He had gone on to the dock, and she found him there with Noah. Noah and Cameron had already lifted Utley, his hands and feet still bound, into the bow of the boat, where he slumped groggily against the seat. Cameron climbed into the stern, stowed her bag and lifted her down beside him.
“Goodbye, Miss Celia,” Noah said. “I’m gonna miss you.”
Both Noah and Mrs. Givens acted as if she wouldn’t be returning, and Celia wondered if that was what Cameron had told them. As the boat slipped away from the dock, she watched Noah, waving in the weak light of dawn, until they rounded the southern tip of the island and she could see him no more.
Cameron headed the boat westward into deep water before turning south, and Celia glanced back to see dawn break over Solitaire. The eastern sky, striated with gold and lavender, illuminated the weathered gray boards of the graceful house and the profusion of magenta bougainvillea with pearly light, while the rising sun tinged the sand and azure gulf with pink. Through the swirling mists, she could spot the tiny form of Mrs. Givens, watching their departure from the upper veranda, and her heart swelled with love for the island, the house and its inhabitants.
Celia didn’t want to contemplate never returning there.
Cameron sat beside her at the tiller, and as the sun rose higher and the first rays struck his profile, she saw in him the kind and exciting man she’d married, not the haggard worried Cameron of the past few weeks. He was risking discovery of his well-protected hiding place after over six years of seclusion, just to bring a worthless criminal to justice. Was that the behavior of a killer?
Cameron turned and caught her staring. “Have you made your choice?”
Celia could read the fear in his eyes and knew he dreaded her decision, expecting the worst.
“Not yet,” she said.
“We’ll reach Key West before tonight. You can’t delay much longer.”
They sailed in silence for hours with Utley only semiconscious in the bow. All the while, Celia turned the facts of her dilemma over and over in her mind. Cameron had been right the night before when he’d insisted all the time in the world would not solve the enigma of the deaths of Clarissa and Randolph, but as Celia watched her husband at the tiller with the wind in his hair and the sun bronzing his skin, she accepted another fact that time would never change.
“Cameron,” she called to him above the wind.
He turned to her with an anxious look. “You’ve decided?”
She shook her head. “I wanted to tell you that no matter what I decide, I will always love you.”
Without releasing the tiller, he reached with his free arm and pulled her to him, crushing his lips to hers. She abandoned all thought of the future and reveled in the rightness of his embrace. She knew then that she could never leave Cameron, that the man she loved was no killer, and the life they shared on Solitaire meant more to her than any questions about Clarissa’s murder. She was prepared to tell him her choice when a croaking voice interrupted.
“Water,” Utley begged. “Please, water.”
“What did you mean about waiting six years to kill Cameron?” Celia demanded.
Utley refused to answer. After a moment, he begged for water again.
Remembering how Mrs. Givens’s remedy had made her mouth feel like cotton, Celia took pity on the man. She crawled to the back of the boat and held a bottle of water while he drank greedily.
“Not too much at once,” she warned. “It could make you sick.”
“The only thing that makes me sick,” Utley said with a leering grin, “is that our plans for last night were interrupted—what with your late husband rising miraculously from the dead.”
He looked toward Cameron, taunting him, and Celia wondered why a bound man would provoke someone to pound the daylights out of him.
“You must find a great deal of pleasure,” Utley continued, “between those long, brown legs. You’re a lucky man. You wouldn’t want to share that bounty with me now, would you?” He licked his lips.
Cameron ignored him and kept his eye on the sails and sea, even though the calm of the water and the clear sky required little attention. In the light, persistent wind, the boat could have almost sailed itself.
“Why don’t we settle this thing man to man?” Utley asked an hour later. “No need to bring in the law. We could fight it out here and now, and the winner gets the woman and the island.”
“Why should I fight you for what is rightfully mine?” Cameron asked, unperturbed. “Especially when you’re in no position to take it from me.”
“Maybe because you’re a betting man?”
Celia saw Utley’s purpose clearly now. He had no chance of escape bound as he was, but if he could incite Cameron’s anger, and have Cameron untie him to fight, he might prevail.
“You mustn’t anger my husband,” Celia told him. “You’re tied up and helpless to defend yourself. If you make him angry, he could beat you senseless or shoot you, and you couldn’t raise a finger to protect yourself.”
“Not him,” Utley said in a voice that dripped with sarcasm. “I know a gentleman when I see one, all high-minded and moral. He’d never strike anyone who couldn’t strike back.”
Utley was right. He’d seen instantly what had been staring Celia in the face for the past few weeks, and she’d failed to see. Cameron’s innate goodness shone through like a beacon. Such a man was incapable of murder. She started to speak, to beg Cameron’s forgiveness for doubting him, to tell him that she wanted to make their marriage legally binding, but a glance ahead made her forget her words.
“Cameron, look,” she shouted.
“Damn,” Utley cried. “We’re heading straight into a squall.”
A blast of wind hit the sails, almost overturning the boat. Celia felt her pulse increase and her chest tighten. She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply in hope of fighting off a panic attack.
“Cut me loose,” Utley cried. “I’ll drown if we capsize.”
The high wind held, tossing the boat like a cork on the seas, and the gentle waves swelled into monstrous mountains.
Cameron reefed the sails, then fought the tiller with both hands while the wind ripped the sheets, and the boat crashed down into a valley between the waves.
“Cut me loose. I can help!” Utley cried.
Without waiting for Cameron’s approval, Celia yanked his knife from its sheath, clambered across the heaving deck, and sawed at Utley’s bonds.
“Hurry up, woman!” Utley had to yell into her ear to be heard above the wind.
When the last strand of rope fell away, he rubbed his wrists, then rushed to trim the sails even more. Celia huddled in the stern, holding on for dear life.
Once she caught Cameron’s glance, a burning look of love and anxiety, before he returned his full attention to keeping the boat afloat.
“Strike the sail,” Cameron screamed to Utley. “It’s our only chance.”
Suddenly, as if a giant hand had swatted the boat from the water, it rose into the air, hung for a moment on the force of the gale, then plummeted into the sea.
Chapter Fourteen
The boat crashed onto the surface of the water, and only Cameron’s arm around her waist kept Celia from pitching overboard.
Utley, however, wasn’t so lucky. An immense wave knocked him off the deck and into the sea.
Cameron didn’t hesitate. After transferring the tiller to Celia, he dived into the roiling waters after their prisoner.
“Cameron, come back!” Celia screamed into the wind. “He’s not worth risking your life for.”
Sheets of heavy rain obscured her view, and she strained for a glimpse of Cameron in the storm-tossed sea. How could she have doubted him? He had placed his own life in jeopardy to save a man who’d intended to kill them both. And if Cameron drowned in the rescue attempt, he would never know her decision to trust him completely, to love him unconditionally.
She held on to the tiller with all her strength and prayed as she’d nev
er prayed in her life.
The sky lightened around her as the squall line passed, but even in the better light, she could spot no sign of Cameron or Utley on the calming water.
Suddenly, a splash sounded on the starboard side, and she turned as Cameron was levering himself into the boat.
“Utley?” she asked.
“I’ve got him. Help me pull him on board.”
Fighting against the man’s deadweight, Celia helped Cameron tug Utley over the side and onto the deck.
“Is he drowned?” she asked.
Cameron pressed his fingers to the man’s neck. “He has a pulse. He’s probably unconscious from the blow he took to the head when he pitched into the sea.” He pointed to a bruised knot on Utley’s temple. “Strip off his wet clothes and wrap him in blankets. I want this sorry excuse for a human being alive when we reach Key West.”
Celia shivered at the violence in Cameron’s tone and the fury in his eyes. Would she ever understand the contradictions in this man she loved more than life itself? One minute he was risking his life to save a criminal, and the next he looked as if he’d take great pleasure in feeding the very same man to the sharks.
Cameron took the tiller again, and Celia scurried to find dry blankets. She longed to tell Cameron of her decision to put the past behind her and to stay with him on Solitaire, but the cold anger in his eyes and the unyielding set of his mouth rebuffed her. Instead, she maintained a silent vigil over the unsavory man sprawled on the deck.
Hours later, when they entered the marina at Key West, Utley had yet to regain consciousness.
Cameron secured the boat and climbed onto the dock. “I’ll have the harbormaster call the police.”
Celia watched him stride down the wooden planks toward the marina office, his back stiff, his steps angry. He seemed so distant, so incensed, that she began to wonder whether, once she told him she wanted to stay on Solitaire, he would allow her to return.
CAMERON HASTENED HIS pace as he neared the quaint bed-and-breakfast where, eight hours ago a Key West police officer had taken Celia. The architecture of the structure reminded him of his house on the island, but he felt no pang of homesickness. Only an urgency to hold Celia in his arms.
He picked up his key at the front desk and hurried up the stairs to their room overlooking the tropical gardens at the back of the building. Not wanting to awaken Celia, he eased the door open slowly. His heart swelled with tenderness when he saw her lying asleep among the pillows, the duvet thrown back to reveal the magnificence of her long legs threaded through the sheets.
He’d last seen her at the police station. She’d thrown him a panicked look when the officer led her away after a brief interview. Cameron had wanted to assure her everything would be all right, but the detectives who’d been interrogating him pulled him back into the interview room before he could speak with her.
Lowering himself to the edge of the bed, he brushed back the golden strands of hair from her forehead. Immediately her eyes flew open, and she struggled upright.
“Where have you been?” Anxiety mixed with drowsiness in her husky voice. “I thought they’d arrested you.”
Cameron shook his head. “The police had a great many questions.”
As much as he longed to tell her, he restrained himself from pouring out the whole story. First, he wanted to hear her decision, to learn whether or not she had decided to trust him, to love him, to remain his wife. He had never known true happiness until Celia had set foot on his island, had never realized a man could love a woman so completely and unreservedly. But if they were to make a life together, he had to believe that Celia felt the same.
Fearful of her answer, but needing to know, he grasped her gently by the shoulders, then tilted her chin until their gazes met. “Have you decided?”
She lifted her arms and twined them around his neck. Her lips curved in a smile that turned his insides to jelly. “I decided long before we reached Key West, but you seemed so angry, I was reluctant to tell you.”
His heart sank. “Because you feared your decision would make me more angry?”
She shook her head, her expression solemn. “I was afraid you’d say you didn’t want me, even though I’d decided to stay.”
With a groan he crushed her in his arms. “Not want you? My God, Celia, I’d sooner not want to breathe.”
She snuggled against his chest and nuzzled against his throat. “Does that mean you’ll take me back to Solitaire with you?”
He cupped her face in his hands. “Wherever I am, you will be there, or my life will be over.”
With a sigh of pleasure, she lifted her lips to his. “I love you, Cameron. Without reservation, without doubt. I trust you with my heart and my life.”
He returned her kiss with tears welling in his eyes. She trusted him, she loved him, not knowing the truth.
It was time to tell her.
“I had good reason to be angry yesterday. When Utley was taunting me, my memories of the night Clarissa and Randolph died suddenly returned. I had seen Jack Utley before.”
Celia grew still. “I’m listening.”
“He’s the man who murdered my wife and child, who almost killed me, too. It was Utley I remembered striking with my fist, but I was too drunk to be a match for him.”
“Did you tell this to the police?”
He drew her into the circle of his arm and leaned against the headboard. “That’s why I was gone so long. They’ve been burning up the telephone lines all night with calls and faxes to Scotland Yard.”
Her beautiful face glowed with happiness. “Then your name is cleared?”
“Better still, my conscience is clean. Unidentified fingerprints at the crime scene have now been recognized as Utley’s.”
“Then you can go home. To London? To Devon?”
“We can go home.” He studied her face, anxious for any sign of hesitation.
“Home, my darling, is wherever you are.” A sudden frown clouded her features, and his heart clenched with nervousness as he feared she might be having second thoughts.
“What was Utley’s motive?” she asked.
Cameron relaxed and drew her closer into his arms. “When Utley realized the police had an eyewitness and fingerprints to tie him to the crime, he told them everything. Seems my dear cousin Christopher coveted my fortune and had hired Utley to kill me and my family in order to inherit. But Utley botched the job and left me alive. He came after me to finish what he started and eliminate me as a potential witness to his crime.”
“Thank God he failed,” Celia said with a fervor that warmed him.
“Scotland Yard already has my cousin in custody. He won’t be receiving my inheritance since Utley didn’t kill me.”
“Then there’s nothing more to do here?”
“Most definitely. We have some very urgent business.”
She attempted to rise. “Then I should get dressed.”
“That,” Cameron assured her, “would be counter productive.”
She arched a delicate eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve already proved this very comfortable bed is fit for sleeping. I suggest we put it to another test.”
She came into his embrace like a blessing, and if a man could die of happiness, Cameron figured he wouldn’t survive the day.
SIX MONTHS LATER ON A warm and sunny May afternoon, Celia stood gazing out to sea. The swells of the Atlantic and the red earth of the Devon hills were nothing like the tranquil Gulf of Mexico and the white sugar sand of Solitaire, but the vista pleased her nonetheless. She and Cameron had made the estate their home ever since their wedding in the chapel there on Christmas day. Cameron had hired a manager to run the mine offices and now spent his days, with Celia’s assistance, writing his book on the flora and fauna of the Ten Thousand Islands.
When Tracey arrived in England in December for the wedding, she brought a video of a television news magazine that featured Gregory Conroy, alias Darren Walker, alias David Welle
r, and half a dozen other assumed names. The man had just been indicted for murder by a grand jury in Massachusetts. Not, ironically, for the murder of Mrs. Seffner’s daughter, but of another woman, another of his many wives who had died mysterious deaths. This victim’s brother was a Boston detective who hadn’t rested until he tracked Conroy down and proved his guilt.
Tracey, aware of Celia’s near brush with disaster with Darren, at first had reservations about Cameron. But the Englishman soon won her over with his warmth and gentle kindness. Celia rewarded Tracey’s approval by nixing pink gowns for her attendants this time and choosing instead deep green velvet for the holiday season.
The wedding in the chapel decorated with holly, ivy and red velvet bows, had been attended by hundreds of Cameron’s friends, business associates and even a sprinkling of royalty. He had been well-liked before the tragic murders, and with his name cleared, had been welcomed back to England with enthusiasm. They had welcomed Celia, too.
Remembering, Celia smiled. In the months since their wedding, her days with Cameron had been the happiest she’d ever known. She hadn’t even missed Sand Castles, which she’d sold to Tracey after the wedding. In anticipation of seeing her husband soon, she turned back toward the house.
Mrs. Givens had left the tea tray on the terrace where the soft breeze was heavy with the scent of roses warmed by the sun, but Celia was waiting for Cameron, who had taken an overseas call in his study.
Soon, however, Cameron strode through the French doors, a smile creasing his handsome face. Her heart jolted, as it did each time she saw him again after the briefest of separations, with the knowledge of how much she loved this kind and gentle man.
“Good news,” he announced.
Celia moved to the tea table, took her seat and poured her husband a cup. “The mines are doing well?”
Cameron took the cup and saucer, moved a chair closer to hers and sat beside her. “That, too. But this is even better news. It’s about Noah.”
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