Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (17 page)

 Oh, the arrogant coxcomb! Biting back a saucy retort,
Elizabeth gave him her back, determined not to argue with his archaic reasoning.
“And you killed Linton, I suppose?”

“No, I merely wounded him. Linton still lives.” Firm hands
circled her shoulders from behind. “Jack found the box of trophies from his
victims, just as you described, along with a cache of Laudanum. Jack revealed
only Linton’s treachery in helping the smugglers take the ship to the crew.
What happened with you will remain between us. Linton was forced to walk the
gauntlet between the men and endure their wrath for betraying them. He’d been
clubbed and stabbed several times when I met him at the end of the line.”

“I was afraid—I thought it was a mu-mutiny.” She whispered.

“No, darlin’.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Linton begged me
to save him. I informed him that his hunting days were over and his fate was
sealed the moment he cut your hair and marked you as his victim. He seemed
surprised that I knew his secret. And then, I gave him a gut wound that would
kill him slowly and painfully over several weeks as it turns septic.”

Elizabeth’s hand flew to cover her mouth. She was appalled
by his grisly admission.

“Don’t worry, Jack won’t let him linger. He’ll hang before
dawn for betraying the crew.

Linton cannot harm another woman. Elizabeth reminded herself
as the chilling report sliced through her. Donovan was being honest instead of
sugaring the truth to protect her tender sensibilities as he had earlier. She
wasn’t sure she liked his brutal honesty after all.

Donovan’s arms enveloped her from behind. Elizabeth leaned
into his embrace. She tipped her head back against his shoulder and placed her
arms over his as he cradled her against his solid form. She traced the ropy
contours of his forearms and his big hands, marveling at the masculine strength
surrounding her like a fortress of stone.

“You’re safe in my keeping.” He whispered against her ear.
Elizabeth swayed with him as his body moved behind her in a timeless gesture of
comfort. “You’ll always be safe with me.”

What was happening to her? She prided herself on her ability
to face the dragon without wilting like a fragile flower. Yet, she was
trembling in this man’s arms as the events of the past days and weeks pressed
upon her.

“You’ve had a very distressing evening, haven’t you, my
sweet.”

Elizabeth nodded, voiceless and close to exhaustion as he
lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedchamber. A tinned lantern on
the wall above the bed made a pool of light on the sheets, casting a warm,
buttery circle on the bed beneath it. Donovan lowered her to the bed and turned
as if to go.

“Donovan, don’t leave me. Please.” Even as she said them,
she cringed at pathetic timbre of her words. “I don’t want to be alone.” She
pleaded, unable to contain the wave of panic rolling through her. It seemed as
if a dam were bursting inside her, the walls of her self-control crackling and
rippling beneath the constant fear pressing against them, demanding release.

“Hush, my sweet girl.” Donovan eased down beside her on the
bed. He gathered her in his embrace. They lay quietly entwined in the circle of
pale golden light. He reclined with his back propped against the wall.
Elizabeth was lying curled on her side between his splayed thighs as she leaned
against his rugged chest. She huddled against him, well aware that she was
behaving like the weak, insipid females her grandmother despised.

She didn’t care. She’d hate herself later, when she no
longer trembled and started at every noise and shadow. Right now, she just
wanted to feel safe in this world of violent men.

As Donovan held her the frantic churning in her ears
receded. She breathed in the clean scent of his skin and surrendered to the
urge to caress the soft whorls of hair curling beneath her cheek. She traced
the path of a scar with her finger and pressed a light kiss against it.

The man holding her flinched, and then inhaled sharply. He
became a statue.

Had she given offense by her naïve caress? Perhaps she
should not be so curious about his body, or at the very least, his scars.

In the stilted silence, she glanced up at his face,
searching for clues as to his mood. He was gazing down at her. His face was
bathed in shadows, being just outside the circle of light.

“Ma Cherie.” He whispered, as a long, lean finger moved
along her arm. It edged along her shoulder and then her neck in leisurely
pattern. His hand cupped her cheek, traced it with light fingers and smoothed a
stray tendril behind her ear. Donovan’s finger glided across her jaw, circled
her chin and nestled beneath it as his thumb outlined her lips in a patient
exploration. Each new pass of his thumb along her lips raised fresh trails of
desire. Her lips parted under the sensual caress. The tip of his thumb brushed
inside of her mouth and then emerged to spread a moist trail along her tingling
lips.

Elizabeth reached up to caress his cheek. It was rough, shadowed
with stubble in the late hour, accentuating the sharp planes of his handsome
face. It made him look wicked, dangerous, but at this moment, he was neither.
Her hand traveled from his rough cheek to settle on the back of his neck. She
pulled slightly, urging him to lean in to kiss her.

His lips quickly descended to take possession of her mouth.
In that moment nothing existed beyond the sweet persuasion of his lips as his
mouth merged with hers. Taking, giving. Possessing, fulfilling.

His tongue slid across her upper lip, curling, teasing, and
silently pleading for her to open to him. She surrendered her mouth to his
intimate caress. It wasn’t the first time he’d been so bold with her in recent
days. Elizabeth was entranced by the silken feel of their tongues blending
together like musical notes, forming a rich sonata of unrivaled pleasure.

As he persisted, gently wooing her tongue and enticing it to
dance with his, Elizabeth experienced an anxious, needy feeling that was very
different from the usual gnawing fear that clawed her insides. This was a
pleasant, buoyant urge to be closer—ever closer--to him. She followed her
instincts, pressing against him, seeking solace in the warmth of his masculine
form.

Practiced fingers unfastened the lacings of her gown.
Elizabeth started as the cool air invaded her tender skin. She stiffened, no
longer confident regarding the sensual path he was guiding them down. Without a
thought, she clutched the edges of her gown with her fist, blocking his
advance.

Donovan stopped kissing her. He inclined his head, leaning
into the circle of light so she could see his eyes. He wanted her, badly. He
said as much earlier and she could feel his rigid desire protruding into her
backside. It felt as if a rock were lodged between them. Elizabeth swallowed
nervously. She’d offered herself to him earlier in a desperate bid to keep him
near.

She shouldn’t have been so rash, but she couldn’t withdraw
the invitation now. Still, her hand held the gown closed.

“Don’t be frightened.” His voice, so soft, so pleading, was
like a verbal caress. “You kissed me so sweetly. Allow me kiss you in the same
place. It’s all I’ll ask this night, I swear.”

Shackled with uncertainty, Elizabeth was unable to pull her
eyes from his potent gaze.

She gave a slight nod, her jaw having become so tight it
wouldn’t allow speech. She dropped her hand to her lap, resigned to endure the
proceedings as best she could.

“I would never hurt you, Elizabeth. You know that, don’t
you? You trust me, don’t you, Darlin’? After all this time together, nearly six
weeks . . . come, my love.”

Oh, God! Was this how women fell at men’s urging throughout
the ages? His words were as powerful as a magician’s spell when spoken so
seductively. Elizabeth found herself nodding agreement as he gazed intently
into her eyes and whispered his sweet incantation. “Trust me, Sweet Lizzie. Let
me kiss your breasts.”

At her nod of acquiescence his hand slipped inside her gown.
He cupped her breast with gentleness that robbed the gesture of offense. His
palm was warm and firm as it cradled and then stroked her tender flesh. She
released her captured breath, intrigued by his sensual caress. He wasn’t
pinching or squeezing with cruel glee as the smuggler crew had when they
cornered her.

He was gentle, so gentle, as he promised he would be.
Somehow, he guided her to lie on her back. She was unaware of it happening, but
now he was lying on his side next to her, his face hovering above hers. His
face descended, he engaged her in a long, leisurely kiss, a gentle reminder of
many such kisses they’d shared in recent days.

His head dipped and his hair tickled her skin as he placed a
light kiss on the tip of one breast. Elizabeth was shocked by the delightful
sensation of his warm, moist lips enveloping her nipple. He suckled briefly,
sending odd shivers through her breast that resonated deep within her.

Donovan’s head turned and he gave the same attention to her
other breast, once more gently taking the tip into his mouth, suckling and
rolling it between his lips until it tingled and budded with desire. She sighed
as he teased and suckled the sensitive bud and rolled over it with his tongue.
He released it and then blew on it, intensifying her pleasure as his breath
caressed the hardened bud he’d moistened by his tongue.

Elizabeth opened her eyes to find his pale gaze upon her
face, not her breasts. She knew that look. He was studying her, measuring her
reaction to his touch. Satisfied that he had guided her successfully through
what she expected to be an unpleasant experience, he pulled the gaping fabric
over her exposed flesh and tied the top lacing with quick fingers.

She was confused by his gallant retreat. It would be so easy
for him to keep kissing her and coaxing her until he had her pressed beneath him,
forced to accommodate to his desire.

Instead, he was keeping his promise? “Go to sleep, Lizzie.”
He whispered sweetly, as she continued to stare at him with disbelief. He lay
on his side, curled about her. His arm circled her waist, and his head nestled
near hers on the pillow. “I’ll be here to chase away the monsters.”

Chapter
Fifteen

Birds? Surely she was dreaming. Entranced by the sound of
birdsong after weeks of silence, Elizabeth sprang from bed and crossed the
outer room to kneel on the window seat with her hands palmed against the glass.
Tall, green mountains were gliding rapidly past her line of view. A white gull
glided past the glass pane, followed by two others.

“Good morning, my sweet.” Donovan was seated at the table.
Pearl stood behind him, brushing out his dark hair. Elizabeth blinked and
looked again. Yes, the servant was combing his hair backwards, making it appear
thick and unruly where normally it was sleek and neat.

She studied Donovan’s abrupt transformation. Dressed in
stark, unrelenting black, he gave the appearance of the fierce pirate he had
once been. His black shirt was left open, displaying the scars he usually kept
hidden beneath a fine lawn shirt. The scars added to his frightening persona,
as did the tousled mane of jet black hair hanging wildly about his shoulders.
Dark stubble peppered his jaw, emphasizing those pale, penetrating blue eyes.

Pearl set the comb aside and picked up a black scarf. He
tied it about his master’s brow. The empty eyeholes on Donovan’s forehead left
no question as to the purpose of that sheath.

“This is Ambrose Duchamp.” Donovan gestured behind her.

She turned with a gasp. A tall, lanky fellow with a swarthy
complexion leaned against the wall beside the door. Elizabeth crossed her arms
about her chest, keenly aware of her state of undress. She wore only a thin
night rail. Her hair was in disarray, and she was barefoot, a severe
disadvantage when being presented to a frightful scoundrel.

“Mr. Duchamp and I escaped France together.” Donovan explained.

Duchamp made a bow. His dark eyes revealed a tendency toward
sulkiness. She sensed he, too, had suffered untold horrors in France. Unlike
Donovan, Duchamp had yet to emerge from his malevolent cocoon and rejoin the
human race.

A discreet cough behind her caught her attention. Pearl held
open her lavender silk robe. Elizabeth slipped into it and looked about her
with unease as she stood between the dangerous stranger before her and the
imposing pirate inhabiting the body of her husband behind her.

“Lizzie.” Donovan intoned. She turned. He held out his arm.
She went to him quickly. He wrapped his arm about her in a protective gesture,
pulling her close to his seated form. “I’ll find you a position on the estate.”
He addressed his guest. “Assisting me in my scientific studies is not feasible.
I prefer to work alone, and the opportunity for acquiring specimens is rare.”

“I could provide you with plenty of specimens, mon ami.”

“No.” Donovan’s voice deepened to a warning timbre. “Coming
across a fresh corpse is one thing, but deliberate killing for scientific--”  Elizabeth
gasped at his words. Donovan’s arm tightened about her, as if fearing she might
flee his grip. “Ambrose is rendering the remains of shark for me, dearest.” He
stared hard at his henchmen as he spoke to her. “I use the cartilage for
medicinal purposes. Ambrose procures them for me from time to time.”

“Aye, a shark.” The Frenchman’s eyes gleamed with amusement
as he gazed at her.

“You will be paid handsomely for your services, as usual.
But make no mistake; you will not take it upon yourself to provide future
specimens for me without my request. Do we understand each other, Mr. Duchamp?”

The lanky Frenchman nodded, pushed himself away from the
wall, and left the cabin.

“Ambrose tires of life at sea.” Donovan explained, stating
the obvious and shoving aside the ambiguous as if it were of little
consequence. He gazed up at her. “You’re frowning, my sweet. Did you awaken
with a headache again?”