He nodded. “I re-explored the wreckage hoping to find a working cell phone or radio or something. Instead, I found the remains of the galley.” He held up two forks. “I brought back these and those plastic food trays to use as plates.”
Feeling absurdly tongue-tied, she looked away.
“I also found an underground route to some caves.” He brushed back his hair from his face.
“Caves?”
“This is an interesting island. Below the pond is a lot of volcanic rock. There were a couple of large caves, accessible only by water. When I get more time, I’ll explore them.” He fed another stick to the fire. “What’d you do while I was gone?”
“I picked a bunch of berries and gathered firewood.” She sighed. “I also took a nap. I’ve been really tired today.”
“Isn’t that normal?” Turning the spit while he watched her, his expression was unreadable.
“For pregnant women, yes.”
“I climbed Haystack and got a better view of this place.” He gestured toward the beach. “It’s not a huge island, and I didn’t see any signs of habitation. I did find a sandy beach on the other side, rather than this rocky one we’re near. The wildlife is abundant—even with me crashing around in broad daylight I saw a lot.” His teeth flashed white. “Not a bad place to build a vacation home. I haven’t figured out why the owner hasn’t yet.”
Sydney nodded. Just looking at him made her ache. His blond hair was sun-streaked, though she wondered how much time he spent in the sun, back in Silvershire. With his darkened tan and his stubble, he looked even more dangerous than he had before.
And more sexy.
Her stomach growled, bringing her thoughts back to food. “How much longer?”
“I think it’s about done.” Moving the cooked pig to a rock, he made good use of a steak knife to cut up their meat. Handing her a plate, he filled his and retreated to the other side of the fire to eat.
Sydney felt as though he was drawing a battle line.
Instead of worrying about that, she concentrated on her food. They ate in silence.
When they’d finished, eating almost all of the small pig, Chase dug a hole and buried the remains.
Once he’d finished, he returned to his side of the fire.
Night fell suddenly. Stars flickered above in the velvet-black sky. Across from her, separated by the dancing flames, Chase used the steak knife to carve another stick to use as a spit.
Sydney tried to enjoy the quiet, listening to the night sounds of the forest as the myriad creatures emerged to hunt and play. All her life, she’d been so excruciatingly lonely that silence had been intolerable to her. Until she’d learned to play the cello. After that, she’d always managed to fill the quiet with her music.
Now, without her cello, once again she sat alone. On the outside looking in. Only when she played with the symphony did she feel part of something larger, no longer solitary in her insulated little world.
Sitting across the fire from this hard man, she felt even more alone than when Reginald’s gaze had slid dismissively over her in a crowded restaurant. Reginald, once so blatant in his adoration, had pretended not to know her.
Chase made no such pretense. He simply preferred not to talk.
She recognized this. Years and years of living on the outside of the “inside” people, had trained her for it. How not to interfere or intrude. How to make certain her existence didn’t impede or alter their lives in any unpleasant way.
Her mother had taught her well.
But this wasn’t Naessa and she wasn’t a child. So—she took a deep breath—she wouldn’t put up with it again. Not here. Not now. Not ever again. She spoke.
“Do you think someone will find us?”
Barely pausing in his carving, he turned those amazing hazel eyes of his to hers. “Yes.”
“Why do you sound unhappy about that?”
He stabbed the knife into the ground. “Do I? I’m not, not at all. I’m hoping the right people find us first.”
“The right people?”
“The ones who are on our side.”
She hadn’t thought of that until now. Cradling her stomach and the growing life within, she tried to picture these people and shook her head. She still wasn’t sure if they were a figment of Chase’s imagination, or real, nameless, faceless enemies. There had been the shooting, certainly, but nothing had ever happened to her until Chase had shown up. They could be his enemies more than hers.
Except her car had been blown up. Hers, not his.
If there was someone out there gunning for them, it would seem it was really her they were after.
But why? Did they hate her merely because she carried Reginald’s child? Or was it because of her ties to Prince Kerwin of Naessa? Perhaps they were unaware her sire had never acknowledged her, though how they could be when it’d been trumpeted from every tabloid, she had no idea.
Even a few months ago, when the largest one had done a feature on her and Reginald, her bastard status had been mentioned, along with the speculation about whether, if she and Reginald were to wed, her father might consent to legitimize her.
The same paper had been the first to report on Reginald’s intentions to honor his long-term betrothal to Princess Amelia Victoria DuPont of Gastonia. It seemed they’d been betrothed as toddlers in a secret agreement between King Weston of Silvershire and King Roman of Gastonia, a betrothal Reginald had conveniently forgotten to mention to Sydney. He planned to marry the princess during his coronation ceremony, which he’d ordered to be the most lavish the people of Silvershire had ever seen.
The same morning the story broke, Sydney had learned she was pregnant with Reginald’s child.
“Surely it won’t come to that. We’ve been missing, what, three days? Your duke must be looking for us.”
“I’m sure he is. But then, so are they.”
She glanced back at their small shelter. “We don’t have any weapons.”
“Not a one.”
“Maybe we’d better find another place to hide.”
“That’s why I went up the mountain. If the wrong people show up, we’ll need somewhere to ambush them.”
His words only served to remind her how precious life could be and how abruptly it could be cut short.
Unable to bear the isolation any longer, Sydney rose. Hugging herself, she moved around the fire and dropped to the ground next to Chase.
His mouth tightened, but he made no comment. The look he gave her was sharp and, for nameless reasons, touched a place deep inside her. But then, the way he affected her had nothing to do with reason.
Averting his face, he continued to work at whittling the stick. She studied him, memorizing his features, knowing that even once she returned to her normal life, she’d never forget a single detail of his face.
Reginald’s good looks had been more patrician, elegant. More remote. She’d thought she’d loved him, but she realized now what she’d mistaken for love had been gratitude for attention. She’d been so hungry for affection that she’d turned a blind eye to all Reginald’s failings. Knowing his reputation, she’d believed her love had changed him.
Loving Reginald had been her biggest mistake. Until now. Looking at Chase, at the stubborn set of his chin and his deliberate unawareness of her, she knew she was about to make another.
The fire crackled