Too Dangerous to Desire (21 page)

Adam lifted his head from her bust. She was arched over the curve of the rock and turned her eyes downward to better see his handsome expression.

For a moment neither said a word to the other, the experience so intense. But after a brief lull, Adam lifted a hand to brush the tears from her eyes.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she said, her voice a rough whisper.

Her body still trembled in the aftermath of the passionate tussle. He must have construed her shivers for pain, for he said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Hurt her? He had done everything
but
hurt her. Renewed life pulsed through her. Awareness. Shut away in a quiet room in her mind, she had been asleep for a long time.

But Adam had awakened her. And for the first time in many years, she felt alive.

As Adam tried to pull away from her, she pan
icked. She wanted to hold on to the feeling of closeness for a while longer, and she pinched his neck. “Don’t let me go.”

She had echoed his words. He blinked at her, bemused. Soon, though, he eased his robust body back against her.

She sighed with contentment when he fingered the curve of her throat, the swell of her bosom. Her heart ballooned with delight.

Don’t stop.

Don’t stop touching me!
But she was too timid to express her desire aloud.

Adam must have sensed her thoughts, though, for he added his sweet lips to the mix of his tender touch.

Her pulse throbbed at her throat as he pressed his hot mouth against the hollow of her neck.

Both liberated from the feral need to join flesh, their subsequent intimacy was less urgent and wild.

Evelyn dropped her head backward to rest on the rock. She stared up at the brilliant heavens, the blinking stars and crescent moon. Overwhelmed by the beauty around her, she was even more en
tranced by Adam’s sultry kisses, his seductive touch.

And he seemed equally engaged by the moment. He was slow to caress her, careful to taste every part of her. At length his lips, his fingers moved lower to brush across her breasts.

She shuddered.

He fingered apart the laces of her bodice.

Breasts exposed, her skin erupted with goose pimples, her nipples firming. She heard one low moan before he dropped his head and captured her breast in his mouth.

The feeling was exquisite. Her muscles flexed each time he sucked and pulled her nipple deeper into his mouth.

Glorious!

She moved her hands across the wide breadth of his back, searching for every twisted muscle to commit to memory. She wouldn’t have him to chase away the loneliness once she was settled in America. She needed to feel every part of him now. To know him in detail, so she could summon the man’s image in her mind whenever the desire arose.

But she didn’t want to think about parting from him.

Not now.

Adam shifted his mouth to her other breast and offered it the same wondrous care.

She twisted her legs around his waist to match the twisting desire once more growing inside her.

When his fingers slipped between her legs to ease her need, she whimpered at the startling pleasure of his deft strokes, gasped for breath to ease the thunder of her heartbeat.

The pulsing need inside her ballooned, each solid thrust against her thrilling. Her muscles flexed, her blood burned before the sweet plea
sure of release dazzled her senses again.

In time, each frantic heartbeat cooled, and she welcomed the serenity of satisfaction.

Evelyn blinked to brush away the moisture from her eyes. The stars cleared, and she looked upon the heavens with newfound pleasure and delight.

Adam rested against her breasts. She stroked his hair in laziness, content to feel the warmth of his flesh, the beat of his heart against her.

His muscles flexed.

Evelyn sensed the shift in him, the sudden stiff
ness. “Is something the matter?”

Adam pushed away from her.

Startled, Evelyn slipped down the smooth sur
face of the rock, and pressed her skirt against her legs to cover herself.

“We should return to the castle,” he said hoarsely.

His eyes masked by shadows, she couldn’t make out his expression. But the physical distance he maintained indicated he wanted to keep away from her.

Something cold, something ugly settled in her heart. The sentiment of rejection . . . of abuse.

Had he used her for sex? Did he want to toss
her aside now that he had fulfilled his lustful cravings?

She shivered as her blood turned cold, and she bit her bottom lip to keep the tears of humiliation and betrayal at bay.

She was such a fool.

nm

dam stood beside the window and observed the breaking dawn. Restless with insomnia, he was sheltered inside the bedroom, thinking of Evelyn.

A memory gripped his imagination: a sea nymph with her legs wrapped tight around his hips.

Adam suppressed a groan, the image too erotic to bear. Blood pounded in his head, making him dizzy.

More intoxicating memories came flooding forth. He remembered Evelyn’s gasps, her cries of delight. He closed his eyes to
feel
the tight spasms of her flesh grip him in ecstasy.

Adam opened his eyes to vanquish the incred
ible recollection from his mind. He pressed his palm against the wall to support his quietly shud
dering legs.

He rested his gaze on a faraway hilltop. A short distance away was his late wife’s childhood home.

He thought about his earlier days with Teresa, the playmate and confidante of his youth. He recol
lected his vow later in life to honor and cherish her until his death.

And he recollected breaking that vow by seek
ing companionship with another woman . . . and enjoying it so immensely.

Guilt raged in Adam’s soul, the oppressive weight crippling. He stepped away from the window and grabbed the first article in reach—a bowl—and smashed it against the wall.

“You remind me of your father.”

Adam reared his head up.

Under the door frame stood his mother: Emily, the Dowager Duchess of Wembury. A small woman of over fifty years, she had dark and sooty locks streaked with gray, and maintained a traditional style of dress befitting her age and station.

But her words disarmed him . . . enraged him.

“How can you compare me to
him
?” he cried.

Unperturbed by the outburst, Emily stepped deeper into the room and outstretched her arms.

So accustomed to the violent outcries of her late husband, the dowager duchess didn’t seem all that distressed by her son’s behavior. In truth, she seemed very delighted to see him again.

Adam was forced to swallow his indignation and return the woman’s embrace. He hadn’t seen
his mother in four years, and an invective was not the proper way to greet her.

She smiled up at him. “It’s your temper that re
minds me of the late duke.”

Adam was gripped by the sudden urge to eat his tongue. The idea that he was remotely like his father outraged him . . . terrified him.

Adam had struggled hard over the years to maintain a distance from depravity. He wanted so very much to be nothing like his father. But ac
cording to the dowager duchess, a part of the late duke was inside him. Was there really no way to escape the blood in his veins?

His mother’s soft features and pleasing counte
nance cooled his passionate anger, though, and he said with less bite, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” She stepped back from the embrace. “Your brother wrote to me in London, informing me of your return.”

Adam stroked his brow, temples throbbing. He was in poor condition, mood sour. But he sensed his mother wanted to talk about his outburst. Per
haps he could postpone the inevitable discussion for a later time?

“You must be tired after your journey, Mother.”

The dowager duchess moved toward a chair and settled in the seat. “Not a’tall. I napped in the chaise.”

Or perhaps not.

Adam sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed.

“Why are you so distressed?” she demanded. “Is it the woman, Lady Evelyn?”

“I see Damian wrote to you about more than my return home,” he said dryly.

“Your brother doesn’t hide anything from me anymore.”

The former “Duke of Rogues” was once a no
torious debaucher with a tendency to disappear for weeks at a time into dens of sin. During those troublesome years, Damian had rarely spoken two words of civility toward their mother. But the estrangement appeared to be at an end.

“You and Damian are close then?” he wondered.

“We are.”

“Good . . . I’m glad you’re a family at last.”

Even if he wasn’t a part of it.

“You’re not going to wriggle out of my question so easily.” She offered him a pointed look. “Why are you breaking bowls?”

Adam glanced at the shattered pieces of pot
tery on the floor and tried to suppress the guilt inside him. “I’ve made a mistake.”

“What sort of mistake?”

“I broke a vow . . . a sacred vow.”

“And now you hate yourself for it? I under
stand. I suffered with the sentiment for many
years myself.”

Adam lifted his eyes. “How so?”

“I failed your brother.” Her features turned melancholy. “I failed to keep him safe from the late duke.”

Thinking about the late duke turned Adam’s blood hot. “Why
did
you marry Father?”

“I was young and headstrong—and in love. The former duke was so charming and hand
some; I was flattered by his attention. Unfortu
nately, I learned too late his true nature. Once I was wed, I belonged to him. And it was then he removed his mask. The dashing suitor was no more: a monster in his place.”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Stuff.” She sniffed. “It’s not your place to be contrite. You did nothing wrong. It was I who failed myself—and your brother. I was able to keep you away from the late duke, but I wasn’t able to save Damian. It haunted me for years, the failure to help him.”

“Does it haunt you still?”

“No, not anymore.”

Adam was curious to know: “How did you get over the guilt?”

“I asked your brother to forgive me. He did. But it took me a little longer to forgive myself.”

“How much longer?”

“Oh, a few years. But I daresay I’ve made peace with the past at last.”

“I’m glad. You deserve to be happy.”

She leaned forward to emphasize, “So do you, Adam.”

His heart cramped at the thought. Happiness? It was an idea he had not dwelled upon since his wife’s death . . . since Evelyn had entered his life and stirred his passions.

The older woman said coyly, “Tell me about Lady Evelyn?”

“The woman is under my protection.”

“Yes, your brother mentioned that in his letter.”

He gritted, “What else did Damian say in his letter?”

“Don’t growl, Adam. Your brother isn’t a gossip.” But then she smiled. “I understand Lady Evelyn is very beautiful.”

Adam moved away from the bed and stalked across the room in agitated strides. He stopped beside the window. “She is very lovely.”

In every way
, he thought. Her touch, her voice, her lips washed away years of pain. She filled his heart with a warm and familiar light.

“Do you care for her?” said the dowager duchess.

“No. She is in danger, and I’ve offered to pro
tect her,” he said again. “There is nothing more between us.”

He had found comfort in her arms for a brief time. Perhaps she had found comfort in his, too. If so, their encounter had served a mutual purpose and was of mutual benefit. There was nothing more between them.

“Are you sure you don’t care for Lady Evelyn?”

The casual inquiry belied a more wily intent. He suspected his mother intended to do a little matchmaking. She likely believed it would do him good to marry again—it would make him happy.

But she didn’t understand how deep the dark
ness reached in his heart. Marriage would fix nothing, and he was quick to quash her ground
less hope.

“I don’t care for Lady Evelyn.”

But she didn’t appear moved by the negative sentiment. “You went to a great deal of trouble to rescue her from the prince.”

“I had no choice.”

“Didn’t you?”

“You don’t understand, Mother. Lady Evelyn needs help.”

“And you are a gentleman, so you offered the help?”

“Precisely. I don’t care for the woman.”

Not in the way his mother was suggesting. He
had vowed to protect the woman from the prince, and he would. He need only convince Evelyn to let him stay with her in America, and then every thing would be fine.

What if she’s pregnant?

Adam started.

“Adam, are you all right?”

He stared at the blank stone wall, so cold and hard. He, too, was cold and hard inside, the very thought of a babe so disquieting. After the death of his wife, he had believed he would never be a father; he had resolved not to be with another woman . . . but now?

Adam quickly walked across the room.

“Where are you going, Adam?”

He paused, kissed his mother on the brow, then continued to march toward the door.

Adam strutted through the corridor in agitated strides. Evelyn might be pregnant. He had to pro
tect her
and
the babe. She wouldn’t fight him now, surely. Not with a child at risk. She could not live alone with a babe under the threat of the prince. He would
have
to stay with her in America!

“Adam!”

The commanding voice bit into his step, and he stilled. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“What’s this rubbish?” The duchess advanced with a look of reproach in her eyes. “You know you can call me Belle.”

He knew no such thing, but refrained from making the remark aloud. Rather he dismissed the informality of address to inquire, “Is there something I can do for you?”

“There most certainly is.” Her hands went to her belly in a motherly gesture. “I’d like an ac
counting from you.”

“About what?”

“About Evelyn.”

His heart cramped. “What’s the matter with Evelyn?”

“I was hoping you’d enlighten me about that very thing. The woman is despondent.” Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t suppose you know the reason for her melancholy?”

Images of last night filled his head. Melan
choly? He didn’t remember the experience being melancholy. Unless . . .

Had he hurt Evie?

Adam didn’t have much experience with women. Other than his late wife and Evie, he had not been with another woman. Had he harmed Evelyn in some way during their hasty love making?

“I’ll go and speak with Lady Evelyn,” he said.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“And why is that?” he said with clear irritability.

“You’ve caused enough trouble, I think. What
happened between the two of you? Tell me so I
can speak with Evie about it.”

Adam growled, “
I
will take care of her.”

“Not while she lives under my roof.”

“Damn it, Belle, I—”

“Bloody hell!”

Mirabelle squeezed her belly and doubled over.

In a moment of profound regret for his sharp temper, Adam dropped to his knees and cradled the distressed duchess.

“Belle, I’m sorry,” he quickly expressed. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

She hugged her midriff and gritted, “It’s not you . . . it’s the babe.”

Adam’s heart fell.

In one swift movement, he scooped the duchess in his arms and rushed her through the passage
way, shouting for the duke.