A Sneak Peek at Her Secret Rogue
PROLOGUE
Galápagos Islands, Ecuador
HMS Beagle
October 8, 1835
Misty moonbeams streamed through a skylight in the cabin Anthony St. Briac shared with his friend, Charles Darwin on board the HMS Beagle. Blinking in the silvery light, Anthony tried to turn on his side, but his long legs were tangled in the gently swaying hammock. As he lay there, restless, an insect bite on his calf began to itch.
Was Darwin about to loom over him and announce it was time to get up? Anthony stifled a groan, remembering their plan to rise before dawn, row from their anchorage ashore to James Island, and remain there for several nights while the Beagle sailed off in search enough fresh water to carry them through their looming voyage across the Pacific. Glancing over in the darkened cabin, Anthony was relieved to see that the brilliant young naturalist still slept contentedly in his own hammock, nearby.
Anthony closed his eyes and drew a slow breath. He focused on relaxing his limbs. On nights like this when sleep eluded him, it helped to imagine that he was back in England, either in Cornwall with his eccentric, rather wonderful family or in London, where he kept a home of his own. A pleasantly muddled memory drifted back, of riding his father’s horse, Hugo, in Hyde Park…years ago. It was early morning, long before the fashionable hour when the Beau Monde arrived to trot along Rotten Row. Anthony could almost smell the fresh meadow grass, see the golden light filtering through the leaves of the plane trees, hear the birdsong. Hyde Park was an oasis of green amid the bustling city. It was peaceful enough until he saw a young lady riding toward him, her slim back erect, the feathers on her hat bobbing slightly. Through the mists of time and sleep, he recognized the Honorable Frederica Redfield. No sooner had Anthony greeted her than she surprised him bringing her horse alongside Hugo and declaring, “Perhaps you were not aware that I intend never to marry. I have no time for rogues like you.”
It seemed then that she was shaking him. Laughing softly, Anthony murmured, “You are very bold.”
The voice that replied was loud and male. “I’m glad you find me amusing! Now get up, St. Briac. We have a new adventure in store today.”
Anthony returned to reality with a jolt. Opening his eyes in the shadows, he beheld Charles Darwin standing over him. “I was dreaming.”
“I assumed so, old fellow. You have never spoken to me in that seductive tone of voice.” His friend chuckled. “Missing someone?”
As he disengaged his tall, powerful frame from the hammock and rose, Anthony considered the question. In truth, he hadn’t laid eyes on Frederica Redfield for more than five years, and it wasn’t as if their brief flirtation had come to anything. He hadn’t even kissed her.
But, mused Anthony, perhaps that was the reason she occasionally appeared in his dreams…the frisson of desire lingered: that moment when Freddie wanted him to kiss her, to touch her, before she discovered that he’d been using her to unmask her father’s crimes.
Darwin pulled a shirt over his head of thinning brown hair. “Do get dressed! Unless you’ve changed your mind?” Lifting a brow, he added, “Perhaps you’d like to go back to sleep.”
“Devil take it.” Anthony reached for his own clothing. “I’m coming!”
Invariably, he agreed to accompany Darwin because he didn’t want to miss a chance to discover something amazing. They had already unearthed countless natural treasures during their four-year expedition, traveling not only by ship, but also walking and riding hundreds of miles in wild places like Brazil, Chile, and Tierra del Fuego. With Darwin, Anthony had collected fossils, bones of giant beasts, exotic insects, and had even discovered new species of animals. They had searched out the small ostrich-like rhea while riding with the gauchos who ruled Argentina’s pampas. Along the way, the two men had learned to defend themselves with pistols, rifles, and knives while amassing crates of specimens to send ahead to their colleagues in England. It had been a grand, if grueling, adventure – and Anthony was changed forever. Glancing at his rough-hewn visage in a small shaving mirror nailed to the bulkhead, he saw a tanned, unshaven man who appeared transformed from a Regency buck into an uncivilized pirate.
Papa would be proud, Anthony thought with a wry smile.
Darwin propped himself against the bulkhead and pulled up his loose canvas pants. “Of course, Syms will accompany us,” he said, referring to his young assistant, “as well as Mr. Bynoe. The servants will bring our gear and provisions. We shall erect a camp on the beach.” He rubbed his hands together. “I am looking forward to having this extended time to examine the tortoises, lizards, and birds of James Island. Perhaps we will begin to understand the differences from one Galápagos island to the next.”
Anthony nodded. There was no telling what they might unearth on James Island, and he had no intention of missing out on those moments of discovery. “I have been thinking about the birds. I trust you have been making careful notes about all you have captured on these islands, so we will know exactly where each bird was found.” Pausing, he reached for his own small notebook and held it up. “I have.”
Darwin wrinkled his high forehead. “I confess that my latest bout of seasickness has prevented me from recording those details as I usually would…”
Before he could continue a voice interrupted them from the open doorway. “Good morning, gentlemen!”
Anthony looked over to see Terrance Buskin, a younger classmate from Cambridge University, who had recently been employed as a secretary for Nicholas Lawson, the Governor of the Galápagos Archipelago. When the men of the Beagle had visited Lawson on Charles Island, Terrance asked to join their party for the duration of their time in the Galápagos, announcing that he could serve as a guide of sorts.
“I trust you are hungry?” Terrance asked now. “I’ve organized a proper breakfast for you both.”
Darwin glanced over at Anthony with a wary smile. “Did I mention that Buskin volunteered to teach Cook how to prepare tortoise soup?”
“No, you did not.” Anthony lifted both brows.
Terrance Buskin had rubbed him the wrong way since their days at Cambridge. It was difficult to explain, even to himself, why he could hardly bear to be in the same room with the solid, fair-haired Buskin. Although Terrance was helpful to the point of annoyance, Anthony’s instincts told him the younger man was also quietly competing with him.
Just then, Anthony’s stomach made a grumbling sound, loud enough for the others to hear.
Darwin gave a laugh and clapped Terrance on the shoulder. “Breakfast? Very thoughtful of you.” Glancing over, he added, “And your stomach clearly agrees, St. Briac.”
Anthony managed a smile. “Quite.”
*
On James Island, the servants pitched a tent on the beach, searching out a rare spot that wasn’t riddled with burrows of the bizarre iguanas that roamed the volcanic island.
Working side-by-side, Charles and Anthony collected an array of flora, fauna, and rocks, even more than they had found on the other Galápagos Islands they’d previously visited. Darwin was aided by Syms Covington, the nineteen-year-old cabin boy and fiddler who had been trained as his assistant. Syms was especially adept at the necessary work of shooting and skinning the many birds and other small animals, freeing Darwin to concentrate on making his copious notes.
The Galápagos Islands were an otherworldly assemblage of dormant volcanoes and stunted trees growing out of black, rocky ground. Everywhere Anthony looked, it seemed that he beheld large numbers of huge tortoises and iguanas and an abundance of birds.
On their last evening on James Island, the men gathered at their beach camp while the servants cooked the meat of a giant tortoise for their supper. Anthony sat with Charles and Syms, as Terrance napped inside the tent. Despite the setting sun, the sand was burning hot.
Opening his collecting bag to reveal the day’s specimens, Anthony withdrew two dun-colored birds. One had a thinner beak, while the other was smaller and had a thicker, rounder beak. They were the latest in a series of twenty-five similar birds.
“Look at these,” he remarked. “It seems that each type we have discovered is different, yet all appear to be finches.”
“I cannot agree,” Charles replied firmly. “In fact, I daresay we have discovered two dozen entirely new species. Their plumage, beaks, and other notable attributes are somewhat different from any type of finch we encountered in South America.”
Anthony began to reply but thought better of it. Although he and Darwin might both be twenty-six years of age, his friend’s experience in the natural world was greater. Anthony was only on board the Beagle because Charles had asked Captain Fitzroy if he might bring his friend along as a sort of assistant. Leaning back against one of the large black rocks, Anthony smiled and surveyed the ugly, charcoal-gray marine iguanas who lounged on the volcanic rocks above them, powerful legs outstretched in the heat.
“No doubt you are right.” He flashed a smile. “Again.”
Charles laughed. “Fortunately, we have been sending crates of specimens back to England all along our voyage. Scientists like John Gould, the ornithologist, will no doubt have the answers we seek.”
“Soon enough, we will be back on British soil.” Anthony said. “No doubt your reputation will precede us, my friend.”
“I confess, it can’t be soon enough for me. When we set sail, I never dreamed that four years later, we would still be so far from England. It’s thrilling to realize we are about to begin the voyage home. It is my ardent hope that nothing delays us, and we may step foot on English soil by next spring.” He sighed. “Or sooner.”
Anthony squinted at him in the golden-plum twilight. “You are homesick.”
“Of course! Aren’t you?” Charles ate a last bite of tortoise meat and pushed the tin plate away. “The only thing I don’t look forward to is listening to my sister Susan urge me to marry. Our years at sea have been a welcome reprieve from the strictures of daily life in England.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to bear those strictures after we return?”
“I suppose I won’t have a choice…my father already believes I have only embarked on this voyage to avoid the responsibilities of manhood.” Smiling, Charles gestured toward his canvas pants and open shirt. “Do you suppose we can continue to wear these comfortable clothes in London?”
“I would love to try. No doubt my father would approve.” His voice was tinged with irony as he thought of the contrast between Darwin’s stern parent and his own.
“Ah, yes,” agreed Charles. “The famous Justin St. Briac. He has quite a reputation as a libertine and pirate.”
“True, but I must say Papa has reformed since meeting my mother. At least as much as possible, considering his nature.” The warm breeze and talk of home caused Anthony to feel reflective. “You have met him. He expected me to mold myself in his image when I became a man, to fill my days with swordfights and the seduction of beautiful women. Papa found my interest in natural history both shocking and concerning.” Anthony gave a short laugh.
“I seem to recall that you did follow in his footsteps as a seducer of women, especially during our visits to port cities.” Charles uncorked a bottle of hard cider, took a drink, and passed it to Anthony. “Our parents could not be more different.,” he said ruefully. “Mine desires that I become a minister rather than a pirate.”
“I had to assure Papa that he and I are more alike than he imagined. I too wanted to sail away from the dull routines of everyday life…I just want to have different sorts of adventures on my voyages.” Anthony drank some of the cider and stretched his legs. “What will you do when we are back in England?”
“Beyond our work, I am not certain. Truthfully, I don’t want to think about it yet.” He sighed, and his sunburned face darkened. “What about you, St. Briac? Will you take a wife and seek a conventional profession?”
“A wife?” The very idea was foreign to him.
“You enjoyed your share of dalliances during our university years. Surely someone has sparked more…tender emotions within your charming but cynical heart?”
“That sounds like something your sister would say to you.” Anthony raked a hand through his disheveled black hair and allowed, “Well, perhaps. Very briefly. But the lady in question came to despise me, so it’s not worth thinking about.”
“Despise? That’s a strong word. When did you last see this young lady?”
How odd, thought Anthony, that he was being made to think about Frederica again. First there was that dream about meeting her in Hyde Park, and now he was fielding questions about her from Darwin…after all these years. “1829? Maybe even 1828. And really, it was nothing. No doubt she left an impression simply because she made it quite clear she never wants to lay eyes on me again.”
“Does this hard-hearted lass have a name?” Charles queried.
He shook his head, deflecting the question. “By now, she is doubtless married to a nobleman and has children.” Seeking to change the subject, he mused, “Think how many years have passed. I wonder if everything will seem very different when we return at last.”
“I suspect that you will seem different to the people you left behind. They might not even recognize you, my friend.” Charles’s gaze touched Anthony’s tattoo, barely visible inside his open collar. “And I suspect you will find it even more difficult to adjust to the constraints of polite society than I will.”
“God, I despise that word: constraint.”
“Constraints will abound if you decide to court a young lady. You’ll meet chaperones, gossips, and overbearing parents at every turn,” Darwin predicted with sidelong glance. “There will be none of the recent freedoms you’ve enjoyed.” He waggled his thick brown brows. “For example, with Isabella Valverde, in Buenos Aires…”
Anthony frowned. “What of you? Don’t they have a long list of expectations for you when you return home? You’ll be leg-shackled by next summer, I suspect.”
Benjamin Bynoe, the surgeon’s assistant, was loping toward them from the far side of the beach. “I admit I’m torn, but I don’t think we have a choice, do we? We’ve had a long reprieve from proper society, but this grand adventure must come to an end. Serious work awaits us in England.” Charles yawned. “Meanwhile, I am tired. At dawn, Syms, Mr. Bynoe, and I will go by boat to explore a lake on the far side of the island, but I would like you and Buskin to head inland and make one last search for any birds or plants we may have overlooked. I can’t help fearing that we missed an important clue.”
Anthony managed to nod assent. He didn’t look forward to spending several hours alone with Terrance Buskin, but he told himself it would be their last day in the Galápagos. When they weighed anchor, Terrance would hopefully stay behind with Vice-Governor Lawson. Soon enough the HMS Beagle would be sailing across the Pacific Ocean, bound for New Zealand – the first stop on their journey home to England.
*
“Look.” Anthony pointed into a fissure of black volcanic rock where seven white, spherical eggs had been deposited. “Giant tortoise eggs.”
The morning sun was beating down and Terrance Buskin paused to mop his pale, gleaming brow. “Good God. Ghastly creatures, aren’t they?”
As if on cue, an enormous tortoise, weighing perhaps two hundred pounds, emerged from a thicket of scrubby bushes. Upon encountering Anthony and Terrance, it emitted a hissing sound and plodded off uphill, toward the greener center of the island.
“We can hope that fellow will lead us to a spring,” said Anthony. “Darwin and I have been told that the tortoises walk for miles inland to reach a water source, spend a few days drinking, and then return to lower ground.”
“Yes, yes,” Terrance agreed, nodding.
“You doubtless know much more than we do, having lived on the islands.”
“Not really.” Terrance’s broad face glistened. “I’ve been working in an office most of the time, assisting Governor Lawson. I confess I feel my talents are wasted there, and I crave an opportunity to put my education as a naturalist to good use! I know that I am capable of great things if given a chance.”
Anthony nodded, but his attention was fixed on the tortoise. He quietly followed it through the brush until he had a good look at the pattern on huge animal’s shell.
“What is it?” queried Terrance. The younger man was at Anthony’s elbow, panting slightly.
“I’ve just realized that the pattern on this tortoise’s shell is quite different from those we saw on Charles Island.” He paused, considering. “I think the tortoises on each island we have visited might have uniquely different shells. The question is, what does it mean?” As he spoke, Anthony reached inside his canvas bag and withdrew a slim blue notebook. Lifting the pencil that was attached to it by a chain, he scrawled his thoughts in the little book.
“Really,” said Terrance, “you and Darwin are riveted by the dullest things.”
Anthony laughed, but his thoughts were a far away as he jotted notes.
Tortoise shells different on each island. Why?
Discuss with Charles – what is the connection?
Different birds – could they all be finches, altered to fit their surroundings?
Deciding to talk to Darwin about his suspicions later, Anthony put the little book back in the canvas sack with the small assortment of leaves, birds, and insects collected that morning. Up ahead, the trees were taller and denser, and the tortoise had come to a standstill next to a group of other tortoises. They all had similar patterns on their shells, noted Anthony.
“Let’s see what has attracted them,” he said to Terrance.
At the top of the hill, the trees gave way to an opening. Reaching the row of tortoises who hesitated on the edge, Anthony saw that they teetered on the edge of a clifflike embankment. Far below, sparkled what appeared to be a freshwater spring. It was the first such body of water Anthony had seen on the Galápagos Islands.
He looked around at the tortoises. “No wonder you’ve all made this journey to the center of the island,” he said to them. Over one shoulder, he told Terrance, “It seems they must lumber inland to drink their fill before returning to the open land near the beaches. I’ll go down to have a closer look. The water might be salty, like the ponds we found on Charles Island. Are you coming?”
Terrance took a step backward. “The cliff is very steep,” he said doubtfully.
“I’ve done my share of climbing on cliffs and rocks in Cornwall. This should be easy enough.” As he spoke, Anthony pulled off his canvas shoes and rolled up his pants. “Hold onto my collection bag, won’t you?”
Handing the cloth bag with his precious notebook and specimens to Terrance Buskin, he turned and began to descend the precipitous sandstone cliff, grasping a thick root while reaching down with one bare foot for purchase on the slippery rocks. The familiar thrill of danger sent Anthony’s blood pulsing through his veins. He savored each moment.
Unable to resist the temptation to take a greater risk, Anthony again lowered his right foot, farther this time, reaching down into thin air. The root he clung to tore slightly, and his heart lurched. He brought his foot back up to safety and paused, considering where to transfer his hand next. There was another jagged bit of rock below the fraying root. He moved his hand to the rock, fitting his long fingers around the pointy curve, glad to feel the heft of it.
From the grassy edge of the cliff above, Anthony thought he heard Terrance say something, but the other man’s voice was muffled by the breathing of the tortoises and the gurgle of the water below.
Glancing down, Anthony saw that it was further to the spring than he had realized.
He held fast to the cliff with one hand and reached down once again with his foot. There was a ledge of sorts a few feet lower. Was it too far? The muscles in his left thigh contracted, hard as steel, as he bent his supporting leg and stretched out the toes on his right foot, reaching down, searching for the cursed ledge.
At that very moment the rock began to crumble in his hand before it broke off entirely. Anthony could only stare in disbelief, scrabbling at the cliff for something, anything else to hold onto.
A blinding flash of terror came at him like lightning. He was falling fast, sideways into space, stopping only when the back of his head struck something sharp and hard as iron.
The world went black.
