Saving Miss Everly: A Regency Romance (Inglewood Book 3) Read online

  “All is well,” he murmured to himself as he stepped from beneath the trees to look out over the ocean and the rising sun. It was a brilliant gold beneath the receding line of gray clouds. Though he knew well enough the havoc elements might cause on the mainland, such was nothing compared to how easily a storm or blight might kill him on the island.

  The storm had begun midday, and the sun set late at this time of year. All night the rain had fallen, churning up the sea. Sometimes such storms brought him things. Driftwood, new wildlife, a confused pod of dolphins that played in his shallows for days until they recovered from the tossing. It had already grown light, so any gifts from the ocean left the night before would be easily found.

  Alejandro tramped through the trees again, heading for the eastern beach. If he started on the east side of the island and followed the sun’s morning light around the northern tip, he could well comb the beaches and pull ashore anything drifting in the surf before midday. Being inactive, hiding beneath shelter most of the previous evening, meant he had plenty of energy for the work.

  For the next hour, he dragged ashore armfuls of seaweed that might prove edible. A few pieces of driftwood. The only sound accompanying his grunts and occasional snatches of song were the dull roars and slaps of the waves, and the frogs in the trees.

  There was not much bounty this time. He reached the northwestern tip of the island with nothing but piles of green and a few pieces of driftwood for the trouble of the storm. The northwestern side of the island consisted of rocks and a black cliff face, which he had no wish to traverse. But most of the island was covered in smooth white sand, which made it easy to spot animals scuttling about that might not appreciate him stepping on them.

  He noticed something in the distance. A large swath of white lay on the beach, at the point where the waves broke upon the shore, and appeared to glow in the morning light. He ran to it, his heart tripping with excitement. White cloth. From a ship, no doubt. Even were it riddled with holes or shredded, Alejandro had a dozen uses for it already in his mind. Shelter, clothing, twine, storage—linen sailcloth, even cotton sailcloth, had infinite worth in his new world, whereas in the old he had hardly given it a thought.

  The sailcloth’s length matched his height at least, and appeared to be attached to a wooden pole. The tide would pull it out if he did not get it far enough up onto the land. Spurred on by all his plans for both the beam and former sail, Alejandro took hold of the end pointing out of the water and toward the trees, both hands beneath the splintered wood, to drag it out. He made it several feet, the sailcloth coming along, when everything halted and he nearly dropped the wood in his abrupt backward stumble.

  Something had caught the linen. Perhaps a rock on the shore, or another piece of wood wrapped in the material. Alejandro carefully lowered the beam to the ground and went to investigate, tugging at the linen instead. It was tightly wedged beneath the wood, but after he had fistfuls of the former sail in hand he gave a tremendous pull, freeing one end of it and stumbling back a step.

  Alejandro regained his balance, then raised his eyes to see what had become caught in the folds of the mostly intact sailcloth.

  He dropped to his knees.

  Never, in his whole life, had he seen a creature more beautiful than the being laying in the folds of white. Mermaid, angel, goddess, all in one before him. She was on her side, facing him, eyes closed and hair wildly splayed across her shoulders. The breeze stirred the still-damp locks, and that finally spurred Alejandro into movement.

  He crawled to her side, still too unnerved to try to stand. His eyes frantically searched for life before his hands landed against her throat and chest. His hand sought for the pulsing beat within her neck to ensure her blood still ran through her veins, while the other hand on her chest above her breastbone felt for her breath. At first, his own blood pounded too loudly in his ears for him to be aware of whether hers still ran in her veins.

  She took in a shallow breath, the vein beneath his fingers throbbing sluggishly.

  “You are alive,” he whispered in his native Castilian tongue. He brushed her hair back over her shoulder, staring down at her.

  Alejandro should not hesitate, should not indulge in the moment of his first sight of another living human in over a year, but his eyes ruled him as he desperately studied her features. The morning light coupled with her fair skin made her appear more like a marble statue than a living, breathing, warm woman of flesh and blood.

  “I am sorry,” he said, “but I must take some liberties if you are to survive.” He worked one arm beneath her legs and the other took her shoulders, then he stood. Supporting her weight did not prove as difficult as he had feared, though he knew he had not had the benefit of healthful meals for some time. Although the sensation of carrying her to safety, further up the shore and nearly to the trees, gratified him somewhat, Alejandro did not have the luxury to be proud of himself.

  Once she was safely away from the water he returned for the sailcloth and beam, and dragged it up beside her. If she survived, if she woke, he would have an even greater need of the bounty the storm washed up to the beach. Though he wanted to sit and stare, to discover some way to rouse her, Alejandro had to remain practical.

  She needed him to keep his head.

  “Angela,” he said, stroking back her hair again. “I do not know if you can hear me, but I will help you.” Before he moved her again, he needed to check her body for wounds or breaks. “Forgive me, but we must dispense with propriety for a time.” He spoke as though she might answer, as though she could protest to the way his fingers started their inspection at her shoulders and moved down both her arms. No breaks. Then he started at her feet, smaller than his, bare, and he gently felt along them up to her knees.

  Then he checked her ribcage but found her underpinnings still bound around her. He pressed gently upon her stomach, over her clothing, searching for bloat or wounds, and when he exerted that pressure she gasped.

  Alejandro’s gaze flew to her face, finding her eyes open and staring upward into the trees. Carefully, he removed his hands from her abdomen and sat back on his heels. Whatever she had been through, he doubted her first sight of him would prove as joyful as his had been of her.

  4

  The mast had fallen. Hope remembered that. It broke with a crash and snap that she felt through her bones. The doctor told everyone to go belowdecks, saying it was too dangerous to abandon the sloop for the smaller boat. Had she managed to take a step to shelter before being swept overboard? People yelled her name, but the waves and the wind made it hard to know who had called to her.

  Then she remembered swimming. Kicking at the water, knowing how ineffective each movement was even as she struggled, fighting against her skirts. The last time she had swam, she had been eleven years old at Inglewood Estate. The boys—Silas, Jacob, and Isaac—had dared her to jump into the water with them.

  Swimming across the deepest part of the stream was nothing like being tossed about in the waves of the Caribbean Sea.

  Somehow, after an eternity of clinging to floating wood and kicking to keep her head above water, her feet had hit something solid. Darkness, wind, rain, all whipped at her as she forced herself to walk until she’d collapsed.

  How long ago had she escaped the sea?

  Hope sucked in deep breaths, eyes open and staring above into darkness. Bright light revealed shapes above her, blurred and moving. It took some time for her to make sense of her surroundings. Trees hung overhead. Sand below. Her hands closed over the grains, the gritty texture sifting through her fingers. Then she laid her palms flat on the ground and tried to push herself into a sitting position, but she hardly lifted her head before a fierce pounding overtook her.

  Groaning, Hope dropped the few inches she had risen back to the ground.

  “¿Vosotras en el dolor, ángel?” The voice, deep and with a slight rasp, spoke words she did not recognize. Yet hearing someone, knowing she was not alone, momentarily eased her fears.<
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  “I do not understand,” she whispered, her throat raw and aching worse than her head. She blinked again, turning to the side, trying to see the person she sensed beside her as her eyes adjusted to the light. “Where am I?”

  “Ah, inglés,” the voice said, sounding surprised. “You are secure. Safe. I have come to help.” The accent he spoke with, his ‘s’ sharper than hers, the lilt in his vowels, made the familiar words sound more like music to her tired ears than anything resembling conversation. “Tu nombre, señorita? Your name?”

  For a moment, she did not remember how to answer. Grace? No. She was tired, so tired, of being her sister. “Miss Everly will do.” She put one hand to her temple and used the other to push upward, propping her elbow beneath her to try and gain her bearings, to see the stranger who spoke to her.

  A large hand, the roughened skin warm, grasped her forearm and steadied her. “You might not be ready to move yet, Miss Everly.”

  Opening her eyes again, Hope blinked several times until she made out the white crests of the waves, sunlight turning the sea cerulean and silver. She took in a deep breath and winced, the pounding in her head increasing in tempo. Then she turned, trying to see the man who had pulled her from the water. He was not a member of the crew, as she had heard their accents and they were not Spanish.

  The shadows cast by the tree confounded her eyes. She saw only the outline of a man, though not as she was used to it. There was a shine to his skin, revealing he wore nothing on his shoulders. No coat. No waistcoat. No shirt. Like a dock laborer or the slaves she had glimpsed in the fields.

  “Did the others make it?” she asked. Why was it a stranger, rather than her friends, by her side?

  “How many were with you, señorita?” he asked, his hand still supporting her.

  She tried to remember. “Two sailors? No. There were three. The doctor and his wife, Miss and Mr. Carlbury, and two other gentlemen.”

  His answer came almost hesitantly. “I have seen no one else upon the beach this day.”

  Her heart faltered and her stomach rolled. Hope’s eyes filled with tears before she willed them back again. “Perhaps the boat held. Maybe they are looking for me, even now.” Her voice wavered but she willed herself to move, to act, rather than sit and worry. Worrying never accomplished anything. “I should like to look for them myself.”

  “I am not certain you should rise yet, Miss Everly.”

  Why was everyone always telling her what she could and could not accomplish? Yet when she tried to push herself from the sand, her stomach imitated the waves in a harsh rolling motion. She stilled and lowered herself back to her elbows. “Perhaps you are right, sir.” She looked up at him again, blinking rapidly. Her eyes had apparently adjusted while she stared at the sea.

  He had moved closer when she attempted to stand, kneeling less than a foot away, and she peered up into his face again. The man had a great deal of hair, long and uncombed, with a beard in an equally unkempt state. Though his appearance ought to frighten her, Hope met his gaze and instantly knew, though she could not say how, that she was safe. His eyes were warm, calm, and curious. They were intelligent and dark, like rich earth.

  “What is your name?” she asked quietly.

  “You may call me Alejandro.” He studied her, but not in a lewd manner.

  “Thank you, Alejandro, for helping me.” She wriggled her toes and realized her feet were bare. The waves had stripped away her shoes. Or had she kicked them off when she tried to swim?

  When she stopped talking, her aching head attempting to make sense of her shoeless state, Alejandro had remained perfectly still next to her. He said nothing, though she knew he must have as many questions as she did. The man seemed to understand the need for quiet. For steadiness.

  In possession of herself once more, Hope turned her gaze to the white sand, the empty beach. The sun, hanging bright above them, comforted her. The clouds had gone, at least.

  Hope faced the man at her side, a thousand questions about him attempting to rush into her mind at once.

  He was taller than she was if his long arms were anything to go by. His hair was long, brushing his shoulders. Had she come upon him in England, she might’ve thought him a beggar. But she had seen scroungy men during her time aboard a ship, and on the islands, and most had not addressed her with complete deference. As he did.

  “Where are we, Alejandro?” His appearance did not give her much confidence that it was someplace civilized. Perhaps they were at the edge of a plantation, or near a fishing village.

  “We are in the middle of the West Indies, señorita.”

  “Is there anyone else nearby?” she asked, though she already sensed his answer.

  The man slowly shook his head, never breaking eye contact. “The island is empty, except for me and, now, you.”

  Alejandro watched the young woman, ready to put his hand out to steady her should she fall into a faint. Her labored breathing, the way she placed a hand against her temple even as she tried to sit up again, told him more than enough about her physical state. Of course, to touch her again, even if only in brief support, would be something out of his dreams.

  A person, a woman, upon his island. His eyes drank her in, wondering if she was as beautiful as he found her or if his lack of human contact had skewed his sense of what was and was not attractive. Her long hair hanging in snarls down her back made her appear more like a water sprite than a being from a civilized world.

  If there were others who had survived, perhaps with a boat of some kind—No. He didn’t let his thoughts dwell there, easily snuffing out the momentary flicker of hope in his breast. Hope had no place on his island.

  Señorita Everly’s expression changed from a strained frown to a smile. “I must be grateful that you found me, Alejandro,” she murmured. “You saved me from the waves, did you not?”

  “It was not an act of great heroism, Miss Everly. You would have woken on your own soon enough.” He wanted to return her smile, but he was somewhat out of practice. Instead he settled slowly onto the sand beside her, dragging his gaze away from her lovely features. The woman’s eyes were a shade of blue he had only seen before in the sky.

  Any moment, she would realize the grimness of the situation. She would collapse. Have hysterics.

  “How long have you been here, Alejandro?” she asked. He saw her rubbing her temple from the corner of his eye.

  “A very long time. Over a year.” The saltwater had roughened her voice, yet he could not recall hearing anything so wonderful as another human’s words to him.

  She stilled and her arm touched his, her fingertips brushing against his wrist. “I am so sorry. A year. Have you been alone all this time?”

  “Sí.” He stared at where she touched him, marveling at how soft her fingertips felt against his skin. He wouldn’t tell her about the other man. Not yet. It would only frighten her.

  Miss Everly withdrew her hand and put it upon the sand again. His gaze followed the movement, noting her ragged nails. She had clung to the mast for a long time through the storm. It was a miracle she had not been dragged from it and drowned. A miracle. Not precisely what he had expected in one so delicate, either.

  Why would the heavens curse another soul to the lonely island? His heart ached for her, for what stretched before her. Her family would think her dead. Her friends would forget her. The island would claim her life.

  Unaware of his morose thoughts, the woman smiled at him again with a gentleness that smote his heart. “I am sorry, Alejandro. I cannot imagine how difficult that would be for you. Please. Will you help me stand? I should like to look for the others.”

  A futile exercise. He had been over half the island already, and she could not traverse the other half in her state. If he took her back toward his shelter, and the well for water, that would likely exhaust her. He could check the rest of the island later.

  “I will help you, señorita.” As much as he could. Alejandro rose first and brushed his hands of
f on his tattered trousers before reaching for hers. She laid both hands upon his, palms down, and lightning shot through his veins at the contact. The woman sucked in a deep breath, almost as though she had felt it, too.

  Alejandro dismissed the wild idea. That was what came from being alone for so long. Nonsensical thoughts and feelings at the first sign of human companionship.

  Assisting Miss Everly to her feet, Alejandro offered his arm to her. She took it, more like they were about to stroll through a ballroom than across an empty beach. The breeze blew a disheveled curl into her face, and she brushed it back.

  “Come, this way. You need water before anything else,” he said.

  The woman did not argue. Instead, she leaned against him, the top of her head barely reaching above his shoulder. “And here I thought I had already had more than my share of water.” Her eyes sparkled, her pale pink lips turned up at the corners.

  How did she do it? How did she make a jest at all, given her situation?

  His heart warmed to her a little more. The woman had courage. That, or madness. But when her lovely eyes sought his gaze, peace settled upon his heart. Courage and hope. That was what made her smile.

  If only he had the ability to hope again, he might have smiled, too.

  “Is there a source of fresh water on the island?” she asked with cheerful interest, and when he glanced at her he saw her pretty eyes grow brighter.

  “Not any natural sources that are easy to come by.” He pointed down at the beach. “I have dug two wells in my time here, and I have learned where rainwater pools.”

  “Dug wells?” Her forehead wrinkled. “How did you know where to dig?”

  “A sailor told me of an old trick, when I first left my home. Do you see the hill there, above the water?” He pointed again, tracing the line of the hill with his finger. “On the side where the beach is, the land slopes directly into the waves. On that side of the hill, the ground is protected from the saltwater. If you dig a hole deep enough, below sea level, there is fresh water.”