"Perhaps you'll tell me later, tonight, when it's dark and the romantic moon is shining down on us. I can sing to you, quote poetry to your long eyelashes, and ---"
"I'm going to collect seashells."
"No, Diana, stay in the shade. I'll take my nap and leave you in peace." He closed his eyes.
She heard his breathing even into sleep. As if he didn't have a care in the world.
What had happened to Rafael and the Seawitch? She prayed he had escaped the French. If he hadn't, she and Lyon could remain here for a very long time. And that would prove impossible. She sighed and settled herself for her own nap.
"If I knew where we were exactly," she said that evening as they sat in front of their small fire, "we could perhaps construct a boat or something and go somewhere."
"You know how to make a boat?"
"Well, I've seen it done, but ---"
"But?"
"No, I can't. We could lash some logs together, I'm not quite certain with what, and make a raft."
"But we haven't a knife to cut your logs."
"No, we haven't. Well, we'll just have to build a signal fire, then. A pity that there really isn't a high point anywhere on the island." They'd explored the island in the late afternoon. It was depressingly small, shaped roughly like a mango. Diana couldn't find a landmark she recognized from any vantage point.
"Would you like some more breadfruit?"
"I'm stuffed, thank you."
"Did you know that the breadfruit was brought from the Hawaiian islands by Fletcher Christian?"
"Who the devil is that?"
"The man responsible for a mutiny against a very bad captain by the name of Bligh. From the stories I've heard about him they should have made him walk the plank. He survived the Bounty mutiny to sail again. He might still be alive and well and sailing about, for all I know."
"What's this about walking the plank?"
"A particularly nasty punishment the pirates invented. You see, they would strip the man naked, cut him up a bit so he was bleeding, then force him to walk down this stretch of board and jump into the sea. The sharks were waiting. That was the point."
"And you call this place civilized?"
"It was a long time ago, Lyon."
"You know something, Diana, even with your speed in building a fire, it would take us some time to make that signal fire visible to a passing ship. Worse than that, our only hope is that small rise at the northern end of the island. Someone would have to be looking for us to see any fire we built there."
"I know. I guess we'll just have to hope that Rafael comes back for us."
"If he can, he will." He grinned over the fire at her. "Otherwise, you and I will grow old and crotchety together on our own private island."
She said nothing to that and sat back, looking toward the gentle white-capped surf. It was a beautiful, clean night; then again, it was usually this way in the West Indies. "At least we don't have to worry about hurricanes this time of year."
"Thank you for reassuring me," Lyon said dryly. "I guess we wouldn't reach a very advanced age."
"Probably not. Look at the stars, Lyon. Have you ever seen such a sight in the English skies?"
"Brilliant as diamonds and so close you could reach out and caress them?"
"I suppose you could put it that way."
"I'm randy as a goat. How else should I say it?"
"Stop it, Lyon."
"Why?"
"Very well. I lied. There, I've said it."
"This is a routine that is growing boring, Diana. Once more, lied about what in particular?"
"I lied about wanting to beabandoned. I don't want to be a trollop. I don't want to have men pawing me, ever. I want to remain a half-virgin. I would have preferred being a whole virgin, but what's done is done."
Lyon simply stared at her. He didn't doubt her. He felt like a complete fool. If he hadn't wanted to believe that she was like Charlotte, he would have seen through it in a minute. The glowing embers cast shadows on her face, and he wished he could see her expressive eyes more clearly.
"All that was nonsense? An act to keep me away from you? To make me so furious that I wouldn't want to touch you?"
"That's right. It worked for a while, until you got furious in the other direction, so to speak." She raised her face and looked at him clearly. "I don't want to be forced, Lyon. Not by any man. I want to stay myself."
"That's impossible. Now."
She sucked in her breath at his wretched complacency. She tried for contempt and managed a weak sneer. "Is this the behavior of a London gentleman? To force a woman? I thought you earls only did that to helpless females dependent on you. Maids, farm girls ---"
"Don't be a damned fool, Diana! Never have I taken advantage of a female dependent on me."
"You were going to force me. What is your excuse for that?"
He shrugged and doused the feeling of guilt. "I don't have one. But now I do. Please dampen the idiotic woman's logic and listen to me. You and I, my dear girl, are alone together on an island. When we are rescued, we will be soon enough with your father. Now, you have no choice but to accept me as your husband. None at all." He paused, then said, "Something just bit me!"
"A mosquito, I guess. I thought there would be more of them, but we're lucky. On some islands they are everywhere. I could make us up something from mud and wild basil, but it's more noxious than an occasional bite."
"There's something else, my dear," he said, harking back. "When and if we are rescued, I doubt we'll be wearing much. Already my britches are the worse for wear. As for your gown, I suggest that you simply remove it and go about in your chemise, else it won't last out the next three days. Do you wish to be stark-naked when help arrives?"
There were rips in the gown and two seams had parted. He was right. "You don't have a chemise," she said.
"No." He grinned, and in the dim firelight she could see his white teeth gleaming. "But I suppose you need to accustom yourself to my body. Perhaps it will make you more reasonable."
"Why is it that men seemingly have no modesty?"
"Because we have a natural tendency to flaunt? All right, we just don't, that's all. Besides, I think I should like to have a tan all over."
"Lyon, I don't like you."
"Ah, my heart overflows with your sweet words. I think I shall go to sleep now. If you get cold, feel free to come to me for warmth. I shall try, at least now, to contain my randiness."
"Thank you."
"Lord, I wish I had a brandy. It's really the only thing I miss."
She giggled. "Do you know that we make wine from sugar apples? It is our Christmas wine."
"I know, you've watched it made, but you can't quite manage it. Right?"
"Forgive me."
"I should also like to clean my teeth."
"Hmmm. You know, perhaps there is some white root on our island. We could grind it up and rub our teeth with it. Mixed with water, it also makes an excellent mouthwash. We'll find some tomorrow."
Our island. He smiled a bit at that.
17
'Tis safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion.
—RICHARD SHERIDAN
"Oh, dear," Diana said blankly, staring. Well, at least Lyon wasn't strutting about naked, but the small breechcloth he'd fashioned out of the sleeves of his white shirt would enlighten the most dim-witted female mind. His legs were long and muscular, sprinkled with dark-brown hair, and when he turned his back, she could see the line of his buttocks, lean and hard. She could just imagine what she would see if Lyon ran and jumped. She gulped and pounded a stone on a hapless coconut. It cracked open with a satisfying splat.
"I will not look at you! You are ridiculous. Wretched bounder. Arrogant ---"
"All that?"
She was on her knees, wearing only her white chemise, which wasn't quite so white now. She looked up the length of him and knew such a rush of that kind of warmth she nearly choked on the piece of coconut she was chewing.
r />
Lyon came down to his haunches in front of her. "Don't you like my male attire? I am endeavoring to spare your maidenly, or rather semi-maidenly, sensibilities."
She began grinding the cassava root, viciously.
"You look rather enticing yourself, Diana. We're both tanning nicely. A pity that I can't convince you to sun with me --- like Adam and Eve. Are there any fig leaves in the Virgin Islands?"
"Go away and do something useful."
"I've been trying, but those fish are elusive. You know something else? Fish are cruel. No, it's true. They can see me and I can see them and they're laughing at me." He gave his makeshift spear a rueful look. "I haven't got the hang of it yet and they know it. They swim very close, just to mock me. You would think that with all my varied skills, I could manage to catch something after a day's practice."
"Keep trying."
"If I succeed, I must tell you that I have no intention of scaling the creature."
"Faintheart. Dandy."
Lyon scratched his belly. "Why are you in such a snit? We've a shelter of sorts. Plenty of fresh water. Enough food for the next hundred years and even our own private bathtub. God willing, we might even have fresh fish for our dinner."
"You tan easily," she said, and to his amused ears, it sounded like an accusation.
He just grinned at her and continued scratching his bare belly. "Thank you, ma'am." He saw that her eyes were on his scratching fingers and added, "You know, it's this bloody sand. It gets into everything." Still grinning, now more devilishly, he began to scratch his hip. "I find myself wondering about lovemaking on the sand. Surely it couldn't be all that pleasant. Why, just think of all that sand getting into ---"
"Lyon! Go away!"
He stood and her eyes followed his lithe motion. Rot him for that evil, knowing smile. He patted the top of her suddenly lowered head and strolled off, whistling and carrying his silly spear at a jaunty angle.
Diana frowned after him. She was peevish, and there was no reason for it. Not really. It was just thatAdmit it, you want him, desire him. Either that or she was cursed with some strange island disease. Or perhaps she was cursed with Lyon's Disease.
She sighed. But he doesn't love you. Charlotte ruined all that. He was just a randy male specimen. He'd admitted that, too many times, himself.
She was shaping the flat loaf of cassava bread when she heard his shout of triumph. She straightened, whirling about. She saw him waving his spear toward her, a wriggling fish impaled on its tip.
"This one isn't laughing now," he shouted.
She crossed her fingers, for there were so many poisonous fish in the Caribbean. He strode toward her burnished and beautiful as a pagan God. He was saved from that ultimate comparison by the cocky and quite unholy grin on his face.
"Thank God," she said, eyeing the fish. "It's a grouper. Quite edible and quite good. And nearly enough for two."
He gave her a mock bow and handed the spear, fish and all, to her.
"Did you see any nurse sharks, Lyon?"
"I was careful to keep my toes out of the crevices in the reef, just as you told me."
"Good. They do nibble if they are offered something so delectable as toes."
"You want to swim with me? Maybe we could find an octopus or a barracuda."
She would like to swim, but she looked at the fish and knew if it weren't cooked quickly, it would rot. She sighed. "A woman's work," she said. "I am chained to my cooking pot, or at least I would be if I had one."
"A little conversation then while you perform that ghoulish task." He sat down beside her on a palm frond, to protect himself from the omnipresent sand, and crossed his legs. She coshed the fish on the head, rendering it quite dead, then picked up another bit of sharp stone. He looked pained. "If I watch this process, I doubt I will be able to eat it."
She gave him a scornful look. "You will get used to it quickly enough. Fish are food, not pets."
"That sounds like a truism from a parent. How are you going to cook it?"
"I'll rub it with some coconut milk, wrap it in palm fronds, and bake it in the embers."
She paused suddenly and looked over at him, her expression thoughtful. "Every time I think about where we are, or where we aren't, I still can't believe it. Castaway with you, of all people, an English earl! It isn't quite like waltzing in a ballroom in London, is it? Or tooling your grays about in Piccadilly?"
Lyon stretched out on his back, pillowing his head on his arms. "A unique experience, certainly. A prewedding trip, so to speak. You must admit, Diana, that few couples have such an interesting opportunity to get to know each other in such odd and various ways."
She found herself looking at his body. The swirls of hair on his chest looked soft and quite tempting. And his flat belly, wellShe gulped, her eyes briefly straying to the bulge beneath his ridiculous breechcloth.
"Don't you agree?"
She jerked. "Wh-what?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her flushed face. He gave her a very knowing smile. "Are you ready for me now, my dear?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. I suppose you're going to snooze now that you've provided our dinner."
"I need to garner my strength," he said in the blandest voice imaginable.
"Lyon!"
"Don't bleat, Diana."
"I'm not," she said, this time her voice nearly a screech.
"Look, a man who's worth his salt finishes what he begins. And I believe, my dear girl, that you've a wish that I do finish what I started. Tell the truth now."
"We're not married! I've been taught that one doesn't do that until one is married."
"I recall offering you Rafael's services. As a captain he could have tied our knot."
She was rubbing coconut milk distractedly over the scaled grouper. He watched her, amusement growing.
"I've never deflowered a virgin before."
She rubbed more furiously.
"I really should finish since I've only managed to loosen the flower from the stalk, so to speak."
"That is a ridiculous metaphor. I am not an oleander."
"True. Perhaps the sun is addling what few brains I have left. Give me some of that coconut milk. I can feel my nose and surely that isn't right." He rubbed his nose, with the white milk, then lay back again, bending one leg at the knee. Her eyes followed the line of that leg. "After all, here I am proposing not only marriage to you, but also offering you my body."
"Which is not worth all that much!"
He came up on his elbows and looked down at himself. "You have no faith, Diana. That can be changed in a flash of interest. I can easily become a man of quite noble proportions. Forgive my lack of modesty, but I believe truth is called for here."
She sat up on her heels, the smell of fish in her nostrils, and closed her eyes.
"You are provoking."
"Did I give you no pleasure at all?"
She wanted to fling the fish at him. No, it was their dinner, and she didn't want it to get sand all over it. Oh, dear, sandeverywhere. "No," she said. "What would you expect if I forced you? To enjoy yourself immensely?"
He stretched out on his back again, spread-eagled, his arms out. "I'm yours. Force me."
"My body is a temple," she said inanely, harking back to Dido's off-repeated lecture when Diana had started her monthly flow at the age of thirteen.
"Behold an ardent worshiper. Incidentally, that is the most amazing thought. Do women really think like that? Lord, you make yourself sound like a holy relic."
"Isn't it you damned men who want a woman to protect herself? To be chaste and virtuous?"
"You have no worries. You will be. Except with me, your soon-to-be husband."
"And what about you, Lyon? Will you continue with your little amours?"
"I do wish you would attend me, Diana. Don't you remember? As a husband, I will be the most faithful of hounds. Shall I begin sniffing around your chemise?"
She quickly finished wrapping the grou
per in layers of palm fronds, and shoved it in among the glowing embers. She got to her feet. "I am going to find some conch. Some queen conch to be specific. Since your contribution to dinner isn't all that impressive, perhaps I can make some conch steaks."
"A woman with ambition. That pleases me. Now, as I said, my dear, I shall sleep now and garner my strength."
She could never remain angry with him long, she thought as she walked along the beach, her toes in the warm surf. He made her laugh. It would be rather nice to spend one's life with a man who made one laugh.
"Oh, dear," she said to a circling pelican, "I am losing what little sense I have left."
She made her decision late that afternoon. She left Lyon swearing as he tried to hone a rock to make a sharper spear tip. She made her way to the small pool, stripped off her chemise, and jumped in. She bathed, then washed her hair, spending ten minutes to rinse out all the sand.
When she returned to the beach, he was weaving together some more palm fronds for thatch on their shelter. It covered them, nothing else. She prayed it wouldn't rain hard, else they'd be left under collapsed fronds.
"You're getting quite proficient at that," she said, her voice a bit thin, for she was seeing him now with new and very determined eyes.
"Yes," he said absently, not looking up.
Her new eyes became a bit impatient. She'd even gotten the tangled out of her hair and carefully positioned a scarlet hibiscus over her ear. He could at least look and show his interest.
"You know," he said after a moment, still not looking up, "I dearly wish for a deck of cards. Any ideas?"
Yes, she had some ideas, but they had nothing to do with any wretched cards. "We could mark some small rocks, I suppose, and make dice."
"What a brilliant ---" His voice broke off as he looked up at her. "Lord, woman, you look good enough to eat. Better than that grouper even."
She'd gotten her wish, but found that all of a sudden she could think of nothing to say.
"This I do believe is your example of flaunting. Am I correct, sweetheart?"