Too Dangerous to Desire (6 page)

“Not so fast,” he said in her ear, the warmth of his breath making her shiver. “Take it slow.”

He stepped away from her.

She almost cried out at the loss of his touch. For too long she had suffered in solitude. The brief connection with Adam, the bond of blood and bone reminded her how very much alone she was—and how very much she mourned the loss of companionship.

“Are you all right, Evie?”

She nodded, weakly. And to dismiss the ache in her belly, she resumed the first position. “How do I advance?”

“Observe.”

She looked across at him, admired his sharp and masculine profile.

“Extend your right foot first, Evie.”
Evelyn snapped her attention to his boots.
He demonstrated. “Then follow with your left
foot.” She mimicked. “Much better,” he praised—and smiled. Evelyn’s heart pinched at the man’s soft expres
sion, so dashing. “Next we retreat.” He tapped his leg. “Move
your left leg first this time, then your right.” He danced backward. She followed suit. “Well done, Evie.” She smiled in return. The admiration he of
fered filled a dark and lonely chasm in her soul.

She wanted to do better, to improve. “Now we lunge.” He darted forward. Evelyn mirrored his movement with ease. She
had an abundance of energy inside her, and shoot
ing outward with her body was a very convenient way to dispel some of that emotion.

Adam quirked a brow. “Impressive.”
Evelyn shied under his praise.
“Let us tackle the blade work, shall we?” He
brandished the sword. “To defend yourself, strike from side to side.” He demonstrated. “Or in a cir
cular motion.”

Evelyn assumed the first position, then cut air.

“Good, but be sure to keep control of the blade.” He gripped her wrist to steady her hand. “Like this.”

There it was again: the stirrings in her heart, her belly. Why did his touch disarm her so?

Evelyn absorbed the warmth of his fingertips. She tried to absorb the lesson, too, but was having a deuced hard time listening to the instructions.

Adam moved to stand in front of her. “Now for the attack. Strike under your opponent’s blade.” He slowly demonstrated. “Or over.”

She mimicked once more.

Adam assumed the first position. “En garde.”

Evelyn carefully thrust forward. He parried.

“Good, Evie. Again.”

Again she attacked. Again he protected himself.

“Now defend yourself,” he said, “while I attack.”

Adam slowly moved forward, giving her an opportunity to practice the foot and blade work.

For some time the couple exchanged tepid blows. But with each attack and parry, Evelyn grew more accustomed, more comfortable with the blade.

At length, Adam stilled. “Well done. Now I want you to attack me. Really attack me. Put all your strength into the blow.”

She wavered. “But I’ll hurt you.”
“No, you won’t. Trust me.”
He assumed the first position.
Evelyn swallowed the knot in her throat. She
took in a deep breath—and lashed out.

With a lightning-quick stroke, Adam parried the blow and knocked the blade right out of her hand.

She gaped.

“You have to learn how to
really
fight, Evie. In battle, your opponent will strike back with greater force than I did.” He inclined his head toward the fallen blade. “Pick up the sword.”

She retrieved the weapon.
“Attack me again,” he said.
The man was a proficient swordsman, she re
alized. There was no reason to fear for his well
being. With less anxiety, she lunged again. But once more, Adam deflected the blow with precision and disarmed her. Again she wondered:
Where did he learn to fight like that?

“Evie, you have to think of me as an enemy.”

She picked up the sword, uncomfortable with the suggestion. She was already wary whenever she was near the man. What secrets did he keep? Why did his smile, his touch, shake her very senses? But to think of him as an enemy? It was too chilling, too real.
Was
he a foe?

“Evie, look at me.”

She glanced up to find his expression determined.

“Think of me as
him
.”

Her heart throbbed at the very idea, the wild beats booming in her ears. She shook her head with intrinsic revulsion. “No, I can’t.”

“It will help you to focus; give you reason to strike at me—hard.”

“I don’t want to think of you as
him
.”

“Fight me.” Adam advanced. “Fight me like you would him.”

Startled, Evelyn raised her blade to parry the blow.

He lunged.

She deflected the next strike, too.

“Fight me, Evie!”

But a numbness beset her at the thought of
him
, made her legs and arms wooden. She stum
bled backward, pressed against the cottage wall. She was cornered, Adam’s blade aimed for her throat.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

The dark cloud of determination in Adam’s eyes softened. He sighed. “I’ve pushed you too far, too soon, haven’t I?”

He lowered the sword.

She dropped hers in shame. “I can’t do this.”

“Evie, wait!”

But Evelyn dashed from the garden, insensible to his entreaty.

She was never going to be free of
him
. Even the mere thought of
him
had made her cower, foiled all the progress she had made with Adam. She could never fight
him
, much less win. And she had been a fool to think otherwise.

nm

velyn picked at the blades of grass in a blind

and lazy fashion.

“Evie?”

She stiffened at his approach, but did not turn around to confront him. Twisting the meadow grass around her finger, she snapped it from its root.

Adam hunkered beside her, blocking the sun
light, casting her in shadow.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Evie.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

She wasn’t mad at Adam. She was angry with herself. Ashamed, too.
He
had such power over her, enough to render her weak and worthless. She resented
him
for it . . . but she feared him even more.

“Come back to the cottage,” he said. “There’s still more to learn about swordplay. I won’t push you too hard this time.”

She plucked another blade of grass. “I will never best
him
.”

A firm finger tipped her chin upward. “You only think that because you’re afraid. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

She was met by a pair of striking blue eyes. Such a soft shade of blue, near gray. There was a softness in his countenance, too. Beneath the rugged features and hard expression, she sighted a mark of thoughtfulness—and was disarmed by the vision. So few had been kind to her over the years. Was Adam different?

“Tell me who
he
is, Evie?”

To quell the panic rising in her breast, she in
haled an unsteady breath. How could she trust Adam? He was still a stranger in so many ways.

And yet she was weary. Weary of keeping her troubles, her pain pressed deep inside. She was alone in the world. She had no one to turn to, no one to offer her a comforting hand.

Yet Adam offered one.

Dare she take it?

“He
is my brother-in-law,” she confessed.

Adam stilled. Something changed in his ex
pression. A dramatic anger flared; she could tell. Not toward her, but toward
him
.

“And he murdered your sister? His wife?”

She struggled to keep back the tears. “Yes.”

“But why?”

It chilled her to think about
him
, and she started to rock herself in comfort. “Because
he
likes to de
stroy everything which is good, everything which is beautiful.”

“Ella?”

Evelyn inhaled a deep, salty-air breath. “Yes, my sister was very beautiful. She had hair like a night’s sky, and eyes . . .”

“And eyes like yours?”

She nodded.

Adam stroked her knuckles in comfort. “And what does your brother-in-law want with you?”

But even the soothing ministration of his touch was not enough to calm the icy fright that danced in her heart and snatched her breath away at the thought of her fate if
he
ever found her.

Evelyn scrambled to her feet. “I have chores to do.”

“Evie, wait!”

He reached out to stop her, but she was too quick for him; she sprinted back toward the cottage.

Adam took in a long breath to ease the rumble of rage in his belly. To murder one’s own wife? It was beyond foul. Though he was not so naïve as to believe each husband cherished his wife the way he had honored Teresa, it still revolted him, boggled him, the abuse.

The distant shriek of gulls evoked a long
dormant memory. He could still hear the echo of his mother’s cry—as Father thrashed her mercilessly.

Adam cut through the terrain with quick and angry strides, tamped the grisly reflection into the very bowel of his soul. He might shun such cruelty against a woman, but he was accus
tomed to it. Father had been a beast. A lifetime of hedonistic pursuits had put him into an early grave—and saved Mother from more misery. But had the former duke lived, Adam wondered if his mother, too, would be buried in a churchyard right now.

Adam returned to the cottage, a bundle of fabric tucked beneath his arm. He had been gone a good two hours. He should not have left Evelyn alone at the house, but the woman had insisted upon the material for the drapes. And he had already promised to purchase the fabric, so how could he avoid the trip into town?

Besides, it would do her good to be alone for a short while. He would not be beside her always— he had pirates to round up—so she had to learn to be comfortable with the cottage, to feel safe inside even when he wasn’t around.

But he still hurried back to the seashore.

As Adam approached the dwelling, he heard the soft humming, the light splash of water.

Curious, he rounded the cottage—and stilled.

Evelyn rested on a wide wood stump, a bowl of water in her lap. She was dressed in only a chemise and dabbed at her skin with a moist towel.

Adam was unprepared to confront the woman in such a tantalizing lack of dress. True, she’d re
moved her clothes once before—in the course of drowning! He had overlooked the delicacy then. Now he had a moment to reflect, to observe her in the intimate act of bathing. And he was struck by the provocative sight.

She was blissful. With her eyes closed, she rubbed her neck, the line of her jaw. She moved the towel lower, to the tops of her breasts.

He had never noticed the deep swell of her breasts. But as she stroked the cleft of her bosom, he was privy to the lush round shapes, the deli
cious curves.

It was the shattered bowl, as Evelyn tossed it, that shattered Adam’s reverie. He quickly turned around to offer her privacy.

“I’m sorry—”

“I didn’t expect—”

The couple expressed sentiments simultaneously.

“I’m sorry,” said Adam again. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She stammered, “I-I didn’t expect you home so soon.”

He heard her gather her clothes in a hurry. He now better understood why she had insisted he fetch the material for the drapes. The woman had wanted some time alone to see to her more personal needs. He was such an inconsiderate ass. He needed to offer her more privacy in the future.

Looking for some way to defuse the uncomfort
able situation, he said in a casual manner: “I have the fabric for the drapes. I purchased a needle and thread. Shears, too.”

She struggled with her dress; he could hear her fretful movements. “I’ll get started on the stitching.”

“There’s no rush.”

Adam set the linen and sewing implements aside. It was only then, as he twisted his body, that he noticed the stiffness in his muscles and joints. He searched for a distraction. Any distraction.

“Something smells good,” he said.

She was covered in lemon soapsuds; the sweet citrus fragrance filled the air.

“In the house,” he was quick to clarify.

“Oh, it’s luncheon.”

He started for the door. “Why don’t I set the table.”

Inside the cottage Adam sucked in a deep breath to chill the heat in his belly. But the allur ing image of Evelyn’s sultry figure was burned
into his memory. And the more he thought about
her, the more his own body burned.

He shouldn’t feel this way.

Not for a woman under his protection.

Not for a woman not his wife.

Adam headed for the dish rack and removed two plates. He busied himself inside the house with the table arrangement. So engaged was he with his task, he didn’t notice Evelyn standing in the doorway.

She was holding a handful of rubble. “I’m afraid the bowl is ruined.”

Her soot black hair was moist and twisted around one shoulder. And her dress! It was cling
ing to her wet form, highlighting those tempting curves even more.

Adam looked away from her. “Don’t worry about it.” He crouched beside the hearth and inspected the bread pan. “The cornbread looks ready.”

Evelyn placed the shattered pottery aside. “The potatoes smell ready, too.”

As she worked around him to prepare the meal, Adam sensed the heat from the flames—and the heat from Evelyn, as well.

He had not lived with a woman for a long time. Her presence in the house was going to take get
ting used to, that was all. The feelings inside him would settle, retreat with familiarity and time.

But the memory of her sweet breasts . . .

For a man of eight-and-twenty years old he had poor self-control, he thought with disgust.

Adam was in the woman’s way, so he stepped aside and took a seat next to the table. “Shall we continue with our lessons this afternoon?”

He had pressed her too hard in the morning. But he was still determined to teach her how to fight. The instruction would offer her confidence, keep her from jumping out of windows!

“Can we postpone the lesson for another day, Adam?”

She was hunched over the hearth with a ladle, scooping the boiling potatoes from the iron pot and placing them into a serving dish.

The very delicate arch of her backside quickly snagged his interest, and once more Adam had to tamp the inappropriate pleasure he found in ad
miring her.

He headed for the door. “I’ll return shortly.”

He captured her bewildered expression from the corner of his eye, but did not stop to explain his hasty departure.

He needed a good, cold dousing.