Free The Price of Pleasure by Kresley Cole

she’s leading us away from something. I’ve drawn a map of the island and marked each definite sign of her we’ve found—a net, a spear, obvious footprints—then weighted each item to calculate a mathematical probability of where she’ll be.”
    Ian looked at Grant as if he’d spoken in tongues. “I thought you were only good with math that involved pound signs. Well, where is she then?”
    Grant pointed at an elevation on the parchment. “She’s hiding high in the mountain.” He glanced up at the cloud-draped peak. “I hadn’t thought she’d climb up so far.”
    â€œIt makes sense. And it’s about the only place we haven’t covered.” Ian’s gaze followed Grant’s. “Can we make it up there today?”
    Grant turned to his ship, noting how she tugged at her anchor, then to the beach. “We have to. You see the rowboat?”
    Ian blinked against the rain. “The sea’s gone down about ten feet from it since morning.”
    Grant couldn’t hide his look of surprise.
    â€œYes, Grant, even I notice things.”
    â€œDid you happen to notice it’s supposed to be high tide?”
    Ian’s cocky grin vanished. “Storm’s coming?”
    â€œBig one.”
    Ian rapped a knuckle on the map. “Then let’s go.”
    An hour later, they picked up a trail of footprints in the mix of sand and earth and followed it to a clearing. A cave, more a small crack in the foot of the peak, came into view.
    Making his way inside, Grant lit a lantern, lifting it like a shield against the dark. Instead of the wet and mold he expected, he smelled a fire. Moments later, he could hear wood crackling. Triumph filled him and anticipation ran up his spine like a woman’s nail lighting up his back. One more corner…
    A body lay inside as though dead.

Six
    I s she alive?” Ian whispered.
    Grant nodded as they stepped closer. “I think she’s breathing.” The woman’s face was impossibly pale, her breaths shallow through cracked lips. Her clothes bagged on her frail body. Yet her hair was a fiery mass of red, looking anomalous with the rest of her.
    â€œMiss Scott?” Grant said, as Ian bent down and tapped her shoulder.
    She rose slowly, as though she ached, then rubbed her eyes and squinted. She didn’t seem surprised to find two strange men in front of her. In fact, she patted her disheveled ginger hair, coquettishly trying to neaten it.
    â€œMiss Scott, I’ve been sent here by Lord Belmont to find the Dearbourne family.”
    â€œThere’s only one of them left. Who are you?”
    â€œI’m Captain Grant Sutherland from England.”
    She tilted her head at him. “I’m Camellia Scott. Lately from somewhere in Oceania.”
    Ian chuckled. When Grant leveled a glare at him, he covered his mouth with a fist and coughed. “This is my cousin, Ian Traywick.”
    She looked him over, blushed, then gave him a girlish wiggly-fingered wave.
    What was it about Ian and women? “Can you tell us where Victoria is?”
    â€œHaven’t a clue,” she said with a casual sweep of her hand. His eyes followed it, noticing the pitted scars covering her fingers and palms.
    â€œYou don’t appear very excited to be rescued.”
    She shrugged. “I couldn’t muster excitement if the queen herself came to this island.” She stared at the ground, getting lost in some memory. “I saw her once in a procession. She had this plumed hat and green riding habit that I would have given my right hand for—”
    â€œMiss Scott,” he interrupted.
    She looked up. “We still have a queen?”
    Impatience flared through Grant with each crack of lightning. A feral girl had kept him from getting his men to safety and now an addled nanny was thwarting him as well. “Miss Scott—”
    Ian leaned in to whisper, “Grant,