Too Dangerous to Desire (15 page)

“I guess we both wanted to forget about the past.”

What did he want to forget about? His late wife? His brother?

She closed her eyes, confused. Adam was at odds with his kin, he’d clashed with a band of
pirates . . . and yet he was in league with both parties!

“I don’t understand,” she said. “What about the strife with your brother? The pirates? How did you all come together tonight?”

“I made a promise to protect you; thus I have a duty. And I will do whatever it takes to uphold it.”

“Even join forces with your enemies?”

“That’s right.”

She took in a steady breath. Words about “duty” and “protection” were foreign words to her. Other than her sister, Ella, no one had ever looked after her. It was hard for Evelyn to imagine a man with so much chivalry.

The conflict inside her was wild. How could she inter herself within the castle walls with Adam and his notorious brother, the duke? And what about the band of brigands?!

Her heart thumped harder at the prospect. She was in a terrible fix. A wicked soul was irredeem
able. She knew firsthand. And a man so sinful he was dubbed the “Duke of Rogues” did not just change his corrupt ways—nor did a seafar
ing brood of cutthroats. How was she supposed to trust Adam to safeguard her against so many villains?

How was she supposed to trust Adam?

“Evie.”

The crushing pressure around her midriff star
tled her.

“Look at me, Evie.”

She did, fierce panic in her blood, her breath.

“You will be safe at the castle.”

Evelyn was sincerely dubious. Besides, he had said she’d be safe at the cottage, too. Yet the hench
men had found her there.

And they would look for her again.

She didn’t doubt it. The prince would never give up the search for her. He would order the country
side ravished for word of her whereabouts. It was endless, his desire to obtain beauty and then de
stroy it. A sick and compulsive—and incurable— need to maim and kill.

“The prince will find me again,” she said in a broken voice.

“How? No one in the seaside village knows my real name, and the cottage was destroyed by fire. There is nothing left to reveal my true identity. The prince or his men will never think to look for you at the duke’s castle.”

Talk about the quaint cottage had her feeling re
morseful. “I’m sorry you lost your home, Adam.”

“I don’t mourn for the cottage. All that I cared for is lost at sea.”

His wife.

Evelyn shifted in his lap. “What
if
the prince finds me?”

“Do not underestimate the duke. My brother might have changed, but society still fears him. You will be secure within the keep’s walls.”

No, she wouldn’t. She was never going to be safe. The only haven left for her was the cold com
fort of death. How many times was she going to learn that blasted lesson? There was no peace for her in this world. And she certainly wasn’t going to find it behind the Duke of Wembury’s chilling castle walls.

“Let me go, Adam.” She scratched his hand at her waist. “Please!”

“I can’t.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Why?”

“I know you’re frightened, Evie, but I have a duty to safeguard you. I can’t let you go. I can’t leave you alone in the world.”

There was a desperate need inside her heart to believe him—and a biting fear to mistrust him. And yet the need triumphed over the fear. Or per
haps fatigue encouraged her to surrender. Evelyn wasn’t really sure. But she stopped struggling with Adam, slumped against him with a loud sigh.

“You’ll see, Evie. No harm will come to you.”

Evelyn prayed, rather than believed, he would keep his word.

Adam loosened his grip on her midriff and slowly moved his fingers across the silk of her skirt before he cupped her hand.

His touch.

His touch did not repulse her. She was awed by it every time he pressed his hands—or his lips— to her flesh. He brought her comfort with the whisk of a finger, disarmed her with the whisper of a word.

It unsettled her . . . yet she did not pull away.

She shivered at his tender caress. Her eyes ab
sorbed the meaty strength of his palm. He fingered the dried blood smeared across her knuckles, where she’d struggled with the coffin.

“I won’t let the prince hurt you again. I made a mistake thinking he would not find you at the cottage. But I won’t make that mistake again.”

There was a roughness to his voice. And yet when he lifted her hand and kissed her wounded fingers, there was a softness to his manner. A dual nature, indeed.

She closed her eyes and held her breath as he slipped another hand into her hair. His fingers brushed the knob of her spine at the base of her skull, drawing her closer.

Hot lips pressed against her throat. “I promise, Evie, no man will ever hurt you again.”

Except for you.

She was stunned by the sudden and bleak thought. It filled her heart with despair to think that Adam, too, might betray her one day.

Not you.

Please not you.

Adam kissed her every wound and bruise, leaving his scent, his mark on her flesh. He wiped away the rough handling of the henchmen, the fear inside her with the oh-so-tender movements of his mouth.

She curled her fingers into his hair, searching for his sensual lips. And she found them readily.

He drew her bottom lip into his warm mouth, suckling. “Show me, Evie,” he whispered between kisses. “Show me where it hurts.”

Evelyn shuddered at his rough and command
ing words. Her heart throbbed, the pressure fierce against her breast.

Slowly she touched her heart.

Adam followed the movement of her hand with his eyes before he lowered his lips to the tops of her breasts and bussed her breastbone with ex
quisite tenderness.

She swallowed the aching cry in her throat, fixed her fingers more firmly in his hair to keep him close.

Adam lingered over her heart, nuzzled the plump skin. She wanted to drop back against the cushioned squabs, feel the weight of his body cover her. She wanted to take him into her lonely soul with such a violent desire, she trembled in need.

After such a close encounter with death, her
heart begged for life. It pulsed in her breast, de manding sweet solace. A touch. A kiss. A mark to prove she was still alive—and not alone.

It was overwhelming, the loneliness, the in
tense isolation she had suffered since her sister’s demise. The need to connect with someone preyed on her mind.

But the fear . . .

The fear of getting too close to a man and being hurt—again—always stormed its way to the fore
front of her thoughts, dousing the burning senti
ments in her belly. Adam’s charming kisses wooed . . . to a place she was too afraid to go.

Evelyn grabbed his arm to bring the spicy en
counter to a stop.

He winced.

She quickly let go of him. “I’m sorry.”

He gathered her against him. He was breath
less, filled with restless energy. She could feel the tension inside him, the thrumming muscles be
neath her posterior.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he rasped. The man’s breath stirred the locks at her temples. She inhaled each breath he exhaled, as if his energy offered her life in return.

He kissed the dip between her neck and shoul
der. The warmth of his words and the hot mark of his lips stirred her insides with frightening pas
sion, making her shiver.

“But I hurt you,” she said.

He embraced her tightly. “You didn’t hurt me, Evie. Not you.”

After a few more breathless moments, Adam placed her gently on the seat beside him.

She wanted to weep at the separation. She yearned so much to lose herself in his embrace, to let him crush the darkness in her soul. But she couldn’t trust him to do such a thing. He was a man. And like all men, he searched for beauty and pleasure to consume and control. She didn’t want to eventually find herself at the mercy of an
other tormenter. Her heart could not take the pain of more abuse.

Not from him.

nm

velyn eyed the spacious bedchamber with white-paneled walls, furnished in cheerful shades of honey yellow and an indigo blue accent. “It this my room?”

“Yes,” said Adam. “Do you like it?”

He set the candle on the nightstand, illuminat
ing the large bed. She observed the ornate head
board with majestic lion paws carved at each corner, and imagined sleeping under the quilted covers, safe in dream.

“It’s very pretty,” she said. “Thank you.”

She looked at Adam. He was a striking figure under the soft glow of candlelight. The shadows from the flickering flames rested across his fea
tures in billowing waves. The fiery reflection il
luminated his eyes, too, aglow like two burning coals.

“You should thank the duke. He had the room prepared for you.”

Thank the duke? She was too wary to do that.

She was surrounded by thick stone walls in an impregnable fortress, yet she did not feel wholly secure. Adam had ordered the vehicle and driver back to the engagement ball, and soon the pas
sageways would be filled with the din of more no
torious men. And then there was Adam. She was wary of him, too. He had an inexplicable pull over her. She craved his touch at times. Shied away from it at others. But there was always a restless storm inside her whenever he was near.

Adam moved toward the hearth, his steps slug
gish. Servants had already prepared the chamber, for there was a small flame in the fireplace and other candles around the room.

“How long will I stay at the castle?” she won
dered. “Adam?”

Very slowly he tipped to one side—and collapsed.

“Adam!”

She hastened to his side.

Brow moist with sweat, the man looked wretched, in agony. He grimaced and clutched his midriff.

“What did the henchmen do to you?”

That did it! Adam had rebuffed her quest for the truth long enough.

Fingers quivering, she reached for the buttons of his shirt.

He must have realized her intent, for he clasped
her fingers and hugged them against his chest. “Don’t!”

She could feel the heat from his body, the robust life. It burned her fingertips to press her hand against him in such an intimate way.

“Let me help you, Adam.”

She would not be swayed.

He eventually surrendered with a grunt, and she parted his coat first before she set to work on the buttons of his shirt.

Her cheeks warmed as the first tufts of hair ap
peared. She remembered how he had looked that day at the beach, near nude and wet and glorious. Her fingers trembled as she touched the wide ex
panse of muscles for the first time.

But soon her eyes lighted upon the rest of his exposed torso—and the bloody bandages.

Evelyn was sick. The blood seeping through the linen was a ghastly sight. She dreaded to meet the wounds beneath.

Footsteps light, she treaded over to the wash
stand and poured the water from the pitcher into a bowl. Carefully she carried the bowl back over to the hearth and set it on the ground before she reached down and split her skirt in two. Tearing makeshift bandages, she immersed the material in the cool tonic.

Adam covered his chest with his arm. “You shouldn’t see this.”

But she grabbed his hand to prevent him from concealing the pain. “I want to see it.”

Adam observed her with steely regard. The firelight danced in his eyes, bewitching her. He looked to be imploring her not to take apart the soiled linen, but Evelyn would not be able to rest until she had witnessed the damage for herself. He must have suspected as much, for he didn’t try to stop her as she pried apart the stained bandages.

Once she had uncovered him, she gasped.

She stared at the grisly injuries, entranced. The ugly swelling and blistered burns took her breath away.

“Oh Adam . . . I’m sorry.”

He whispered roughly, “For what?”

“For your pain.”

He sighed. “You didn’t cause me pain, Evie.”

She picked up the scrap of silk soaking in the dish and wrung out the moisture. With ginger taps, she dabbed at his bloodied flesh.

“I did cause you pain.” She dipped the silk back into the bowl, the water turning a dark red. At the sight of the blood, her heart cramped. “This is all my fault.”

“This is all
his
fault.”

Again she rubbed the silk across his gnarled muscles, the torment inside her impossible to assuage.

“No, this is my fault,” she whispered softly. “I should never have stayed with you at the cottage; I only put your life at risk. I should have drowned in the—”

He cupped her cheeks and lifted his head to press his nose to hers. “Do
not
finish that thought. What I do, I do of my own choosing. I suffer of my own will. Do you hear me?”

She blinked at him, stunned. “Yes.”

“Good.” He let go of her cheeks and rested against the cold stone hearth once more. “I don’t want you to fret about me,” he said with less heat in his voice. “It’s my job to worry about you.”

Bemused, she nodded and resumed her tender care.

It was his job to care about her? Why? Why did he keep insisting he had to look after her? He had already saved her from drowning, rescued her from the prince. He didn’t have to do more; he had no real obligation toward her. So what did he want with her?

At length she finished washing the burns. “I need to dress the wounds.”

Adam shifted to sit up. He was uncomfort
able, she could tell. She helped him divest the coat and shirt before she ripped more of her skirt’s lining and wrapped the strips of silk around his midriff.

She leaned forward to reach around his waist. The rich scent of seawater was still nestled in his hair, and she closed her eyes for a moment in memory of the night he had first kissed her at the cottage. The sea breeze and salt had lived in his hair then, too.

“You should rest,” she said quietly, the binding complete.

She gathered the soiled linen, picked up the bowl of bloody water. But Adam took the articles from her hands and placed them aside.

He grabbed her wrists.

Evelyn gasped when he dragged her between his legs and tugged, forcing her to kneel again.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, breathless.

“Returning the favor.”

She bristled as he brushed his thumb across her bruised throat. She was trapped—in more ways than one. His legs sheltered her, but his eyes en
snared her with equal strength.

“Do you need me to summon a physician?” he said.

“No.”

He hesitated over his next words. “Did the prince ravish you?”

Her eyes rounded. “No!”

“Do you know what I mean by ravishment?”

She blinked. “Yes, I understand. Ella wrote me letters. I . . .”

He pressed his thumb to her lips, the aggressive touch making her heart flutter. “Did the hench
men hurt you in that way?”

“No!”

She had denied the injury twice, but still Adam appeared unsettled. “I should fetch the doctor.”

“I’m fine.”

“The prince buried you in a coffin, Evie!”

She shuddered at the chilling memory. “I know.”

“He tried to kill you.”

“No, he only wanted to punish me for desert
ing him.”

Adam appeared murderous. She took comfort in his anger toward the prince on her behalf. The man’s indignation riled her own sense of injustice: she was
not
supposed to suffer like this!

“What about the bruising, Evie?”

“It’s gruesome to look at, I know. But I will recover.”

He stroked the tender spot at her neck, his eyes intent upon the injury. The heat and pressure of his fingertips teased her already sensitive skin, and her flesh reacted to the man’s enchanting touch by breaking out into goose pimples.

“Your voice is rough,” he said.

At the sensuous roughness in
his
voice, her heart pulsed and the fine hairs on her limbs spiked. “It will heal.”

“You’re exhausted, Evie.” He kissed her brow. “Go to sleep.”

The simple gesture of a good-night kiss filled her with warmth, a balm for her tattered soul. She peered deep into his dark and shadowed eyes, stared at the reflection of the bed in the glossy pools.

Again her thoughts returned to the image of her asleep under the thick covers . . . only this time she imagined Adam beside her.

Shocked by the boldness of her own thoughts, Evelyn broke away from his mesmerizing gaze.

Adam appeared equally perturbed by their intense connection. He struggled to his feet with her assistance. Briskly he said, “Good night.”

He picked up his clothes and slipped back into the garments before he departed.

Alone in the room, Evelyn was chilled. She gath
ered the soiled linen on the floor and placed it on a nearby table before she tossed the bloody water out the open window and approached the bed. She settled over the feather tick and inhaled a deep and soothing breath to banish the torment in her heart.

But then she heard it. The distant din of male voices.

They were home!

The duke and his piratical brothers-in-law had returned from the ball.

And she was alone.

Evelyn tossed the covers aside and sprinted for the door. She opened it, prepared to search the castle for Adam. But she didn’t have to search very far for him.

He was sitting on the ground beside the door.

It appeared he didn’t trust the brigands any more than she did.

“Come inside,” she said. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep in the wingback chair.”

“No.”

She crouched beside him. He was hurt. He couldn’t spend the night in the passageway. It was improper. “Since you intend to stand guard, you might as well come inside.”

Adam looked uneasy at the suggestion. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with it herself. But she couldn’t leave him to suffer in the passageway, either. Not after what he had done for her.

“Come.” She tugged at his arm. “Let’s go.”

She ushered him inside the room despite the man’s growls of protest.

“I’ll take the chair,” he insisted. “You keep the bed.”

He headed for the wingback chair positioned across the room and eased his battered body into the seat, propping his feet upon the ottoman. A
hand draped over his belly, he closed his eyes and
tried to appear comfortable.

She frowned. “Do
you
need a physician?”

“No.”

He was curt. He tended to get that way when
ever she challenged him.

“I’m not your lieutenant,” she said.

He opened an eye to ogle her. “Pardon?”

She collected a blanket from the bed. “I don’t take orders. I’m not a member of your crew.”

Adam opened his other eye to peer at her.

Evelyn approached him with an unsteady gait. “I mean, I only want to help.” She placed the blan
ket over his torso. “Are you sure you don’t need a physician?”

She quivered slightly under the man’s com
manding stare. “I don’t order you about, Evie.”

He slowly pushed the blanket down to his waist. She was engaged by the almost teasing manner of his movements, and she realized she had covered him more to hide the breadth of his physique than to keep him warm. Hide the tempt
ing parts of him from her eyes.

“Do you think I order you about, Evie?”

He kicked aside the ottoman and took her by the wrist. He pulled her closer to the chair—right between his legs!