"I should love to hear about it," Olympia whispered. The library seemed to be filled with a dreamlike quality, as if the entire room, complete with Jared and herself inside, had been transported to another place and another time.

"It has to do with a pair of lovers who were not allowed to marry because the young woman's father was opposed to the match."

Olympia took another sip of brandy. "How very sad. What became of the lovers?"

"Their passion was such that they were determined to be together," Jared said. "So they arranged to meet secretly at night on the beach of a hidden cove."

"I suppose they talked until dawn." Olympia said wistfully. "No doubt they whispered words of poetry to each other. Confided their most intimate secrets. Dreamed of a future together."

Jared looked at her. "Actually, they spent the time making passionate love."

Olympia blinked. "On a beach?"

"Yes."

Olympia cleared her throat. "But wouldn't that have been somewhat uncomfortable? I mean what with the sand and all?"

Jared smiled slightly. "What is a little sand to a pair of lovers who are desperate for each other?"

"Yes, of course," Olympia said hastily. She hoped she had not sounded too terribly naive.

"And besides, this was a very special beach. It was sacred to a certain island deity who is said to have taken pity on the lovers."

Olympia was still not entirely convinced that making love in the sand was a particularly sound notion, but she certainly did not intend to argue the matter. "Do go on, sir. Tell me the rest of the legend."

"One night the lovers were discovered by the woman's irate father. He killed the young man."

"How terrible. What happened?"

"The young woman was grief-stricken, naturally. She waded out into the sea and disappeared. The deity in charge of the beach was outraged. He punished the young woman's father by turning all the sand on the beach into pearls."

"That was a punishment?" Olympia asked, startled.

"Yes." Jared smiled coolly. "The man was so excited about the discovery of the pearl beach that he went home to rouse the rest of his family. But the deity cast a magic spell over the cove, making it invisible to all those who searched for it."

"So this pearl beach was never found?"

Jared shook his head. "To this day the islanders still talk of it. Many have searched for it. But no one has ever seen it. It's said that it can only be discovered by a pair of lovers whose passion is as great as the two who used to meet there and make love in the moonlight."

Olympia sighed. "Just imagine risking all for love, Mr. Chillhurst."

"I have begun to believe that a great passion is like a great legend," Jared said quietly. "It is worth any risk."

A shiver coursed through Olympia. She felt first hot and then cold. "You are no doubt correct, sir. In any case, I thank you for the tale. I have never heard it and it is a lovely legend."

Jared looked deeply into her eyes. Something dark and disturbing moved in his own gaze. "Yes," he said softly. "Quite lovely."

In that moment Olympia could almost believe that he was speaking of her, not the legend. A sense of excitement stirred deep within her. It was similar to the thrill she got when she pursued a legend, but it was far more powerful. It left her feeling oddly shaken, a little giddy.

"Mr. Chillhurst… ?"

Jared removed his watch from his pocket. "I see it is very late," he said with obvious regret. "It is time I went back to my cottage. Perhaps tomorrow night I shall have an opportunity to describe a rather unusual custom that was practiced by the inhabitants of another South Seas island which I chanced to visit."

"I should like that very much," Olympia breathed.

"Good night, Miss Wingfield. I shall see you at breakfast."

"Good night, Mr. Chillhurst."

A shimmering sense of longing had welled up within Olympia as she accompanied Jared to the front door. She had stood watching as he walked off into the night and became one with it.

And then she had gone to bed and dreamed of being kissed by Jared on a beach scattered with pearls.

Now, in the bright light of day, she listened to him tell tales to her nephews and realized that Jared had very quickly become an important part of her small household. She was learning a great deal about this man who had the face of a pirate and she was finding that she liked him very much. Too much perhaps, she thought.

She must not forget that someday Jared would leave and she would again be alone with her library and no other adult companion with whom she could share the intellectual pleasures it contained.

At that moment Jared glanced up and saw her standing just inside the schoolroom. The corner of his mouth curved faintly.

"Good morning, Miss Wingfield. Was there something you wanted?"

"No, no," Olympia said quickly. "Please carry on. I merely wished to observe the lesson."

"By all means." Jared indicated the globe. "We are studying geography this morning."

"So I see." Olympia took a step closer.

Ethan grinned. "We are learning all about the West Indies, Aunt Olympia."

"And about a pirate named Captain Jack," Robert added.

Jared cleared his throat slightly. "It should be noted that Captain Jack was a buccaneer, not a pirate."

"What's the difference?" Hugh demanded.

"Very little, in point of fact," Jared said dryly. "But some people are quite insistent upon the distinction. Buccaneers sailed with a commission. In theory they were authorized by the crown or by local authorities in the West Indies to attack enemy ships. But it got rather complicated at times. Why was that, do you suppose, Robert?"

Robert straightened his shoulders. "Because so many different countries have colonies in the West Indies, I expect, sir."

"Precisely." Jared smiled approvingly. "Back in Captain Jack's time there were English, French, Dutch, and Spanish vessels in the region."

"And the buccaneers were not supposed to attack the ships and towns of their home countries, I'll wager," Ethan said. He frowned. "That would mean the English would have sailed against the French and the Spanish and the Dutch. The French would have attacked the English and the Spanish and the Dutch."

"It does sound rather complicated," Olympia said. She abandoned any pretense of being an interested observer of Jared's instructional methods. She hurried across the room to join her nephews. "What was this about a venture across the Isthmus of Panama in search of treasure?"

Jared's smile was slow and mysterious. "Would you care to join us while I tell the tale, Miss Wingfield?"

"Yes, indeed," Olympia said. She smiled gratefully at Jared. "I should like that very much. I am quite interested in such tales."

"I understand," Jared said softly. "Come a little closer, Miss Wingfield. I would not want you to miss a single thing."


Squire Pettigrew arrived at three o'clock that afternoon. Olympia was back in the library when she heard the clatter of the gig's wheels in the drive. She rose from the desk and went to the window to watch Pettigrew alight from his carriage.

Pettigrew was a heavily built man in his late forties. At one time he had been accounted a handsome fellow and he continued to act as if every female in the neighborhood still found him irresistible. Olympia did not understand what anyone had ever seen in the squire.

The truth was, Pettigrew could be a dreadful bore although Olympia was much too polite to say so. She knew that she was probably not a very good authority on the subject. After all, she found the majority of the males in Upper Tudway extremely dull and uninspiring. Their pursuits and interests rarely coincided with hers and men did tend to lecture so to females. Pettigrew was no exception. As far as Olympia could ascertain, his chief passions consisted of hounds, hunting, and farming.

Nevertheless, she knew very well that she was indebted to him for handling her uncle's periodic shipments and she was truly grateful for everything Pettigrew had done for her.

The library door opened just as Olympia sat down again. Pettigrew swaggered into the room. The strong scent of the eau de cologne he favored wafted ahead of him.

Pettigrew traveled quite frequently to London and took advantage of the opportunity to stay abreast of current fashion. This afternoon he was attired in a pair of trousers that were trimmed with an array of small pleats. His frock coat was extremely snug and cropped at the waist. The back of the coat fell in two long tails that reached his knees. Beneath it he wore an elaborately pleated shirt. His cravat was so high and rigid that Olympia suspected it was held in place with some sort of stiffener.

"Good afternoon, Miss Wingfield." Pettigrew gave her what was undoubtedly meant to be a charming smile as he walked toward the desk. "You're looking very fine today."

"Thank you, sir. Please sit down. I have some interesting news for you."

"Do you indeed?" Pettigrew swept the long tails of his coat aside with a practiced motion of his hand and sat down. "I suspect you are about to tell me of your uncle's latest shipment of goods. Never fear, my dear, I have already received word of it and stand ready to assist you, as always."

"That is very kind of you, sir, but the good news is that I will no longer require your services for such matters."

Pettigrew blinked rapidly several times as if he had a speck in his eye and then he went very still. "I beg your pardon?"