Too Dangerous to Desire (17 page)

“It was dangerous,” he said at length. “We didn’t think it wise for you to come along.”

She snorted. “I gathered that. My husband in
formed me of the goings-on—after he returned home, of course.”

Her hands went to her belly as she stepped deeper into the kitchen.

Adam moved to fetch the woman a chair, but she waved him off.

“I prefer to stand.” She paused a short dis
tance away from him. “I understand I have a new houseguest.”

“Yes, I—”

“Besides you.”

Adam remembered the woman in his care. He was quick to insist, “Lady Evelyn is my responsibility.”

The duchess laughed softly. “Lady Evelyn is a single woman, living under
my
roof and therefore under
my
protection. I will see to her needs.”

Something sparked in Adam: a defensive pos
ture. “I promised to protect her.”

“And so you have; you’ve brought her here. Now I will take care of her. And I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

Adam bristled at being mothered like a school
boy. “I intend to be respectful toward Lady Evelyn.”

“And the rest of the household?”

So that was her point of contention. Would he stab her husband again? Or perhaps her piratical brothers? “I’m not here to quarrel.”

A curt bob of the head. “I’m glad to hear that.” She eyed him closely. “I was beginning to think we would never see you again.”

“I never expected to return.” He searched for something more to say. At length he mentioned: “Thank you for your letters.”

Along with his mother, the duchess had cor
responded with him on a few occasions, encour
aging him to reconcile with the duke. But Adam was immune to such a suggestion. There was no hope for absolution. His crime against the duke was unforgivable.

“You mean a great deal to my husband,” she said.

I mean nothing to your husband
, he wanted to clarify, but remained mum. The duchess was misguided in her belief that the duke cared one whit for him. It did her credit, though, her desire to make her husband content by doing what she thought would bring him happiness.

But Adam’s prolonged presence at the castle would only displease the duke. Adam was just a bother, intruding upon their household. And just as soon as the prince returned to his home coun
try, Adam would depart the castle to find Evelyn a proper home—and never trouble the duke and duchess again.

Mirabelle hugged her belly and moved toward
the door. “I think I will go and welcome my houseguest.”

Adam wanted to protest that Evelyn was still
his
responsibility, but he sensed he was already on precarious ground with the duchess and so re
frained from making the objection.

nm

velyn glanced down at her tattered dress. She had ripped the resplendent material the other night, to make bandages for Adam . . . but she had not ripped it nearly enough.

She reached down, clasped the hem of her skirt, and split it in two. With firm determination, she rent the rest of the silk fabric the prince had draped her in. She would take nothing from
him
—ever! The fabric hugged her flesh like a prison, remind
ing her of her royal gaoler. And she was eager to be rid of it; she wanted no memory of
him
.

She tore the brilliant skirt into more strips, then rived the lining. She battled with the fixed stitch
ing, tearing the seams, tossing the bits of shiny fabric to the floor.

The corset proved troublesome, though, beaded with tiny pearls. She wrestled with the tight sewing, gnashed her teeth in dogged resolve, but her efforts proved fruitless. The quality-built gar
ment was indestructible.

“Do you need any help?”

Evelyn blinked.

She turned around to confront the young— very enceinte—woman standing under the door frame.

The duchess!

Evelyn wanted to hide behind the wingback chair; she looked ghastly with her mussed hair and bruises and mangled frock. But she could not rebuff her hostess.

With a shaky step, Evelyn stepped forward, mustered some refinement, and curtsied. “Your Grace.”

“Rubbish.” The duchess flicked her fingers in the air. “My name is Mirabelle.”

It had been a long time since Evelyn had mingled with members of the peerage. After her mother died and her father turned wild, re
spectable company had deserted her. She was ac
customed to a solitary life. Now she was in the company of a duchess. Bashful, Evelyn gawked at the floor.

Faint footsteps treaded closer, and soon a head stooped and a pair of warm golden eyes peeked up at her.

“You have violet flower eyes,” said the duchess. “Very pretty.”

Evelyn slowly lifted her gaze; the duchess raised her head at a matching tempo.

“You must be Lady Evelyn,” she said.

Evelyn nodded.

“Do you like your room, my lady?”

“Evie.”

Mirabelle lifted a brow.

She finished softly, “You can call me Evie.”

The duchess smiled again. “And you can call me Belle.”

Evelyn spied the woman, a few years her senior, with careful appraisal. She was being very gra
cious, kind even. It was Evelyn’s experience the peerage was quite formidable, vulgar at times. Once one lost fortune and respectability, the
ton
was unforgiving. So she didn’t know what to make of the duchess.

And she was married to the “Duke of Rogues.” How chilling! The poor woman must endure such hardship . . . and yet she appeared cheerful.

“That’s a very beautiful necklace, Evie.”

Evelyn reached for the heart-cast pendant in comfort. “It was a gift from my sister.”

“You are fortunate to have a sister. I have
four
brothers.”

The black-haired devils!

Evelyn observed the duchess. She could see why the duke wanted to possess the woman, even though she was sister to a band of pirates. The duchess was nothing like her intimidating kin in
looks or manner. She appeared beautiful in coun tenance and spirit alike.

“I understand,” said Evelyn. “With four broth
ers who are . . .”

She quirked a brow. “Pirates?”

Evelyn rushed to mutter, “I would be fright
ened, too.”

“Adam told you about my brothers?”

“Yes . . . I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For the terrible things you must suffer with such men in your life.”

The duchess let out a husky laugh. “I need to confide something in you, Evie.”

She nodded meekly. “You can trust me. I have no one with whom to betray your confidence.”

“I love my brothers, scoundrels that they are,” she whispered. Then, with more energy: “It’s just such a bother sometimes, to have four very protective males interfering in my life. I often wish I had a sister, too, to confide my secrets and troubles.”

A sadness welled in Evelyn’s breast. “Yes, it’s wonderful to have a sister . . . I miss my sister.”

“I’m sorry, Evie.” Mirabelle’s features fell, and she glanced around the room. “Are you in mourn
ing for your sister?”

Evelyn dropped her eyes once more. “No.”

“Then why have you covered all the mirrors?”

Evelyn had stripped the bedding to hide the re
flective glass. But it was not an easy matter for her to confess, her distaste for mirrors.

“I . . . um . . .”

A finger touched Evelyn’s chin, gentle, yet forceful, hoisting her head. “Do you want to hide from the bruising?”

That and her eyes and her cursed face.

“Who hurt you, Evie?”

Evelyn reached for her throat to conceal the ugly abuse, but a firm hand gripped her wrist. “Do not hide from me. I won’t judge you. Tell me, who did this to you? Was it Adam?”

Evelyn gasped. “No!”

But it alarmed her to think the duchess sus
pected Adam. Her old qualms that she was not safe at the castle returned. Was Adam a danger
ous man? She had only suspected it; he had such a devastating pull on her heart, it was hard for her to think clearly about the man. But now she had another source to confirm her misgiving: the duchess.

“Then who hurt you, Evie? The prince?”

Evelyn quietly stared at the affable woman.

“My husband told me about the prince, that you are being forced to marry against your will.” She cupped her hand. “You will be safe here at the castle.”

Adam had said the same thing, but now Evelyn was even more perturbed. The duchess seemed wary of Adam. Why? Because he had once quar
reled with her husband?

“How did you meet Adam?” said the duchess.

Evelyn swallowed a deep breath. “He saved me.”

“From whom?”

“Death.”

The older woman eyed her with great curiosity. “Do you need a physician?”

“No,” she said, her voice still a rasp. “I will be all right.”

“As you wish.” Mirabelle did not look con
vinced, but acquiesced. She eyed the pile of rags on the floor. “Why did you destroy the dress?”

“I don’t want to wear the prince’s offerings.”

“I see,” she said sagely. “I’ll find you something else to wear.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

The duchess cleared her throat.

“Thank you, Mirabelle.”

A blond brow arched.

Evelyn said quietly, “Thank you, Belle.”

Mirabelle smiled despite Evelyn’s discomfort at such an informal appellation. “If you need any
thing, Evie, I want you to come to me.”

Evelyn nodded.

The duchess squeezed her hand. “There is no formality between us, do you understand? You are
my
guest. If you are in trouble with Adam—”

Evelyn opened her mouth to inquire.

“—or with anyone else, you may come to me for help.”

What was she to make of the woman’s offer? wondered Evelyn. And why was the duchess so adamant that Adam might hurt her? What about the duke and the pirates? Surely Evelyn should be wary of them, too?

“And I will have the mirrors in the room re
moved if you’d like,” said the duchess.

“Thank you . . . Belle.”

nm

he warm and brilliant rays of the setting sun painted the room in a fiery glow. Curled in a ball and sitting on the comfortable divan, Evelyn worshipped the dazzling mesh of colors with the appreciation of a liberated prisoner.

She was draped in fresh fabric, the fine linen so much more soothing against her skin. She had been offered toiletries for her hair and a lovely opal white scarf to wrap around her throat, the soft silk cool against the burning bruises.

With the mirrors in the room removed, there was nothing to distract Evelyn from observing the glorious sunset—but for thoughts of Adam.

The harmony in her breast faded as she delved into memory, reminiscing about the duchess’s words. That the woman should find rogues and brigands amiable, yet Adam a threat, was disquieting.

It plagued Evelyn, the need to understand Adam’s true character. He wanted to protect her
from the prince. But could she trust him to do so? Was he noble at heart, as he’d claimed? Or was he secretly a villain?

A knock at the door.

Startled, Evelyn glanced at the wood barrier. It was almost time for supper. A maid had bobbed in and out of the room a short while ago to inform her she was expected to dine with the family. Such an odd family! She dearly hoped the duch
ess would be dining with them, too. She was the only other sensible soul in the castle.

With that last wishful thought in mind, Evelyn slipped off the divan and approached the door.

But it was not a servant who’d come to escort her to the dining hall—it was Adam.

“Good evening, Evie.”

The low timbre of his voice tickled her flesh, arousing goose bumps. She was disarmed by the handsome and respectable sight of him decked in dapper garb. There was also a sudden pang in her heart at the obvious transformation, for Adam was not a simple cottager anymore—he was a duke’s brother. And she realized she didn’t know the man standing in front of her at all.

“Did the duchess welcome you?” he wondered.

“She did.” Evelyn pointed to the soft blue fabric strapped across her midriff. “She even offered me this dress to wear.”

“It’s lovely.” He eyed her closely. “You’re lovely.”

Her heart quickened.

“How do you feel, Evie?”

Before she could respond to the question, he lifted a forefinger and brushed the silk scarf that was hiding the swelling at her throat.

The feather touch made her tremble.

Her voice quivered, too. “I feel better.”

He whisked his thumb across the length of her jaw before he withdrew his hand. For an instant, she mourned the loss of his strong yet tender touch.

“Allow me to escort you to the dining hall.”

She eyed the sturdy arm he offered. A whiff of panic curled in her breast, a familiar bout of mistrust.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “You will never find the hall in the dark . . . but I know the castle very well in the dark.”

She spied him, curious. There was no threat un
derlining his voice. Rather a firm sadness. Why did he know the castle so well in the dark?

Despite her lingering misgiving, she placed her palm on his arm. There was an instant spark. It filled her belly; the flurry of warmth seeped into her blood. She inhaled the scent of him, the es
sence. So masculine. So robust.

Her first step was shaky.

He cupped her elbow. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she whispered, her throat still parched.

“Come.” He maneuvered her through the gray darkness. “This way.”

A few minutes later, Evelyn was ensconced in an ornate chair under the bright glow of candlelight—and the bright and curious stares of rogues and brigands.

She picked at the warm morsels of lamb and roasted carrots on her plate, trying to ignore the scrutiny. At length she lost her appetite.

The Duke of Wembury was seated at the head of the long table, a true rogue with his dashing looks and suave manner. But Evelyn sensed an underlying darkness in the man. She suspected that, if provoked, he would crush an adversary’s throat. Fortunately the duchess was seated at the other end of the dining table to offset her husband’s intimidating façade.

But then there were the pirates. Retired pirates, she should say. According to Adam, the brood had renounced their sinister ways once their sister had ascended to the lofty position of duchess. A pity the brood hadn’t renounced their sinister looks, too. Evelyn quailed under the close examination of the rest of the brigands seated around the can
dlelit table.

She was surrounded by frightening company indeed.

An elf suddenly stormed the room, causing Evelyn to drop her fork in surprise.

Dressed in a fluffy white nightshirt, the tiny crea
ture rounded the table and tossed herself into the affectionate embrace of the youngest pirate, Quincy. He very loudly smacked the chit’s cheek with a kiss before he passed her over to his brother.

Down the table the child rolled, from uncle to uncle, before she landed, giggling, in her father’s lap.

Breathless, the little girl shouted, “Again!”

However, the duchess was not amused. “Lady Alice Westmore, why aren’t you in bed?”

The little girl grimaced. “The sun’s still out!”

“The sun has set.”

The chit looked out the window to observe the last lingering rays. “There’s still a little bit peeking.”

Under the chortle of her uncles, the child beamed. But soon her attention was snagged by another guest.

“Oooh,” said Alice, blinking at Evelyn. “You have pretty eyes.”

Evelyn blushed.

“Alice, go back to bed at once,” ordered the duchess.

The elf quickly twisted her neck to stare up at the duke. “Papa, can I stay up with you?”

The duke glanced from his daughter to his wife in a clear fix.

Evelyn watched the entire spectacle unfold with awe. The notorious duke at the beck and call of a mere babe? The brutish pirates doting uncles? Something wasn’t right.

The duke sighed. “I think it best if you go back to bed, squirt.”

“Oh, Papa!”

The duchess bobbed her head in approval and summoned a maid into the room. “Please escort Lady Alice back to the nursery.”

“At once, Your Grace.”

The servant approached the duke.

The elf scrambled down her father’s lap. She took the maid by the hand and stomped the length of the room before she quit the hall with a huff.

“You all spoil her rotten,” said the duchess.

Quincy grinned. “It’s our duty as uncles.”

“You’re too hard on her, Belle,” said another pirate, William.

The duchess pinched her brow. “If I don’t offer the girl some sort of discipline and structure, she’ll grow up to be wild.”

Quincy made a wretched face at the words “discipline” and “structure.”

The duchess ignored her youngest kin to glare at her husband. “And what’s your excuse?”

The duke eyed his wife. “My excuse?”

“For spoiling Alice?”

“Do I need an excuse?”

She offered him a pointed look. “The girl is going to make a spectacle of herself one of these days.”

“Belle’s right.” The pirate captain, James Hawkins, glared at the duke with dark intent. “Our father didn’t restrict Belle’s behavior grow
ing up, and look what happened . . . she married you.”

The duke sliced the cutlet of lamb, seemingly unperturbed. “You see, my dear. Alice will turn out to be just fine—like you.”

Apparently the blasé retort was not the sort of response the pirate captain had hoped to hear from the duke, for the man appeared cantankerous.

“Let’s not quarrel at the dinner table,” said the duchess with warning. “We have guests, remember?”

Quincy looked straight at Evelyn. “So what
are
we going to do with you?”

The ring of porcelain resounded as the duchess hit the plate with her knife.

Quincy glanced at his sister. “What?”

“Lady Evelyn will remain in hiding until the prince returns to his homeland.”

Adam had announced the plan with confi
dent resolve. He had been quiet for most of the dinner conversation, but he was first to speak on her behalf when the matter of her fate was addressed.

“And once the prince leaves England?” said the duke. “What will happen to Lady Evelyn?”

Yes, what would happen to her? She didn’t want to find herself in another position of weak
ness. She wanted the freedom to determine her own destiny. Imprisoned by a derelict father and a monstrous fiancé, she was tired of her thoughts and wishes always being put asunder.

“I will find her a new home,” returned Adam.

Unfortunately Adam didn’t think to confer with her about the matter.

“Even if the prince returns home, he isn’t likely to give up the search for Lady Evelyn.” The pirate captain took a swig of wine. “Vadik is not the sort of man to bear humiliation humbly, I suspect. He will likely order the henchmen to continue the search for her.”

Evelyn had suspected the very same thing. The prince was a dominant beast. He would not permit her, mere property, to best him. She knew the prince well enough to believe that.

The duchess looked at her brother in alarm. “But there must be somewhere Lady Evelyn can live in security?”

The duke suggested, “We can hide her in the country.”

“In Scotland,” said the duchess in accord. “The prince will never think to look for her so far north.”

“No.” Adam interrupted the scheme to impress, “I will find Lady Evelyn a proper home.”

Evelyn noted frown lines crease the brow of her hostess. She also noted the rising tension in the room and despised being the cause of it.

“I thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace.” Adam was firm. “But Lady Evelyn’s security is my responsibility.”

More interested in the well-cooked fare than the heated conversation, Edmund, the last of the brigands, piped up to suggest, “She can always go to America.”

Quincy beamed. “Oh, that’s right. We’re going to America in a few weeks on business.” He looked at Evelyn and winked. “You can come with us.”

A boat trip with the four devils sounded dis
agreeable . . . but America? America sounded safe and far from the prince’s brutal hand.

“It’s not a poor idea,” said William in support. “There are many well-to-do families there, so she won’t be starved of company. And she can change her name to start a fresh life.”

“Then we’ll go to America.”

The table fell quiet at Adam’s announcement.

The duke looked at his brother. “You’re going, too?”

“So long as Prince Vadik lives, Evelyn is in danger,” said Adam. “Someone must look after her welfare.”

Evelyn was seated next to Adam. Sharing the intimate space with him made it difficult for her to forget their cozy encounter the other night. Her belly still burned with the memory of his hot lips. He was going to travel with her to the New World? She was going to be susceptible to his dark and sensuous kisses forever?

“But to leave England?” said the duke.

Adam shrugged. “It’s better this way . . . Besides, I don’t have anything keeping me in England.”

The very thought was distressing; her and Adam alone in America? Evelyn preferred him to accompany her on the boat trip; she didn’t want to be alone with the infamous brigands. But then it was better for them both to part ways. Adam had a family in England, and she wanted to start a fresh life without the distraction he imposed upon her senses. So how to convince him of that truth?

Adam stood at the mouth of the pond, skipping stones.

He could see the castle from his vantage point, a silhouette in the moonlight. The crescent-shaped
moon was tipped upside-down. It would rain soon, according to folklore.

The stone hopped across the lambent surface of the water, the ripples distorting the castle’s reflection.