“No, in fact,” she admitted, “but you get the idea.Think of the most charming, most enticing person you know, give him the face of an angel, and then allow him to take your breath away on a daily basis. That was Peter Boyd. We followed him blindly and he led us on the journey of our lives.
“If Peter wanted to break inside the Vatican in Rome,” she listed, “we did it. If he wished to herd goats in the Alps, we did it. If he wanted to harvest pearls, or dance with a royal princess, or learn to hold his breath for four minutes—we found a way to do it.”
“You belonged to him,” North guessed solemnly. “You were lovers.”
Isobel watched him, trying to read criticism or disappointment in his tone. His expression was enigmatic. He appeared only attentive.
Isobel shrugged. “Peter Boyd had one very favorite among our group, and I was not her. He loved AnaClara, a Portuguese girl, the daughter of a renowned set designer. She was tall and serene and darkly beautiful where I was small and pale and...notserene. I was an amusement to him and a resource. I spoke more languages than any of the other Lost Boys.”
“The Lost Boys?”
“That is the name Peter gave us, the Lost Boys.”
“But you are not a boy.”
“It didn’t matter. When the group first began these far-reaching rambles, they counted only boys among their number. Then he began to invite AnaClara and me and another few girls. The name had already been established.”
“But did you ever... challenge this Peter Boyd? His choices or his whims?”
“At the time?” she mused, thinking back. “I did not.You asked if he was my lover—he was not, er, always. But I did love him. Every girl did. I’ve never known a single female of any age that did not fall a little in love with Peter Boyd. It pains me to say it, but I would have followed him anywhere. I did follow him anywhere. I followed him to Iceland.”
She clasped the railing of the brig and dropped back, allowing her weight to hang at an angle. “So now you know.”
“On the contrary,” he said gruffly, “I feel as if I have only scratched the surface.”
“Are you shocked?” she asked, standing straight again.
“Yes, a little,” he said. “If I’m being honest. But not the kind of shocked that is also appalled. More like the kind of shocked that means I’m in awe of the life you’ve led.”
She laughed, a bitter, humorless sound.
“You don’t believe me?” he asked.
“I think ‘awe’ is a bit of a stretch.”
“You forget the one thing I cannot tolerate,” he said.
She thought for a moment. “Becoming duke?”
“Beingbored,” he said.
She was going to clap back with some retort, to disprove what he’d claimed, but she came up short. Her girlhood had been anything but boring. She glanced at him. He watched her now with rapt attention. From the beginning, he’d always looked at her as if he was afraid he’d miss something if he looked away. The shimmers in her belly swirled to life.
“But why did this person bring you to Iceland?” he prompted.
“Peter wanted to see the volcanoes and experience the thermal pools and the strange northern lights in thesky,” she said. “We arrived in early spring and stayed through the summer. He made friends with this family I hope to visit, the Vagns.”
“This family simply... welcomed you into their home?”
She shrugged. “He had an aunt who was married to one of their relations. That was all it took with him—some small connection, real or imagined. He met people, and they wanted to be a part of his world. He told them some lie about his father being a wealthy investor who was scouting scenic locations around the world to build hotels.”
“And they believed him?”
“People believed whatever Peter Boyd told them,” she said sadly. “I believed him, even though I’d seen him lie to at least one person every day of our lives.”
“Believed him about what?”
“Well—” she said, and then her voice broke. She stopped, blinked, and raised her fingertips to her mouth.
