Time After Time (197 page)

She tapped the journal with her forefinger. “The final resting place of Queen Isabella’s treasure is the Island of the Sleeping Man. He describes the island quite well, but I have never been able to locate it on any map. I can tell you where it is not because I’ve accompanied my father on several of his adventures.” She took a sip of her brandy. “After he hid the treasure, Alexander . . .
reinvented
himself, I suppose would be the correct term. He changed his appearance, changed his name, changed everything about himself and settled in Jamaica, but he never stopped writing in his journal.” She turned more pages and pointed to various paragraphs, but she never read from the writings themselves, so he knew she had committed certain things to memory.

“He married Mary Collins, a plantation owner’s daughter and lived happily at Sweet Briar in Saint James Parish before Henry Morgan returned to Jamaica as the lieutenant governor.” Her fingers smoothed over the written words.

“Alexander became very ill after Morgan returned. He didn’t leave the plantation, wouldn’t see visitors. I have the impression he spent a lot of time in a little chapel on the plantation, praying. I don’t know if part of his illness was due to his constant consumption of rum, but I know he believed he’d been cursed for stealing the treasure. He believed Morgan would come for him at any moment.” She paused and took a deep breath before continuing in a rush.

“His writing reflected his illness and his fear. Many of his words are gibberish, out of context, and make little sense, even though I’ve read this over and over. His last entry is August 10, 1680. I imagine he died a short time later.”

Fascinated, Tristan watched her take another sip of brandy then lick her lips once again.

“To my knowledge, Izzy’s Fortune is still hidden on the Island of the Sleeping Man.”

Anticipation surged through Tristan’s veins, and yet he couldn’t allow himself to show it. Why should he trust her? She was simply a woman he’d found on his ship, going through his maps. Perhaps she’d made it all up, wrote the journal herself, but to what purpose? Was she bored with her life? Did she long for adventure?

He studied the book, noticed again the brittle pages, the ink so faded in places he had trouble reading it, and knew with certainty, the journal wasn’t forged.

He felt her intense stare and looked at her.

“You don’t believe me,” she blurted, as if she’d read his thoughts. “I have this.” She reached for her valise again and laid a wooden box beside the book, slipped the lock, and lifted the lid. Nestled in a bed of black velvet lay a golden goblet encrusted with precious gems. Rubies and emeralds sparkled in the soft glow of the candles and created rainbows on the dark mahogany walls. “It was with Alexander’s journal. I found them both hidden in the false bottom of an old grandfather clock my father had purchased many years ago. I don’t think they were ever meant to be found. If an earthquake hadn’t toppled that clock to the floor, I never would have known.”

Stunned, Tristan swallowed hard. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life, aside from the woman next to him. He said nothing as he lifted the goblet from its bed of velvet and inspected the gems, the perfection of the craftsmanship, the tiny inscription at the base.

“I will finance the expedition on the condition I am allowed to join in the hunt and we split the treasure—half for you and your crew, half for me.” She held her breath and waited for his answer.

He came to a quick decision. There were those, he knew, who would think him insane, unstable. A superstitious group, his crew would regard him as quite mad and would object to a woman on board the
Adventurer
, but he had to take the chance—on her. On the journal. On the golden chalice in his hand and the possibility of finding Izzy’s Fortune.

“I accept your proposition. We leave in four days.”

Chapter 2

Caralyn let out her pent up breath in a long sigh. Relief washed through her with such speed, she wanted to cry. She couldn’t believe he’d agreed without an argument. She had been prepared to beg, and if that hadn’t worked, she’d been prepared to offer . . . herself.

The first part of her plan to gain her freedom had gone off without a hitch, but it was only the beginning. They had to find the treasure, just had to—her future happiness depended upon it.

She’d come to the
Adventurer
alone and waited for him with the knowledge he might deny her request with a simple shake of his head. And yet, he hadn’t. He hadn’t been irate to find her in his cabin, hadn’t been disturbed she’d gone through his maps. He seemed more amused and curious than angry.

Though her father had spoken of Captain Trey many times, hearing about him had not prepared her for meeting him. She had expected an older man, but the man who sat before her couldn’t be considered old in any way. Young and vibrant, raw energy and blatant sexuality oozed from him, which both frightened and excited her more than she dare admit.

She hadn’t expected him to be quite this handsome, either. He looked like a pirate. Or at least what she imagined a pirate would look like. Dark hair, brushed back from his forehead, formed a queue at the back of his neck, and was held in place by a length of leather. High cheekbones emphasized remarkable, unusual sherry-colored eyes, which bore holes through her and heated her blood. He possessed a beautiful smile, which he flashed at her, and the softest lips. Her mouth still tingled from when he’d kissed her.

Broad shouldered and muscular from years at sea, his long, lean body carried not an ounce of fat. She glanced at his hands and held her breath. Not the hands of a dandy or someone who only used his strength to open a brandy bottle. These hands had known hard work, and yet she detected an inherent gentleness in his long fingers.

“Why have you brought this to me? Why hasn’t your father taken the journal and goblet and set sail?” His fingers touched hers as he handed back the items. A suffusion of heat sizzled from her fingertips all the way to her toes.

“Father said he’s too old and tired to chase rainbows. He said it was time for both of us to give up the fantasy of Queen Isabella’s treasure.” She left out the part about his plans for her marriage. An arranged marriage to a man she didn’t know, a man who would take her away from the home she loved on Saint Lucia, a man who would expect
things
from her. “He retired and sold the
Lady Elizabeth
.”

Caralyn didn’t tell him how much it hurt to know her father had sold the ship to a complete stranger. She’d always assumed he would give it to her. After all, she was the only one of his children who loved the
Lady Elizabeth
as much as he did.

With nimble fingers, she wrapped the journal in its protective oilcloth, placed the goblet in its box, and tucked them away in her valise. “There is one other thing.” She pulled out an envelope. “It’s a contract, specifying the terms of our agreement.”

Captain Trey took the envelope and removed the contract and its duplicate. Once again, Caralyn held her breath. Though he had verbally agreed, he could still change his mind. The possibility all her plans were for naught still weighed heavily on her heart.

He said nothing as he read the document, but his eyes wandered to her several times. Again, his grin spread from ear to ear. “I am to take you to London by April twentieth, whether we find the treasure or not.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t give us much time, Miss McCreigh. It’s the middle of January.” With a frown, he dipped his pen into the inkwell but didn’t sign. Instead, he stared at her. His remarkable eyes seared her to her very soul. “Did Entwhistle send you?” he asked as his gaze swept over her. Her heartbeat quickened as excitement rippled through her.

She took a deep breath. “I assure you, Captain, I came on my own. No one sent me. Perhaps it is foolish, but no one knows I came to see you.”

He continued to stare at her. Caralyn didn’t blink, didn’t turn away. She kept her gaze steadily on him, praying he wouldn’t back out of their agreement.

“Finding this treasure is important to you.” He wasn’t asking a question. It was a statement of fact and the deep tenor of his voice filled her veins with warm honey.

“Yes. More important than you’ll ever know.” She didn’t elaborate, didn’t tell him the proceeds from her share of the treasure would be enough to buy her out of a marriage she didn’t want. Nor did she tell him how frightened she was to fail in her quest or how much the thought of high adventure filled her with excitement.

“For me as well, Miss McCreigh.” He signed his name in bold slashes on the bottom on the pages before he handed her the documents and the quill.

“Shouldn’t we have a witness?” More nervous than she could bear, Caralyn couldn’t resist asking the question.

And wished she hadn’t.

The captain’s cool sherry-colored gaze settled over her. He said not a word for a very long time while his unrelenting stare played havoc with her senses.

“If we are to be partners in this venture, you’ll have to trust me.”

With a slight nod and trembling fingers, Caralyn wrote her name beneath his on both pages, although her signature wasn’t as bold. She blew on the ink to make it dry faster, handed one copy to him, then folded hers and stuffed it into the valise.

“It’s done, then. In four days, we set sail. In four months time, whether we find Queen Isabella’s treasure or not, you will deliver me to London.” She held out her hand and waited, her heart in her throat. She would say her vows on April twenty-fifth, according to what she remembered from before she’d ceased listening, but she wanted to give herself time to find her future father-in-law and offer him gold in exchange for her freedom. Tristan grinned as he stared at her hand then gave her his own and shook.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Miss McCreigh.” His eyes twinkled, his teeth gleamed pearl white, and the burnished highlights in his hair danced in the candlelight. He did not release her hand. The warmth of his touch traveled from her fingers all the way up her arm. Her heart beat an insane tattoo in her chest and she wondered, perhaps too late, if she had made a mistake. How in the world would she be able to maintain her balance, her equilibrium, if she was to spend all that time with this handsome, charismatic man?

“Might I see you home? Or were you planning to stay aboard the
Adventurer
until we sail?” The expression on his face told her he wouldn’t mind if she stayed.

“I have a carriage waiting, but I’ll see you in four days. I’ll send my maps tomorrow.”

Tristan rose from his seat to tower over her. Caralyn wondered if he would kiss her again. In truth, she would rather like it. The touch of his mouth had been electrifying, intoxicating, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She stared at him, mesmerized by the luminous shine in his eyes and the smile on his face.

“Come. I’ll escort you to your carriage.” He offered his arm. Without hesitation, Caralyn slipped her fingers into the crook of his elbow.

• • •

As the carriage made its way toward a townhouse on the other side of Charleston, Caralyn tried to keep her excitement at bay. With little success. Her head swam with thoughts of the supplies their quest would require, the clothes she would pack, the maps she would send along. Most of all, she thought of the treasure and the freedom it would give her.

She hugged herself and would have squealed with delight if the hour hadn’t been so late.

When the carriage stopped in front of her brother’s three-story home, Caralyn stepped out and stood on the sidewalk for a moment. The light from a lantern beside the door sent a glow over the darkness and turned the shadows of the bushes into hulking monsters. She eyed those bushes with suspicion as she made her way up the walk and wondered if one of her nephews would jump out to scare her.

She chuckled, realizing how ridiculous her fears were. The hour had grown late. Surely, her rambunctious nephews were fast asleep or at least pretending to be.

With great care, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The hinges squealed in protest and she stopped, hoping the sound hadn’t been as loud as she imagined. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let herself into the house.

“Where have you been?”

“Oh!” Caralyn jumped and tightened her grip on the handles of her valise.

Her brother sat in a chair beside the grandfather clock in the great hall. The single lamp above his head created a halo of sorts and highlighted the abundant grey, which streaked his light brown hair.

Charles, her senior by only five years, but in attitude and thought, so much older, glared at her with obvious annoyance. He rose from his seat and stalked toward her, the echo of his hard-soled shoes on the marble tile reminiscent of a death knell. A white ring formed around his mouth as his lips pressed together in anger and color suffused his usually pale cheeks. “No, don’t tell me. You’ve been down to the docks. Again. Without Mrs. Beasley to accompany you.” His nose wrinkled. “I can smell you from here.”

Caralyn said nothing as he drew closer and stood within arm’s reach. He towered over her, as did most people, and glared at her. Her gaze rose to his face—his angry face—and she drew in a deep breath. It wouldn’t be unexpected for him to reach out and slap her. She’d seen him do it to his own children. She’d also seen the fear in their eyes and wondered what had happened to the carefree young man she had once idolized.

“When I said you could stay with me, I expected you to obey the rules of this house, not traipse all over Charleston in the middle of the night.” His brows drew into a frown and his breath wheezed in and out of his lungs. “I am responsible for your safety, though God knows it’s a thankless, impossible task.”

Caralyn ignored his words and pasted a smile on her face. “Not to worry, brother dear. My plans have changed and you will no longer be responsible for my protection. I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home.” Just to be flippant, she added, “To plan my wedding.”

His expression changed and his features softened. The white ring of anger around his mouth disappeared, as did the glare in his icy blue eyes. He looked once more like the brother she adored.