Too Dangerous to Desire (3 page)

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he potage bubbled in an iron pot over the fire: the only sound in an otherwise quiet cottage. Adam hunkered beside the hearth and slowly stirred the thick soup. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

Evelyn didn’t respond. She was seated at the table, wrapped in a blanket and drinking a cup of coffee. She appeared lost to her thoughts. And with reason. She had craved death this morning. Now she was safe, alive. Much had happened to her in just a day.

“I can make drapes for you,” she said.

He looked at the naked window. Is that what she had been thinking about all this time? How to neaten his home? Or perhaps she was assuring herself she could work for her board?

Adam picked up an iron ladle. “You should rest.” He poured the broth into a wooden bowl
and set it on the table in front of her. “Don’t worry
about the drapes.”

“I can make you a new shirt, too.”

She was looking out the window, not at him. He took her moment of reflection to gaze sur
reptitiously at her graceful figure. The firelight bounced off her dark locks; the tresses shimmered under the lambent glow. The dancing light enliv
ened her, and her presence in turn made the room so much more animated.

It struck Adam soundly, the energy stemming from her. He was more sensitive to her every artful movement, more alert to his own sense of self. For too long he had endured solitude. He was accustomed to the quiet stillness of life and the emptiness of aloneness. Evelyn’s company dis
turbed him in a way he had not anticipated. How to even converse with her? He had not dined with a woman in years. The simple ritual seemed so strange to him now.

Adam joined her at the table with his own bowl of soup. “You don’t have to make me clothes or drapes.”

He lived a simple life, dressed in simple attire. He had no need for lavish waste. Ever since the death of his wife, he had forsaken the privileges of the
ton
. He did not belong to that glittering world anymore, for it offered him cold comfort.

He preferred the solitude of the beach, the gray

waves and tempestuous skies.

He preferred to be close to Tess.

“You don’t have to work for me,” he said again. “I offered you my protection. You don’t owe me anything in return.” He touched her hand, limp on the table. “Evie?”

She didn’t flinch at his touch this time. She looked away from the window, down at his hand clasping hers. She appeared dazed.

“Did you hear me, Evie?”

She shifted her eyes, those stunning—and bro-ken—violet eyes.

Who is he?
Adam wondered.
Who hurt you
,
Evie?

A burning bitterness gripped him, an unmis
takable desire to snap flesh and bone.

Was
he
her husband?

Adam glanced at Evelyn’s fingers. No ring. She could have removed the bauble. But still, there was no mark or imprint where a ring might have been. So who was
he
then?

“I want to do it,” she said. “I want to make you the drapes.”

Her hand was warm beneath his touch. So warm and comforting. That he could feel any
thing at all, that he was not deeply asleep inside, disarmed him.

Adam let go of her hand. He picked up the spoon and tasted the soup.

“I’ll go to town in the morning,” he said. “I’ll purchase some material for the drapes.”

He didn’t feel at ease with the arrangement. He had offered the woman his protection; it was nei
ther right nor gentlemanly to accept compensa
tion, even in terms of labor.

Yet what else could he do? She had vowed not to go near the cliff. If he reneged on his part of the bargain, if he did not allow her to perform some household chores, she might renege on her half, too.

Her lashes fluttered in wariness. “Town?”

“I won’t tell anyone that you’re living here,” he assured her. “You are safe with me.”

Again those violet eyes bewitched him. She looked at him as though he was a curious creature in a sideshow carnival. Did the idea of being safe, of trusting someone, really baffle her?

That dark rage still brewed in his belly. Who
ever
he
was, he would not hurt Evelyn again. Adam would see to it.

She glanced around the sparsely furnished room. “How will you afford the material?”

Clearly she thought him just a little less desti
tute than herself. “I live off of a respectable family allowance.”

“You’re not a fisherman?”

“No, I’m not.”

I’m not the man you think I am
,
Evie.

“Then why do you live so close to the sea?” she wondered.

He could feel her misgiving. She wanted,
needed
to know something more about him. He had of
fered to protect her. But why should she trust him?

“Six years ago my wife died at sea.” He was careful to keep the inflection in his voice steady. Conversing about his late wife always disarmed him. “I feel close to Teresa here.”

Although that was not the only reason he stayed so close to the sea. He had another, more dangerous, motive for keeping near the water. He refrained from commenting about it, though. No need to frighten his easily spooked houseguest.

Evelyn lowered her eyes to her soup.

“Have I upset you, Evie?”

She whispered, “I was thinking about my sister.”

“Where is your sister?”

“She’s dead.” Evelyn clutched the pendant at her throat. “This is all I have left to feel close to her.”

Slowly the woman’s mysterious identity was being revealed. She was no thief. The necklace belonged to her; it was there in her haunting eyes, the great meaning it had for her. And more and more he was beginning to suspect
she wasn’t a woman of the soil, as he had first believed. Her hands might be calloused, but her speech was superb, the accent reared to be of quality.

However, there was still so much to learn about her. He wished to know it all—who was chasing her, for one—but a tentative trust was forming, and he didn’t want to upset the delicate bond by intruding too deeply into her troubles and dis
tressing her. He would just have to be patient. To wait for the right moment to make more subtle inquiries.

“How is the soup?” he asked.

“Good.” She let go of the pendant and returned to her meal. “I can cook for you, too. And make jam.” She looked sheepish. “I’m afraid I ruined your strawberry patch, though, when I landed in it.”

He smiled. “It’ll grow back.”

Adam finished the soup and took the dish over to the dry sink. He dipped it into a bowl of cold water to rinse it.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “You should get some sleep.”

He could hear her breath catch.

“I’m going to sleep outdoors tonight.” He moved over to the dish rack and returned the wooden soup bowl. “It’s a warm night, and I like sleeping under the stars.”

Not true, but he wanted her to take the bed. She deserved to rest, to feel safe. And she wouldn’t take the bed if she thought he wanted it. He un
derstood enough about her to conclude she was loath to feel like a bother.

He headed for the chest at the foot of the bed. “I’ll just gather a spare blanket.”

She seemed a little perturbed by the sleeping arrangements. “I can sleep outside; I don’t mind.”

“Really, Evie, I much prefer the crickets and warm summer breeze. I never sleep indoors in the summer. It’s better if you take the bed. No sense in it going to waste.”

After a brief pause, she nodded. “All right, then.”

As Adam opened the chest, a wealth of famil
iar items greeted him. The contents evoked mem
ories: both pleasant and foul. He stared at the weaponry: swords . . . a knife.

“I think it’s time your wicked ways come to an end, brother.” Adam pushed the knife in deeper. “You’ve dis
graced this family long enough.”

He thrust aside the foul memory by thrusting aside the luminous blades, and reached for the more pleasant keepsakes.

Adam’s heart quivered as he caressed the silver comb and mirror. With reverence, he placed the items, along with a bar of lemon soap, on the bed. “This is for you.”

Evelyn eyed the toiletries warily. “I can’t pay you.”

“You don’t have to pay me; it’s a gift.”

“I don’t need anything,” she was quick to assure him.

“Listen, Evie. I don’t know if you realize how this works, but I’ve offered to protect you, and now it’s my duty to see to all your needs.” He removed a bundle of fabric from the chest, too. “There’s some clothes for you here, as well.”

“I can’t wear your clothes.”

“The pieces are not mine.”

As he unraveled the garments, violet eyes circled. “Oh. The apparel belonged to your late wife.”

“I keep a few of her things.”

Most of Teresa’s belongings had perished with her in the sea, but some had remained behind in England: accouterments she had not packed with her for their wedding tour.

“I have a dress,” she said. “Truly, I don’t need another one.”

He looked at the rags she termed a dress and said, “It’s settled, Evie. I must see to all your needs. And you need clothing.”

She quit protesting at that.

“Take one or all of the frocks if you like. I don’t know how many will fit you. Teresa was shorter in stature, but you are welcome to alter the garbs.”

Evelyn appeared shy and lowered her head. “I cannot repay your kindness.”

“Yes, you can.” He smiled. “You can sew me some new drapes.”

That must have put her at ease, for she, too, smiled then.

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ou’re alive.” Damian Westmore
,
the Duke of Wem
bury
,
was bewildered. Adam could appreciate that
;
he should be dead. In a way
,
he was.

“Am I?” said Adam. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

He entered the duke’s bedroom and yanked off his hood
,
the blade snug in his grip. Two years ago to the day
,
Tess had died at sea. And with her all joy and hope for the future. But tonight the notorious “Duke of Rogues” would bleed to make amends. Tonight Da-mian’s dynasty of wickedness would come to an end.

Damian eyed the luminous blade in his brother’s hand. It was clear he comprehended Adam’s intent
;
he wasn’t foxed and disoriented like his usual self.

A bloody miracle. It was also a boon. Adam did not want his sibling to have the comfort of an easy death in a hazy dream. Tess had had no such comfort. She had drowned in a fiery wreckage. She had screamed in fright before a cold
,
watery darkness had silenced her forever.

Adam shuddered
,
sweating at the morbid thought.

The duke was not alone. He quickly whisked the woman in his arms across the room
,
shoved her onto the balcony
,
then locked the glass doors—so Adam could not get to her.

Something twitched in Adam’s belly. Jealousy. He was no fool. He could see the fear in Damian’s eyes
:
fear for the woman. The same sick and twisting fear Adam had suffered whenever Tess had been frightened or hurt or unsure. The kind of fear born of love that urged a man to protect a woman with his breath
,
his blood
,
his very fists. That his sinful brother should have such a love
,
while Adam endured the misery of aloneness
,
was an injustice. A cruelty. And a disgrace to Tess’s memory.

“I thought you had died at sea
,
” said Damian
,
bemused.

“Oh
,
but I did.” Adam kicked the bedroom door closed with the heel of his boot. “I died on the night Tess perished.”

There was something different about the duke. A look of . . . grief? Even remorse?

Adam dismissed the sentiment. It was impossible. The duke was a selfish bastard. That he could mourn or feel pain was ridiculous
,
unworthy of consideration.

“Adam, where have you been?”

“In hell.” Unhooking the clasp at his neck
,
Adam al
lowed the cloak to slip free. “All thanks to you.”

Damian choked on his words. “Adam
,
please
,
tell me what happened?”

“Why? You don’t give a damn.”

“Please
,
Adam
,
tell me
,
” he beseeched. “I have to know.”

“Do you now?”

Adam spotted a pistol resting on the surface of the writing desk
,
and slowly maneuvered his way closer to the weapon. It was just like the duke to be so irrespon
sible
:
to leave a gun unsecured.

“Very well
,
then
,
” said Adam. “A wretched storm hit
,
sinking the ship. I washed ashore on a little island off the coast of Wales
,
where a group of monks living in an isolated monastery looked after me. For more than a year I had no memory of who I was or where I had come from. And then one night
,
during a brutal storm
,
lightning hit the holy dwelling and my memory came back.”

Adam picked up the gun. Armed with both pistol and blade
,
he resumed his steady advance on the duke. It was time to avenge Teresa.

“It’s your fault she’s gone.” The rage billowed inside Adam. He shook with repressed agony and hatred. “I had to sail home to drag you from your filthy existence. I had to wallow in muck for most of my life
,
lugging you out of whorehouses and gaming hells—and I lost Tess because of it. You.” Adam pointed to him with the knife
,
the blade trembling in his shaky hand. “You’ve destroyed everything good in your life—and mine. You’re no better than Father.”

Their father had been a wicked scoundrel
,
too. And
Damian had turned out to be just like the former duke
,

worse even.

The duke whispered
,
“I’m sorry, Adam.”

Was that a tear in Damian’s eye?

Adam blinked to dispel the thought. The “Duke of Rogues” shedding tears? Overwhelmed with repentance?

Horseshit!

The devil cannot reform his wicked ways. The devil deserved to die.

“Oh no.” Adam shook his head vehemently. “That paltry and insincere gesture isn’t going to absolve you of what you’ve done.” The duke did not want to die
,
was all. A few tears might fool some simpleton into believ
ing the duke’s atonement sincere
,
but Adam was far too familiar with his brother’s nefarious habits to believe such a deceit real.

He glanced at the glass balcony doors. Throughout the exchange with his kin
,
the woman had pounded on the doors
,
wrestled with the knob. Fearful. For the duke?

“She appears to care for you a great deal
,
” said Adam. “And I suspect you care for her
,
too.”

Damian’s eyes darkened. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to set things right.”

Adam paused. He was just a few feet away from his brother. Damian made no effort to run or even defend himself. He had lost this battle
,
and he knew it. Adam
was armed. And he was strong. He was not the lean man he had been two years ago. The physical demands of monastic life had offered him an opportunity to build his strength. He was now as big as the duke. And he was a proficient assassin. He had spent the last year learning the art of death in preparation for this moment. There was nowhere for Damian to hide. No way for the duke to win the strife.

“In memory of Tess
,
I’m going to take your place as the next Duke of Wembury and put an end to the dy
nasty of misery you have wrought . . . or I was.” Adam looked at the glass balcony doors
,
at the woman rattling the knob in a desperate attempt to get back inside the room. And save the duke? “But I’ve changed my mind. I think there’s an even better way to make you pay for what you’ve done.”

Adam lifted the gun and aimed it for the glass doors.

The woman stumbled back in surprise.

“No!”

The duke pounced on his brother, and both men crashed to the ground with a tremendous thump.

“You will
not
hurt her
,
Adam! She is as innocent as Tess. Your strife is with me!”

Adam stopped struggling. It was true. He had not come to take an innocent life, but a guilty one.

The pistol hit the rug with a muffled thud.

“You’re right
,
” said Adam.

With one piercing stroke
,
he stabbed the duke.

Damian gasped.

“I think it’s time your wicked ways come to an end, brother.” Adam pushed the knife in deeper. “You’ve dis
graced this family long enough.”

The woman on the balcony screamed.

Blood oozed over Adam’s fingers.

The duke was on his knees. He grabbed Adam’s shoulders
,
but Adam shrugged off his brother’s grip and yanked the knife from his chest.

Adam stood. He lifted the blade high above his head
,
ready to take another stab at the duke.

But still Damian did not move. Prostrated at Adam’s feet
,
the duke looked like the lost boy Adam remem
bered. The brother who had once cherished Adam in youth before their father had twisted his soul and made him a villain.

Something snagged on Adam’s heart. A lost child
hood memory. Two brothers sheltered together in the castle
,
in hiding from their cruel father
,
sharing boiled apples rolled in brown sugar and whispering about the adventures of Robinson Crusoe.

Adam trembled. “Why won’t you fight me now?!”

Damian gripped the gash in his chest
,
blood seeping between his fingers
,
and croaked
,
“Because I love you.”

Those words . . . Damian had never said those words to him. He was a black devil
;
he could not feel love
,
surely. He was a monster. He . . .

Adam closed his eyes. The tears came. Fresh and briny drops that soaked his cheeks
,
his soul like balm.

He dropped the blade. Grief overwhelmed him
,
pounded him. Grief for all he had lost
:
his wife . . . his brother.

Adam sunk to his knees
,
opposite Damian
,
and brushed his fingers roughly through his hair
,
the need for blood slowly ebbing away.

He suddenly grabbed Damian by the sides of the head and leaned in to whisper
,
“Why did it have to be like this?”

Why?

Why was Tess gone?

Why was his brother his enemy?

Adam pulled away from the wounded duke. A dis
turbing truth settled in his belly. It was not his brother’s fault that Teresa had suffered a gruesome death—it was his. He had failed to save her from drowning.

The woman on the balcony kicked her foot through the glass doors
,
desperate to reach the wounded duke. She would take care of Damian. She would try to heal him. Adam had no strength left. Unfounded rage had consumed him. All of him. There was nothing left.

Adam picked up the knife and softly made his way to the bedroom door. His mother appeared
,
stunned. He touched her cheek. He had no words for her.

He was a broken man.

Evelyn breathed in the tart scent of lemon soap. She dipped the creamy bar into a bowl of water and rubbed it between her palms to work up a lather.

She yearned to be clean, and scrubbed her cheeks with the sweet citrus bubbles, thinking of Adam and his gift. It was such a lovely gift, the soap. She wanted to enjoy its fragrance and touch, to think no ill thoughts about the man who’d given it to her or his motives behind the gesture.

But a habit of mistrusting men was difficult to shake, and Evelyn was slightly apprehensive about Adam’s generosity. She had to wonder:
Did he want something in return?

He
had given her gifts, too. Extravagant pres
ents. But
he
had wanted something very precious in return: her soul.

Evelyn shivered and dismissed the creature from her mind. Her thoughts returned to Adam. He’d promised to protect her. But no man had ever offered her that before. Her father had failed to take care of her.
He
wanted to possess and abuse her. But Adam . . .