He snorted a laugh. “I can’t think why not. They ought to have been clamoring to be taken to the Eastern Isles this morning. Your uncle’s toe didn’t predict a storm, did it, that would make Oliver override them?”
She shook her head. “He predicts clear skies for the next few days. And Ollie was planning on showing them about, I know. He told Libby he wouldn’t see her until afternoon, hence why we passed her on her way to the Gardens.”
With her sketchbook and magnifying glass and a field guide or two in hand. Habits he found quite a bit more amusing now that he knew she wouldn’t be interfering with his every excavation for the rest of his life, telling him he couldn’t possibly dig there because there was some precious, rare something-or-another growing that could be found nowhere else in the world—even though it looked exactly like every other something-or-another to be found absolutely everywhere.
Why had he ever let Telford talk him into considering a match with her, anyway? Though he couldn’t be entirely sorry he’d entertained the notion. It was part of why he’d come here with Telly, after all, which was how he’d met Beth.
He did love the mysterious ways in which the Lord worked. So very interesting in all their coincidences and surprises.
“The beach is a bit crowded here.” He nodded toward a few sloops’ worth of tourists who were meandering about. “Probably would have been then too. With sailors, I mean. So . . . up?” He motioned toward one of the paths through the grass, up to higher ground.
Beth led the way, letting go of his arm so they could travel single file. By the time they reached the crest, the Adelle was sailing past them, on its way to her usual slip on the north side of the island. Sheridan waved a hello, though no gesturing arms indicated that they’d seen them here.
Beth wandered a few steps away, her eyes on where another boat was coming in. “They’d have had a good view of any ship anchored off the shore here . . . though the same could be said for just about any spot on the top of this hill.”
And the top of the hill would probably give a good enough starting point to draw their line due south on the map. “Ah, but we have another criteria that must be met.” He joined her where she stood and slipped an arm around her waist. “Is it a good spot for a kiss?”
Rather than just turn in his arms and try it out, she looked around. And shook her head. “Too close to the road. Anyone happening by would see. Here, come with me.” She tugged him onward—really, sometimes she was no fun at all—across the road, and to the other side of it, where the hill was a bit steeper leading down to the sand, and a dip in it created a little spot that was more protected.
Sheridan drew in a long breath once they came to a halt on the bluff, the sea beckoning him, the wind whirling about them, and the most beautiful woman in all the world pressed against his side, her eyes bright with a smile.
“There,” she said. “Much better. Now, my lord—the experiment?”
Well, who was he to disappoint a lady? He obligingly drew her close, sweeping his hat off his head with his other hand so their brims wouldn’t collide, and leaned down to claim her lips with his own.
He didn’t know if this was where Rupert had stood with his Briallen. But as he kissed Beth, he wondered again how he could have done it—left her here and gone off in search of treasure. Hadn’t he realized he held the most precious thing in his arms already? But then, Sheridan didn’t know how desperate life really was on Tresco at the time. Perhaps staying here simply hadn’t been possible.
He just knew that Beth had the right of it. He’d never sail off without her. Not now that he’d found her.
When finally he pulled away, they shared a smile. “I rather like this spot. But there could well be an even better one. There. Or there. Or . . . somewhere. We ought to test out more of them.”
“Mm.” She came up on her toes and pressed another kiss to his mouth. “We certainly want to be thorough . . . wait.” She frowned and spun to the north. “When the Adelle went by—did you count how many people were on board?”
“Um. Well, that is . . .” He hadn’t. But he tried to remember now. It had looked a bit full, hadn’t it? “My sister’s maids could have come along. They may have wanted to see the Abbey Gardens.”
“Yes, but I think there were even more than that.”
Sheridan pursed his lips. “Lady Emily, perhaps?”
A perfectly logical possibility. So why did it light a spark of concern in her eyes and make her leap back toward the crest of the hill? “She was supposed to be doing something with Lottie’s family today. If she’s here instead, it could well be because they’ve received word about her brother.”
Well, blast. He could hardly insist they try out more good-bye-kiss locations if important news was coming. Though how Scofield managed to interfere when he wasn’t even here . . . Sheridan hurried to catch up with her. “I suppose that could explain why my sisters weren’t insisting on seeing the Eastern Isles.”
“We’d better take the road back into the village. It’ll be faster.”
Five minutes later, Sheridan was fairly certain it wasn’t the fact that the road cut any straighter a line that made it faster—it was just that Beth could run on it better than on the sand. He was finally getting a glimpse of this speed she was known to have, and it would have been far more fun to watch than it was to try to keep up with. Not that he couldn’t run—he enjoyed some fine sport as much as the next chap—but she didn’t just run. She dodged this way and that, around obstacles, under lifted arms, through the legs of horses . . . all right, that one was an exaggeration. A bit.
Even so, he was rather glad he knew his way back to the Tremayne house, because she lost him halfway through the village. Because he dared to halt for a moment when a wagon passed in front of him, rather than simply leap over it in a single bound as she probably would have done.
He was smiling as he puffed his way to the house. She really was amazing. He could just imagine her on expeditions with him. She’d be in the lead, blazing trails. Outpacing the guides.
Just now, though, she stood in the front garden, clasping the hands of a very worried-looking Lady Emily.
“Wha . . . what . . . is it?” He sucked in a long breath and came to a halt just past the trellis.
His sisters were there, too, and both their maids, and Oliver. Millicent turned to him with a scowl. “It’s that annoying Dutchman again, that’s what.”
Sheridan frowned. “Dutchman?”
“American,” Abbie corrected. “But originally Dutch.”
“His family.” Millicent marched over to him. “Don’t tell me you don’t recall him, I won’t believe it of you. Not given the thorn he was in our side in Europe. Vandermeer, Theo. Donald Vandermeer.”
“Vandermeer!” He hadn’t even thought of him in years, but the mere mention of his name brought a score of scorching memories to mind. He looked to Beth and Lady Emily. “Is he the American your family is working with?”
Lady Emily released the lip she’d been gnawing on. “So it seems—though I don’t really know anything about him.”
“Do you?” Beth, looking from him to his sisters.