As Emily saw Justin, she shivered, realizing how chilled she had been. He sat with his long legs sprawled before him, his head inclined toward the table. As she watched, he drew a fresh sheet of paper to him

and continued making furious marks, his hand flying across the page. His hair gleamed in the lantern

light like damp silk. Emily wanted to wind her fingers through it, to bring it to her lips and dry it with a whisper of her breath.


The towel fell from her fingers as she drifted toward him, remembering his earlier explosion. He pulled

off his spectacles to rub his eyes, then glanced up, slanting her a smile that made the fire in the stove

cool by comparison.


She dared to peek over his shoulder. His arm curled to shield his work, then relaxed in surrender to her curiosity. His casual posture did not deceive her. Her heart did an unbidden flip at his trust.


She hummed a few shy notes under her breath. "Something new?"


"Very." He shuffled the papers so she could start at the beginning.


Her hair brushed his cheek as she leaned over his shoulder. The wordless melody warbled from her throat, growing in confidence with each enchanting bar. As the notes tapered to an end, a lilting echo

hung in the air.


She lifted her head to find Justin's eyes narrowed in a lazy appraisal that could not quite hide their hungry glitter. Emily leaned forward, lured by the irresistible curve of his parted lips.


Penfeld's applause broke the spell. "Bravo, master! One of your finest, I do believe."


"Thank you, Penfeld," Justin replied. Wariness tensed his jaw as he tore his gaze away from hers and began to roll the papers. "What did you think?"


Somehow to Emily it didn't seem enough to murmur "Wonderful" or some other benign praise. She struggled to find words to express her brimming heart. "It began like a gentle rain, all soothing and safe. But then something dangerous happened, something free and joyous like a burst of thunder and lightning. Because of it, nothing will ever be the same again."


Justin's hands stilled.


"Do you have a name for it?" she asked.


A ghost of a smile played around his lips. He swiveled on the barrel to face her and she heard once again the joyous strains of his song. "I call it 'Emily.' "


* * *


A new melody began that day, weaving its shy strains through the sunny days and lush tropical nights

that followed. It whistled through Emily's head as she splashed in the waves with the children. It danced with elfin feet across her heart as she trailed Justin through the fields, catching his hat in her hands when

a gust of wind blew it astray. It haunted her serenity each night as she sipped her rich coffee and beneath her lashes watched him scribble his symphonies in a pool of lantern light.


She found herself standing alone in the hut one morning, Justin's letters to Claire Scarborough clasped in her trembling hands. She'd never had any qualms about reading anyone else's mail, so why was she so reluctant to read her own? She held a letter up to the window. Sunlight filtered through the worn envelope, illuminating the bold strokes of handwriting within. Emily quickly lowered it. The morning was simply too bright to be dimmed by old memories and fears, she thought, tucking the packet tenderly back into its hiding place. For now it was enough to know that Justin had remembered her.


She awoke that moonlit night to the discordant drumbeat of her own heart. A hoarse moan tore through the silence. Justin was dreaming again.


Her blankets fell away as she scrambled across the hut. Her hand brushed his fevered brow. She was helpless to explain even to herself her frantic desire to soothe him. Was Nicky haunting him tonight? Or was it her father, his brilliant smile faded, his merry brown eyes glittering not with laughter but accusation? Pain twitched in the grooves around Justin's mouth, and suddenly it didn't matter who his demons were. She wanted only to banish them.


She lay down and curled into his side. Her palm crept across his bare chest, coming to rest over his heart. His restless thrashing eased, then stilled completely. His groan was one of contentment as he drew her into the shelter of his arms and buried his face in her hair.


* * *


Feathers tickled Justin's nose. He wiggled it, sniffing back a sneeze. Aroma filled his nostrils, a scent so rich and pure it was rendered exotic by its sheer simplicity. Vanilla. It assaulted his brain with a longing

for an England he barely cared to remember. It made him crave civilized delights like Gracie's cookies

hot from the oven and sprinkled with cinnamon. Scones rolled in sugar and wrapped around steaming peaches. Emily dipped in Stardust and laved with melted moonlight.


His eyes flew open. Emily?


His nose nested not in feathers, but in her curls. Her body twined around his in drowsy innocence. She was as fervent in sleep as in wakefulness. Her thigh was flung across his leg and her hand lay in a gentle cup over his abdomen. The tempered glow of dawn caressed her face.


The craving in Justin's stomach shot to his groin with merciless swiftness. He shifted his hips. To hell

with cookies and scones, he thought. He wanted a taste of Emily. He wanted to gorge himself on her tender body until they were both sated. It was torture enough to rise each morning to find her huddled under her own blankets, her pert rump tilted to the ceiling. But to emerge from the fog of sleep to find

her curled around him like some sweet wanton? He felt so hard it might take only one of her artless wiggles to shatter him. Careful not to disturb her, he reached down and freed a button of his dungarees.


She'd become more than a burden to him in the past few days. She'd become an obsession. He struggled to treat her with the same gentle affection he showed the children, but the sharp edge of his desire was only whetted by her merry smile. She'd flourished like a tropical bloom in the wilds of the island. Sunlight had honeyed her skin and tipped her lengthening curls with gold.


His world belonged to Emily. She hovered around him like a gamin angel, lithe and funny. He pressed his eyes shut, battered by images of her bending over a flax plant at his side, wading through the shallow waves at sunset with Maori children dangling from her arms like crabs. He had even glanced up from his Bible Sunday at the meeting house to find her sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor, her expression pensive, her cheek resting against Dani's sleek head. He had stammered through five verses of Matthew, then lost his place entirely. When he had looked up again, she was gone.


He'd had his share of mistresses in London, both false and true, yet none of them could compare to the mischievous charms of the barefoot waif clinging to his side.


Emily stirred. Her lips parted in a delicate snore. A twinge of shame touched him. Here he lay, plotting

a seduction so lascivious it would have shamed even Nicky, and she was probably dreaming of starfish and sand castles. He ran his finger down her nose, expecting to find a dusting of cinnamon freckles on

his fingertip.


Her eyes fluttered open, then widened in a mixture of dread and horror that made him wonder if he'd sprouted fangs during the night. He ran his tongue over his teeth. They all felt reassuringly blunt.


Ruefully, he touched his bristled jaw. "I know I haven't shaved in a few days, but I'm not that frightful, am I?"


He must have been, because she struggled to untangle her leg and roll away.


He gathered her tighter into his arms, not willing to let her go without an explanation. "Why the terrible rush? Contrary to my staid reputation, I'm not averse to a little morning cuddle."


She gave a husky squeak. "But Penfeld-"


"-is sleeping."


A sonorous snore from beneath the window proved his words.


"So was I," she blurted out. "Sleeping, that is. Sleepwalking, actually. I must have stumbled and fallen

on you. Perhaps I struck my head. I should walk about and see if I'm dizzy."


She was halfway up when his arm snaked around her waist, jerking her back. He winced as her plush

rear wedged against the part of his anatomy that at the moment was too prominent to be seemly.


"If you're dizzy, you need rest," he said, hoping she would attribute the croak in his voice to drowsiness. "You know, for a good prankster, you're a terrible liar."


"That's not truel I'm a very good liar. All my teachers said so." She wiggled in protest.


Justin's beleaguered body reached its breaking point. He shoved her off him, then rolled on top of her, stilling her struggles with his weight. He laced his fingers through hers and imprisoned her hands above her head.


He arched his eyebrow in a wicked threat. "Now, suppose you tell me what you were doing on my pallet. Blowing pepper up my nose? Tying my blankets into knots? Planting brambles in my dungarees?"


She lowered her eyes, leaving him gazing at the velvety silk of her lashes. "I had a bad dream. I was afraid."


Her sheepish confession touched his heart. He knew only too well how it felt to awaken trembling in the dark. He imagined her creeping to his side, trusting him to chase away her monsters. He lowered himself, wanting only to kiss away her fears. Before his lips could touch hers, his hips grazed her bare belly. A shock of pleasure electrified him. He realized too late that swapping positions had only "worsened matters. The heavy fullness in his dungarees had become impossible to ignore. For both of them.