by Jill Barnett
“You look about ready to faint. Tell me you’re not going to.” Georgina was staring at her with an annoyed look. “That’s all we need.”
“No.” Amy glanced down at her hands, uncomfortable and feeling as if Georgina could see those spooky thoughts inside Amy’s head. When she looked up at her again, Georgina was still staring at her.
“There’s a reason we’re here,” Amy blurted out.
“Of course there’s a reason. We’re here because of the fog.”
“No. I meant there’s a reason we’re on the island.”
“There’s a reason, all right,” Georgina said with disgust. “We’re here because some lummox with more arrogance than wit kidnapped us.” She threw another rock so hard it skipped across the surface of the cave’s pool the same way the fat sea pigeons made splashes when they played in the sea.
But to Amy there was nothing playful about the situation. To her it had become eerie and frightening and all too real. “No, you don’t understand. I can feel it. There’s a reason that things happen.”
“You mean as in fate or destiny?” Georgina did laugh; it had a hollow sound. She tossed a handful of small granite stones that caught specks of lantern light and looked like tiny fireflies. “I believe people make their own destiny.”
Amy wondered if Georgina really believed that, since she hadn’t looked her in the eye when she’d said it. Her father had told her once that people who spoke the truth looked you in the eye. Odd that she would remember that now when it did her no good. She certainly wished she would have remembered that piece of advice when she’d met William.
She was quiet for a moment, trying to think of how to express in words exactly what she was feeling. She looked up at Georgina. “There are people who believe there is a higher plan. That everything happens for a reason.”
Georgina just stared back.
“Like . . . well . . . ” She searched her mind for an example. “There’s a reason that the moon rises at night.”
“Perhaps the moon rises at night because if it rose in the day then it would be called the sun.”
“You are so cynical.”
“Thank you.” Georgina gave her a wide smile that was too exaggerated to be anything but sardonic.
“You don’t think there is a reason the stars shine?”
“I can’t think of anything else stars are good for. Shining will do. Keeps the night from being too boring, I suppose.”
“I used to believe that stars were something to wish on.” Amy’s voice sounded the way she was feeling. Ashamed.
“I’d say that kind of thinking was your first mistake.” There was cool amusement in Georgina voice that said she thought Amy was as foolish as she felt.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Naturally.” Georgina oozed confidence.
Amy felt suddenly smaller and weaker because after today she had little confidence in her own beliefs.
“Well, I know one thing. I wish there would be a reason for the fog to lift so we could get off this stupid island. I have to get home. And soon.”
And here I am with no reason to go home, Amy thought. All that was waiting for her was a group of strangers sitting like gods in some granite building in Manhattan. She could just picture her executors huddled around a big expensive table while they devised ways to use her wealth to bribe someone else to take her off their hands.
It was clear to Amy that she had nothing to go home to, nothing that mattered to her anyway. She had wealth. But money wasn’t important to her. Her homes were really just expensive empty rooms with expensive empty fireplaces in expensive empty houses. Shells that held everything money could buy except the one thing she really wanted: to be part of a loving family again.
She swallowed because she knew she would cry again if she didn’t, then she looked around the cave. It was dark and clammy and smelled as if the sea had been locked inside those rock walls since before the beginning of time. That briny odor of the ocean filled the damp cave air the way smoke chokes a chimney. She could hear the water breaking on the ledges in the distance. Those waves sounded as far away and out of touch with the world as she was.
She wondered if Georgina Bayard ever felt isolated and lost. Probably not. She didn’t think Georgina would let herself be afraid of anything, especially being alone. Amy turned and watched her, half out of curiosity and half because she thought she might learn a way to be stronger.
Georgina was staring at the wall of rock across from them, her thoughts seeming very far away while she absently tossed a small handful of rocks that plopped in the water and sank.
“What do you think would make him do something like that?”
“Who? And what?” Georgina turned and looked at her.
“Kidnap us. Why do you think a man like Eachann MacLachlan would just snatch us as if we would be willing to do whatever he and his brother wanted?”
“Extreme arrogance.”
Arrogance was one of the words Amy thought of when she remembered Georgina Bayard’s set of friends, people who were accepted like William and the others. They were arrogant and cold.
Amy felt Georgina staring at her and looked up.
“What did you mean when you said a ‘man like Eachann MacLachlan’?”
“A handsome man.”
The look Georgina gave her was thoughtful. “You think he’s handsome?”
“Don’t you?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Georgina answered so fast even Amy didn’t believe her. She was probably just too proud to admit that Eachann was extremely handsome. He had those kind of green eyes that could look at you and melt your bones. Men like him always put Amy off a little. She didn’t know how to talk to them because she was too busy just staring at their incredible faces.
Now the other brother, Calum, was different. He was handsome, too. In fact, she actually preferred his dark looks and more serious manner. She never felt as if he were laughing at her.
For a few foolish minutes she had almost begun to like him. Imagine, a man who tucks blankets around you and polishes the dustpan.
Then he’d gone and ruined the whole thing by trying to take her to his bed. She supposed the brothers were just brutes at heart. Which made her a little sad and pensive. She looked at Georgina. “There has to be a reason for someone to willingly hurt another person.”
“People care about what they want for themselves. They don’t care if someone else gets hurt. I learned that a long time ago.” For the briefest of moments Georgina wore an odd, almost wistful expression, then she caught Amy looking at her and her lips thinned into that hard and determined line that seemed to dare you not to question her. She looked away and wiped her palms on her water-stained skirt as if she needed to keep her hands busy.
Amy wondered what or who had taught Georgina Bayard to look out for herself alone. Or were people just born selfish?
Georgina nodded at the basket sitting between them. “What’s in that thing?” She shifted closer, wiggling slightly till she appeared to find a comfortable position.
Amy peeled back a corner of the nubby cloth that covered it and took out a doughnut. She held it up. “Food.”
Georgina tore back the cloth and looked inside. “Oh my God . . . pies.”
Amy took a large bite of the doughnut and watched Georgina. From the way her eyes lit up, you’d have thought those pies were made of hundred-dollar gold pieces. She lifted out a whole pie and held it beneath her nose before she smelled it and groaned like someone who hadn’t eaten since birth.
“Where did you find this heavenly food?”
Amy swallowed a heavy wad of sweet doughnut and shrugged. “The basket was in the kitchen. I stumbled across it when I was trying to find you.”
Meanwhile Georgina had set the pie in her lap and was rummaging inside the basket, her head so close that her black hair caught on the willow-twig handle. But that didn’t stop her. She just jerked her hair out of the way, leaving a thin strand of coal-black hair
springing from the basket weave as she searched for something.
A second later she pulled out a knife and fork. She looked at them both for an instant, then tossed the knife back in the basket. In less time than it took Amy to swallow again, Georgina was eating plump forkfuls right from the center of the pie.
“Hmmmm. I adore blueberry pie.” She crammed another huge bite into her mouth and chewed with her eyes closed.
Amy finished off one doughnut and grabbed another.
Georgina opened her eyes and looked at Amy. She gulped down another mouthful, then asked, “What is that? Bread?”
“Doughnuts,” Amy said with her mouth full.
Georgina nodded and they ate in companionable silence.
Amy was on her fifth doughnut when Georgina finally stopped shoveling pie into her mouth and stared at her. Amy stopped chewing and swallowed. “What’s wrong?” She knew she had eaten five whole doughnuts—she always ate when she was nervous—but Georgina had eaten almost all of a huge pie.
“Nothing.” Georgina quickly took another mouthful and dropped her gaze, jabbing the fork into the pie crust and watching it crumble.
Amy dropped a half-eaten doughnut in her lap and was silent.
Georgina glanced up. “What’s the matter?”
“I think you were thinking of something.”
Shrugging, Georgina looked away. “Just thinking, nothing important.”
“Thinking about what?”
She was very still, then she fixed Amy with a square look. “Why did you come to help me escape?”
“Why?” Amy frowned. “What do you mean ‘why?’ What else would I do?”
“Save yourself.”
“And leave you there?” She almost laughed, until she realized Georgina was perfectly serious. “I couldn’t do that . . . leave you alone. We were kidnapped together.”
“I’ve never been friendly or even kind to you, yet you came to help me. I don’t understand you.”
“Human kindness is nothing to understand.” When Georgina didn’t respond, Amy said, “If you saw someone who was in trouble, say, about to step in front of a carriage, you’d warn them or help somehow, perhaps try to pull them back to safety.”
Georgina ate some more pie, then looked up at Amy and gave her a wicked smile. “If it was Phoebe Dearborn,” she said swallowing, “I’d certainly give her a little help.”
“There, you see? You would have done the same thing I did.”
“Actually I didn’t mean help in exactly that way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I meant that I’d help her along.”
Amy gaped at her.
Georgina nodded. “I love to give her a little push.”
“You’d push your friend in front of a moving carriage?” Amy was silent, then she began to laugh. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re just teasing me.”
Georgina jabbed the fork into the pie crust. “I hate Phoebe Dearborn.”
Amy was still laughing. “Even so, you wouldn’t harm her.”
“Well,” Georgina admitted. “I suppose not, but it would be tempting.” Her tone said that she would love the freedom to do something dire to Phoebe Dearborn.
“If you had escaped first. I know that you would have come to help me.”
“Would I?” Georgina tapped the fork against her chin. Her face was honestly thoughtful. “I don’t know if I would have.”
“I think you try to be cold and hard because you think you have to be.”
Georgina laughed sarcastically. “You don’t know me at all.” She dropped the pie tin on the rock next to her and tossed the fork inside. Her voice grew steely and her expression narrowed. “I will do whatever I have to do to survive and to win.” She leaned over and stuck her hands in the water, then dried them furiously on her petticoat.
Amy looked down at the half-eaten doughnut in her hand. “I couldn’t be happy if I had to hurt another person to get what I wanted.”
“How quaint and idealistic.”
Amy just shrugged, because she felt quaint when she was with Georgina. A plain pine rocker sitting next to a Chippendale chair made of rare ebony.
“You say you wouldn’t hurt someone.”
“Not purposely.”
Georgina watched her with a knowing look. “Then tell me something.”
“What?”
“Why did you crack the oaf’s brother with a whisky glass?”
“I didn’t want to!” Amy lowered her voice and stared at her lap. “I was scared. He said he was going to take me to bed. I couldn’t let him do that. I had to do something.”
“I see.” Georgina nodded. “I’ll give you that excuse. It was you or him.” She paused. “And I suppose you pointed that gun at the oaf because it was him or us. But . . . ” The word just hung there.
“But what?”
“Why did you humiliate William De Pysters in front of everyone at the gala?”
“I didn’t humiliate him. I gave him his ring back because he lied to me.” When Georgina didn’t say anything, Amy added, “He didn’t love me.”
“You thought he loved you?” Georgina shook her head. “Love and marriage don’t go together. Believe me. Why would someone marry for love? It’s just a useless emotion, a figment of the imagination.
“Name, wealth, and bloodlines are what matters. Even beauty doesn’t really hurt or help you. Although I suppose a man can come around a little quicker if you give him a little encouragement—low-cut necklines, a kiss that’s long enough to light a little passion, a feminine gesture like a finger to his lips or a hand on his chest.
“I’ve seen those things bring a man to his knees, but only if you have the right name or enough money. Certainly an emotional attachment like love—which I don’t believe exists anyway—has no place in any social marriage.”
Amy raised her chin. “My parents loved each other.”
“Really? How amusing.”
Amy looked down at her hands, then after a second she said quietly, “It was wonderful.”
“Well, you go on and believe that if you want. But you are only looking to get hurt. Love doesn’t mean a pot of beans to me. I will marry John Cabot and the only thing I’ll love is all that glorious Cabot money.”
“But what about him? If you plan to marry him then you must care for him. Just a little.”
Georgina’s expression grew fierce and stubborn. She shook her head. “No. Have you met him? Do you know who he is?”
“Yes.” Amy was quiet. John Cabot looked a little like a mole she’d seen poke his head out of a hole in the garden on her estate. “He must have some fine qualities.”
Georgina looked at her as if she had just said something truly stupid.
“A sense of humor?”
Georgina shook her head.
“Kindness?”
“Kind people are not rich.”
“My father was kind and rich.”
Georgina shrugged as if she didn’t believe her and never would.
“What you say sounds so cold and hard. I can’t be like that.”
“If you want to survive in this world, you’ll learn to be hard. It’s the only way to protect yourself.” She looked up again. “William couldn’t have hurt you, Amy, if you hadn’t been thinking of hearts and flowers and other silly love fantasies. William had the name; you had the money.”
Her words cut right through Amy. She was a person, not just a dollar figure. Didn’t people matter to anyone anymore?
“You did a foolish thing.”
“If it’s foolish to want your husband to love you for the person you are and cherish you and to hold you in his heart, to need you in his life, then call me a fool.” Amy looked away because she had to. “William made a private and painful moment into a scene, just like he made cruel jests about me. The least a woman can ask for is that a man respect her.”
She turned back, hoping her eyes weren’t as moist as they felt. She raised her chin a notch, knowing Georgina had e
ven more pride than she did. “I don’t believe you would marry a man who thought of you as a joke.”
Georgina wasn’t looking at her, but she took a moment and seemed to think about Amy’s words. “If the man had enough money I would.”
“You would not.”
“I would.” She paused. “Then I’d spend the rest of my life getting even. I’d make his life miserable.” Her eyes lit with sharp flashes of quick thoughts and narrowed as if she were actually living out the fantasy.
“But what about your life? That would be a miserable way to live, especially in a marriage.”
“With a rich man? I don’t think so.”
“What kind of life is that?” Amy muttered.
“Busy.” Georgina grinned. “Busy spending.” Her voice sounded flippant, almost too flippant. But her expression looked for all the world as if she truly didn’t care.
Amy sat there for a moment and watched her with a confused sense of awe and pity. She was a strong woman, driven and quick-thinking and seemingly certain of her path in life, so determined that she acted as if she would fight to make certain everything went her own way. Yet, even with someone as brittle and determined as Georgina Bayard appeared, Amy wondered if she was really that strong on the inside.
Amy stared at the cave entrance, lost in her thoughts, her eyes seeing nothing because her imagination was doing her seeing for her. In her mind’s eye she pictured two men standing side by side. The words Destiny and Fate were where their faces should have been. The mist swirled all around and a huge ship with the name Escape painted on its bow was floating behind them, the boarding ramp just a few feet away.
Fate was tall and blond, with huge arms and muscular legs. Destiny was just a smidgen shorter and had black hair. Spectacles dangled from one of his ears and he had a whisk broom and dustpan clutched protectively to his broad chest.
Both men moved in unison toward the cave entrance, walking slowly, as if time were beginning to stop, the way people always moved in daydreams. Amy could see herself standing there, unable to escape, even though her mind was telling her to run. She couldn’t will herself to move.
