Page 13 of Desert Island Duke

“Delicious,” he murmured, and she glanced up to find his eyes fixed on her.

For a moment she imagined he was describing her, and unbidden heat flooded her cheeks. Flustered, she popped a sliver of mango between her own lips and concentrated on the heady perfume and fragrant flesh.

“Don’t eat too much, or you’ll get stomach ache,” she murmured, between chews.

He raised his brows. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”

She nodded. “Lenore once bet her favorite ribbon that I couldn’t eat three in one sitting. I proved her wrong—but I wish I hadn’t. I spent the rest of the day in bed, feeling terrible.”

He chuckled at her wry expression.

Suddenly uncomfortable with his gaze, she glanced out at the horizon. The sun, already past its zenith and on the descent, was visible, but the patchy clouds precluded any rays that could be used to start a fire.

“It’s a shame the sun isn’t coming out,” she grumbled. “It would be nice to get a fire going.”

Hayworth stood and rinsed his hands in the stream. “Well, I for one think we’ve had a very successful first day, all things considered. We’ve found water and food. And we’ve got somewhere to sleep. I’d say we make a good team.”

Caro shrugged, even though she was secretly thrilled at his praise. She’d never thought to hear him say something so complimentary. In fact, she suddenly realized she’d become accustomed to men viewing her as some sort of overeducated freak—a woman with far too many ‘unfeminine’ skills and not enough ‘desirable’ traits like simpering ignorance and a willingness to laugh at a man’s jokes, however feeble.

“We’ve been incredibly fortunate,” she said levelly. “I don’t know what we would have done if there hadn’t been fresh water.” She glanced back along the beach, toward the rocky headland. “I hope the others have been so lucky.”

“I’d be surprised if they hadn’t. That other island looks bigger than this one, and they might even be able to row back to the ship and save the supplies that are on it. We can walk back around and see, if you like.”

“Very well.”

They set off, with Caro clambering over the rocks this time, since she still wore her boots. She squinted over at the island on the horizon, and gave a gasp as she spied a flicker of light.

“They’ve made a fire! Look!”

Chapter 8

A plume of smoke rose against the sky, and Hayworth let out a long whistle. “So they have. Lucky devils. I wonder how they managed that.”

Caro couldn’t conceal her envious groan. “I wish we were on that island.”

He bumped her shoulder with his own in a friendly nudge, exactly as she’d seen him do with her brother. “Oh, come now. It’s not so bad here. We’re alive, aren’t we? ‘Dum Spiro Spero’, and all that.”

“While I breathe, I hope?”

He looked suitably impressed by her ability to translate the Latin, and she quashed a little spark of pride. Her Latin was excellent, thanks to her father’s need for help in classifying his various butterfly species.

“Exactly. One of those crusty old Romans said it. Cicero, maybe? Or Herodotus. Either way, it was something I told myself every day when I was in Portugal. Each time I lived to see another sunset—no matter how hungry, or hurting, or tired—it was a reminder that at least I wasn’t dead. Dead is final. Alive, there’s a chance you’ll see home again, see the people you care about. The people you love.”

Caro glanced at him, surprised and oddly touched that he’d shared something so personal with her. She’d always thought of him as invincible; the untouchable, unruffled Duke of Hayworth. It was rather comforting to know that he was human, and prone to the same fears and insecurities as she herself. It made her admire him even more.

Ugh. Why couldn’t he have stayed all irritating and aloof, as he’d always been in the past?

She forced herself to give a light, teasing laugh. “Love? I didn’t think gentlemen believed in love. Will always swore he’d never fall prey to such a ridiculous emotion. He says love is only for women and fools.”

Hayworth slanted her an enigmatic look. “I used to think the same, but war changes a man. I hope to find a woman to love me, flawed as I am.” He stopped abruptly on the sand. “Wait! I’m not married, am I? I haven’t a wife back in England? A fiancée? A mistress?”

Caro laughed. If he was only pretending to have lost his memory, he was doing an admirable job of it. “You do not have a wife. Nor a fiancée, as far as I know. You didn’t have one when I left for Brazil eight months ago, at least.”

He heaved a sigh of apparent relief.

“As to a mistress,” she couldn’t resist teasing, even though the topic would have been distinctly off-limits under normal circumstances, “you could well have one of those. Or several. I wouldn’t know.”

He’d definitely had paramours in the past. The rumor mill in the Ton was always whispering about him. Her heart gave a jealous little squeeze in her chest.

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