My Heart's Desire (Barrett 1)

“That you’ll let me make dinner tonight.”

“And just how will you do that, princess?” He folded his arms across his bare chest, trying desperately not to laugh. “Don’t tell me … we’re going to have blueberries and water for our evening meal!”

She was tempted to strike him. The damned man was arrogant beyond description, and his opinion of noblewomen was beginning to grate on her nerves. Well, blast it, she would make a superb meal if it killed her!

“No, Drake,” she replied, her head held high. “I plan on catching a good-sized fish for dinner.”

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s lips twitched. “Forgive me, princess. I had no idea that you had such a feast in mind.” He gestured grandly toward the water’s edge. “Please, go right ahead. I will await my meal with the greatest of anticipation.”

With that he walked off to the soft grass beneath their lean-to and lowered himself to the ground. Thanks to the strong trees and plentiful vines, he had been able to construct a more than ample shelter that shielded them from the sun and the rain. In truth, the two-acre island was a veritable paradise, providing everything one could require in order to survive. No, to do much more than survive. To be nurtured and to flourish.

Drake had never felt so at peace in all his life. The world, even the war, seemed part of some distant dream, unreal, existing only on the perimeter of his mind. Not even on La Belle Illusion had he felt such a sense of wholeness. He knew it was the island that was weaving its magic. The island and his wife.

The sound of splashing water followed by a very unladylike curse interrupted his thoughts. Rising up on his elbows, Drake watched Alex loping through the river along the shoreline, dipping her hands beneath the water and speaking in a soft, cajoling tone, presumably to the elusive fish. Apparently the fish were insensitive to her plight, for a moment later another muttered oath sprang from his wife’s dainty lips and she shook her fist furiously at the retreating culprit. Undaunted, she tossed her damp hair from her face and began her search for another, more willing victim.

Rather than amusement or triumph, Drake was overcome by a feeling of poignant tenderness like none he had ever known. For the first time he did not attempt to fight or deny what he knew to be the truth. She had taken his heart, this willful, stubborn, impulsive, passionate, and seeking young woman he had married. And he had to believe that she would never betray this feeling that was between them.

God help her if she did.

He closed his eyes. God help them both.

“Drake! Drake! Come quickly!”

Her excited voice brought him to his feet, striding toward the spot where she stood. Clasped in her hands was a wiggling, thoroughly annoyed bass that would escape in precisely three seconds if it was not speared.

Drake pulled out his knife and did the honors as Alex looked away, unable to bear the sight.

“You did very well, princess,” he praised soberly. “Now, will you prepare it or shall I?”

“Prepare it?” Alex’s voice was weak.

“Yes, you know, scale it and cut off its—”

“I understand!” she interrupted, looking pale beneath her golden tan. She was torn between nausea and pride. She feared nausea would win.

Drake saw her dilemma and saved her. “I have a fine idea. I will clean and cook the fish while you gather some fruit to go with it.”

Alex brightened immediately. “Wonderful!” She fairly flew from the water, spraying Drake’s face in her haste to leave the scene of the fish’s massacre.

Drake threw back his head and laughed, watching her sprint off into the trees. He adored both her spirit and her gentleness, the dazzling combination of contradictions that was Alex. He found himself most eager for dinner.

And even more eager for what he planned for after dinner.

It was that wondrous time of day when the sun was not quite ready to take its leave and the moon was impatient to makes its appearance, the result being a golden glow of twilight that bathed the island in a sheen of splendor.

Drake carefully carried the steaming skewered bass to the fire he had built just outside their lean-to. Off to one side of their sleeping quarters, hidden by a dense cluster of white birch trees, he and Alex had created their “dining room,” which consisted of two smooth, flat stones, side by side, large enough to act as dinnerware. And of course their fingers made the perfect utensils. Barbaric by the ton’s standards, euphoric by the castaways’.

Drake made his way through the trees until he reached his goal. Then he stopped short, staring at the vision that greeted his eyes.

“Good evening, Captain Barrett.” Alex smiled up at him, her wonderfully expressive eyes a deep, smoky gray. She was waiting for him, clad only in his familiar white shirt, her knees tucked beneath her, her hands behind her on the ground as she leaned back to give Drake a dazzling smile.

Before her was spread an array of freshly picked berries, surrounded by every type of exquisite flower imaginable—violets, hepatica, trillium, even wild roses. Never had Drake seen a more elegantly prepared meal, or one he so badly wanted to savor.

Slowly he dropped down beside her and wordlessly deposited half the fish on her “plate,” the other half on his own. The fresh scent of fruit and flowers rose up to tantalize his senses, and Drake fought the sudden compulsion to lay Alex down in their fragrant garden and forfeit the meal in favor of dessert.

“Everything looks lovely,” he said at last in a husky voice that made her heart beat faster.