Drake pulled out his knife and did the honors as Alex looked away, unable to bear the sight.
“You did very well, princess,” he praised soberly. “Now, will you prepare it or shall I?”
“Prepare it?” Alex’s voice was weak.
“Yes, you know, scale it and cut off its—”
“I understand!” she interrupted, looking pale beneath her golden tan. She was torn between nausea and pride. She feared nausea would win.
Drake saw her dilemma and saved her. “I have a fine idea. I will clean and cook the fish while you gather some fruit to go with it.”
Alex brightened immediately. “Wonderful!” She fairly flew from the water, spraying Drake’s face in her haste to leave the scene of the fish’s massacre.
Drake threw back his head and laughed, watching her sprint off into the trees. He adored both her spirit and her gentleness, the dazzling combination of contradictions that was Alex. He found himself most eager for dinner.
And even more eager for what he planned for after dinner.
It was that wondrous time of day when the sun was not quite ready to take its leave and the moon was impatient to makes its appearance, the result being a golden glow of twilight that bathed the island in a sheen of splendor.
Drake carefully carried the steaming skewered bass to the fire he had built just outside their lean-to. Off to one side of their sleeping quarters, hidden by a dense cluster of white birch trees, he and Alex had created their “dining room,” which consisted of two smooth, flat stones, side by side, large enough to act as dinnerware. And of course their fingers made the perfect utensils. Barbaric by the ton’s standards, euphoric by the castaways’.
Drake made his way through the trees until he reached his goal. Then he stopped short, staring at the vision that greeted his eyes.
“Good evening, Captain Barrett.” Alex smiled up at him, her wonderfully expressive eyes a deep, smoky gray. She was waiting for him, clad only in his familiar white shirt, her knees tucked beneath her, her hands behind her on the ground as she leaned back to give Drake a dazzling smile.
Before her was spread an array of freshly picked berries, surrounded by every type of exquisite flower imaginable—violets, hepatica, trillium, even wild roses. Never had Drake seen a more elegantly prepared meal, or one he so badly wanted to savor.
Slowly he dropped down beside her and wordlessly deposited half the fish on her “plate,” the other half on his own. The fresh scent of fruit and flowers rose up to tantalize his senses, and Drake fought the sudden compulsion to lay Alex down in their fragrant garden and forfeit the meal in favor of dessert.
“Everything looks lovely,” he said at last in a husky voice that made her heart beat faster.
“I’m glad,” she replied softly, then grinned. “We will have to imagine the crystal chandelier and the wine, however.”
“The moonglow is magnificent, and I’m already intoxicated.”
Something was different tonight, something that made Alex feel a wild sense of anticipation that transcended the mere physical. “It’s this island,” she murmured dreamily. “Its effect is devastating.”
Drake nodded, helping himself to a ripe, sweet berry. “I know. I don’t think I have ever been quite so content in all my life. It even makes losing my ship bearable.”
Alex looked quickly at his face. It was the first time he had spoken of the loss of his ship, and she wanted to gauge his reaction. “I know what a blow that was to you,” she said carefully. “She was a very special ship.”
Drake gave her a small smile. “Especially to me. She was one of the few things I could rely upon in my life.”
“Not your family?”
“No, not my family. With the exception of Smitty, who is ofttimes more a father to me than my own.”
Alex looked surprised. “You have never spoken of your father before. What is he like?”
“Weak.” Drake’s voice and his face grew harder. “Very kind, but without backbone. He has always trusted too easily and too much. My sister is much like him in her nature.”
“Your sister?”
He nodded. “Yes. She is warm and loving and too tenderhearted for her own good. I fear that one day someone will hurt her badly.”
“Did someone do that to your father?”
Drake’s jaw tightened. “How did we get onto this subject?”
“I just wanted to know more about you,” Alex told him quietly.
Drake felt a stab of guilt at the reality that her words forced to mind. In truth, she knew nothing of him at all. And those things that he had never told her could change everything between them.
He pushed the unwelcome thought away. Now was not the time. “There is nothing more to know.”
“Were there many women in your life?”
He looked stunned at the forthright question. “What?”
“Women. Have there been many women?”
“In my bed, yes. In my life, no.”
She stared. “Why?”
“Because women are infinitely satisfying in the former and heartlessly treacherous in the latter.”
His abrupt answer made her wince. He saw the movement and felt immediately contrite.
“I’m sorry, princess. It’s just that no woman has ever been so bold as to inquire about my previous, er … entanglements.”
“I’m not just any woman, Drake. I am your wife.”
He smiled. “No, you are not just any woman, love. And not just because you are my wife. You are unique.” He chuckled at her uncertain expression. “I mean that as the highest of compliments,” he assured her.
She gave him a dazzling smile. “I’m glad. It is nice to be admired rather than frowned upon for being unique.”
“Meaning?”
She sighed. “I have none of the appropriate skills of a noblewoman, which makes me a disappointment to my parents. They provided me with a string of ideal governesses, whose strict instructions were to educate me in all the social graces.”
Drake smiled, picturing her as a rebellious child. “And did they?”
“Hardly,” she admitted sadly. “All their diligent work was a dismal failure. I still cannot sew a stitch or draw a straight line. My French is fair, at best, and when I play the pianoforte all the hunting dogs my father keeps at Sudsbury howl in protest.”
Drake grinned. “Your sailing is quite good.”
“My father considers that a curse rather than a blessing,” she replied in a defeated tone.
“You are very creative in the kitchen,” he suggested, with a twinkle. “How many women, noble or otherwise, can boast of catching a fish with their bare hands? Not to mention your innovative approach to stew.”
She looked crestfallen. “You knew?”
He chuckled. “Of course I knew, princess. Stew, no matter how elegantly prepared, is still stew. But I didn’t want you to think me unappreciative of your efforts, so I said nothing.”
She gave him a small smile. “Thank you. But somehow I do not think my parents would be impressed with my enthusiasm in the kitchen.”
His brilliant eyes danced. Nor with her enthusiasm in the bedroom, he suspected. But he wisely refrained from pointing this out to her.
Instead, he said softly, “Surely they have gotten over their dismay. After all, you are no longer a child, but a very lovely grown woman.”
Alex shook her head. “No. Actually, I believe they were looking forward to my first Season in the hope that it would reform me and transform my life. My father wanted to wash his hands of me and see me wed to an appropriate member of the peerage.”
Silently Drake agreed. The earl was a cold, unfeeling shell of a man.
Alex was continuing. “My mother assumed that I would be ecstatic at the thought of meeting prospective husbands. She expected that I would immediately alter my personality and become the lady she always wanted me to be.” She grimaced. “If I were home right now, I would be suffocated by visits from countless suitors—all wealt
hy, titled, proper, and horribly boring.” She shuddered in distaste, remembering some of the men to whom her parents had been eager to introduce her. “John Hardsley, the Earl of Remdale, is dim-witted and balding. William Kendall, the Marquis of Darwell, is pompous and condescending. George Mackelroy, the Earl of Bladeston, is—”
“All of those things, not to mention obese, stingy, and quite a cheat when he plays chess,” Drake finished in disgust.
“How on earth do you know so much about Lord Bladeston?” Alex’s head shot up, and she stared at Drake in wonder.
Drake started. He had been so caught up in the conversation, so appalled at the choices Geoffrey Cassel had been entertaining for his beautiful daughter, that he had made a terrible faux pas. But, damn it, any one of those arrogant dandies would have broken Alex’s spirit in no time.
He scowled. “It would surprise you just how widespread the gossip concerning the ton is, princess.” He evaded the question as well as Alex’s curious gaze. “Sometimes it even reaches the ears of a mere sea captain.”
Alex fell silent then, sensing the beginning of the tension that always accompanied their talks of the upper crust. Desperate to reestablish the tender mood, she touched his arm gently.
“Drake, England is very far away from us right now. I don’t want it to cast a shadow on the splendor of this island … please?”
He glanced down at the small hand on his arm, feeling a fresh surge of guilt. He would tell her, his conscience assured him. He would … but not tonight. No, tonight was theirs.
He lifted her hand, kissed her fingers. “Fine,” he murmured. “We will enjoy the present while it belongs to us.” He leaned over, picked up another berry and popped it into Alex’s smiling mouth. “Let’s eat our sumptuous dinner, love, before it becomes too dark.”
They sat quietly for a while, eating and allowing the splendor of the evening to settle upon the island.
It was Alex who broke the silence. “It is difficult to decide which time of day here is my favorite,” she murmured, staring up at the starlit sky. “The mornings are a slow rebirth that take one’s breath away, the days are warm and vibrant, filled with sights and sounds that captivate every one of the senses, and the nights are deep and fragrant and filled with magic.”
“Some things defy description,” Drake answered softly.
“On our way to York you told me that there is a legend attached to these islands,” she reminded him.
“I did, didn’t I?” He smiled.
“Will you tell it to me now?” she asked.
“I couldn’t think of a better time.” He settled himself beside her, feeling the soft brush of her hair against his bare shoulder, and began.
“Actually, there are many legends, not just one. I know two of them.” He gave her a meaningful sidelong glance. “Both are equally beautiful and appealing to those with a romantic nature.”
Alex’s eyes grew wide with interest. “I want to hear both of them,” she urged.
He chuckled. “I rather thought you might.” Always thirsty for knowledge of any kind was Lady Alexandria Cassel … Lady Alexandria Cairnham, he amended silently.
“The Indians believed that the Great Spirit, Manatoana, and the god of evil were at war. They stood on opposite banks of the river casting rocks at each other. Those stones that fell short of their target landed in the water and were transformed into the islands. Manatoana was, of course, victorious, after which the Thousand Islands came to be known as the Garden Place or the Happy Hunting Ground of the Great Spirit.”
“How wonderful!” Alex’s whole face was alight with pleasure.
“The second legend is even more poetic,” Drake continued. “It is said that when white-robed angels carried Eden to heaven, one thousand flowers fell from the garden. These flowers lit upon the waters of the river and floated to the surface, thus becoming the Thousand Islands.”
“That is an enchanting picture,” Alex breathed. “And considering the euphoria that permeates our island, that legend is perfect … magical and mystical, as is our little paradise, don’t you agree?”
He ruffled her hair gently. “Yes, princess, I do. Legends are people’s ways of breathing life into their dreams.”
Alex sighed. “Dreams are wondrous things. For in them anything you wish for can be yours.”
Her words sounded so wistful. And suddenly all Drake wanted was to make her every wish come true.
“And what is your dream, princess?” he asked in the growing darkness. “Throughout your young and sheltered life, what has been your heart’s desire?”
She stared up at the stars. “My answer will no doubt surprise you, for it is quite contrary to your opinion of my needs.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that you are convinced that I delude myself into thinking that my happiness cannot be found within my aristocratic world. I have never denied being a product of my social class, for that is all I know. But we are speaking of dreams now, not realities.” She continued to gaze up at the heavens, remembering all the lonely nights at Sudsbury when she had stared at those same stars, dreaming that same dream.
“Some women dream of princes, wonderful and powerful men who carry them off to their castles, where they will live happily ever after.” Her voice had grown feint, and she was so far away, lost in her own thoughts and memories, that Drake wondered if she even remembered his presence. “I have lived in that castle and I know just how empty and lonely it can be. And princes are merely men who are consumed with themselves and their domains. There is no room in their hearts for love, true love that yearns for a partner to stand beside them rather than beneath them yet on a pedestal above all others.” She shook her head. “I want no part of that dream. My dream? A man who can take me from that castle to a simple cabin, where we can live as we will and love as we were born to do, side by side, with joy and with meaning. Sadly, I have yet to find that within the confines of my social circle.”
“You are my wife now.”
Alex turned, startled, at the ferocity of Drake’s tone. In truth, she had been lost in her words, unthinking of how they would affect him.
“Yes, I am,” she answered softly, looking up into his face.
Drake could barely understand his own reaction at her description of her dream. Everything inside him tightened with tenderness, with an almost violent determination to be everything she wanted and needed him to be. She thought he was that simple man of whom she spoke. Yet he was not, could never be, for he was as much a prisoner of his noble birth as she. She believed him to be a sea captain; that he was. And he was her husband, now and always. For now it would have to be enough.
“Drake?” She reached up to touch his cheek, stroked her hand over his beard. “I didn’t mean …” She broke off. How could she tell him that he was everything she wanted, that she loved him so much it frightened her? He was none of the things she had been brought up to seek in a husband, and upon returning to England, she would suffer the ton’s scorn and ridicule … and yet, in spite of it all, she wanted him, needed him. Loved him.
She had no chance to speak. Wordlessly Drake pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his.
Alex required no urging, for she shared the same desperate feelings that shook his powerful frame. Drake made a sharp sound deep in his throat and pulled her onto his lap, crushing her against his bare chest and kissing her until she could hardly breathe.
She didn’t care if she suffocated. It had been too long since she had been able to express through her body what she felt in her heart. She dug her fingers into the longer hair at the nape of his neck and held on, pressing herself as close to him as she could, wanting to be absorbed into his body.
Drake was already out of control. He stared down at her face, suffused by moonlight. “Your head?” he gasped.
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“Alex … are you sure?”
“Drake, please, please … I need you.”
He was on his feet, lifting her
into his arms and taking long strides toward their shelter. Alex buried her face against his chest, feeling the crisp hair tickle her nose, inhaling his wonderful masculine scent. She felt the warmth of the fire surround them as he lowered her to the soft grass that was their mattress, then dropped to his knees beside her.
Alex watched him gaze down at her with blazing desire and poignant tenderness that he made no attempt to hide. She reached for him; he covered her with himself. They wrapped their arms around each other, their mouths meeting in an endless kiss that said more than words ever could. Somewhere in the inferno that followed, Alex felt Drake unbutton her shirt, pull it from her body, then kick off his breeches, never ending the kiss. Their naked flesh met, pressed closer, ignited. Alex threw back her head, alive with sensation, as Drake buried his face against her throat, whispered her name, then licked a slow path around each swelling breast, reveling in her moans of pleasure, her pleas for more. He wet the tip of each nipple with his tongue, grazed it with his teeth, and finally drew it deep into his hungry mouth. Alex cried out his name, digging her hands into his shoulders, pulling him closer.
He was on fire, desperate to make her burn with the same intensity that throbbed through his loins. He needed her, all of her, this night. He trailed his open mouth across her shoulder and down her arm, kissing her palms, her fingers, moving then to the other arm to repeat the caress. He loved her slowly, fighting the rampaging desire that grew stronger, more insistent, each time his tongue laved her hot skin. His caress left no part of her untouched; he kissed her waist, her flat stomach, her thighs. She opened herself to him wordlessly, and he began to stroke his tongue again and again over the warm softness between her legs. He closed his eyes, inhaling her fragrance, drinking in her growing wetness. He listened to her cries of passion, felt the urgent arching of her body against his mouth. Cupping her soft bottom, he brought her closer to his seeking tongue until Alex began to cry out wildly, convulsing, shuddering against him. He felt every exquisite spasm of her body, not lifting his head until she went limp in his arms. Then he raised himself up, gazed down into her flushed, damp face. It still was not enough. With a ragged sound, Drake lowered himself to the grass beside her and pulled her over him, on top of him. He wrapped his arms around her with near-violent possession, crushing her breasts to his chest, feeling her silken limbs entwined with his strong, hair-roughened ones. He took her mouth with a hunger that transcended the mere physical, and she returned his unspoken words with her own.