There was no girl in the world like Beth Tremayne.
“Oh, egad.” Telford, with that exasperated declaration, made a show of clamping his eyes shut and clasping his hands. “Lord Almighty, spare me the sap and moon-eyes of all these lovesick fools.”
His future brother-in-law laughed. “Careful what you pray for, Telford. Perhaps I’ll spare you by giving you a toss into the drink like my sister did Sheridan.”
16
I knew you would make an appearance soon.”
Beth stood rooted to the heather, her shock at war with her common sense. She knew she ought to turn and run back to her boat before Nigel Scofield could come a step closer, but instead she blinked. How could he be here? How? She must be imagining it.
But her imagination never would have conjured him up like this, dressed in clothes better suited for an Amazonian expedition than a jaunt in the islands, ducking out of his tent with nothing but a hat to protect him from the rain. And grinning. Still grinning as he’d done the day they met.
“I knew it was only a matter of time after I discovered your name. Surely a magical binding works over distance, to pull the fairy to her captor. It’s only logical.”
Water dripped from the hood of her mackintosh, across her vision. She managed a step backward. “I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t expect anyone else to be here.”
He pursed his lips, though if he made any noise, it was lost to the rain. And shook his head as he took a step toward her. “Now, Miss Tremayne—or may I call you Beth? Why wouldn’t you have expected me to be here?”
She winced a bit at the sound of her name on his lips. No magic bound her to him at the speaking, but even so, it left her with a bare feeling. Exposed.
He’d realized who she was—not just some random “Beth” of Sheridan’s acquaintance, but the very person his father had been communicating with all spring. Which meant he’d likely also realized who Libby was, and that she and Oliver and Telford had pulled the wool over his eyes that day outside Cromwell’s Castle, when he’d forced them to Piper’s Hole to trade Mabena for a piece of Mucknell’s treasure.
But she’d learned quite a bit in their time apart too. Maybe even something that would make him proceed with care. “Well, I suppose, Mr. Scofield, that I simply don’t expect to find earls’ sons making camp on an unoccupied island in a rainstorm.” And from the looks of it, he’d been there more than just a couple hours, given the small cookstove and assortment of items set up. At least a day. Perhaps he came during the fair weather yesterday, though she still couldn’t think how he’d managed it without anyone knowing.
He came to within a foot of her and offered his elbow. “I don’t know why not, given the particular earl I’m the particular son of. I’ve certainly set up camp in far worse conditions than this. Did Em ever tell you about our expedition to Peru when she was twelve? Not that she and Mother left the hotel in Cusco.”
She glared at the proffered arm before spinning back toward the Naiad. “She did, yes. She said that it was a hot, muggy, miserable fortnight spent all but locked up in a room with her mother while you and your father were off gallivanting about in search of Aztec temples.” And gold that the conquistadors had missed, no doubt.
She hadn’t gone but a step before his hand closed around her slicker-covered elbow and forced her to a halt. It was an iron grip, too, despite the warm, friendly sound of the laugh he let loose.
“Emily never had a stitch of adventurousness in her bones. Neither does Mother. I admit I thought it was typical of all ladies. But you’re a different sort, aren’t you, Elizabeth Tremayne? You’ve certainly proven that this summer, with all the artifacts you’ve sent to us. I could scarcely believe it was one young lady collecting it all.” He gave her a tug, turning her to face him. A dark glint shone in his eyes. “Or a young woman anyway.”
Her nostrils flared. She’d come to expect such jabs at her family line from people like him. She’d once defended herself, then learned to let it roll off her. But in this case, she had a feeling that letting him think her too lowborn would only give him leave to behave badly. “You were right the first time. As you ought to know, given the fact that I know your sister from finishing school.”
He breathed another laugh, this one scoffing. “Only the London one. Not the Swiss château she went to the next year.”
Tempting as it was to spit on him or grind her heel into his toe, she forced a smile through the rain. “Oh, you mean the one where she met my future sister-in-law, Lady Elizabeth Sinclair. The Earl of Telford’s sister.” Well, not entirely true—Libby and Emily had missed each other by a year. But still, they’d gone to the same place. And it made the point she was trying to make. Beth’s mother may have been “only” an island girl, but that didn’t mean he could stomp all over her. If connections were all that mattered to him, he needed to know she had some too.
He didn’t look terribly impressed, though. He waved a hand through the rain and tugged her forward. “All that hardly matters, darling. The point is that I was hoping you’d come by again soon. I want to show you something.”
She tried to dig in her heels, but that just resulted in her slipping in the wet heather and mud. Which further resulted in him taking both her elbows to steady her and then standing there far too long, facing her, inches away, looking down at her with that smile she’d thought so charming two and a half weeks ago.
How had she not seen that it was mocking? Self-satisfied? Arrogant?
“Come, Beth, don’t be that way. I’m not trying to be an ogre. I only want to show you what I discovered last night before I lost the light. The fact that you’ve come back, too, tells me that you’ve also identified this as a place of interest. You must be curious as to what’s here.” He eased closer still. “Unless . . . unless it was thoughts of me that brought you back here?”
What she wouldn’t give to hear Sheridan’s shout echoing down the hill again. She’d appreciate it this time as she hadn’t the last. And if he got another black eye for his efforts, she’d soothe him and baby him and lavish him with attention instead of tossing him into the drink for his troubles.
As for the gentleman in front of her now . . . she lifted her chin and glared at him with all the icy fury of a winter fairy. “Don’t flatter yourself, sir. I prefer men without the blood of my friends on their hands.”
Something flashed in his emerald eyes. It wasn’t regret, that was obvious. But she had no word for what it was. Something dark. Something warning. “It’s a shame what happened to the lad.” His voice was smooth, polished, and utterly devoid of any true emotion. “That Lorne bloke who Lord Sheridan hired was certainly volatile. And ruthless. But I didn’t even join forces with him until directly after the incident, so you can hardly blame me. It seems if you’re going to be angry at anyone for that, darling, it ought to be Sheridan.”
“I have anger enough over it to go round.” And he was lying, from what she’d pieced together, about when he began working with Lorne. The only timeline that made any sense involved him and Lorne teaming up just before Johnnie was killed.