Time After Time (211 page)

“Your last? I don’t understand.”

“Father has ordered me home to marry.”

“Marry? You?” Stitch shook his head and glanced at him. “Given your feelings on the subject, I’m surprised you’re even considering it.”

“I have no choice. Father has made all the arrangements, including choosing the woman who is to be my wife.”

“The earl is a willful man,” Stitch agreed. “More than once, he’s made me shake in my boots. Perhaps he has chosen wisely.”

Tristan sighed again. “How could he choose wisely? He doesn’t know me, doesn’t know what I want.” The moment the words left his mouth, he realized the truth although he couldn’t say the thought aloud.
How could Father know? Up until a short time ago, I didn’t even know what I wanted. All I knew is that I didn’t want a marriage like his
.

“What about love, Tris? Does that enter into the equation with your father?”

“No, love doesn’t matter. I will marry for money, as generations have done before me.” Tristan glanced at his companion and blurted, “Quite frankly, I don’t believe the earl believes in love.”

Stitch said nothing for a long time as he stared at the gently lapping waves. “Perhaps, in time, you’ll grow to love this woman you’re to marry. It does happen. Some of the best marriages have been based on less.”

“You don’t truly believe that, do you?”

In the glow of moonlight, Stitch’s face took on a particular rosy hue. “Yes, I do. You know how much I loved my Fannie. She was the love of my life, yet we barely knew each other when we married. Like you, my marriage was arranged for the benefit of both our families. The best I had hoped for was companionship, and yet over the years, we came to love each other. There will come a moment when you will look at your future wife and realize she is the woman you have waited for all your life.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Tell me about the woman you are to marry.”

Tristan laughed. “I can’t. I’ve never met her. Furthermore, I don’t even know her name, though I would imagine she’s from a good family. She must be. Why else would Father have chosen her?” A long sigh escaped him as he gazed at the moonlight shimmering on the water. “I suppose I should have gone back to England and courted the woman. At least met her, but I . . . I wanted one last adventure, one last chance to find Izzy’s Fortune. I know—very selfish on my part.”

They grew silent, the only sound the whisper of a breeze through the palm trees. The silence didn’t last long as Tristan commented, “You’re quite taken with her.”

“Miss Cara? Oh, yes. She’s a lovely young woman.”

Tristan chuckled. “Not Cara, although I will agree, she’s quite lovely. Mrs. Beasley.”

He watched as a blush deepened on the doctor’s face. The man looked down and studied the sand between his bent knees. After a long silence, Tristan began to wonder if Stitch would answer, then his companion took a deep breath.

“I’ve never met anyone like her.” He traced a shape in the sand with the tip of his finger. “Oh, I realize she’s sometimes difficult and opinionated, and she’s not happy with the circumstances she finds herself in, but she truly is a sweet woman.” A long sigh escaped him. “I never thought, after my Fannie . . .”

He obliterated the heart he’d drawn in the sand with a sweep of his hand. “Do you think it’s possible to find love not once, but twice in your life? To find a person who perfectly fills a part of your soul?”

Tristan leaned back on his elbows. He didn’t have to think about the question—he knew the answer in a heartbeat as the vision of Caralyn danced before his eyes. “Yes, I think it’s possible, but most of us are lucky to find that kind of love only once.”

He would have said more as a shrill whistle rent the air. Tristan looked toward the rocks where Socrates kept watch. Caralyn and Mrs. Beasley stood beside him. Both had wet hair and carried their shoes in their hands. “It would seem the ladies are finished with their toilette.”

He rose from his position and offered his hand to Stitch. “Shall we escort them back to camp?” The good doctor grasped his hand and stood. “About what we discussed,” Tristan said before he released Stitch’s hand. “I would prefer we keep it between ourselves. I will tell the crew that this is our last adventure when the time is right, preferably after we find Izzy’s Fortune.”

“Of course, Tristan. If nothing else, I am a man of discretion.” The man grinned at him as they strolled across the sand toward Socrates and the ladies.

Tristan glanced in his direction, about to comment, but stopped when he saw the expression on the doctor’s face. He’d never seen such a look and almost chuckled when he realized exactly what Stitch’s serene countenance meant.

Brady Trevelyan only had eyes for one person and his gaze locked on Mrs. Beasley. The smile parting his lips was nothing less than angelic and the flush staining his cheeks confirmed it. When he approached Mrs. Beasley and took her hands in his, no one else in the world existed. Their heads were close together and snippets of their conversation floated to him as they walked toward the camp.

Lovesick, besotted fools.
The thought rumbled through Tristan’s brain . . . until he glanced at Caralyn.
And I am no better.
She looked utterly delectable in a simple gown of white with sprigs of blue flowers, her bare feet half-hidden beneath the sand. Moonlight reflected off her impish grin and all thought departed.

Blood sang through his veins, warming every inch of his skin. His heart pounded in his chest. If Socrates hadn’t been standing so close to her, he would have given himself permission to lay her down in the sand as he longed to do.

“I feel so much better.” Her grin widened as she tilted her head to look up at him and ran her fingers through her wet hair. The urge to reach out and touch her, to lift the heavy tresses from her shoulders and rub the silken strands through his fingers almost overpowered him. Her voice lowered, striking a cord in the very fiber of his being. “I don’t reek like the cave anymore.”

She smelled fresh and clean which Tristan found more alluring than if she’d doused herself in scent. He swallowed hard and tried to think of something to say but words escaped him. Indeed, thought escaped him so he took her hand and kissed her knuckles then led her back to camp behind Socrates, who strolled along the water’s edge.

The camp was utterly quiet when they approached. There would be no lively reel tonight, no dancing on the small spit of beach. Most of the crew, bellies full, comforted by the warmth of the tropical evening, relaxed in small groups if they weren’t already asleep on makeshift beds. A few of his men had headed back to the
Adventurer
, preferring to sleep in their hammocks. Graham hadn’t moved, although he now clamped a pipe between his lips. He glanced up at Tristan and grinned, but said nothing.

Caralyn disappeared into her tent, but only for a moment. She returned with a brush and Pembrook’s journal then took a seat on a blanket before the fire.

Tristan leaned back against a log and allowed himself to watch her brush her long hair. Firelight created a warm glow on her face and reflected off her light brown tresses, bringing out shades of gold and red. She caught him watching her and grinned in his direction.

Her blue-green eyes twinkled in the light of the fire. In their depths, he saw determination, courage, strength, spirit . . . and passion. For adventure. For life. Exactly what he’d always wanted in a woman but never thought he’d find.

As if struck by lightning, Tristan’s heart skipped a beat then resumed with a painful thump while the words Stitch had said earlier reverberated in his mind. Exhilaration surged through him, an excitement he could not deny. And yet, he could do nothing—could not take her in his arms as he longed to do, could not kiss her until they were both breathless, could not explore the softness of her body.

He turned away and studied the moon hanging over them as if suspended by a string, but even that was a mistake. He could still smell the warm freshness of her skin, the scent reminiscent of a forest after a rain.

Tristan thought about the woman he was to marry and a twinge of guilt trickled through him. How unfair he was to not meet her, court her, before they became man and wife. How thoughtless to put his own concerns first and not care at all how she felt. Did she want this marriage? Or had her hand been forced as well?

In the end, it didn’t matter. If he truly wanted a successful marriage, a union different than the one his parents shared, then he certainly wasn’t going about it the right way. Instead of chasing an illusive dream of untold treasure, he should be in England right now getting to know the woman he would share his life with.

He stared into the flame dancing in the fire pit and his mood soured. The excitement, the satisfaction of finding a piece of Izzy’s Fortune faded as if it never existed.

Quiet laughter interrupted his thoughts and he turned to face the source. Graham regaled Caralyn with a story that had her eyes sparkling, her tempting lips spread in a smile that could have charmed the population of London. Another chuckle escaped her, filling the warm night with magic.

Tristan held his breath. Fate was a cruel master, he knew. Fickle. Unpredictable. Capricious. Like the sea he loved. Why did he have to find the woman of his dreams now when his future had already been decided? When the choice was no longer his to make?

Perhaps he still had a choice, but without returning to England right away and confronting his father, he’d never know. And he couldn’t do that, not just yet. He’d given his word, not only to his crew, but to Caralyn as well. The search for Izzy’s Fortune had to continue. Without a word, he rose to his feet and strolled down the beach, the words of the letter he planned to write to his father jumbled in his mind. In the meantime, he would have to find a way to keep his distance from Caralyn, as impossible as it might be.

• • •

Caralyn finished twisting her hair into a long, thick braid and let it fall over her shoulder as she watched Tristan’s broad back fade in the distance. The inclination to run after him, to join him on his stroll along the beach rose in her, but the air of solitude surrounding him didn’t invite company. A sigh escaped her as she turned around and faced the fire.

Beside her, Graham made a small sound and drew her attention. He made a great show of refilling his pipe and puffing it alight. Their eyes met and the charming smile she’d seen on his face so many times before flashed again. Smoke circled his head before it drifted up to the night sky. “Finding Izzy’s Fortune is important to you. Why? Why would a lady such as yourself risk so much for something that may or may not exist?”

“More important than you know. I . . .” How much to tell him? Even Mrs. Beasley didn’t know why finding the treasure had become so paramount. Though she couldn’t remember the name of her betrothed, she couldn’t forget the title of his father nor her plan to drop a sack filled with gold coins in front of the earl and demand to be released from the promise of marriage.

She glanced at Graham, who watched her intently, waiting for her answer. Instead of responding to his question, she asked one of her own. “Why is it important to you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It isn’t. I’m a simple man. I have no need for more riches. I have more than enough to see me into old age quite comfortably. I could walk away from this search right this moment and it would not break my heart as long as I did not have to give up the sea. For me, it’s the adventure, whether I find the treasure or not.” He puffed on his pipe, filling the air with fragrant smoke. “You never answered my question.”

Caralyn bit her lip and stalled by carefully unwrapping Pembrook’s journal and opening the book to where the author first mentioned the Island of the Sleeping Man. She didn’t look at him but felt his gaze on her. “If I tell you something, do I have your word you’ll keep it to yourself?”

“Of course.”

“I am to be married when I reach England,” she blurted out, still unable to meet his eyes.

“I see.”

“It’s a marriage I do not want, to a man I do not know.” She glanced at Graham from the corner of her eye. No emotion showed on his face.

“So you embarked on this search for Izzy’s Fortune to what? Stall for time?”

She faced him, her finger marking her place in the journal. “No,” she lied, then changed her mind and spoke the truth. “Yes, to stall for time, but more importantly, to find the treasure. My portion will be more than enough to replace my dowry and release me from the marriage.” She took a deep breath and let her gaze wander around the camp. She and Graham were the only two around the fire. Everyone else had turned in for the night, except for Tristan, who hadn’t returned from his stroll down the beach.

“What if we don’t find Izzy’s Fortune? And even if we do, what if this gentleman should decline your offer? What will you do then?”

Her throat constricted and unshed tears burned her eyes. Her heart beat a slow painful rhythm in her chest. “I . . . I . . . I will do what is expected of me.”

His expression betrayed nothing, although the corners of his mouth tilted upward. “Then I wish you good fortune with your plan, dear lady, but for now, I must say good night.” He rose to his feet, nodded toward her then headed off to his tent.

Caralyn watched him until the flap of his tent closed. She let her pent up breath escape her. The night had grown quiet. Crickets chirped, palm fronds rattled, logs crackled and popped in the fire and the constant rush of water on the sand were the only sounds to keep her company.

She stared at the flames flickering in the fire pit, but didn’t see them. Her mind raced with unanswered questions and doubts. What if they didn’t find the treasure? And if they did, what if the earl didn’t accept her proposal? Could she truly spend the rest of her life with a man she didn’t love?

The fine hairs at the back of her neck rose and her skin began to tingle. She turned to see Tristan standing behind her. Moonlight danced on the drops of water in his hair and his loose white shirt ruffled in the breeze. Her heart did a funny little flutter in her chest.