She tucked her toes beneath the coat, wondering where that last treacherous thought had come from.
A gold chain gleamed on his chest. The sun glinted off a single earring as he turned.
Pirates! Emily thought. They must all be pirates! That would explain his reticence in introducing himself. His name and face must be plastered on wanted posters all over the South Pacific. Perhaps he would sail her off the island before Justin Connor found her. Emily's imagination soared. Why, she wouldn't mind turning a hand to pirating herself! She and Tansy had often sneaked off to play at Jean Laffite until Miss Winters had discovered them dueling with two of her finest parasols while Cecille du Pardieu, squealing like a piglet, prepared to walk the plank. Miss Winters might have forgiven them if they hadn't balanced the plank on the roof-forty feet above the street.
A little pirating and she would be powerful enough to win back her daddy's gold and send old Justin Connor himself to a watery grave.
Emily gulped the last of the coffee, immensely cheered at the thought. "You're so very kind to let me stay. I promise to be very little trouble."
"Stay? Stay here?" The man turned so fast that his knee dislodged a stack of books. They toppled to
the floor, sending up a new cloud of dust. Penfeld wheezed.
Emily reclined against the wall with what she hoped was convincing frailty. "I don't wish to impose on your hospitality, of course, but I do feel dreadfully weak. You'd be very generous to show mercy to a homeless orphan." She pursed her lips in a beguiling pout that had been known to drop grown men to their knees.
But this man only rested his hands on his slim hips. A muscle clenched in his jaw, and suddenly Emily was afraid. Wasn't it Tansy who had warned her that someday she would cajole the wrong man?
The native slipped soundlessly to his feet. As Emily's bravado wilted beneath the heat of the stranger's gaze, she rather wished the savage would eat her.
But he only bowed with a flourish, then slipped a sprig of greenery from behind his ear and laid it at her feet. "Trini Te Wana welcomes you to our humble abode with the most celebratory of congratulations." He backed away, still bowing.
The stranger's sun-flecked eyes challenged her. "It seems Trini has made his wishes known. Go on.
Take it. It's a Maori sign of welcome." When Emily frowned skeptically, he squatted beside her, lifted
her curls, and whispered, "It means he doesn't intend to eat you."
His warm hand lingered against her nape. At the flash of his wolfish grin Emily wondered if it was
Trini's appetites she ought to be concerned about.
She took the sprig of shiny leaves with trembling fingers. A warbling cry sounded from outside the hut. The man leaned one elbow on his knee and snapped open the watch case dangling from his chain.
"Trini, Penfeld, could you see to that?" he asked. "I'll be along shortly."
As Trini and Penfeld left, the watch spun on its golden chain, sending a blinding dart of sunlight across Emily's eyes. She stared at it, hypnotized.
"Miss Scarlet? Are you all right?" he said gently. When she didn't answer, he nudged her chin up with
his knuckle.
"I'm fine," she whispered, studying his features with a fresh mixture of wonder and horror.
He gazed down at her; a frown deepened the tiny sun creases around his eyes.
She forced a smile. "Really. It's nothing a fresh cup of coffee won't cure." She held out her cup.
As he sauntered to the stove, whistling under his breath, Emily stared at his broad back through a fractured prism of tears. She had lied. Heaven had stopped smiling. and she wasn't sure if she'd ever
be fine again.
She had caught only a glimpse of the tiny tintype mounted in the watch case. An angelic moppet smiled out at her, her brown eyes twinkling with hope. Emily knew that child had died long ago with her father. And no matter how hard she tried, she could think of only one reason why the gentle pirate with the stunning eyes would be wearing Claire Scarborough's portrait around his neck.
Her hand closed in a convulsive fist, crumpling Trini's friendly offering to shreds.
Chapter 3
The memory of your tender smile
brightens even my drearest day…
Emily silently whispered frantic words of hope to herself.
Perhaps the handsome pirate had kidnapped Justin Connor, tossed his fat corpse overboard, and
kept her father's watch as booty.
"Here you go. Careful, it's hot." The man's husky voice interrupted her reverie.
She took the cup he offered and watched him settle his lean hips against the windowsill. The breadth of his shoulders blocked the sunlight, leaving him in silhouette. At least she was to be spared the temptation of gawking openly at his face. She took a swig of the coffee, but its bitter warmth failed to ease her chill.
Maybe the cannibal had eaten Justin Connor but been unable to digest the watch.
Her spirits lifted at the thought. She tilted the cup to hide her grin. Ending up as an English delicacy at some native feast was more than equal to the various tortures and lingering deaths she had devised for
the scoundrel over the years. This man simply couldn't be Justin Connor, she assured herself. If he were, he'd be living in a mansion, not a ramshackle hut with only a prim valet and an overeducated cannibal
for company. She opened her mouth to ask him his name, then closed it again, part of her quailing from what he might answer.
"I could hardly sleep last night, wondering about one thing," he said. Suspicion shaded his voice and Emily sensed he was a man who did not trust easily. They had that much in common.
She set down the cup, embarrassed to discover how badly her hands were shaking. "I should hate to be the cause of your insomnia. Do satisfy your curiosity."
Pulling off his hat, he fixed her with a gaze of disarming candor. "Were you naked before or after you
fell off the boat?"
A fierce heat burned her cheeks. She resisted the urge to tug the coat down over her pale calves. "After," she croaked dutifully. "My dress was pulling me under the water, so I tore it off."
Justin knit his hands at the small of his back, struggling not to smile at her bold ingenuity. "Most of the women I once knew would have gracefully drowned before shedding their precious petticoats and corsets."
Anger surged through Emily. This scowling stranger suddenly represented all the narrow-minded prigs she'd left behind in London. "Forgive me if I offended your delicate sensibilities. Better dead than immodest. Wasn't it our noble Victoria who said that?"
Except for a faint quirk of his eyebrow, he ignored her sarcasm. "So you're English."
"No. I'm Chinese," she snapped.
She knotted her hands in Penfeld's coat, struggling to control her temper. Miss Winters always said it would be her downfall, along with her profanity, her ardor for green apples, and her penchant for