The Price of Pleasure (8 page)

She paused. If she was right about Sutherland, it would befall all of them.

 

The rain came again that day in frenzied bursts, dotting the towering waves in the bay. A hot wind tore through the trees. They were running out of time—the air was stifling, the water too. The region was primed for a typhoon.

If Grant didn't sail soon, they'd be floating in the middle of a cauldron.

He returned his attention to a rough map he'd sketched of the island. He flattened it across a crate, trying to add information, but the wind made it impossible.

He looked up in frustration. Ian was in his hammock, rocking wildly. “Ian,” he yelled, “come hold this down.”

Ian rose, pulled his oilskin tight, and shuffled over.

“I need you to hold the corners.”

Ian placed his palms on two edges. “What is this?”

“This is how I'm going to find Victoria.”

When Ian scratched his temple and the map flew up before he pinned it once more, Grant reluctantly explained, “We know she's been leading us where she wants us to go. Which means that she's leading us away from something. I've drawn a map of the island and marked each definite sign of her we've found—a net, a spear, obvious footprints—then weighted each item to calculate a mathematical probability of where she'll be.”

Ian looked at Grant as if he'd spoken in tongues. “I thought you were only good with math that involved pound signs. Well, where is she then?”

Grant pointed at an elevation on the parchment. “She's hiding high in the mountain.” He glanced up at the cloud-draped peak. “I hadn't thought she'd climb up so far.”

“It makes sense. And it's about the only place we haven't covered.” Ian's gaze followed Grant's. “Can we make it up there today?”

Grant turned to his ship, noting how she tugged at her anchor, then to the beach. “We have to. You see the rowboat?”

Ian blinked against the rain. “The sea's gone down about ten feet from it since morning.”

Grant couldn't hide his look of surprise.

“Yes, Grant, even I notice things.”

“Did you happen to notice it's supposed to be high tide?”

Ian's cocky grin vanished. “Storm's coming?”

“Big one.”

Ian rapped a knuckle on the map. “Then let's go.”

An hour later, they picked up a trail of footprints in the mix of sand and earth and followed it to a clearing. A cave, more a small crack in the foot of the peak, came into view.

Making his way inside, Grant lit a lantern, lifting it like a shield against the dark. Instead of the wet and mold he expected, he smelled a fire. Moments later, he could hear wood crackling. Triumph filled him and anticipation ran up his spine like a woman's nail lighting up his back. One more corner…

A body lay inside as though dead.

I
s she alive?” Ian whispered.

Grant nodded as they stepped closer. “I think she's breathing.” The woman's face was impossibly pale, her breaths shallow through cracked lips. Her clothes bagged on her frail body. Yet her hair was a fiery mass of red, looking anomalous with the rest of her.

“Miss Scott?” Grant said, as Ian bent down and tapped her shoulder.

She rose slowly, as though she ached, then rubbed her eyes and squinted. She didn't seem surprised to find two strange men in front of her. In fact, she patted her disheveled ginger hair, coquettishly trying to neaten it.

“Miss Scott, I've been sent here by Lord Belmont to find the Dearbourne family.”

“There's only one of them left. Who are you?”

“I'm Captain Grant Sutherland from England.”

She tilted her head at him. “I'm Camellia Scott. Lately from somewhere in Oceania.”

Ian chuckled. When Grant leveled a glare at him, he covered his mouth with a fist and coughed. “This is my cousin, Ian Traywick.”

She looked him over, blushed, then gave him a girlish wiggly-fingered wave.

What
was it about Ian and women? “Can you tell us where Victoria is?”

“Haven't a clue,” she said with a casual sweep of her hand. His eyes followed it, noticing the pitted scars covering her fingers and palms.

“You don't appear very excited to be rescued.”

She shrugged. “I couldn't muster excitement if the queen herself came to this island.” She stared at the ground, getting lost in some memory. “I saw her once in a procession. She had this plumed hat and green riding habit that I would have given my right hand for—”

“Miss Scott,” he interrupted.

She looked up. “We still have a queen?”

Impatience flared through Grant with each crack of lightning. A feral girl had kept him from getting his men to safety and now an addled nanny was thwarting him as well. “Miss Scott—”

Ian leaned in to whisper, “Grant, she's lived away from people for nearly a decade. A soft touch might work on this one.”

Grant waved his cousin away and said, “The queen is alive and well.” The woman gave him a blank look as if she didn't know what he was talking about. “Now, about Victoria. We need to find her and convince her we're here to rescue you both.”

“I'm sure a rescue was the last thing we would have thought. More likely pirates or some kind of military operation.” She gave him an arch look, then said crisply, “Plus, you are abysmally late.”

Grant felt apologetic, as though he were somehow tardy. “I'm leading the eighth voyage that Victoria's grandfather, the earl of Belmont, commissioned. Obviously none ventured this far out.”

“So we're no longer dead to the world. Astonishing,” she said in voice that sounded not the least astonished. Her eyes narrowed. “If Belmont sent you, then describe his home.”

He shook his head, then reluctantly began, “The manor house is an old graystone, shaped like a squared figure eight with two courts inside. The land is vast and filled with downlands, parklands, rolling hills dotted with sheep.” He exhaled. “Now that my facts match up—”

“Oh, I don't know about that. Never been there myself,” she said airily. “I just wanted to know what kind of place I'll be traveling to.”

He gnashed his teeth in frustration. Ian laughed. The winds outside strengthened. “We leave today,” Grant snapped. “Tell me where I can find her.”

“I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. She's been known to range over the entire island in one day. All I know is that she was looking for the handsome captain.”

Damn it, it was no use with this woman.
Wait…Handsome? Did Victoria say that?
Grant stifled an unwelcome flush of pleasure. “Ian, take Miss Scott to the ship. Tell Dooley to use his best judgment with the storm.”

She shrank back. “My first time back on a ship is going to be during a storm.” Her face was expressionless. “Can't wait.”

“It won't be so bad,” Ian said, as he gently took her hand.

She swung her gaze back to Grant. “I don't suppose I have a choice in the matter?”

“I can be more certain of your safety on the ship.”

“If Tori returns to find me gone, you'll have hell to pay.”

He straightened. “Thank you, but I think I can handle a slip of a girl.”

She gave him a pitying look. “That would be your first mistake.”

 

“Cammy, you'll never believe the weather—” Victoria froze when she saw Grant sitting by the fire. A visible tension thrummed through her.
“Where is she?”

“She's with my cousin and the crew aboard the
Keveral,”
Grant answered slowly.

Swooping down, she snatched up a bamboo cane. Her voice was shaking with fury. “Why did you take her?”

He rose by degrees, standing low, trying not to appear threatening. “I meant what I said before. I was sent here to rescue you. We need to get you both on the ship and out of the area.”

She shook her head, refusing his answer, and asked again, “Why did you take her?”

“Because I know you'll follow.”

Her face tightened. She wanted to strike him—he could feel her anger, raw and radiating from her. Her fingers whitened on the cane. Just when he was convinced she might, she dashed from the cave.

He snatched his pack and shot to his feet to follow her outside, immediately raising his hand to shield his eyes. The rain fell, not merely spilling from the clouds, but pitched down to beat the earth. Broad leaves of the multitude of banana trees thundered from the force. He almost longed for the puling rain of England instead of this assault.

Lightning split the sky, relentless, one bolt erupting just as another touched down. Flashes illuminated Victoria as she ran before him, her hands grasping vines overhead or trees beside her, her whole body in league to propel her forward. She moved over rocks and downed trees with an ease, and a recklessness, born of practice. Grant followed, running sideways, one foot over the other as they descended sliding hillocks toward her home.

She stumbled past her hut out to the edge of the shelf, flat hand to forehead, straining through the wet curtain for a glimpse of the ship. Grant saw her sway on her feet, thought he heard her breath whistle out.

Unbroken darkness covered the water.

The ship was gone.

W
here's the ship?”
Victoria rushed to him and shoved her palms into his chest.
“Where's the bloody ship?”

He grabbed her hands. “My first mate has standing orders to preserve the
Keveral
. They'll sail to open sea, away from the reefs, in preparation for the storm. I waited here for you.”

She twisted her wrists free. “She's sick. This is her first time back at sea and you take her out in a squall?” A bolt lit the stricken expression on her face.

“I think they beat it out,” Grant shouted over the wind. “My cousin will take care of her.” He laid his hand on her shoulder.

She staggered back as if shocked senseless, her eyes bleak. “Don't you touch me,” she hissed. “Don't you dare.” He raised his hands, palms out, so she could see them.

“Victoria, just trust me—” Lightning struck so near that his ears popped, the light blinding him. A ripping scream pierced the drum of pounding rain. Grant ran toward the sound, scraping his sleeve over his eyes, blinking furiously.

Victoria had disappeared.

 

“You're nicer than the other one,” Cammy said as the young man pulled the covers up to her chin.

“I get that a lot.” Traywick grinned, an easy, charming curl of his lips. “If you're comfortable, I'll just let you sleep.”

Wind howled over the ship, and she gave him an impatient look. “Not likely.”

“Dooley is more than capable of getting us clear,” he rushed to assure her. “I don't want you to be frightened.”

“I'm not that afraid. I'm the sick one—Tori's the one afraid of ships. I just don't expect to sleep when we're being jostled about like this.”

“We could talk,” he said eagerly, then added in a more subdued tone, “If it wouldn't bother you.”

She scooted up in bed. “That would be nice.”

“I'll be right back.” At the door he asked, “Can I get you something? Some tea or something to eat?”

“T-Tea, you say?” The one thing she talked about each night by the fire, dreamed about during the day.

He smiled. Enunciating every word, he said, “As much as you can possibly drink.”

“Can you make it in a storm?” she asked, her heart in her throat.

Traywick glanced out the port window and said, “This is nothing. Wait until the ocean
really
gets going.” He left with a wink and then minutes later, shuffled in carrying a tray laden with a steaming pot, a plate of small cookies, a bottle of spirits, and two teacups.

He handed her a cup of tea and the plate of cookies, then poured himself a drink in his own cup. She sipped and nearly gasped. Piping hot, doused liberally with sugar—just how she liked it. Her eyes rolled.

He chuckled. “Miss that, did you?”

“Like nothing else. Besides maybe horses. So what shall we talk about?”

“Whatever you like. You're the guest.”

“Let's talk about your captain. Tell me who he is and why he's searching for the Dearbournes.”

Traywick moved over to the opposite bunk and slumped to a sitting position. “For your questions:
Who?
Grant Sutherland, of the rich Surrey Sutherlands and captain of this pretty boat. Most notably, he is cousin to
me.”
He lifted his cup and flashed her an impudent grin over the rim before drinking.
“Why?
Because Victoria's grandfather hired him to undertake this mission.”

“Is Sutherland a good man?” She bit into a cookie. It might've been stale; she didn't care. It tasted like ambrosia.

“Yes. Unequivocally yes. He'll protect her with his life.” His voice was without doubt.

Cammy relaxed somewhat. Comforted on that point, she absently munched cookies and studied her grantor of tea and consequently her new best friend. Lord, but he was a handsome devil. He had chiseled masculine features, black hair with streaks the color of coffee, and the most vivid amber eyes she'd ever seen. He must have left a score of broken hearts back in England.

The captain was very handsome, in an intense, almost savage way, but this Traywick was perfect. And the ease with which he'd settled in with her indicated that he liked women as much as they surely liked him. She glanced at his unscarred hands. He wasn't a sailor by any means. “What are you doing aboard this ship?”

He took another deep drink. “Funny story, that. I needed to leave town in a hurry and ran aboard, thinking Grant was sailing a short voyage. I've been trapped ever since.”

“How awful.” He told the story in an amused tone, but she saw that his eyes were shadowed. “Did you leave someone behind?”

He looked up sharply. After a moment, he answered, “I did.”

“You must miss her very much.”

Traywick stared into his cup as though embarrassed, but replied in a low tone, “I didn't know you could miss a person this much.”

Cammy got the feeling she was seeing only the tip of the iceberg, that this young man was hurting more terribly than she could imagine.

“She must be very special.”

“Yes.” He refilled his cup and changed the subject. “So, you think Victoria won't react well to sailing again?”

Cammy sipped, then said, “Not at all.”

“She must've been young when you wrecked.”

“Thirteen. She saw the
Serendipity
break open with her father on deck. A sailor pushed her mother over the railing and she broke her back. Tori lost both parents in a matter of days.”

“My God, that must've been hard on her.” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “On both of you.”

He looked so sincere, so genuinely sympathetic, that she found herself asking, “Are you to be our friend?”

When the ship pitched, he reached over to lift the safety rails on her bunk. “Yes, I'd like that.”

“Good. I feel like we'll need an ally in the coming days.” She finished her tea and set the cup on a bedside stand. “Tori's a beautiful girl. Are you sure Sutherland can be trusted alone with her?”

He hesitated. “Ah, normally, there would be no question. He feels responsible for her—protective of her. And he's known throughout England as a man of honor.”

“Normally?” Her heart dropped.

“I've just never seen him behave like he has with her. I've never seen him—” He paused as though searching for the right word. “—I've never seen him
long.”

“Oh, dear.”

Traywick took another swig and glanced at the ceiling as if debating whether to tell her something. “Out with it, now,” Cammy said.

“It gets worse. Those Sutherland brothers—well, the two older ones, when they each found their woman, they got a little crazed.”

“So what happened?”

“One's happily married. The other one's dead.”

 

Grant sprinted to the edge, breath knocked from him as he saw nothing but her small hands clawing at the earth, at slimy roots, frantic for a hold. He dove for her at the brink where the ground beneath her had given way, shooting his arm out and snagging her wrist. Her skin slipped inch by inch from his hand.

“Hang on, Victoria! Grab my arms!” He reached for her elbow, praying all the while that his own position wouldn't give way.

“I can't…get a grip.” Her eyes were wide in her face, beseeching. “Don't let go. Please…”

In that instant, when his eyes locked with hers, he knew he'd follow her down before he'd ever let go.

“I won't.”
He redoubled his efforts to grab her under her arms. The closer he came, the more earth fell below him—by flashes of lightning, he could see large clumps exploding on the rocks hundreds of feet below. He nearly had her…. Seconds before she fell…

“I've got you,”
he roared, hands clamping behind her elbows. He hiked a leg up to plant a boot higher, pushing against his foothold to raise them to firmer ground. Again, another boot farther back. He dragged her until he could finally scramble back to safety, pulling her on top of him.

She clung to him for many moments, with her hands bunched in his shirt. He reached up to brush the rain from her face and felt warm tears streaming down.

She nearly died.
When she pulled away, his hand shot out to cradle the back of her head, tangling in her hair.
She'd almost…
Through the rain, he studied her face, so pale, and her stark eyes as though memorizing them, before his hands gathered her face to bring her lips beneath his.

He tasted her, drawing her nearer, laying her back in his arms as he squeezed her to him. Her lips were so soft, trembling. Her mouth…sweet and lush….

When she laid her hands flat against his chest, then brushed them higher to clasp his shoulders, he groaned against her and deepened the kiss, taking her with his tongue, savagely slanting his lips over hers again and again.

Distantly, he sensed her breaking away, and forced himself to let her. He cursed himself for frightening her, for clutching her so hard to his chest and kissing her so urgently. Her brows were drawn in confusion as her gaze flickered over his face. Never taking his eyes from hers, he watched as her confusion turned to anger. She bolted to her feet to back away.

But it was too late. That kiss—he'd never experienced anything like it. He lay back, stunned, while she dabbed her tongue at her plump bottom lip as if she couldn't believe he'd just taken her mouth so fiercely. He cursed and ran a hand down his face, determined to master himself, but in the end, it didn't matter.

The seal had been broken. His control had been pierced, if only for moments.

And he liked it.

Heaven help them both.