Before he could even consider acting on his desires, Socrates shook his head. “Now, Cap’n, I know ye can order me to step aside and I might consider it ’cause ye’re the captain, but I don’ think ye’ll be doin’ that. Ye have respect for Miss McCreigh and so do I.” His red hair gleamed like fire in the moonlight as he took a step closer and pointed to Dr. Trevelyan’s lonely figure pacing the sand farther down the beach. “Jes’ like I tol’ Stitch, ye’ll have to wait until they’re done.”
Tristan bowed his head. As much as he would have liked to at least catch a glimpse of his fascinating mermaid, he wouldn’t invade her privacy—not with a guard dog like Socrates on duty. “As you wish.” He stuck his hands in his pocket and strolled toward Dr. Trevelyan.
Chapter 11
Caralyn shot out of the water in the small pool beside the cascading waterfall and pushed her hair out of her face. It felt wonderful to be clean, to be rid of the smell of the cave. With her stomach full of Hash’s wonderful dinner, and plans in place to continue the search for Izzy’s Fortune, contentment spread through her.
She treaded water and listened to the noises coming from camp. The men were in high spirits, their ribald laughter competing with the chirping crickets, the breeze that rattled the palm fronds, and the constant rush of water as it fell to the cove below her. She grinned and floated on her back. Above her, the bright ball of the moon glowed.
“Miss McCreigh! You haven’t a stitch of clothing on!”
Startled, Caralyn gasped and sank to the bottom of the pool. She turned quickly and through the shimmering water saw Mrs. Beasley standing on a rock above her, arms folded across her chest, body stiff with indignation. She rose to the surface, exposing only her head, in time to hear another tongue-lashing.
“Young lady, this goes beyond what could be considered proper, beyond decency. I’ve never seen such heathenish behavior.” The woman took a deep breath and began to tap her foot on the rock on which she stood. “Even for you, Miss McCreigh. Your family will hear of this, I assure you.”
Too full of the satisfaction of finding another piece of Pembrook’s puzzle, Caralyn grinned. “Tell them. Tell them everything I’ve done. I’ll bet you a pound Father won’t be upset, though Charles might be.” Her grin widened and the urge to laugh tickled her. An invitation fell from her lips before she could stop it. “Why don’t you join me, Mrs. Bea—Temperance? The water is warm and quite lovely. It’s much better than the baths we’ve been taking in the hipbath. At least take your shoes and stockings off and put your feet in.”
The woman sniffed but she did gaze at the water with what Caralyn thought was longing.
“It’s improper,” she stated, but without as much arrogance as usual. “As are these clothes I’m wearing.” She gestured to the loose white shirt and tan trousers that replaced her ruined gown. The pant legs were rolled to her knees, exposing the white stockings beneath, and a length of rope, tied around her waist, held the trousers in place.
“No one can see you here, Temperance. Mr. Callahan is keeping watch.” A touch of sympathy rushed through Caralyn for the ruination of her companion’s clothing. “I’m sorry your gown is beyond repair, but we’ll remedy that once we reach Puerto Rico. While the men are gathering fresh supplies, you and I can shop. If I recall correctly, there’s a lovely dress shop in San Juan.” Caralyn grinned at her. “Although, you must admit, dressed as you are now, don’t you feel a bit more free? And cooler?”
For once, the pinched expression her companion usually wore eased and a slight smile graced her lips. In that moment, in the moonlight, her lips parted, she looked beautiful and Caralyn saw why Stitch was smitten with her.
“As much as I hate to acknowledge it, you’re right. I don’t feel quite so constricted; however, it is still highly improper.” Her arms crossed over her chest again. “I have always held myself to a higher standard.”
Caralyn wiped dripping water from her face. “And there is nothing wrong with that, but we are in the middle of nowhere, far away from the rules of society. I certainly won’t tell a soul if you set your standards a little lower. Just for a moment.”
Behind the lenses of her glasses, Temperance’s eyes gleamed as she studied the water in the pool.
Yes, that is longing I see in her eyes.
Temperance bit her lip and glanced around. The only light came from the moon’s glow. The third pool, high above the sandy beach, surrounded by rock, offered privacy and security. Without so much as another word, Temperance sat on the rock and removed her shoes and stockings. She eased her feet into the warm water and sighed. “Oh, this is heaven.” She said nothing more, but her expression remained soft.
Caralyn made her way toward where Temperance dangled her feet and found a small rock shelf below the water’s surface. It was high enough for her to sit, but still be completely covered.
She didn’t want to ruin this lovely interlude. For once, Temperance Beasley seemed a little more approachable, more accepting of a break in decorum. She took a deep breath. “I realize coming on this adventure was never your idea, and you’re only here because of me, but I have a request.” She continued in a rush before she lost her nerve. “In the future, I would appreciate it, if you must chastise me, please do it in private.”
The woman stiffened and the pinched expression returned to her face but only for a moment. She didn’t look at Caralyn. Instead, her gaze settled on her hands folded in her lap. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she said, “I apologize for that.” She finally lifted her head. Caralyn caught the sheen of unshed tears in the woman’s eyes. “From now on, I will endeavor to keep our discussions private. I am only trying to keep you safe, Miss—”
“Please,” Caralyn interrupted, “after all this time, after all we’ve been through, don’t you think you should call me Cara?”
“Your brother paid me to keep you out of trouble. I take my responsibilities to heart, Miss . . . Cara. These pirates you’re so fond of—”
Caralyn giggled. “They’re not pirates, Temperance. They’re treasure hunters.”
The woman harrumphed. “Be that as it may, they are still men and men, when not kept at the proper distance, can become . . . unpredictable—and dare I say it—savage. The captain especially. Beneath his air of civility lies a bold and daring man. He has taken far too many liberties, and given the opportunity, I’m certain he would take more.”
Warmth spread throughout Caralyn’s body as she remembered the passionate kisses Tristan had given her. In truth, she hadn’t minded, not one bit. “I cannot argue. Captain Trey is forthright and self-assured but a gentleman through and through.” Caralyn sighed but pushed for her argument, defending the crew she’d come to love.
“These men are the finest of any I’ve ever met. They are kind and considerate. Perhaps not as educated as some, perhaps a little lacking in the social graces but each and every one of them has been nothing but thoughtful and compassionate toward you.” Caralyn tilted her head. “And what of Dr. Trevelyan? Is he not a gentleman? Is he not educated?”
In the glow of moonlight, Temperance’s face took on a pinkish hue. “Education does not make the man, Cara, and I am quite fond of the good doctor; however, I cannot disagree with you. I have been treated kindly.”
“My offer still stands, Temperance. Once we reach Puerto Rico, I can secure passage for you to return to Charleston if you wish or anywhere else you choose to go.”
Her companion grew silent as she mulled over the offer. After a while, she smiled. “I will stay and continue to hunt for this Izzy’s Fortune even though I do not believe it exists. Someone must watch over you to make certain you do nothing more foolish than you have already done.” She sighed and adjusted her glasses on her nose. “Your brother—”
“Doesn’t have to know.”
Temperance just stared at her then finally inclined her head. “I’ll say one more thing and then the subject is closed. Mind your heart, my girl. Too easily given, it can be too eas
ily broken as well.”
• • •
Tristan sat in the sand beside Brady, arms resting on his bent knees, hands dangling between them, and simply enjoyed the quiet solitude of the evening. His companion sat in much the same position as they waited.
Stitch broke the silence. “What will you do with your share of the treasure?”
“Invest it, like I always do. I’ve had my eye on another warehouse in Charleston and there’s a struggling plantation in Jamaica I wouldn’t mind owning. Under the right management, I’m certain Sugar Hill could be quite productive. They make a fine rum.” He chuckled then sighed. “This is my last adventure, Stitch, whether we find Izzy’s Fortune or not.”
“Your last? I don’t understand.”
“Father has ordered me home to marry.”
“Marry? You?” Stitch shook his head and glanced at him. “Given your feelings on the subject, I’m surprised you’re even considering it.”
“I have no choice. Father has made all the arrangements, including choosing the woman who is to be my wife.”
“The earl is a willful man,” Stitch agreed. “More than once, he’s made me shake in my boots. Perhaps he has chosen wisely.”
Tristan sighed again. “How could he choose wisely? He doesn’t know me, doesn’t know what I want.” The moment the words left his mouth, he realized the truth although he couldn’t say the thought aloud. How could Father know? Up until a short time ago, I didn’t even know what I wanted. All I knew is that I didn’t want a marriage like his.
“What about love, Tris? Does that enter into the equation with your father?”
“No, love doesn’t matter. I will marry for money, as generations have done before me.” Tristan glanced at his companion and blurted, “Quite frankly, I don’t believe the earl believes in love.”
Stitch said nothing for a long time as he stared at the gently lapping waves. “Perhaps, in time, you’ll grow to love this woman you’re to marry. It does happen. Some of the best marriages have been based on less.”
“You don’t truly believe that, do you?”
In the glow of moonlight, Stitch’s face took on a particular rosy hue. “Yes, I do. You know how much I loved my Fannie. She was the love of my life, yet we barely knew each other when we married. Like you, my marriage was arranged for the benefit of both our families. The best I had hoped for was companionship, and yet over the years, we came to love each other. There will come a moment when you will look at your future wife and realize she is the woman you have waited for all your life.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Tell me about the woman you are to marry.”
Tristan laughed. “I can’t. I’ve never met her. Furthermore, I don’t even know her name, though I would imagine she’s from a good family. She must be. Why else would Father have chosen her?” A long sigh escaped him as he gazed at the moonlight shimmering on the water. “I suppose I should have gone back to England and courted the woman. At least met her, but I . . . I wanted one last adventure, one last chance to find Izzy’s Fortune. I know—very selfish on my part.”
They grew silent, the only sound the whisper of a breeze through the palm trees. The silence didn’t last long as Tristan commented, “You’re quite taken with her.”
“Miss Cara? Oh, yes. She’s a lovely young woman.”
Tristan chuckled. “Not Cara, although I will agree, she’s quite lovely. Mrs. Beasley.”
He watched as a blush deepened on the doctor’s face. The man looked down and studied the sand between his bent knees. After a long silence, Tristan began to wonder if Stitch would answer, then his companion took a deep breath.
“I’ve never met anyone like her.” He traced a shape in the sand with the tip of his finger. “Oh, I realize she’s sometimes difficult and opinionated, and she’s not happy with the circumstances she finds herself in, but she truly is a sweet woman.” A long sigh escaped him. “I never thought, after my Fannie . . .”
He obliterated the heart he’d drawn in the sand with a sweep of his hand. “Do you think it’s possible to find love not once, but twice in your life? To find a person who perfectly fills a part of your soul?”
Tristan leaned back on his elbows. He didn’t have to think about the question—he knew the answer in a heartbeat as the vision of Caralyn danced before his eyes. “Yes, I think it’s possible, but most of us are lucky to find that kind of love only once.”
He would have said more as a shrill whistle rent the air. Tristan looked toward the rocks where Socrates kept watch. Caralyn and Mrs. Beasley stood beside him. Both had wet hair and carried their shoes in their hands. “It would seem the ladies are finished with their toilette.”
He rose from his position and offered his hand to Stitch. “Shall we escort them back to camp?” The good doctor grasped his hand and stood. “About what we discussed,” Tristan said before he released Stitch’s hand. “I would prefer we keep it between ourselves. I will tell the crew that this is our last adventure when the time is right, preferably after we find Izzy’s Fortune.”
“Of course, Tristan. If nothing else, I am a man of discretion.” The man grinned at him as they strolled across the sand toward Socrates and the ladies.
Tristan glanced in his direction, about to comment, but stopped when he saw the expression on the doctor’s face. He’d never seen such a look and almost chuckled when he realized exactly what Stitch’s serene countenance meant.
Brady Trevelyan only had eyes for one person and his gaze locked on Mrs. Beasley. The smile parting his lips was nothing less than angelic and the flush staining his cheeks confirmed it. When he approached Mrs. Beasley and took her hands in his, no one else in the world existed. Their heads were close together and snippets of their conversation floated to him as they walked toward the camp.
Lovesick, besotted fools. The thought rumbled through Tristan’s brain . . . until he glanced at Caralyn. And I am no better. She looked utterly delectable in a simple gown of white with sprigs of blue flowers, her bare feet half-hidden beneath the sand. Moonlight reflected off her impish grin and all thought departed.
Blood sang through his veins, warming every inch of his skin. His heart pounded in his chest. If Socrates hadn’t been standing so close to her, he would have given himself permission to lay her down in the sand as he longed to do.
“I feel so much better.” Her grin widened as she tilted her head to look up at him and ran her fingers through her wet hair. The urge to reach out and touch her, to lift the heavy tresses from her shoulders and rub the silken strands through his fingers almost overpowered him. Her voice lowered, striking a cord in the very fiber of his being. “I don’t reek like the cave anymore.”
She smelled fresh and clean which Tristan found more alluring than if she’d doused herself in scent. He swallowed hard and tried to think of something to say but words escaped him. Indeed, thought escaped him so he took her hand and kissed her knuckles then led her back to camp behind Socrates, who strolled along the water’s edge.
The camp was utterly quiet when they approached. There would be no lively reel tonight, no dancing on the small spit of beach. Most of the crew, bellies full, comforted by the warmth of the tropical evening, relaxed in small groups if they weren’t already asleep on makeshift beds. A few of his men had headed back to the Adventurer, preferring to sleep in their hammocks. Graham hadn’t moved, although he now clamped a pipe between his lips. He glanced up at Tristan and grinned, but said nothing.
Caralyn disappeared into her tent, but only for a moment. She returned with a brush and Pembrook’s journal then took a seat on a blanket before the fire.
Tristan leaned back against a log and allowed himself to watch her brush her long hair. Firelight created a warm glow on her face and reflected off her light brown tresses, bringing out shades of gold and red. She caught him watching her and grinned in his direction.
Her blue-green eyes twinkled in the light of the fire. In their depths, he saw determination, courage, strength, spirit . . . and pass
ion. For adventure. For life. Exactly what he’d always wanted in a woman but never thought he’d find.
As if struck by lightning, Tristan’s heart skipped a beat then resumed with a painful thump while the words Stitch had said earlier reverberated in his mind. Exhilaration surged through him, an excitement he could not deny. And yet, he could do nothing—could not take her in his arms as he longed to do, could not kiss her until they were both breathless, could not explore the softness of her body.
He turned away and studied the moon hanging over them as if suspended by a string, but even that was a mistake. He could still smell the warm freshness of her skin, the scent reminiscent of a forest after a rain.
Tristan thought about the woman he was to marry and a twinge of guilt trickled through him. How unfair he was to not meet her, court her, before they became man and wife. How thoughtless to put his own concerns first and not care at all how she felt. Did she want this marriage? Or had her hand been forced as well?
In the end, it didn’t matter. If he truly wanted a successful marriage, a union different than the one his parents shared, then he certainly wasn’t going about it the right way. Instead of chasing an illusive dream of untold treasure, he should be in England right now getting to know the woman he would share his life with.
He stared into the flame dancing in the fire pit and his mood soured. The excitement, the satisfaction of finding a piece of Izzy’s Fortune faded as if it never existed.
Quiet laughter interrupted his thoughts and he turned to face the source. Graham regaled Caralyn with a story that had her eyes sparkling, her tempting lips spread in a smile that could have charmed the population of London. Another chuckle escaped her, filling the warm night with magic.
A Treasure Worth Keeping Page 13
