“How’s your father faring?”
Poppy blinked, snapping her attention back to Hazel, the headmistress of Bellehaven Academy and her dear friend. Poppy had come to town after pulling the stranger out of the surf, determined to salvage the rest of the day in spite of the odd encounter with him.
She’d intended to banish him from her thoughts while she went about her usual errands, but he trespassed into her head in much the same way he’d trespassed onto her beach. Vexing, that he should affect her so, but understandable. It wasn’t every morning that she brandished her knife at a devilishly handsome rogue.
Poppy shook her head in a futile attempt to clear it and mustered a smile for Hazel. “Papa’s about the same. The willow bark seems to ease his aching joints. I’m going to stop at the apothecary on my way home and pick up some more.”
“You must let me know if I can help in any way,” Hazel said earnestly. Her brown hair was swept into its usual tidy knot, but one rebellious chestnut curl above her forehead fluttered in the breeze coming from her office window.
“You’ve done far too much already,” Poppy said, setting the small stack of books that she’d borrowed from Hazel on her desk. “Thank you for sending Kitty over with the basket. The oranges are delicious, and I was able to coax Papa into eating a few bites of the stew.”
“It was nothing,” Hazel said, waving a dismissive hand. “You know Kitty is always grateful for the chance to see you.”
“I was happy to see her, too. It’s been too long since we Belles were all together.” Poppy, Hazel, and Kitty had formed a special bond the previous summer after discovering they were each still grappling with the grief of losing their mothers far too soon. Kitty, the youngest of their trio, had started out as Hazel’s most troublesome student. But since Hazel married Kitty’s uncle and guardian, the Earl of Bladenton, last summer, they’d formed a family that included Kitty and two other orphaned students—Lucy and Clara. Now Hazel, her smitten husband, Blade, and all the girls were living in a spacious suite of rooms in the center of Bellehaven while they began construction on a grand house on the outskirts of town.
“Blade brought more books from London,” Hazel said excitedly, turning to pluck several from the shelves behind her desk. “I stayed up late several evenings reading this one.”
Poppy chuckled as she flipped through the gothic novel that Hazel handed her, along with a few other books. “Thank you. I am sure I shall enjoy it, too.” Indeed, it seemed reading was the one bright spot in her dreary existence, her only escape from worrying about Papa, missing her mother, and struggling to keep food on the table.
As if she could sense Poppy’s melancholy, Hazel rounded her desk and gently squeezed her shoulders. “Why don’t you come visit on Saturday? You, Kitty, and I could take a picnic to the beach, do a little shopping in town, and spend the whole day together.”
“I’d love that…” Truly, she would. “But I don’t like to leave Papa for too long.” Besides, she’d lost a whole morning of fishing, thanks to the virile stranger on her beach. She hesitated a moment, then asked, “Did anything unusual happen in town last night?”
Hazel arched a brow. “Unusual in what sense?”
“I don’t know,” Poppy said with a shrug. “I just wondered if there was talk this morning of any strange goings-on, any rumors involving prominent tourists in Bellehaven?”
“Poppy Summers.” Hazel narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“No.” Her face heated. “Let’s just say that the source of my information is extremely unreliable. Hardly worth sparing a second thought.”
“Hmm,” Hazel murmured, clearly unconvinced. “I won’t press you further, but I will say this: Whatever might be going on, have a care. I have not heard any gossip, but I do know that the tourists who flock to our little town sometimes imagine that they’re in another world where the rules of society don’t apply. After a few days of carousing, they hop into their fancy carriages and return to their elegant London town houses or country estates. And it’s left to the good folk of Bellehaven to clean up the messes they leave behind.”
“That is true,” Poppy said sadly.
She fervently hoped that the man—Keane, he’d said his name was—wouldn’t leave a mess behind. That he’d keep his promise and be gone by dusk, before she or her family were swept up in any unsavory business. That he’d vanish from her life just as quickly as he’d dropped into it, long before she could possibly have the misfortune of falling prey to those rakish good looks and stray-puppy eyes.
Her life was difficult enough as it was. The last thing she needed was for a man to muck it up—and remind her that she’d once wished for something more.
As the sun began to set, Keane realized he’d made a gross miscalculation. Despite all the assurances he’d given his fiery-haired rescuer earlier, he was in no physical condition to walk to town. The first time he tried to stand, his legs gave out, and he ate a mouthful of sand. On his second try, he staggered several feet, fell onto all fours, and heaved up the meager contents of his stomach.
His pulse raced, his head ached, and his throat was parched. But he had to make it as far from the beach as he possibly could. Not only because he’d promised the young woman, but also because the seed of a plan had begun to sprout in his mind. And it required him to stay out of sight.
So, he followed the shoreline west, alternately stumbling and crawling through the surf. His progress was woefully slow, but when he found one of his boots washed up near the rocks, he dragged it along and kept a keen eye out for the other.
When darkness fell and he was too weak to take another step, he stumbled to the foot of a cliff, sank onto the pebbled sand, and leaned his back against the cool, mossy rock. He only wanted to catch his breath and rest his eyes for a bit. He wasn’t going to sleep—or dream of an expressive, freckled face framed by fiery tendrils that danced in the ocean breeze.
“Keane.” He recognized the sensuously husky, slightly irritated voice at once and pried one eye open. She stood a yard away, holding a lantern in the space between them. The thick auburn braid that hung over her shoulder glowed like a gemstone, and her simple cotton dress was the color of springtime grass.
“Let me guess,” he said wryly. “This is your beach, too.”
“No.” She tossed a scuffed, water-logged boot onto the ground beside him. “But I found this tangled in my net. I thought you might need it.”
“How’d you know where to find me?”
“It was hard to miss your trail. It looks as though someone dragged you across the beach by your hair.”
“I may not have been entirely upright,” he admitted. “But I managed to make it here on my own.”
“You must be very proud.” Her eyes flicked to his forehead, and she frowned as she set the lantern on the sand and slipped the bag off her shoulder. “How’s your wound?”
“Perfect,” he quipped. “Not grave enough to kill me. Just deep enough to leave a dashing scar. The kind that’s sure to drive the ladies wild.”
She pursed her lips, skeptical. “One can hope.”
He chuckled. “Thank you for bringing my boot … and for your earlier kindness.”
She arched a brow. “I held you at knifepoint.”
“And almost drowned me.”
That elicited a smile so sly and so sweet that it landed in the vicinity of his groin.
“I did, didn’t I?” She reached into her bag, pulled out the canteen, and handed it to him.
He raised it in a mock toast, took a few glorious swigs, and wiped his mouth with a tattered sleeve. “Thank you—again.”
She sank to the sand beside him. “I still think you are in need of a doctor’s attention.”
He shook his head firmly. “No.”
“And you intend to stay here tonight?”
“Just until my fellow pirates send the dinghy for me.”
“Fair enough.” She opened her bag again, and this time withdrew a small, wrapped parcel. “It’s a sandwich—in case you grow hungry before your mates are able to retrieve you,” she said, only half joking.
His belly rumbled at the mention of food. “I’m going to repay you someday. But it would help if I knew your name.”
“You don’t need to repay me,” she said simply. “In Bellehaven we’re kind to everyone. Even strangers.”
He gazed at her, thoughtful, as he sank his teeth into the savory chicken sandwich. “What if I said I’d still like to know your name?”
“What if I said I’d like to be queen of England?” she countered. “We don’t always get what we want.”
He grinned at her. “True, but sometimes we do.”
“Maybe you do,” she mused. “Some of us aren’t so fortunate.” Her reply was snappy, but there was a heaviness to her words. A truth that punched him like a right hook.
“Fishing must be difficult work.”
“It’s more than work. It’s both a science and an art.”
“How so?” He wanted to know. Wanted her to keep talking. About anything.
She tucked her knees to her chest and gazed out at the ocean. “A good angler listens to the caw of seabirds, studies the patterns of the currents, and predicts which way the fish are moving. She can row a boat on the surface without disturbing a school below. She knows when a fish in her net is too small to keep and how to quickly free it. With one sniff of the air, she senses when it’s time to pick up her nets, return to shore, and secure the boat in advance of a storm.”
As she spoke, her blue-green eyes sparkled in the moonlight. A few loose tendrils fluttered around the graceful column of her throat. Keane stared, mesmerized. “You love fishing.”
“Not really,” she said softly. “I love providing for my family. I don’t mind the hard work, but the truth is I detest being at the mercy of the weather and the seasons and the whims of nature.”
He nodded, debating how to best ask the question bouncing around inside his head. “Is it entirely up to you? Providing for your family, I mean.”
She hesitated, then exhaled. “At the moment. My father is bedridden and my brother … He’s been going through a difficult time.”
“I’m sorry.” Keane meant it, but a part of him was relieved that she hadn’t mentioned a husband. An idea he’d had earlier took root, and before he could change his mind, he looked into her eyes. “But I may be able to help.”
She smiled ruefully. “Forgive me for saying so, but you’re scarcely able to stand. You’re in no position to help me—or anyone, for that matter.”
“You’re right. I need a little more time to recover. A spot to sleep. Someone to bring me food and water. I could pay you handsomely.”
“You haven’t two pennies to rub together.”
“Perhaps not with me,” Keane said. “But I am a duke—and in possession of a considerable fortune.”
She sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. “And here I thought we’d progressed beyond fantastic tales.”
“I’m the Duke of Hawking,” he said, adamant. “And if you give me the chance, I can prove it.”