Echoes in the Mist (Kingsleys in Love 1)

CHAPTER

14

“HOW BEAUTIFUL!”

Ariana stared, transfixed, as the yacht sailed toward Ryde Pier, the Isle of Wight’s main port. All the anxiety that had accompanied her for the duration of the tense, silent journey from Broddington vanished in a rush, lost in the wake of the Solent’s deepening blue waters and the island’s beckoning greenery.

“What is that building?” Ariana questioned, completely forgetting that she and her husband had not spoken a word since yesterday.

“Trinity Church,” Trenton supplied, following her line of vision. “It’s Ryde’s most graceful structure, enhanced by exquisite gardens and surrounding villas.”

“And that?” Ariana asked eagerly.

“That’s the Club House of the Royal Victoria Yacht Club. The Prince Consort laid the first brick there himself, almost thirty years ago. The architectural design is magnificent. …”

“Do the yachts race?” Ariana interrupted.

“Yes, of course.”

“Can we watch?”

Trenton’s lips twitched. “It can be arranged.”

“Oh, Trenton, what is that impressive structure over there?” Her eyes widened, and she answered her own question before Trenton could open his mouth. “Is that the Queen’s Osborne House?”

“It is. If we were closer, you could see the bustle of activity that accompanies all of Victoria’s visits to Wight. By summer’s end, she will depart for Balmoral, and Osborne will grow quiet until Her Majesty returns in the fall.”

Ariana inhaled sharply. “Honeysuckle,” she breathed reverently. “And jasmine and poppies.” She raised her face to the skies, studying the heavens and listening intently. “A pair of white-throats,” she said, breaking into a smile. “Not very pleased with one another, judging from their argumentative tone. And a group of swallows, probably searching for food. I expect they shan’t be disappointed.” She cast a quizzical look at Trenton. “Are there many song thrush at Spraystone? Their tune … as well as that of the robin … are the most wonderful melodies to awaken to.”

“I suppose so … I couldn’t say.” Trenton squinted into the sunshine, locating the squawking white-throats. “Are there actually recognizable differences between birds, besides, of course, their sizes and hues?”

Ariana blinked. “Of course! That’s like wondering if all people are alike, other than their height and hair color!”

Amusement flickered in Trenton’s eyes, and, unconsciously, his mouth curved into the devastating smile that made Ariana’s heart lurch. “Forgive my ignorance. … I admit that birds are not my area of expertise. However, I’ve been awakened often enough by their twittering to assure you that a multitude of them are available at Spraystone for your exploration. Not to mention a bevy of other creatures.”

“You have animals?”

“Enough to satisfy even you,” he confirmed. “If you’d like, we can go directly to the barn so you can see for yourself.”

“Is Spraystone far from here?”

Trenton shook his head, coming to stand beside her and pointing down the island’s eastern coast. “Spraystone adjoins Bembridge, just several miles from Ryde Pier. A ferry will take us directly there.”

“The island has ferries?” Ariana looked surprised.

“Yes, Ariana,” he returned wryly. “Ferries … and coaches, as well. Contrary to your perception of a vast, deserted wilderness, thousands of people make their home on Wight.”

“I see.” Ariana digested that information carefully.

“Feeling more secure?” he taunted, his breath ruffling her hair. “Don’t be. Spraystone itself is every bit as isolated as you fear.”

/> Ariana’s eyes slid shut, a shiver going up her spine as she absorbed the implication of Trenton’s veiled threat. Their journey was ending; in a matter of hours she would be totally at her husband’s mercy.

The scandalous truth, Ariana admitted to herself, was that her trembling reaction to Trenton’s mocking reminder was not caused by fear alone. Equally as powerful as the dread that constricted her chest and made her knees quake was the staggering surge of desire that accompanied it.

She licked her dry lips, heady with the impact of her warring emotions. What’s happening to me? she wondered, nearly giddy from the sensation of the hot sun against her face, her closed lids. We haven’t even docked yet. Can the island’s magic truly be as potent as Theresa suggested?

Trenton’s fingers brushed the tingling skin of her forearm. “Welcome to Wight, misty angel,” he murmured. “Ryde Pier is just ahead.”