‘Thank you.’ It was difficult to find anything to say in answer to that comprehensive, cool, unyielding assessment.
Damned with faint praise, indeed.
‘And my siblings all like you, which has to count in your favour, I believe.’
Goodness, he is going to become positively pleasant in a minute.
‘I like them, too. They are charming. Oh, look, we are almost there.’
Will looked back over this shoulder, changed direction sharply before they ran into a bank of rushes and paddled slowly around the island. ‘That looks like a beach we could land on.’
The keel of the little boat ground into the gentle slope of the pebbled shore and he put the oars in, vaulted over the prow on to the tiny crescent of land and dragged it a little further up. ‘Give me your hand and you can jump down without getting your feet wet.’
Verity stood up uncertainly, told herself not to dither—it did not matter if she looked less than elegant and she could hardly sink in six inches of water even if she did slip—and managed to transfer from boat to pebbles with what she thought was admirable grace. Will’s firm grip certainly helped. She freed her hand the moment she was safe on shore. He was very easy to hold on to and she had to keep reminding herself that this was the man who so much disapproved of her that he would forget his perfect manners to tell her so.
‘It looks very overgrown,’ she said dubiously, looking round them as he tied the boat to a sapling with a rope that had been coiled in the bows. It was clearly a natural island, with rock showing through the grass here and there. The trees were tall, the undergrowth thick. She pointed. ‘There is a path of sorts.’
‘Made by my brothers and sisters, no doubt. There will not be any wildlife here with such large feet.’ He looked around. ‘Would you care to sit on that bank there and I will investigate? With this growth of bushes you might harm your shoes or gown.’
‘And let you have all the fun of exploration? Certainly not. I shall follow in your steps.’
To her surprise Will did not order her to remain where she was—not that she would have obeyed him if he had. Perhaps he assumed that after a few minutes she would give up and return to the beach. It was hot work. There were midges, brambles and, for such an apparently tiny island, it was impossible to see more than a few yards in any direction.
After about ten minutes Verity sat down with a thump on a boulder on the opposite shore to the one on which they had landed. ‘If there is a burial mound on this island then the only place it can be is over there.’ She pointed to a cluster of small trees. ‘We have looked everywhere else. I am beginning to wonder what on earth the children saw that made them think there was anything man-made here at all.’
‘And I am wondering exactly what retribution is due if this proves to be a practical joke,’ Will said grimly, waving away midges from in front of his nose. He had neglected to put back either hat or coat, his shirtsleeves had snagged on brambles and there was a trace of sunburn on the bridge of his nose. ‘Let us see what is over there and then...’
‘A hut.’ Verity peered through the branches. ‘How very charming—it is just like a fairy house in an old tale, or a hermit’s cell.’
‘This is not a fairy tale, nor a Gothic romance, come to that,’ Will said repressively. Verity pulled a face at his back. ‘It might have been a summer house at one time, I suppose. Not a very interesting design, but it looks quite well built and seems to be in reasonable repair.’ They walked up to the front door of the little cottage. ‘It can only have one room, but there is a chimney.’ Will pointed upwards, but Verity was already pushing at the door.
‘It is unlocked and—Oh.’ The door swung open on to a stone-floored room with a hearth taking up almost the whole of one side. There was a window by the door and a rustic table and bench in the centre. Against the wall was a rough bedframe. ‘But—Will, look. Someone is living here.’ She heard his name on her lips too late to call it back.
‘Let me see.’ He walked in, ducking under the low lintel, turning slowly on his heel to survey the small space. ‘There is a straw tick on the bed and a blanket. Food on the table. Fresh food.’ He turned, his expression furious. ‘Hell and damnation! Verity, wait here. I have to get back to the boat. Now.’
* * *
Those confounded children. Worse words came to him as he ran, crashing through brambles, leaping fallen branches. Those devious little brats.
‘Oh, Miss Wingate, there’s a burial mound...’
A throwaway line certain to snare someone they knew was passionate about such things. And they knew, too, that if a guest expressed an interest in seeing something, then he had no option but to try to oblige them. Only one boat in the boathouse? Like hell that was probable. If he hadn’t been seething with resentment at Verity Wingate for provoking him into not just losing his temper, but being unforgivably rude to lady, a guest—
A branch snapped back, hit him in the face and sent him crashing into a patch of stinging nettles. This time Will didn’t even attempt to control his language. He got up, spat out dead leaves and oaths, ignored the itching wheals rising on his hands and Verity Wingate’s voice behind him demanding to know what was going on, and started running again.
Half a minute after he reached the beach he heard her crash through the bushes behind him, then her feet crunched on the shingle. Of course, the wretched female would not do the ladylike thing and stay safely where he left her.
‘The rowing boat has gone,’ she said, staring round the tiny bay as though she might spot it hiding in the reeds. ‘But I saw you tie it up properly. I saw the knot.’ She was panting with the effort of keeping up with him, her face was damp and rosy and her hair was sticking to her face where it had come free from its pins. She looked a complete hoyden. She looked edible.
Will turned, kicked the sapling he had used to tie the rowing boat to, told himself that was frankly childish and managed a stiff smile of apology rather than the look of smouldering desire that was doing battle with the anger. ‘I think my confounded siblings are playing a joke on us. They lured us out here with that story of a burial mound, rowed across in another boat and towed ours away.’
Miss Wingate opened her mouth, then snapped it shut on what had clearly been a frank comment on the younger Calthor
pes’ morals and sense of humour. With a sinking feeling he saw her expression change as she thought it through. ‘Why is there fresh food in that hut? Why is there bedding? Oh, no—please tell me that I am wrong—the little devils have stranded us here, haven’t they? And they do not intend on rescuing us at least until tomorrow.’
‘I fear so.’ Will watched warily for signs of hysteria. Any respectable young lady should be screaming or fainting or having a comprehensive fit of the vapours by now. But of course, Miss Wingate was not a conventional young lady. He doubted she had ever had the vapours in her life.
‘My father will be anxious.’ There was a furrow between her arching brows and he almost reached out to smooth it away.