Too Dangerous to Desire (10 page)

The hate inside Adam twisted and burrowed its way into every pocket of his soul, darkening him, bleeding him of goodwill. If he could just wriggle one hand free, he would crush the devil’s throat—and take pleasure in doing it.

“Shall we begin?” said Dmitri. “My master is a very impatient man.”

“Fuck your master.”

Adam let out another howl. Steam sizzled from the blistering wound at his nipple, the stench of burning flesh ghastly.

“I think you should show my master a little more respect,” the devil warned. “Now tell me, is the woman still untouched?”

Adam was mute. One wrong word, and he might inadvertently put Evelyn in even greater harm.

Another tap of the hot iron poker.

Adam seized and clenched his teeth to refrain from shouting.

“Try to be a little more obliging,” said Dmitri. “My master does not want to take a whore for his wife. As a man, you can understand a husband’s desire to take a pure and innocent woman to his marriage bed. My master only wishes to know if his fiancée is still such a woman.”

Adam girded against the abuse, speechless. So that’s what the bloody “master” really wanted to know?

Dmitri tsked. “I see I will have to be a little more persuasive.”

The scorching iron dragged across Adam’s ribs, making him howl. The room was spinning. He could not get his eyes to focus. Darkness was coming to snatch him away again.

“There are other, more invasive ways to prove her innocence, you know? My master prefers I in
terrogate you, but if you continue to be stubborn, I can always examine her quim—”

“She’s innocent,” gritted Adam. He had not touched her in that way, and since she lived a shel
tered life, he suspected no one else had touched her, either.

But he had kissed her. And right then the sweet memory of their kiss eased the torment in his soul.

“Good. My master will be pleased to hear that.”

Adam resisted the urge to curse his master again. He had learned one blissful truth. Evelyn was still alive! And untouched, it seemed. Her fiendish fiancé intended to marry her before he consummated the union—and then murder her like his first wife.

Adam searched his weary brain, thinking about Evelyn’s harrowing plight. When was her betrothal to Vadik scheduled to be celebrated? Tomorrow night? Or tonight? Was it morning al
ready? But then the couple were to head for the mainland to be married. If he could just break free, there was still time to snatch her from Vadik’s monstrous hold.

But he was chained—and hanging.

Blast it all to hell!

A door opened.

A robust figure stepped inside the room and stormed, “What in bleedin’ hell is going on in here?”

Adam gathered what was left of his strength, and seized the moment of distraction to kick his legs into the air and knock Dmitri into the oppo
site wall.

There was a distinct thunk as the villain smacked his head against a hard surface and dropped to the floor.

Very nearly drained of life himself, Adam whis
pered roughly, “Get me down!”

But the mysterious figure in the doorway didn’t budge. “Who are you? What are you doing in my shop?”

With the door ajar, Adam had an opportunity to better explore his surroundings. And it was clear to him then he was inside a blacksmith shop: the perfect place to gather information, for it had a wide variety of torture devices—and it was no
where near Evelyn.

“Unlock me!”

The other man was unmoved by the curt command, though. “I think I’d better fetch the magistrate.”

“Wait!” Adam had to remember he was not a captain aboard ship, barking orders. He lowered his voice and rasped with more civility, “My name is Adam.”

The blacksmith pointed to the body on the ground. “And who’s he?”

“The devil.”

The heinous charge gave the burly smith pause. “I still think I should summon the magistrate.”

“You have to let me go!”

“How do I know
you’re
not the devil?”

“You don’t!” He sighed. “But I’m asking you to trust me.”

Clearly cross, the other man looked ready to protest, but he must have sensed it a wasted effort, for he grumbled something unintelligible before he raided a chest of tools for the key. “I’ll break your teeth if you misbehave.”

Adam fully believed the robust smith.

The man unlocked the shackles.

Adam’s arms dropped, and he groaned at the inflammation in his shoulders. He sat down on the ground with a loud grunt. His thoughts went round and round in his head; the room moved,
too. He had to breathe deep and hard to keep from fainting. There was still Evelyn to find. He had to stay awake for her sake.

“Thank you,” said Adam.

The man humphed in return. “You know, I have an order to make a dozen shackles for the local gaol.” He closely examined his handiwork. “If you damaged this one, you’re paying for it.”

Adam rubbed his bruised wrists and stood.

Vertigo brushed over him. But he quickly re
gained his balance and staggered toward the door, the sunlight guiding him.

“Wait a minute!” The blacksmith pointed toward the floor. “What the devil am I supposed to do with
him
?”

Adam glanced at Dmitri’s carcass. The man was still alive, breathing. But Adam had no time to waste on the brute anymore. It was fruitless to wait for Dmitri to rouse, he reasoned. The devil would never betray Evelyn’s whereabouts, even under duress. Adam suspected the fiend was ac
customed to doling out pain—and taking it when necessary. He was just too loyal to his bloody master; Adam needed greater help.

“Toss him into the forge,” suggested Adam before he dropped to his knees, crippled by the throbbing pulses in his head.

“Don’t
you
faint, too,” the blacksmith ordered,
as he crouched beside him. “What
did
the two of

you quarrel about?” “A woman.” The man snorted. “It’s always about a woman.” “Where am I?” said Adam. “Abbey Mills in Colchester.” Adam remembered the name of the small town.

It wasn’t too far from . . . “Do you know the Duke of Wembury?” The blacksmith looked at him as if he were
daft. “Aye, I do. We
all
here know about the Duke
of Wembury.” “Can you take me to him?” The other man cursed. “You’re just determined
to ruin my day, aren’t you?”

nm

he castle. It stood like a fortress, a mountain of hard, gray stone. Two lofty towers flanked the impres
sive keep, the spire rooftops invisible under the blinding light of the morning sun.

Adam stumbled toward the familiar entrance
way, each step a methodical effort. The blacksmith had refused to escort him straight to the door, for fear of the master within. And so Adam had to make his way to the castle alone.

The crippling anguish in his arms, the blister
ing wounds burned into his breast had ceased to stir pain. He was numb. Intent on only one objective: to get to the duke and seek help for Evelyn.

Adam approached the polished mahogany, skimmed his fingers across the ornate wood carv ing in the door, searching for the handle. He still could not see very well; color and light blurred together in his eyes. But the castle was his child
hood home, and he remembered every aspect of it well.

The latch was easy to find. Adam pushed open the door and stepped inside the main hall, quiet and cavernous. He closed the heavy barrier, the boom echoing throughout the large space.

Once he was safe inside the keep, the support in his legs buckled. With great effort, he tried to keep his battered body erect, but the vertigo threatening to snatch away his waking thoughts finally took hold of him, and he dropped to the ground in silence.

Adam opened his eyes.

He was inside the duke’s study. It didn’t look like the gloomy haven Adam remembered it to be. The windows, unmasked from heavy drapery, were bedecked in soft and diaphanous sheers. Sunlight streaked into the room and touched the ancient tomes on the bookshelves. And the smell. The musty smell so reminiscent of their father was gone, replaced by the tang of spirits and wood polish.

Adam was sprawled across the lounge. A figure hovered above him. He recognized Jen
kins, the butler. The old man dabbed a scented napkin over his brow, burning the wound at his temple.

Adam grimaced.

“Your Grace,” said Jenkins. “His Lordship is awake.”

Adam took in a loud breath through his nose.

The stark and familiar clip-clop of boots re
sounded as the duke circled the study desk. A for
midable figure, he stopped a short distance away from the furniture—and waited.

Adam exhaled a noisy breath. A great storm filled him. He had not seen the duke in four years, not since the night he had stabbed the man.

“Jenkins, I wish to speak with my brother alone.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The butler bowed and quietly vacated the room.

Adam observed his kin. He didn’t know what to say to his brother, their last meet so dark and bloody. A heavy sentiment anchored in his belly, a sense of shame for what he had done so many years ago.

“You look like shit,” said Damian.

Adam glanced down at his breast to find the wounds dressed, his chest wrapped in bandages. “I feel like shit, too.”

Damian crossed the room. He picked up a de
canter and filled it with a generous amount of spirits. “Here.” He approached the lounge. “Drink this.”

Adam accepted the glass. He regarded his elder brother with unease. It was there between them, the unspoken memory of their last encounter.

The brutal images stormed Adam’s weary brain. He relived the attack: the feel of warm blood on his hands, the grief in his belly, the anguish in his soul.

He shuddered. Words deserted him. He could not bring himself to mention that illfated night, to speak of their fraternal strife. He could not find the right sentiment to express his shame.

The duke rounded the study desk again and paused beside the window. “I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see you again.”

Adam downed the brandy with greed. It burned his innards like fire. But it sparked the ailing life within him, too. “I had not planned to return.”

The duke looked from the landscape to his brother. The admission seemed to displease him. Adam couldn’t imagine why, though. Not after what he had done to the man.

Fortunately the duke had survived the savage attack. He was married now with a daughter. No more the “Duke of Rogues,” according to Mother’s letters. Damian had found peace with his wife, Mirabelle: the very peace Adam had once wished for him.

But there was no peace for Adam. Or forgive
ness. So why intrude upon the couple’s newfound happiness? And he would have remained es tranged . . . but for Evelyn.

The duke must have realized Adam’s discomfi
ture, for he returned his attention to the window, the bright light caressing him. “Then why are you here?”

Adam stilled the fierce thump of his heart. “I need your help, Damian.”

“I can see that.”

Adam slowly shifted his weight and winced. He set the empty glass aside and grabbed his head, groggy with fatigue. He stilled, willing the dizziness away.

The vertigo under control, Adam said, “There is a woman . . . Evelyn . . . she is in danger.”

Damian looked away from the landscape. “What sort of danger?”

“She is kidnapped and imprisoned against her will.”

The duke appeared stumped. “Why do you seek my help? Why don’t you report the kidnap
ping to the authorities?”

“Because you are the ‘Duke of Rogues.’”

The duke’s eyes narrowed . . . and glowed. “I am the former ‘Duke of Rogues.’”

Yes, the duke had changed. Not in years, but in spirit. Adam could see the light in the man’s eyes: a light long lost under their father’s cruel hand. But
now that light was restored. Thanks to the duch
ess and the couple’s child, Adam had learned.

“Men still fear you,” said Adam.

“Men fear the law, too.”

“Not all men.” The thought of
him
stirred the bile in Adam’s belly. “Not the devil holding Evelyn hostage.”

“Do you care for the woman?”

Adam was disarmed by the blunt query—and the almost hopeful note in his brother’s voice. “I offered to protect her. There is nothing more be
tween us.”

“I see.” The duke clasped his hands behind his back. “Protect her from whom?”

“Her fiancé.”

Damian lifted a black brow. “Now I
really
see. I’m afraid I can’t help you, Adam.”

“You don’t understand, Damian.”

“I think I do. You’ve set your heart on a woman who belongs to another man, and from the look of your battered bones, her fiancé does not approve of your attachment.”

“I have not set my heart on her!” Adam punched the settee. “My heart still belongs to Teresa, and it
always
will!”

In response to the outburst, Damian was quiet. He appeared grieved by the allusion to Teresa. Adam sensed a twinge in his heart, too. But he had not come to lament about the past.

“Damian, Evelyn will die if I don’t do something.”

“Die?”

“Her fiancé is a fiend. He already murdered her sister; he will murder her, too!”

“Are you sure?”

Adam pointed to his bandaged torso. “Look at what he had done to me.”

The duke said dryly, “I would do the same if you tried to steal my wife.”

“It’s not like that, Damian. I
have
to steal Evelyn away. How can I leave her with a man like Father?”

Something flickered in the duke’s eyes, a memory perhaps. He appeared more perturbed. “Tell me what happened.”

Adam recounted the dreadful tale, every detail.

“Her father sold her?” said the duke. “To the man who murdered her sister?”

The darkness in Damian’s eyes was akin to a black flame. Adam sensed the paternal rage in him, the disbelief that a father could do such a thing to a child.

“Now
do you understand why I have to save her?” said Adam.

The duke slowly nodded. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “We were separated after the kidnapping.”

“Who is her fiancé?”

“I don’t know that, either.”

“Well, what
do
you know?”

“That her fiancé is rich and powerful, and he keeps a band of loyal henchmen around to do his every bidding.”

Damian snorted. “He does sound like Father.”

The former Duke of Wembury had housed a castle full of nefarious devils, too. Men to guard their mother and ensure she didn’t escape the keep. Men to torment him and Damian.

Adam said, “Will you help me?”

It was palpable, the energy between them. Once they were brothers, close friends even, but there was now a distance, an unfamiliarity to their bond. Adam had a desire to dispel the strangeness between them . . . yet it was a wist
ful wish. He had stabbed the duke. It was an un
forgivable act. Adam’s desire for repentance and reconciliation was his alone. The duke surely did not give one whit about him anymore.

“I suppose I must help you,” said Damian.

Adam had been prepared to beg the duke for assistance. He had not anticipated the man’s ready accord. But perhaps Damian’s paternal instinct had been riled? Evelyn was a woman lost, without a caring father. Her predicament might have inspired the duke to acquiesce, for it
wasn’t brotherly fondness that had stirred him into action. Adam was certain about that. Still he whispered, “Thank you.”

Damian eyed his brother with curiosity. After a brief pause, he said, “Do you remember anything else about Evelyn? Her surname?”

“I don’t know her true identity; she didn’t tell me.”

“How did the two of you meet?”

“I saved her from drowning,” Adam recounted, reflecting upon that stormy summer day by the seashore. “She tried to end her life.”

“I believe I understand the woman,” said the duke. “Her fiancé doesn’t sound like a prince.”

“I know.” Adam brushed his fingers through his mussed hair. “He’s a devil. And she’s with him right now! How do we find her?”

“I can write to my solicitor. Ask him to make some inquiries in Town. Perhaps we can—”

“No, it will take too long.” Adam bowed his head and grabbed his throbbing temples. “The couple will celebrate their engagement tonight before setting sail for the mainland. I will lose her forever, then.”

“Well, what else do you remember?”

Still a bit woozy, Adam rubbed his aching brow. He was forgetting something, he could sense it. “Her fiancé is a foreigner.”

“What else?”
“He likes beautiful women.”
“Keep thinking. We need something more tan
gible. ”

“Shit,” Adam hissed, and pressed his palms into his burning eyes. “I know I’m forgetting something . . . Vadik!”

“What?”
“Her fiancé’s name.”
Damian stared, bewildered.
“What’s the matter, Damian? Surely we can
find the couple now. There must be an announce
ment in the paper, something to indicate the en
gagement party.”

Damian circled his desk and shuffled through
the clutter of papers. “What are you doing, Damian?” But the duke did not respond. He searched
sheet after sheet, sparing each a brief glance before eyeing another one. At length he picked up a card and paused.

“Damian?” The duke approached and handed Adam the card. “I think you should read this.”

Adam blinked, willing his eyes to focus. Soon the words sharpened and he scanned the elegant script:
The Earl of Bewley requests the presence of their Graces, The Duke and Duchess of Wembury At the engagement ball of his daughter. . .

“Lady Evelyn Waye,” Adam whispered. Blood thumped harder in his head. “My Evie?”

He was privy to the fact that she had once been comfortable in life, but he’d never suspected her a member of the peerage. It simply had not oc
curred to him that society would allow a lady to fall so deep into ignominy, even with a dis
honorable father. How could no one offer her assistance?