the gossip of London society blind her to the man’s true character? He had opened his life and heart to every stray who wandered past, taking in abandoned valets, reformed cannibals—even ugly lizards.
Everyone but his ward, she realized. There was no room at the inn for Claire Scarborough.
Until she felt the tears streaming down her cheeks, Emily didn’t realize she was crying. She backed away from the meeting house. The emotional carousel she’d been on since her guardian had stepped out of the shadows was spinning out of control and, dear God, she had to get off.
The village blurred as she pelted past the gate into the tangled arms of the forest. Behind her a dog barked, the sound hollow against the blood rushing through her ears. She might have heard a man’s frantic cry, or it might have been only the careening slam of her heart. Dappled shadows lured her deeper into the bush, promising escape. Vines swatted her face, but she barely felt their sting.
The land climbed and Emily scrambled upward, digging her nails into a naked root to keep from falling. This narrow finger of land jutted high above the island, giving her a breathtaking view of a slim ribbon of beach below and rolling hills of grain to the west. The shimmering crowns of the fern trees waved over the emerald forest to the east, giving it all the illusion of a tropical paradise. The air was cooler here, sheltered from the sun by a tall stand of trees.
At another time Emily might have delighted in its beauty, but now it only pained her—like gazing at something she wanted desperately but could never have. She claimed the farthest tip of land as her own, flinging her arm around a tree and digging her toes into the cottony moss. A snowy bird hopped off a vine and went dancing into the sky. She stood aching and adrift in a whisper of birdsong as the breeze cooled her flaming cheeks. She had to flee the island, flee Justin before her own defenses were replaced by the tender adoration she had seen on the faces of the natives.
A shrill giggle rang out, mocking her heart’s turmoil, only to be followed by the maniacal patter of little feet. Emily whirled around. The hill was shaded, the surrounding trees rife with shadows.
On the other side of the bluff a bush shuddered. Emily moaned. What now? she wondered. Pygmies? Gnomes? She’d been awake only since noon, and the day had been one disaster after another. She was beginning to feel like the little girl who had tumbled down the rabbit hole in Mr. Carroll’s novel. She wouldn’t have been surprised if a white lizard had bolted out of the trees, pulling her father’s watch from his waistcoat pocket.
She scanned the tangled undergrowth. It trembled as if alive. Tiny invisible eyes bored into her like poison darts.
She turned to flee and ran straight into a tree, eliciting a demonic ripple of laughter.
“It’s not funny!” she cried, spinning around.
Straight ahead of her a low-slung bush quivered with mirth. Anger surged through her. She narrowed her eyes. “Wouldn’t be laughing so hard if I had an ax, would you?”
Gathering her skirt in her fists, she dashed toward the bush. At the last possible second she jumped, clearing it in one leap, catching the barest flash of tanned skin and shocked eyes.
The hunt was on.
The forest erupted in running feet. Emily hurtled through the dense brush, leaping bushes and dodging branches with an agility that surprised even her. She expected an arrow to tear through her tender flesh at any second. The trees thinned, but she didn’t dare pause to look behind her.
She burst out of the cool canopy into the warmth of sunlight and an endless vista of aqua sea. There was an instant when she might have stopped, but the stampede of little feet spurred her on. The land tilted beneath her and she went tumbling head over heels down the sandy slope. Flashes of brown and blue spun in her vision. After an eternity of undignified grunting she caught the land and held it still beneath her stomach.
Eyes closed, she turned her face to the side, gasping for breath. Her fingers curled in the warm sand. A breeze stiff with salt caressed her aching legs. A curious silence assailed her.
She eased her eyes open to find herself surrounded by toes—dozens of plump little toes browned like raisins by the sun.
She lifted her head. Her eyes widened in shock to find a little boy wearing nothing but a necklace of shells and an impudent grin.
Naked children ringed her. Emily had never seen so much baby fat in one place.
These children had never been swaddled in corsets and crinolines. They’d never been stuffed into stockings or endured the torture of hooking a dozen buttons on high black boots that pinched their toes. They stared at her, and Emily stared back, shocked but fascinated by their freedom.
A solemn little girl gazed shyly at her from behind a fall of dark hair. Her belly pooched out in the swayback posture of a toddler. She popped her thumb in her mouth, sucking it noisily.
Groaning, Emily flopped to her back in the sand. “Why couldn’t you have been Pygmies? I hate children.”
The little boy offered her his hand. “Isn’t it a bit intolerant of you to condemn an entire echelon of society based only on their collective ages?”
She jerked her head up. She hadn’t expected him to understand her, much less answer in anything more than childish jabber.
She warily took his hand and climbed to her feet. “Let me guess. Justin must have taught you English.”
“Justin?” he repeated.
The little girl spat out her thumb and squealed, “Pakeha!”
The children’s faces lit up as they joined in her joyful trilling.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Stop that, won’t you? You’re making my head ache.” Emily backed away from them, throwing out her arms in a helpless gesture. “Of course. It only makes sense that Justin would be the almighty, magnificent, all-holy Pakeha!”
They lapsed into silence. The boy stared at her vacantly. Apparently, his tutor had yet to teach him the sting of sarcasm. The little girl gazed up at her with something akin to awe.
“Must she stare so? It makes me fidget.”
The boy gathered the toddler to his side. “She is my sister, Dani. They call me Kawiri.”
Emily bobbed a reluctant curtsy. “They call me Emily.” She rested her hands on her hips. “Why were you chasing me?”
“We weren’t chasing you. We were following you. We had no idea you’d be asinine enough to fall off the hill.”
Emily couldn’t find an argument for such evenhanded logic. “Neither did I,” she muttered. “Asinine. Now, there’s a good word.
Did your mighty Pakeha begin with the A’s?”
Dani opened her mouth to chirp. Emily didn’t think she could bear another hymn to Justin’s goodness, so she squatted and plugged the child’s thumb back in. While the other children experimented with Emily’s name, the little girl pulled a crimson flower from behind her ear.
She tucked the bloom in Emily’s hair, weaving it among the curls. Emily felt a hesitant smile touch her lips.
As a new excitement rippled through the children, she straightened. A plump boy pointed toward the waves, yelling in Maori.
“High tide,” Kawiri explained.
“High tide?”
At Emily’s blank look, he added, “A natural phenomenon initiated by the waxing and waning of lunar forces which in turn—”
“I know what a tide is,” she interrupted.
He shrugged and jogged after the others. They pounded across the beach toward the waves, whooping in sounds that needed no language.
Emily watched, envying them their freedom and fighting a wistful sense of abandonment.
She felt a shy tug on her hand. Dani gazed up at her, grinning toothlessly. “Emmy,” she said.
Her heart contracted.
Kawiri had spun around to jog backward. “Make haste, Emily. The day won’t last forever.”
“For a while it seemed like it might,” she said softly.
Clinging to Dani’s hand, she pelted after him, scattering sand in her wake.
Justin sat high atop the sandy bluff overlooking the beach. The wind raked his hair from his eyes, but not even the ocean breeze could cool his fevered musings. His gaze was locked on the beach below, drawn like the tide to the enchanting child-woman dancing through the waves.
Who the hell was she?
Had women changed so much since he’d left England? Emily was so little like those he had known in London that she seemed to be some exotic species, both irresistible and mysterious. Her mercurial moods both compelled and exhausted him. She was nothing like his addle-witted mother and even less like his vapid sisters. Their only concerns in life had been which gentlemen were going to sign their dance cards for the next ball. His stunning fiancée, Suzanne, had slapped his face in the lobby of the Theatre Royal when he’d informed her he’d rejected his inheritance, but at least he had understood her motive—healthy greed.
As Justin watched, Emily lifted her skirts and frolicked through the shallow waves, tossing her head with laughter as the children splashed her. Droplets of water caught in her hair, sparkled on her skin. A flower nestled in her hair, a crimson splash against her chestnut locks.
Had some man wounded her? Justin wondered. His hands clenched into fists. He’d like to get his hands on the wretch. The image of her being ill used at the hands of some scoundrel filled him with both jealousy and rage. And grief—a wistful longing that he could have known her before the shadow touched her smile.
She knelt in the wet sand, cupping her hands around a castle tower while Kawiri dug a moat with his toe.
Had some wealthy rake seduced her? He knew only too well the morals of his London. Propriety and upright thinking were the false gods of society. What went on behind closed doors was another matter. A man could do what he liked to a woman as long as he wasn’t caught doing it. The sinking sun dipped behind a cloud, and Justin shivered. David’s wealth had given him and Nicholas the means to escape London’s stifling confines, but what means had Emily been forced to use? If left alone without the guidance of her guardian, would David’s daughter be forced into similar straits?
The children took their leave in laughing clusters, leaving Emily alone on the beach. Justin stood, hoping to slip away before she caught him spying on her. But at that moment the sun clipped away the edge of the cloud; its rays struck his chest with a fiery warmth. Emily shaded her eyes and he knew she had seen the sun glint off his watch case.
Their gazes locked and held for a long time before she turned her face away and stared out to sea.
Justin scrambled down the bluff, but the proud curve of her back warned him to silence. He was beset by a terrible urge to touch her there. To lay his palm against the warm satin of her bare skin and draw her into his arms. His breath caught in his throat, trapped by an unbearable wave of longing.
He swallowed his questions, hesitant to shatter anything as fragile as her pride. “I saw you in the village.”
“Forgive me for intruding. I hope I didn’t stop you from healing any lepers or raising any natives from the dead.” Her voice was as brittle as her stance as she swung around to face him. “Where are your followers? I expected you’d be trailed by a veritable parade of blind men and paralytics.”
Her mocking tone stung him less than the depth of her emotion. It was not a child’s petulance he read in her darkened eyes, but the anguish of a woman.
He stretched out his hand, no longer able to keep from touching her. She recoiled visibly and his fingers slowly curled into his palm.
He fought to keep his voice steady. “You’re not the only woman to flee to this country to escape an intolerable past. If someone has hurt you … if a man has hurt you …?”
Justin’s compassion stabbed Emily like a blade. She wanted to scream, “You! You’ve hurt me!” but the words were locked inside some dark, secret place.
Her gaze raked him with all the cool contempt she could muster. “I’m not like them. You’re not my savior. I’m not compelled to spill my sins to the mighty Pakeha.”
He stepped back, and she suddenly knew what made his face so compelling. His features came alive with every emotion. Even pain. A desperate need to comfort him flooded her. Fighting it, she struck out like a wounded animal.
“What is it, Mr. Connor? Haven’t I put you high enough on my pedestal?” She stalked him, spurred by some dangerous need to move him, to elicit some reaction that would prove he was no marble saint, but only a flawed creature like herself. “You enjoy their adoration, don’t you? It must be very gratifying for a man like you.”
A moment earlier she wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his face had closed now, gone as immobile as a Maori totem. His words were clipped. “What sort of man might that be, Emily?”
“Patron to valets. Friend to lizards.” She drew the crimson flower from her hair and ran it up his muscular arm, tracing teasing swirls on his sun-heated skin. “Is that what you want from me? Blind adoration?”
His body was rigid with tension, but the uneven rhythm of his breathing warned her she had affected him.
Tilting her face to his, she rubbed against him with a boldness that would have shamed a feline. “Shall I fall on my knees and wash your feet with my tears?”
Emily was mocking him. Mocking his faith and his life. And all Justin could think of was the kittenish softness of her breasts pressed against his chest. He wanted to free them from their thin band of calico, to feel their lush curves brand his skin with their naked splendor, to stroke their coral tips to aching fruition with his fingertips. The velvety petals of the bloom opened against his skin just as her lips might open to his tongue’s invasion, her body to his fierce possession.
She must be truly mad to taunt him in such isolation. His senses sang with the relentless rhythm of the sea. How easy it would be to push her down on the bed of sand and take her without any of the niceties society demanded.
He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her crudely and deliberately into the cradle of his thighs.
Emily hung in his embrace, her courage melting in the heat of his wary, smoldering gaze. Somehow he had seized the moment and made it his own. She trembled with a primitive fever, but still she met his gaze squarely, refusing to lower her lashes, refusing to shy away from his blatant need.
He pressed against her, moving, seeking, showing her without words how easy it would be for the contours of their bodies to mold into one. He was marble, yes, but molten marble, not cool and distant, but hot and seething. He was not a saint, but a man. All man.
“Which of your
foolish lads taught you to play such a dangerous game?” he asked.
“You don’t like danger, do you, Mr. Connor?”
“I don’t like games.”
As she gazed deep into his eyes, his pupils seemed to swirl in a sea of amber. Her need. His power. Her temptation. His challenge. Emily dropped her head back, going light-headed with fear.
He caught her by the shoulders, his face darkened with emotion. “I never asked you to worship me, Emily. All I wanted from you was a little common courtesy.”
He thrust her away from him and strode down the beach. Emily knew he was lying. He wanted her. Badly. And that was one weapon she’d never thought to hold. Shaken, she sank down in the sand and watched the encroaching tide crumble her castle.
Chapter 8
Despite the similarity in our ages, he has been more son to me than brother.…
Justin had walked the twisted corridors of the Victorian mansion hundreds of times, first in childhood, then in dreams. The plush burgundy carpet unrolled at his feet. He was a boy again, hurrying past dim passages drenched in the shadows of flickering gaslight. Tall doors flanked the hallway, dwarfing him with their mahogany splendor. He was late again, always late, and he knew his father would be displeased.
His thin legs would not carry him fast enough. The corridor stretched into infinity. He began to try doors, afraid they’d be locked, but more afraid they wouldn’t be. He rattled each crystal knob with shaking fingers. If he made too much noise, his father would lock away the piano and send him back to his room without supper. His stomach knotted with hunger.
Light blazed at the end of the corridor. His steps slowed, mired in some unspeakable dread. Now the carpet was unrolling faster, dragging him into the widening arc of light against his will. As the light engulfed him, he swallowed a scream.
Thank God he had. There was nothing to be afraid of. He was standing inside the dining room, where his family had gathered around the long oak table. He scooted into his seat, perplexed by the empty chair at his side. They were all there. His mother. His three sisters, demure in their ruffled frocks. His ancient grandmother, nodding in her pudding.
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