Esmée.
Had she heard her name? The roar of the surf behind her snatched the word away, but as her gaze traveled up a sandy dune, her heart lurched. A man strode toward her, navigating the uneven ground with sure, swift steps.
Henri. Running. At long last.
All thought of the ocean left her head. A wave rushed her from behind, buckling her knees with its foamy force, knocking her down and taking her under. Choking on water, she felt her soaked petticoats pull at her even as her bare feet and fingers raked over sand and sharp shells and pebbles.
“Esmée!”
She stumbled, all the wind knocked out of her, and then hard hands encircled her waist, pulling her free of the surf. Henri lifted her and swiftly carried her to safety. He sat down hard on dry sand, sheltering her in his arms. She was a bedraggled mess, coughing up water, her heart leaping with joy.
He was smiling, his chest shaking with mirth as he smoothed back the tangled mass of her hair with one hand, his words warm on her cheek. “Comeliest mermaid I’ve ever seen, right here on my very own island.”
She shut her eyes, swallowing down another sputter, and rested her head against his damp linen shirt. His heartbeat thumped as loud as her own. She felt she might burst with happiness.
“So much has happened.” Her words came breathless, her nose stinging from salt water. “I hardly know where to begin. But all that matters now is that you’re here, safe and sound.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” He held her closer, kissing her finger where the posy ring rested. His own signet ring caught the sun flashing in its fiery climb to noon. “The Intrepid is anchored off the south side of the island. We docked at York briefly before coming here. Long enough to see your father and finish business with colonial authorities.”
“Did you meet with success?” Her hopes hung on the word. Success and then retirement, at least from the naval world. ’Twas her highest hope.
“Aye, aside from half a dozen men lost.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“As am I.” His voice dropped, then rebounded. “Our prizes include a French naval ship carrying war materials to Canadian militia, as well as a troop ship. Our greatest coup was capturing a French commander and his officers, including a copy of their war plans. These we delivered to Williamsburg to the governor’s care.”
Bold operations, all. She couldn’t imagine the danger and complexities of overtaking war ships. “How is Father?”
“Glad to see us in port. Anxious about you and Eliza.”
She nodded, her eyes on the roiling surf. “You heard about Quinn, then, and the baby and Eliza’s being here.”
“Your father told me. I cannot convey my shock and sorrow. But what most concerns me is you.” His lips brushed her brow. “How you’re faring with so much strife and then keeping the light too.”
She raised a hand to his deeply tanned cheek, her own condition the least of her worries. The fatigue in his eyes . . . the loose folds of his shirt. His blue coat lay on the sand. He’d abandoned it coming after her. “You’ve lost a stone or so, to my eye. And you look exhausted.”
“War wears one down.” His smile was thin. “But with your company and care, I’ll be in prime shape in no time.”
She pushed herself to her feet, the sharp wind reminding her it was not yet spring. He stood too, retrieving her hat while she put on her stockings and shoes. Her skirts dragged on the sand as they left the beach hand in hand. Unable to contain herself, she turned to him, caught in a warm ray of sunlight, the fragrant pines ringing them.
“I cannot believe you’ve returned at last.” Her hands were pressed to his chest. “I shan’t believe it till you kiss me. Soundly.”
He smiled as his arms went round her, undeterred by how damp she was. She shivered, more from pleasure than the chill. She leaned into him, seeking his beloved scent, his strength. His mouth was warm and insistent against her own, next trailing down her neck and the bare hollow of her shoulder till her very being stood on tiptoe.
“I’ve dreamed of this moment day and night away from you,” Henri said. “It drove me half-mad.”
“Kiss me again,” she said, wanting to squeeze the last drop of joy from every hard-won moment.
“Have done with kissing. Marry me, Esmée.” A flicker of uncertainty darkened his eyes. “If you’re indeed sure of anchoring yourself to a man with salt water in his blood.”
She threw her arms around his neck, determined to remove all doubt. “Let this be my answer.” Pressing her lips to his, she kissed him with an abandon that brought them not simply body to body but soul to soul. The beach seemed to spin and fade, her awareness of him so complete it chased all else from consciousness. He kissed her back with equal fervor, and time came to a blessed standstill.
Breathless, he said, “Let us wed at once, then.”
She smiled up at him, the sun in her eyes. “Nathaniel Autrey is on hand. He can have the honor.”
“Ned?” Surprise enlivened his weary features. “Here?”
They began walking again, Esmée spilling out the whole story. “What’s more, his coming seems to have helped revive Eliza.”
“He understands loss. His own beloved died some time ago.”
“The Almighty sent him as surely as you’re standing here. I was at my wit’s end about Wherry and then at my wit’s end about Eliza. I still worry about her and Ruenna—”
“Ruenna?”
“Her wee daughter. She’s the sweetest, prettiest babe.”
The lighthouse was visible now, the sun striking the glass of the tower. He stopped for a moment, taking it in. She searched his face, seeking reassurance he was safe from the pox. Aside from faint, sun-weathered lines, his skin was smooth, no telltale marks of any scourge evident, past or present.
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I’ve much to tell you, ma belle, but first a bath and a hot meal are in order.”
CHAPTER
sixty-seven
Soon a bowl of hearty stew and crusty bread restored Henri. He and Ned had talked at length in his cottage while the women kept to theirs, preparing supper and minding the children. Lucy did slip out to reunite with Cyprian, who’d walked from the Flask and Sword, a gift of oranges and lemons in hand.
To Henri’s surprise, a veiled Eliza had presented Ruenna to him with pride in her voice upon his return to the lightkeeper’s cottage. Esmée wasn’t far, arranging a table for four in advance of an early supper and minding the light. A linen cloth was laid, anchored by a pitcher of dried flowers, not the seaside goldenrod and sweet everlasting of summer.
Would Eliza join them?
He could sense Esmée’s concern. Though he wished it could be just the two of them, he was grateful for Ned’s engaging presence and Eliza’s sincere if subdued welcome.
He stood by the hearth, adjusting to life outside wooden walls. After so many wintry weeks at sea, he couldn’t seem to get warm.
Esmée lit the candles at table. She’d lost the look of a mermaid and drew his eye like solid ground for a drowning man, her figure in floral chintz a veritable garden, her curled hair beribboned.