Page 4 of Her Tempestuous Duke

“What happened? Tell me.”

It was a struggle to answer—her teeth were chattering so much. “We… we were watching a burning ship. The sky went dark, and the wind got up. I don’t know how long we struggled. Something came flying at us, an oar was lost, there were rocks… I grabbed a piece of wood and clung on—” Her explanation ended with a sob.

“Enough.”

Two strong hands gripped her forearms and hauled her to her feet. The stranger shrugged out of his coarse wool jacket and helped her into it—in a surprisingly gentlemanly way.

He scowled. “I’ve no gloves here. Just pull the sleeves over your hands—they’re long enough.”

She’d expected to be revolted by the jacket, but it smelled of woodsmoke and sea air. She wrapped it around her gratefully.

“I suppose I’d better take you to the castle. You go up the path, and I’ll follow, lest you trip and fall. The exertion will warm you up, I dare say.”

Not the most enthusiastic of rescues! Her tragic plight seemed no more than an inconvenience to him. But a castle sounded good. There would be leaping fires, hot water, and baths, someone from whom she could borrow shoes and warm clothing.

“But you will look for the others afterward, won’t you?”

He gazed past her. “Maybe. Or I can instruct Ariel to fly around the island. He’ll tell me if anything new has appeared. He found you, by the way.”

“Ariel?”

“My parrot. A gift from the sea, I suppose you might say. As you appear to be a well-bred young lady, you won’t enjoy his language—it’s as colorful as his plumage. He’s incorrigible. Trust me—I’ve tried.”

“You poop deck pope! You son of a ship’s cook!”

Minerva chuckled, then choked as a sob filled her throat. How could she be laughing at a time like this? She was on an island—with a terrifying and unwelcoming stranger—and no idea of what had happened to her guardian and the servants. She’d only just stopped feeling alone in the world. How could she bear to face that emptiness again?

The man was indicating a narrow cleft in the rock. She stared at it in alarm. Then she pushed her shoulders back, wrung out her skirts, and knotted them. Glancing ruefully at her one remaining stocking, she wondered if it was better to leave it on or take it off. The chances were that she would cut her feet in any case. This was not going to be pleasant.

“Oh, for the love of mercy! I’ll carry you if I must.”

How could he tell what she was thinking? She held his gaze, startled.

There was something familiar about him, but surely, they could never have met before. She tried to imagine what he might look like with the hair brushed back from his face and his chin clean-shaven. Of course, he’d still have that white seam of a scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to his chin, but he’d look less like a brigand, certainly.

“I don’t suppose we’ve met before.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would have remembered you.” He cleared his throat. “Now, are you going to let me carry you or not?”

She looked at her feet again. She’d die of shame if this fellow carried her. Only—it was evident that she was to have no choice in the matter. He bent in front of her, grabbed her behind the knees, and hauled her onto his back. She had to fling her arms around his neck, or she’d have been thrown backward.

She could feel the muscles of his shoulders against her chest, the power of his hips against her thighs as he started off. She wriggled—this was no position for a lady. Lord Anthony would be furious!

“Keep still,” came the harsh command. “Unless you’d rather I threw you over one shoulder like a sack of meal. At least I might have one hand free then. And there’s no need to choke me, or we’ll both go tumbling down the cliff.”

“I don’t even know your name.” Although it was a bit late for introductions now.

“Call me Prospero.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “The people in the village do.”

Minerva knew a moment of hope as the man tilted forward and started scrabbling his way up the steep path. There was a village as well as a castle. That meant civilization! And perhaps, with good fortune, Lord Anthony, Pascoe, and George might have found their way there.

How they managed to make it to the top of the cliff, she didn’t know. She kept her eyes closed for most of that uncomfortable, awkward, hideously embarrassing journey. She dared not look below to see how far they’d come nor above to see how much more she must endure.

The instant they reached the top, she was released. As she collapsed on the grass, all the breath bounced out of her by their ascent, a straggly Irish wolfhound bounded up and started licking her face.

Her rescuer towered over her, catching his breath, his fists on his hips.

“Anyone would think my animals never saw another living soul. I might be forgiven for imagining they were loyal to me but, evidently, I was wrong. Caliban! Here, Boy.”