Page 10 of Desert Island Duke

Caro bit her lip at the unexpected sight of him performing the task of a scullery maid. “Have you ever made a shelter? Did you use tents in the army?”

“Well, as an officer, I was generally billeted in a local farmhouse whenever possible, but I did spend a few nights under the stars.” The muscles in his arms flexed as he gathered a few fallen branches from among the trees. “We can make these into a frame, and then cover them with palm fronds and leaves.”

“How will we tie them together? I didn’t see any rope washed up on the shore, sadly.”

Caro was loath to suggest they start ripping up her petticoats to make ties. She had few enough layers as it was. “I’ll go look for some vines. And some food.”

Hayward sent her an easy smile that made her heart patter. “Thank you.”

“You should start by making a platform, raised off the ground,” Caro added. “That’s what we did in Brazil. There are all manner of things crawling about. Snakes and spiders and centipedes and whatnot.”

He gave a theatrical shudder. “Good point. Scorpions I can deal with, but I am not a fan of spiders. Nasty, leggy things.”

Caro pulled her still-damp boots back on and left him snapping branches and gathering lengths of wood. She ventured up the beach, on the lookout for anything that might be useful.

A few years ago, she’d read Daniel Defoe’s novel Robinson Crusoe. The author had given his fictional castaway a host of tools and other items for his adventure. Crusoe had scavenged all manner of things from his ship, from blades and carpenter’s saws, to sailcloth sheets and yards of rope and twine.

She and Hayworth, in contrast, had a folding knife, a pocket watch, and the clothes they stood up in.

Caro let out another huff of irritation. The fates, clearly, wanted them to suffer. Would it be too much to send them a bit of canvas and a nice long length of rigging?

She scanned the beach and then the lagoon, praying for a miracle, but there was nothing to see but sand and sparkling waves.

Several coconuts had washed up on the shore, so she collected them into a little pile for her return trip, along with some empty scallop-type shells. Then she ventured inland, careful to note her path by snapping twigs so she didn’t get lost.

The foliage was much like the jungles she’d encountered in Brazil, a riot of green, but there were scores of plants she didn’t recognize. Brightly-colored birds called to one another in the trees and butterflies flitted lazily between flowers.

A flash of red caught her eye, and she discovered a tree laden with fruit. The flesh resembled a huge, elongated peach, graduating from red, through orange and green.

Hardly daring to believe her good fortune, she picked one and sniffed it, then took a tentative bite and groaned in happiness as the sweet, familiar taste of mango filled her mouth. She’d tried this tropical fruit in Brazil, and it had quickly become one of her favorites.

Filled with excitement, she picked four of the ripest fruits and hurried back to the beach.

She didn’t have enough hands to carry all the mangos, shells, and coconuts, but she was reluctant to make another trip in the smothering heat. Pushing aside her natural embarrassment, she placed everything in the bottom half of her chemise, and lifted the hem to form a rudimentary sling.

She kept the material as low as possible, praying that Hayworth would be so busy gathering wood that he wouldn’t notice her arrival, but the sound of movement stopped abruptly as she neared the camp. She looked up to find his avid gaze fixed firmly on her bare thighs.

Caro knelt as quickly as she could and deposited her bounty on the sand.

The movement seemed to snap Hayworth out of his trance, and he busied himself with covering the roof of the shelter he’d constructed in her absence. Much to her disappointment, he’d put his shirt back on, hiding all those glorious muscles of his.

“What have you got there?” he asked gruffly.

She held up a blushing fruit. “I found a mango tree.”

He sent her a dubious look. “You’re sure it’s edible? The last thing we want is for one of us to get sick.”

She rolled her eyes at his skepticism. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve already eaten some, and I’m not frothing at the mouth or rolling around on the floor in agony. We ate these all the time in Brazil.”

She pushed some lumps of driftwood together to make a rudimentary table and set the mangoes and coconuts on it, then held up more of her discoveries.

“We can use these empty coconut shells as cups for water, and these big seashells as spoons, or even plates.”

“Good work.”

She squashed down the glow of happiness his praise produced in her chest. “That looks like a good shelter.”

He grunted, as if unimpressed with his work. “It’ll do for now. It’s off the ground, at least. And it should keep off the worst of the rain. It’s hard not having an axe or a saw to cut branches.”

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