“It’s too late for that. They’ll see us.” He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her. “Here. I’m sure you didn’t expect to be outside so long.”
Poppy pulled the coat around her shoulders. He was correct—her flimsy wrap wasn’t enough, and she was grateful for the protection of the coat. “Are you sure we have to remain?”
“I’m sure that we’re within pistol range.” He glanced around. “But we can edge behind this rock and be much less conspicuous. Slowly, now.”
With his hands on her shoulders, he guided Poppy’s steps backwards a few feet until they were both in the lee of the large stone. The concealment was partial at best, but better than nothing at all.
The boat continued to edge closer to the shore as Poppy watched in growing concern. It appeared the boat was heading for the part of the beach further from them, yet it would only take one pair of eyes to see them and give the alarm.
She shifted, and felt Carlos’s hand on her shoulders.
“Poppy,” he said, his voice low and close to her ear. “You must stay perfectly still.”
She almost nodded, but stopped herself. “I understand.”
And so she found herself peering around the rock, watching a gang of smugglers as they beached a longboat and began to unload their cargo—stacks of identical crates. They carried them into the cave she’d noticed earlier.
The smugglers worked swiftly, but Poppy felt the growing bite of the cold sea air. Even in high summer, cool, damp breezes blew off the water. Despite Carlos’s coat, she began to shiver due to her forced stillness. Then Carlos’s arms circled her. Poppy dared to lean back into him, craving the warmth but rather terrified of her boldness.
“There’s twelve of them,” he said deliberately, as if committing facts to memory. “Four to row, and more to unload. They’re confident—no lookout at all.”
“Lucky for us,” she breathed. Squinting, she now saw a larger ship in the distance. The constant sound of the waves on the shore hid their voices, but Poppy dared not speak above a whisper. “How many trips will they take?” she asked. The smugglers might well be here all night. A full night in a man’s company would be extremely awkward to explain.
“Not many, I hope,” Carlos whispered back. “Though if all the men on the beach return to the ship, we can chance moving back to the stairs.”
As it happened, after only two trips, all the men reboarded the longboat and rowed swiftly back to the ship at anchor. “Can you see the name on the ship?” Carlos asked her.
She squinted into the darkness. There was a name painted on the bow, but it was indistinct. “No, it’s too far away. I think those little flags below the highest mast are red and white. Does that mean anything?”
“Not to me, but perhaps they can identify the ship again, should it come into harbor nearby.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Well spotted, Poppy.”
She smiled at his praise, despite the situation. They watched as the smaller boat rejoined its ship, and the figures scrambled up ropes to the deck. “I think they’re leaving.”
Carlos heaved a sigh of relief, his body relaxing. “Good. Let’s wait just a few moments longer. I’d rather the ship be well away before we move.”
The ship turned about and tacked away from the shoreline at last.
Poppy let out a long breath. She hadn’t quite appreciated how tense she’d grown over the course of the last hour, but she now felt the strain in her shoulders and, worse, the way the cold, damp air had stiffened up her muscles.
“I don’t know if I can make it up the stairs right now,” she confessed. “My legs feel like they’ve been replaced with driftwood. And is it possible for knees to rust?”
He laughed low in his throat. “I’m sure you don’t have a spot of rust on you. But this is not the best weather for your outfit. The sooner you get back to the house, the better.”
Poppy nodded, and took a step. Unfortunately, her cramped legs and the soft sand made her stumble almost immediately.
Carlos circled an arm around her and held her steady. She looked up and realized her face was inches from his own, and he was watching her with an inscrutable expression.
“Bella, tienes suerte que no te rapto y te llevo conmigo.”
“Excuse me?” Poppy squeaked.
“Nothing,” he murmured, leaning down.
The outline of his mouth was entrancing, and she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by such a mouth, to feel the heat of him when the rest of the world was so cold.
“Dime que te haga mío y lo haré. Una noche o todas las noches. He estado soñando contigo.”
Poppy’s eyes slid closed as she listened to the sound of his voice rolling over her. As for the words…well. She’d have to come back to that when she had sunlight and time to think. Truly, the beach was a different world in the nighttime. A much more dangerous one.
