Not that he didn’t think she was perfectly capable of surviving out here on her own. Caro was one of the most competent people he knew, male or female; it was one of the many things he loved about her. Most women of his acquaintance would have been swooning about on the sand right now, bemoaning their fate. Caro merely looked disappointed at the size of his pocket knife.
Max let out another snort of amusement. She hadn’t been disappointed by the sight of his chest, though. She hadn’t been able to look away when he’d stripped off his shirt.
The knowledge buoyed his spirits immensely.
He’d done a better job of pretending not to notice her body, although it had been a Herculean task. When she’d removed her damp dress, petticoat, and stays, it had taken a great deal of fortitude not stare at the tantalizing outline of her body so barely concealed by her chemise. He’d wanted to gather in his arms and never let her go, but such a move would have been met with either astonishment or fury from Caro.
He would have to bide his time.
Realizing he’d reached their clothes, Max gathered them up and started back along the sand.
Chapter 6
Caro had gathered a decent pile of driftwood by the time Hayworth returned. He arranged their still-damp clothes over some nearby rocks, then approached her with a grin.
“I have another surprise. When I picked up my jacket, I discovered my pocket watch.”
The metal case glinted as he held it up. “It appears to be solid gold.” He sent her a sideways, questioning look. “Which is odd.”
“Why is it odd?”
“Well, this must be worth a few hundred pounds, at least. If I’m so short of money, how come I haven’t sold it, to pay off some of my debts?”
Caro cursed inwardly. Was he trying to catch her out in her lie? Or did he truly not remember his own lofty position?
“It has sentimental value,” she said quickly, praying it was true. “It belonged to your father. You couldn’t bear to sell it.”
Her pulse pounded as he flipped open the case and peered at an inscription engraved on the underside of the lid. Please, God, it hadn’t been a gift from a friend, or, worse still, a mistress. If it said ‘To Max, from your darling Sally,’ or something equally damning, she would be in a whole world of trouble.
“H.E.C.” he read.
Caro breathed a silent sigh of relief at her lucky guess. “That stands for Henry Edward Cavendish. Your father.”
“Ah. Excellent.” He snapped the cover shut. “Not that having a watch will be very useful here. It’s not as though we’ll be receiving any visitors.” He suddenly slapped his open palm against the back of his neck. “Ugh. Something bit me!”
“We need to make a fire. Smoke will keep the insects away.”
“True, but how? If you think I’m going to spend hours rubbing sticks together, you can think again. One of my lieutenants tried it once, in Spain, and all he got for his trouble was blistered palms and an aching back.”
“You won’t need to rub sticks together.”
His lips gave an amused little curl. “You’ve got a tinderbox hidden under that delightful chemise, have you? A brace of pistols, perhaps?”
Caro tried not to flush at the reminder of her state of undress. “Sadly not, but we can make a fire with that.” She pointed at the timepiece in his hand.
“How? The hands are steel, I grant you, but they’re tiny, and we don’t have a flint to strike against them.”
“No, look.” She held her hand out, and he passed her the watch. She flicked it open. “The glass is curved. We can use it like a prism, to focus the sun’s rays onto some tinder.”
Caro bit back a little smile. This was one practical skill she had learned in Brazil, even though she and the twins had only done it for fun, and not for necessity. They’d burned patterns into leaves and set fire to Louisa’s straw bonnet with their father’s magnifying glass.
She glanced upward. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any sun.” Despite the oppressive heat, the sky was overcast. “But as soon as those clouds disappear, we can try it.”
Hayworth nodded. “Let’s make a shelter, then. It’s bound to rain at some point. We’ll need to keep dry, and so will our tinder.” He glanced up at the trees. “I don’t think we should build directly under a coconut palm. I’ve heard of people being killed by falling coconuts.”
Caro wondered if he’d heard those tales from the cousin he’d been visiting in India, but held her tongue. Perhaps he really didn’t remember that part of his life. It seemed odd, that he should remember some things, but not others, but she was certainly no expert on head injuries.
He picked up a palm frond and began to sweep the area clear of debris. “This is a good spot. The rocks will shelter us from the worst of the weather.”
