by Nancy Butler
She knew the truth now—Romulus did care for her. And he had vowed to look after her, even when she was no longer in his keeping. Surely such a pledge was not prompted by masculine hunger. There had to be other, finer feelings in a man’s heart to spur him into making such a promise.
There had been no trace of lust in the gentle salute he had offered, only tender affection. And yet it had sent her pulse staggering out of control. He may have been a stranger to her four days ago, but he was now as much a part of her life as the air she breathed and the sun on her face. And as much of a necessity.
And she suspected, recalling the shuddering breath he had taken once he’d released her hand, that she had become such a necessity to him. He had integrated her into his life and made her a part of his world. But come Monday, she would no longer share that world, and she pondered which of them would most mourn that loss. There was no future for her on the island, and no bright prospect for her anywhere away from it.
But she did have four more days to share with him. A great many memories could be stored up in that time. And happiness needed to be seized wherever and whenever it could be found—even if it was of a limited duration. Paradise lost, she thought sadly. But not quite yet.
* * *
“You are a sorry fool,” Romulus murmured to himself as he lay stretched out on his bed.
He’d had every intention of calling Allegra’s bluff in the morning, hoping that the threatened banishment to Hamish House would at last end her charade. And then he would have had some answers to his questions.
But when he had held her hand against his mouth, when his heart had started racing from the taste of her on his lips, all his questions had become meaningless. And her calculated deception had become merely an amusing diversion. There was only Allegra. Nothing mattered but Allegra, here on his island, in his life. And so he had lost all his resolve to send her away.
But before he set her free, he vowed, he would confront her and admit that he had known all along who she was. Perhaps then she would tell him why she had run away. Either that, or she would rail at him for his own prevarication and tell him nothing. But he’d risk it, all the same. It would be difficult enough to send her away, without believing he was returning her to some nameless threat. He would have to steel himself to the inevitable. By Monday, Allegra would be gone. And her problematic and all-too-enticing presence in his life.
As he lay gazing up at the shadowed ceiling, he saw again the provocative pose she had unknowingly affected as she drew her hair up off her neck. He recalled the desire that had pulsed through him, the clamoring need to lay her back against the steps and cover her slender body with his own.
He groaned as he pulled the pillow up over his face. If he didn’t keep a rein on his feelings, she would be compromised in far more than name. He prayed he could hold out until Monday. It was four days away. Four bloody, long days.
* * *
Niall came the next day at midmorning. Diana was glad for the company, since Rom had said he’d be away until evening. The boy recalled a great deal of his earlier lessons and was even able to scratch out a few crudely written sentences under her watchful eye. She gave him a black crayon and some papers from Rom’s desk to practice his letters; he crammed them into his breeches pocket before he set out for the river.
After he left, she led the cygnets out to the pond, carrying the two leaders, which Rom had marked with a tiny dot of ink on their downy heads. She envied them as they swam and played in the water. The weather hadn’t broken—the heat and humidity bore down on her like a stifling weight, and the dark clouds again hovered on the horizon. She swore she couldn’t recall a May to match it.
She waded into the shallow water, in an attempt to cool off, but the pond’s bottom was slick with algae. She grimaced and quickly returned to the bank. She was pulling on the woven sandals Niall had brought her that morning, when she heard a rustling in the bushes behind her. Her head swiveled around in alarm. She was not about to let a fox or badger sneak up on her charges.
After twisting a low branch off a nearby tree, she went striding off in the direction of the noise, lashing at the bushes as she moved along the path. She was halfway back to the house, having discovered nothing more threatening than a pair of blackbirds, when she heard the frightened peeping of the cygnets. When she turned to run back to the pond, she nearly tripped over the first of them. There they were, all sixteen of them, scurrying up the path toward her, their little bills opening and closing as they cried out their dismay.
She sat down in surprise, and they tumbled right into her lap. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was utterly gratifying to discover these small creatures had become so attached to her that they couldn’t bear to let her out of their sight. Romulus was not, unfortunately, afflicted with the same need.
As she gathered in the last of her brood, she saw something that made her eyes widen. There was a footprint on the path, A small muddied impression. She shooed the cygnets away and scrambled to her feet. Lifting one foot, she carefully placed it above the print. It was only an inch longer than her foot. Rom’s footprints were the stuff of legends, she recalled. Niall wore soft leather boots, but these were not smooth bootprints, they were more cobbled in texture.
Diana quickly herded her charges into the pen in the yard, and then returned to the spot on the path. She crouched low as she moved in the direction of the river, and was dismayed to find several more distinct prints. When she reached the tangled foliage that edged the water, she hid behind a tree and peered out. Near the tree there was a deep declivity carved into the muddy bank. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to visualize a boat leaving that mark. In fact, Diana was not at all pleased by what her imagination was telling her—that the poacher had been on the island. The little river rat, with his little rat feet.
She bristled at the thought of that creature sneaking about on Rom’s island. And though she’d always thought that mantraps, the large metal claws that could sever a poacher’s leg, were vile things, she now wished that Rom had one stored in his shed. She was that angry.
She hurried back to the house, her face still set with fury. Wait until she told Rom that the poacher had had the temerity to cross the water and invade his territory. Halfway up the kitchen steps, she halted. No. She dared not tell him. Only yesterday she’d gotten her reprieve. But once Rom knew Argie Beasle had been on the island, he would send her away so fast her head would be spinning.
More lies, she thought, sadly, as she went through the kitchen door. More sins of omission.
* * *
It was late afternoon before Romulus headed for home. It had been a profitless day.
After his morning patrol, he’d taken a look in the ‘Thrush. Argie Beasle was not in evidence there, and no one had seen him. Joe Black was also absent from his post, which only increased Rom’s disquiet.
For the balance of the day, he hadn’t been able to shake a vague sense of restlessness. He blamed it on the weather. The temperature soared and dark clouds loomed in the west, as though a storm was brewing. Now, as he made his way upstream, he saw that the clouds had blown over, and only a faint, ominous rumbling in the distance gave any indication that they had been there at all.
If he’d really probed the cause of his restlessness, Romulus knew, he could put a better name to it than the weather. It was Allegra.
For the entire day he had purposely kept away from the island, thinking the Thames would distract him from his disturbing thoughts of her. It hadn’t worked worth a damn. He’d found the beauty of the river somehow flat. It had lost its ability to soothe and charm him, as though having shared it the one time with Allegra, he could no longer appreciate it alone. Every creature he stopped to watch reminded him of the quiet awe she had displayed that night, every bird in flight brought to mind her bright, wondering eyes.
He thought back to the time before the wild water had cast her up on the island. His life had been his own then. His river had been una
ffected by her presence. Now her ghost seemed to float above every turning, beckoning to him. The spell of the Thames had been supplanted by another sort of witchery.
He toyed with the idea of taking Allegra on the river again. But after their encounter with the poacher, he knew it would be foolhardy to place her at risk. More importantly, he didn’t want to put his self-control to the test. It was bad enough sharing the house with her, let alone a small boat.
Not that her behavior could in any way be faulted. The girl was guileless; there was nothing overtly seductive in her manner. And yet she captivated him like no other woman he’d met. But it wasn’t only her effect on his body that drew him to her. It was her spirit and her humor. And the easy grace with which she had taken to life on his island.
He pictured her striding across the grass with her bright Gypsy skirt billowing behind her, laughing with her head thrown back. He had taken her fishing in the inlet last night at sundown, and he saw her again, poling the punt manfully back to the shore with her very first catch, an improbably large salmon. And then crouching beside the water to release the fish, once he had admired it properly. There was nothing like Allegra, with bits of bracken in her hair, and a sun-kiss of freckles across her nose, to steal a man’s breath.
Every part of the island was her dominion. The house, the pond, the inlet, the cygnets…his heart.
Romulus began to row with determination, pulling hard against the current. He hoped the hot, sweaty work would at last erase her image from his mind.
As he passed the shallows near where Mortimer’s boat lay hidden, he was distressed to see portions of the hull peeking through the scattered vines. “Deer,” he muttered. They’d made a nice meal of his camouflage. He grounded the skiff and quickly re-covered the upturned rowboat, using some cedar branches which he knew would be less tempting to browsing wildlife. He stood at the edge of the water, wishing he had the courage to burn the boat. It was a taunting reminder of Allegra’s true identity.
But it wouldn’t matter in a few days’ time. He could tow the damned thing back to Mortimer House, once Allegra had been returned home. But then maybe it wasn’t wise to risk a visit there after he’d disposed of her. It would break his spirit to see her in that setting, wearing a stylish gown, surrounded by rich furnishings. He would surely seem the worst of buffoons to her, with his rough, woodsman’s garb, his sun-darkened skin, and work-calloused hands. How ludicrous he would look compared to Sir Beveril.
Something inside Romulus rebelled at that thought. Would Beveril truly be a better man for her? Could he possibly care for her more than you do, in spite of his refinements and his noble birth?
The question still gnawed at him as he climbed into his boat and made his way back upstream toward the island. So lost in thought was he, that he didn’t see the ferryboat hidden in the weeds across the river. He didn’t see the two men who lay there in the grass, watching him with eager, satisfied eyes.
* * *
Romulus straddled the bench in the backyard and wearily tugged off his leather gaiters. Allegra called him a greeting from the open door of the kitchen and then went back to her cooking.
That prodding voice again rose up in him, repeating the things he already knew in his heart. He wanted to keep her here forever. It was as simple as that.
But she surely had some say in the matter. The fact that she dreaded returning home, did not necessarily mean she wanted to spend her life with him. He’d have to be daft to think it. She was stalling for time, that was all. He grew a little resentful at the thought that she’d been using him. And that he’d let her. He rubbed at his shins, where the leather had bitten into his skin. Perhaps in the next four days he could discover just where her loyalties lay. With him or with the perishing Parliamentary windbag.
He rose from the bench and went to the small soapstone trough that sat beneath the pump. Dousing himself with icy water, he washed away all the grime and sweat from his day on the river. Then he walked around to the front of the house and went in through the porch entrance.
As he tugged a clean shirt over his head and drew on his best corded breeches, he grinned at himself in the shaving mirror. A tall, auburn-haired scoundrel grinned back. Not bad, he thought as he tucked in his shirttails and knotted a cravat at his throat. That lean face and thick russet hair had ever drawn women to his side. Which was a good thing—because Romulus Perrin was going courting.
The kitchen was nearly intolerable from the heat of the hearth. Allegra’s cheeks, as she turned to greet him, were flushed a deep pink. There was a smudge of flour on her nose and another on her chin. It was all Romulus could do not to kiss those marks away, wanting to taste her skin, hungry to savor the delicate line of her lips and the soft texture of her cheeks.
“Niall gave me his granty’s recipe for eel pie—and he wrote it down himself,” she announced proudly, lifting a crumpled paper from the table. “Apparently, he got the eels from the Yorrick’s kitchen maid.”
Romulus rolled his eyes. The Yorrick chit would be lucky if Niall didn’t return the favor in kind. “I thought you didn’t like eels,” he said aloud.
“I’ve never tasted them. They do smell rather good, though.” She motioned to the dutch oven.
The rich odor of baking pie was wafting through the room and Rom’s stomach grumbled.
“Eel pie is a poor man’s supper,” he remarked somewhat gruffly. “Fit for laborers and Gypsies. It might be a bit…coarse for your taste.”
Diana frowned. She understood exactly the meaning behind his words. “My taste might surprise you,” she said tartly. “But if you mislike such rude fare, I can always serve you fish stew. That appears to be all you ate before I arrived here.”
Romulus gave her a sheepish smile. “I might do better to ask for humble pie. I’m not being very gracious, considering you’ve been toiling away in this infernal kitchen.”
“Yes, a little gratitude would be in order.”
“Actually eel pie is one of my favorites,” he said, leaning back against the edge of the table.
She eyed his pristine shirtfront and said with a grin, “And a good thing, since you have dressed for dinner. I only hope my meal does your efforts credit.” As she spoke, she swiped a stray tendril of hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving yet another patch of flour there.
Romulus leaned forward, raising his hand to her face. “Stand still,” he said in a low voice, as he stroked two fingers over her brow, removing the dusty white smudge. “I wager there’s more flour on your face than in your pie crust,” he teased as his caressing touch drifted down from brow to cheek.
Diana raised one hand to scrub at her chin.
He caught that hand firmly between his long fingers. “No, let me,” he said. It came out like a sigh.
His green-gold eyes were holding her, as surely as the hand at her wrist. He had shifted away from the edge of the table, his upper body now angled down over hers. He slowly lowered his head, until his mouth was a hair’s-breadth from her own.
The room had gone suddenly still, as though time had halted in its forward motion. There was a distant humming in Diana’s ears. The heat that shimmered in the close space, making her lightheaded and weak at the knees, had nothing to do with the logs blazing in the fireplace. She gazed up at him, unable to breathe, as he drew his thumb over her lower lip, slowly, languidly. And all the while those gilded eyes held her captive.
“There,” he whispered, his voice a husky rasp. “You look less like a morsel of pastry now.”
When he drew back from her and swung onto one of the stools, Diana felt as though her insides had been scooped out. His touch made her feel replete, sated, but when that touch was withdrawn, there was nothing but an empty, hollow ache. Sweet Jesus, why hadn’t he kissed her?
“I am a rather untidy cook,” she said with a nervous laugh, trying to cover her disappointment.
He turned his gaze to the tabletop which was littered with bowls and pans, each one covere
d with the ubiquitous flour. At the center of the table, a crockery pitcher held a spray of pink flowers.
He cocked his head. “I see you have brought me campion today.”
Yesterday, he recalled, the pitcher had contained clusters of narcissus and cornflower. Once again, Allegra had added something ineffable to his home, this house that he had never thought to adorn with a single blossom. “You’ll have the island stripped bare before you are through.”
Diana wrinkled her nose. “The island is overflowing with wildflowers—I expect there are plenty to go around. And though I believe campion is accounted a weed, it does have a certain charm.” She gave him a long, meaningful look as she spoke.
He flicked at one small blossom. “Yes, they are pretty enough. I am only surprised you find them so.”
Oh, don’t you see, Diana wanted to shout. I like common wildflowers. I don’t mind eating rough Gypsy fare…. I am not a simpering society chit who needs to sit on a satin pillow and be treated like a doll. I want a man who is of the earth, one who knows the ways of the wild things.
How could he have spent time with her and not known what pleased her? Not known that he pleased her? She swore the next time he came close to her, as he’d done just now, she was going to throw herself into his arms. That would leave him in little doubt of her tastes.
But instead of railing at him, she merely sniffed and said, “Perhaps you are not as observant as you like to think.” Then she turned back to her cooking, stirring furiously at the soup which bubbled on the hob.
So she didn’t see the slow smile that crept along his wide mouth.
* * *
It was too hot to dine in the kitchen, so once the pie was baked, they carried their meal out onto the porch. Romulus brought the tea table from the sitting room and placed it between the two wooden benches.
In the meantime, in keeping with the festive spirit that the eel pie seemed to have elicited, Diana ran to her room and quickly changed into her blue blouse, after liberally sprinkling herself with cool water from the small basin that sat on one of the crates. Romulus had unearthed a small mirror for her, and she now craned before it to survey herself. The heat from the kitchen had caused her hair to clench into tiny ringlets. A street urchin, she sighed, echoing Beveril’s words, surely had better tamed hair. Having neither pins nor combs to restrain it, she coaxed the curling mass back from her face with the bright kerchief. After slipping on the two silver bracelets that Niall had brought her that morning, she returned to the porch.
