Too Dangerous to Desire

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The Sea, 1819

’ll take that ’ere watch, nob, if you please.” Adam Westmore stared down the barrel of the gun and gritted, “I’d rather you shoot me.” The cheeky kid grinned, infuriating Adam even more. The indignity of it all! To be stripped of his most treasured possession by a dastardly brigand just out of swaddling clothes. Why, the kid couldn’t be more than fifteen!

“Please, Adam.” Teresa gripped her husband’s arm in persuasion. “Give him the watch. I’ll have the watchmaker fashion you another one as soon as we reach England.”

“Aye, Adam,” the cutthroat mimicked. “You’ll get another lovely watch just as soon as you reach England.” He stretched out his hand. “Now give me the bauble.”

A surly Adam didn’t budge.

Teresa hissed, “Adam,
please
.”

At last the desperate plea of his wife convinced Adam to do as the pirate bade. With a disgrun
tled sigh, he handed the fob watch over to the buccaneer.

“Thank you kindly,” the kid quipped.

Adam resisted the urge to flatten the impudent scamp’s nose.

The young scalawag then had the audacity to present the fob watch to his captain as a gift, for it had apparently caught the black devil’s eye.

Adam gnashed his teeth.

Amid the anxious whimpers of passengers and the grumbles of the crew, the pirate lot retreated across the deck of the
Hercules
, leaving the pas
sengers frightened but unharmed.

One by one the pirates returned to their ship, positioned broadside, clutching gold and silver, whiskey and wine—and Adam’s fob watch!

A rather rowdy cabin boy, perched in the rat
lines high above Adam’s head, suddenly cried, “Tell us your name, pirate capt’n!”

He was the last of the pirates to retreat—and the biggest of the brigand lot—with long black hair tied in a queue, eyes as blue as the sea, and a dark brow etched with a wicked grin. “Black Hawk.”

And with that, the pirate captain bowed, thanked the passengers for their generous “gifts,” and then climbed down the rope ladder, into the waiting rowboat.

As soon as every brigand was back aboard the pirate ship, the cannons aimed at the
Hercules
disappeared inside the dark portholes, and the schooner slowly sailed off.

Teresa clutched her breast and let out a noisy sigh. “Oh, thank heavens we’re all safe!”

Adam slipped a protective arm around his wife’s midriff. “Were you terribly frightened, my dear?”

“Yes!
” She smacked his arm. “How could you quarrel with a pirate—over a watch?”

Adam scowled at the piratical schooner sailing away, still disgruntled to have lost the fob watch. “But it was a wedding gift from you, Tess!”

She humphed. “I’m going to retire to our cabin. I have a profound need to scream into a pillow.”

Adam slumped his shoulders forward and watched his bride of two months skirt away in a huff. All right, so he had frightened her by re
sisting the pirate’s demand. But, devil take it, the brigand was a kid still wet behind the ears. It was a humiliating business, to be robbed by a child. And of one’s most beloved possession!

With a growl, Adam moved through the throng of still hysterical passengers, making his way to the cabin he and his wife shared. At least he still had his wedding ring. He fished the gold band from his pocket and slipped it back over his finger, content to have saved
one
valuable item.

Adam reached the cabin. He didn’t bother to knock on the door, walked right inside the room— and found Teresa curled on the bed, crying.

“I’m sorry, Tess.” He truly had not meant to panic her with his foolery. “This is not how I wanted our wedding tour to end.”

A pillow sailed across the cabin space and smacked him in the chest.

He closed the door and sighed. “We should never have left Italy; we should have stayed on the peninsula another month.”

“Don’t say that.” She sniffed. “Your mother needs our help. Don’t you remember her letter?”

He did indeed remember the correspondence:
My dearest Adam,

I know how happy you and Tess are in Italy, but I must beg you both to return to England. Your brother is up to his wicked ways again. I have not seen him a fortnight, and the tales reaching my ears about his monstrous behavior do not bear re
peating. Please come home. You are the only one who can help your brother. You know how he lis
tens to you.

Faithfully yours, Mother

“I don’t know what to do anymore.” Adam let out a heavy sigh of frustration, even failure. “I don’t know how to save my brother.”

Adam had tried over the years to drag his elder sibling away from the devastating debauchery that consumed his life. But his efforts, however promising at the start, always failed in the end.

Damian Westmore, the Duke of Wembury, dubbed the “Duke of Rogues” by his peers, was a villain through and through. He always re
turned to his familiar, sinful ways. Would he ever change? Adam wondered about that. And yet what else could Adam do? He could not give up on Damian. The duke was his brother.

“You will find the right words to say to your brother when the time is right,” said Teresa, wiping the tears from her eyes. “You always do.”

Adam smiled at his lovely wife. He walked across the room and gathered her in his arms.

“Oh Tess.” He kissed the rest of her briny tears away. “What would I do without you?”

If only his brother could find such marital peace. If only the duke didn’t rant and drink and wallow in darkness. It pained their mother to see Damian in so much distress. And it grieved Adam to see them both in such misery.

“You would perish at the hands of a pirate, that’s what you would do,” she quipped.

“You’re right, my dear. I could never live with
out you.” He kissed her softly. “Does this mean you forgive me for almost getting shot?”

She looked ready to protest, so he kissed her again—a little less softly this time.

She let out a dreamy sigh. “I suppose it does.”

Adam awoke with a start.

A crashing boom echoed overhead; the ship dipped perilously.

“Good grief, what is it now?” Teresa cried. “More pirates?”

“I don’t think so.” Adam grabbed his wife by the midriff to keep her from rolling out of the bed. The pirate raid had happened hours ago, besides . . . “The pirates already took everything of value. There’s no reason for them to return.”

His bride secure, Adam scooted to the edge of the bed and gripped an overhead beam for sup
port. The ship pitched violently then, sending him crashing into the opposite wall, smacking his head.

Teresa screamed and clutched the bed frame to keep from being tossed across the room.

Adam groaned, the pain in his head throbbing. Carefully he made his way to the other side of the cabin to collect his clothes.

“Stay here, Tess.”

He snatched his trousers. A bit woozy, he grap
pled with the confounding apparel, his balance precarious at best. At last draped in decent attire, he slipped on his boots and quickly donned a shirt.

He bussed her brow. “I’ll be back soon, luv.”

“Don’t go, Adam. Stay here with me.”

She was shaking, and he rubbed her back in re
assurance. “It’ll be all right, Tess. We’ve hit choppy waters, is all. I’m just going topside to see if the crew needs any help. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She squeezed his wrist. “Be careful, Adam.”

He nodded and left the cabin.

A grisly darkness filled the ship, the air brim
ming with moisture. Adam sloshed his way through the corridors, slowly filling with water.

The salty sea was spilling into the ship, the hatchway loose and ajar. Adam pushed through the deluge topside, blinded by the wicked spray and deathly darkness.

Choppy waters indeed. The wild tempest tossed the
Hercules
about like a rag doll. In the rough upheavals, Adam all but crashed backward down the hatchway. Arm swinging, he seized a thrashing rope for support and steadied his un
steady sea legs.

It was a sound English vessel; Adam had faith in its construction, its crew. The rig was built to withstand a brutal summer storm, surely. Besides, they were almost home. With each sizzle of light
ning, he could see the distant shadow of shore. There was no need to panic, to fret about the safety of his beloved bride belowdecks.

Stifling the creeping alarm in his breast, Adam thought it wise to offer the tars his support. He wasn’t a deft sailor, but if he could help in any way, he would.

Lightning flickered and spat. Adam spotted the rangy figure of the cabin boy, struggling with a stubborn brail. He was at the mercy of the lashing wind and combers, too weak to secure the loose rigging.

Adam pushed against the mighty gales. He wasn’t a hefty man himself, but he had more strength and stamina than the weary cabin boy lobbing about in the wind.

“Let me, kid!” he shouted, and grabbed the coarse rope between his hands.

Adam and the boy yanked at the brail to keep the mainsail flat against the boom, while sailors secured the canvas.

A bright spark of lightning hit the mainmast.

Adam blinked; colorful spots bounced before his eyes. It took seconds to register the hollers, the fear. He glanced up, squinting, the rain stabbing his eyes . . . but the flames burned and dazzled against the gloomy black sky.

Fire.

It snaked down the mainmast, a blistering
glow. The heat, the surge of electrical charge too potent to be washed away by the flicks of rain.

It engulfed the canvas, the rope; slithered down the mainmast and licked at the deck.

Sailors swatted at the flames; a crack of thunder erupted overhead.

The sharp sights and stinging sounds, the thumping pain in his head from his earlier mishap with the wall, crowded Adam’s befuddled mind, distracting him.

The wave hit, an icy slap against his every sense. He couldn’t breathe, dragged away by the stinging numbness of the water, swallowed by the lashing waves.

Adam thrashed and screamed; the sea filled his lungs. He spat and gasped, breaking the surface, his eyes burning with salt and smoke.

The ship was ablaze, floating away. It heaved and plunged in the shifting surge.

“Oh God . . .
Tess!
”

He flapped his arms, but he was a poor swim
mer. And the combers kept coming, pummeling him, pushing him deeper into the sea.

Adam struggled to keep afloat, to get to the ship—to Tess.

But in a matter of minutes, the charred wreck
age slowly dipped . . . and dipped . . . and slipped beneath the dark and churning waters.

With a hoarse scream, Adam beat the waves,
trying to get to the whirlpool of ruin. But each defiant lash against the current only pushed him farther and farther away from the rubble.

“Tess!
” he croaked, delirious with grief.

Something snagged on his ankle.

Death.

It beckoned him to the bottom of the sea—to Tess.

Spent, Adam surrendered to his sorrow; he stopped fighting the roiling waters.

But the weight at his feet shifted, rushed to the surface. Buoyant, the crate bobbed in the water and nestled against him.

Adam latched on to the wood and let out a sob.

Teresa was gone: his childhood playmate, his sweetheart, his bride! She had been with him his entire life. She
was
his life, his soul. She was the only good part of him . . . and
he
had snatched her away, the way he always snatched away ev
erything good and true.

His brother: the Duke of Wembury.

The cumbersome grief in Adam’s belly col
lapsed and burned like the wreckage of the
Her
cules
. A deep and unmoving rancor for the ignoble duke, so selfish, so evil, consumed him.