Too Great A Temptation

by Alexandra Benedict

  “You want me to believe the cabin boy was lying? You would say anything to save your brothers. I know that.”

  Damian lifted the pistol.

  “Stop!” She shrieked and struggled against her chains. “Think back to that awful night, Damian. There was a storm, remember?”

  He gathered his brow, thinking back to the news article in question. “What of it?”

  “It was the storm that destroyed the vessel, not my brothers.”

  “I don’t believe you. The boy said—”

  “The boy was delirious!” She took in a ragged breath. “After my brothers rifled the ship, they sailed away. A wild tempest hit. Even the Bonny Meg was crippled and almost drowned that night. The cabin boy confused the two events. The excitement of a pirate raid, the fright of a storm mixed together in his fevered mind.”

  “But he saw the cannon blasts,” said Damian.

  “He saw lightning. He heard thunder. He muddled up the two, thinking pirates were firing on the ship. But it never happened.”

  Heart throbbing, Damian stood up and moved away from the pit, walking in circles, his mind a welter of thoughts.

  “You’re lying, Belle.”

  “I’m not lying, Damian. I swear.”

  “You would say anything to save your kin.”

  “But it is the truth.”

  “According to whom? Your brothers?” Damian tucked his pistol away and marched into the dungeon. “You weren’t there, Belle. You don’t know what really happened. Your brothers told you that story so you wouldn’t think them villains.”

  She took an undaunted step toward him. “You can’t kill them, Damian.”

  “I have to.” His voice softened. “You would do the same if our places were reversed.”

  She reached for the weapons. He grabbed her by the wrists and forced her hands behind her back, drawing her snug up against him. He took in a deep and lingering breath, cherishing this one last touch.

  “What will you do if I kill your brothers?” he whispered in wretched grief. “Seek vengeance?”

  She gritted her teeth, her eyes luminous with tears.

  “You will come after me, won’t you, Belle?”

  “Damian, please,” she begged weakly. “Don’t do this.”

  He pressed his lips to her brow in a tender kiss. “I have to, Belle.” He let her go. “I must have justice for my brother…just like you must have justice for yours.”

  He moved back toward the oubliette.

  “But this isn’t justice,” she sobbed. “My brothers didn’t kill Adam!”

  “Then why aren’t they defending themselves?”

  Damian stared at the pit’s entrance. It was silent down below. No groans. No grunts. No curses. The brothers were still. Listening. Waiting.

  “Why should they defend themselves?” she rejoined. “You’ve condemned them as murderers. They probably think it a waste of time to argue with you.”

  “But you don’t think it a waste of time, do you?”

  “No!” she cried. “I know you Damian. You’re not a murderer. If you kill my brothers, you’ll regret it.”

  He would regret many things later—the loss of Belle most of all.

  “That may be true,” he said, “but I still have to honor Adam’s memory.”

  “And is this what Adam would want? For you to kill four men innocent of murder? It was an accident, his drowning. Not a crime.”

  Damian wavered. His fingers went to his temples to hush the demons ranting inside his head, goading him to shoot the pirates and be done with it. Avenge Adam! It was relentless, the chanting. Haunting. Unbearable.

  “Damian, you know my brothers.” Belle broke through the madness in his mind. “They’re not monsters. Please, don’t do this,” she sobbed. “It’ll destroy me!”

  And with those words, something cracked inside Damian’s heart. A hard shell that splintered, then shattered.

  The twinge in his breast throbbed, making it hard to breathe. He loved Belle! So much it hurt. He could not go through with his plan of vengeance. He could not devastate Belle like this—even for Adam.

  A fist went into the stone wall. Damian’s knuckles cracked, the blood spurted forth, but the pain shooting through his arm helped to counter the cumbersome ache in his chest.

  He slumped against the wall and let out a desperate sigh.

  Mirabelle twined her sweaty fingers. She had to get through to the duke. She couldn’t lose her brothers. Not like this. Not all at once.

  Torment gushed in her breast, invaded her throat. She tried to swallow her grief, but the tears flowed freely, thickly.

  She shuffled in her corner, cursing the chains that bound her. If only she could get to Damian, shake him, make him see reason.

  Damian suddenly moved away from the wall, heading for her.

  She wiped her tears on the back of her hand, heart hammering. “Damian?”

  He said not a word. In determined strokes, he removed a key from his shirt pocket and unlocked her chains.

  The metal clattered to the ground, the sound ringing throughout the quiet chamber. Even her brothers had heard it, for a great murmur arose from the depth of the oubliette.

  Damian grabbed her by the wrist and ushered her out of the dungeon. She didn’t protest. Hope sprouted in her breast and clung to her heart in a fierce embrace.

  Had she finally changed his mind about letting her brothers go free?

  “What’s going on?” came the thunderous demand from the darkness.

  “It’s all right, James,” she shouted back. But she wasn’t so sure. A moment ago Damian, mad with grief, had tried to slay her kin. Now he was hauling her through the dungeon, away from her brothers. And she had yet to determine where he was taking her. Or why.

  An uproar echoed behind her. Her brothers were furious. Scared, too, she reckoned, believing Damian might hurt her instead. But Mirabelle didn’t have time to think about her own safety. She had to make sure Damian didn’t harm her kin.

  Whisked down the corridor, past the pit’s opening, Mirabelle was dragged up the stairs. Her brothers would have to wait in the oubliette awhile longer. She still had to convince Damian to let them out of the hole.

  The duke climbed the steps two at a time. In great haste, too. She stumbled once, then twice. Muttering under her breath, she snatched the side of her dress and yanked it up over her knees.

  Round and round they went, ascending to the ground floor of the castle. Truthfully, Mirabelle didn’t care what happened to her so long as her brothers were all right. And she intended to convince Damian to keep clear of her kin for good. Just as soon as she could draw breath.

  Bloody hell, the man was in a hurry. Not even the smoke in the passageways deterred him from his brisk pace.

  Smoke?

  Mirabelle wrinkled her nose.

  The explosion! That’s right. Her brothers’ doing, of course. A distraction to get inside the castle undetected.

  The causeways reeked of sulfur. She coughed back the fumes and brought her wrist to her mouth to hinder most of the heavy smoke.

  “Your Grace!”

  Damian paused.

  Mirabelle smacked right into him.

  An aging figure approached—the butler, Mirabelle presumed—all decked out in sleeping gear. His robe disheveled and soot-ridden, he paused before the duke and took in a few deep gasps.

  “What is it, Jenkins?”

  Jenkins appeared startled by the terse demand. “Your Grace, the castle is under attack.”

  “Yes, I know,” Damian clipped. “Is the fire under control?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “My mother?”

  “Safe in her room.”

  “The rest of the household?”

  “Frightened, but fine.”

  Damian nodded and started off again.

  “Your Grace?”

  This time in exasperation, “What Jenkins?”

  The man bristled at the master’s tone. “The magistrate h
as been summoned. He would like to speak with you about the—”

  “Tell the magistrate to go home,” was the duke’s curt command. “Then open the windows and let out the smoke. Fix whatever needs fixing tonight. In the morning, call for a foreman to oversee the rest of the repairs.”

  Jenkins rasped out, “And those responsible for the fire?”

  “I will take care of them.”

  The attendant spared Mirabelle a curious glance before nodding to the duke in obedience. “Yes, Your Grace.” Twisting on his heels, he disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

  Damian pulled her quickly along.

  Mirabelle let out a cough, her throat parched and sore from the fumes. Up on the second floor, though, the corridors were relatively clear of smoke. Evidently the thick stone walls served as good buffers against the fumes.

  Damian opened a door at the end of the hall and pushed her inside the chamber.

  Lamps already burning, Mirabelle glanced around the cavernous space. It was gloomy. Cold. Lifeless. No color at all, except for the bloodred curtains that framed the balcony doors. And those gargoyles! Perched above the hearth in hideous poses, jaws gaping, wings fanned.

  She shivered at the ghastly sight. “What is this place?”

  “My bedroom.”

  She made a grimace. “It’s awful.”

  “I know.”

  He stalked over to the writing desk and discarded the two pistols.

  Mirabelle let out a shuddering sigh, relief and joy and thankfulness all billowing in her breast. But soon the anger came back, swelled in her veins.

  “How could you think my brothers murderers, Damian?”

  “I’m not so sure they’re innocent, Belle.”

  So he still had his doubts? Well, she had to quash those right quick.

  “James would never give an order to sink an unarmed ship. You know him better than that, Damian.”

  He ripped a shaky hand through his tousled mane and strutted across the room. “I know no such thing.”

  Angry and restless, he was acting as if he’d made a terrible mistake in sparing her brothers.

  A tickle of fear gripped Mirabelle, and, frazzled, she demanded, “Then why let my brothers live?”

  He thundered up to her. “Because I couldn’t hurt you!”

  Something snagged on her heart. A nameless sentiment of frightening intensity. It warmed her. It comforted her. But she shooed the emotion away. She had one angry duke breathing over her head, and she had to soothe his agitation before she could even think about what she was feeling.

  “Damian,” she said in a more even voice, wheedling him to settle down. “You made the right choice.”

  “Did I?” Dark clouds of torment swirled in his sea blue eyes. “You’re a pirate. If you think it’s the right thing to do then it must be wrong.”

  She made a noise akin to a snort and marched over to the marble-top washstand. “Even pirates adhere to some laws.” She immersed a towel in the washbasin. “We’re not all uncivilized cutthroats.”

  He grunted behind her.

  Mirabelle took in a rather shaky breath. She had to calm the implacable duke. If he continued in this erratic manner, he might reconsider letting her brothers go. And she couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let her brothers die…and she couldn’t let Damian sink into despair, become a murderer himself. It was not in his nature, she was sure. He was wounded, in horrific pain. Grief for his brother had blinded him to the truth. She had to make him see reason. She had to make the hurt inside him go away.

  Squeezing the excess water from the towel, she sauntered up to the duke. “You don’t believe me?”

  He was staring at her—hard. Such a piercing stare, full of agony and conflict. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  She grabbed his wrist.

  He jerked slightly, then sighed in acceptance.

  Mirabelle guided his hand to the towel and dabbed at the blood smeared across his knuckles. “You know exactly what to think,” she countered with confidence. “You’re just stubborn.”

  “Damn it, Belle, I’m—”

  “Hold still!” She gripped his wiggling fingers firmly. “You’re reckless, too.”

  “This coming from you?”

  She caressed his injured hand, washing away the bloodstains, mesmerized by his robust fingers and the power surging through them. Fingers with enough strength to crush a man’s throat. And yet gentle enough to evoke the most divine pleasures.

  “A reckless pirate is a dead pirate,” she said after a thoughtful pause. “There’s nothing reckless about me. Or James, for that matter.” She met his troubled gaze. “Can’t you see that, Damian? It would be reckless to sink a passenger ship and enrage a whole nation. It would be reckless to provoke the navy into a cat-and-mouse chase.”

  “I thought scruples stopped your brothers from sinking the ship?”

  “They did, but you don’t believe me.”

  “So if you can’t appeal to my emotion, appeal to my sense of reason? Is that it?” He laced his wounded fingers with hers. “You would say anything to save your kin.”

  The low timbre of his voice made her quiver. “You don’t want to believe the truth, do you, Damian?” She gave his bloody hand a tender squeeze. “You want someone to blame. To hate.”

  A strapping arm slipped around her waist, holding her snug. She made a noise of surprise, as she was pulled so close, she could see more intimately the chaos in his eyes, his soul.

  Damian’s brow touched hers. In an aching voice, he whispered, “But there is someone to blame, Belle…me.”

  “I wholly agree with that.”

  Mirabelle gasped.

  A cloaked figure stepped into the room, knife drawn. She recognized that voice right away. It was the masked stranger from the ball!

  Even more disquieting was the tortured expression on Damian’s pale face. His next utterance was no less disturbing.

  “Adam.”

  Chapter 28

  D amian took in a ragged breath, lost, the chaos in his soul blinding. “You’re alive.”

  “Am I?” Adam stepped deeper into the room and yanked off his hood. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  Coal black hair disheveled, features burned and toughened by the heat of the sun, Adam had lost his youthful glow. His slender figure, too. The man before Damian was a man. In strength. In physique. A broad chest, bulky stature, Adam was more akin to Damian’s size. And apparently to Damian’s temperament, too, for the renowned sincerity in his delft blue eyes was gone—replaced by a burning hate impossible to ignore.

  Shoving his bewilderment aside, Damian quickly noted the shimmering blade in his brother’s hand, the metal luminous under the resplendent lamps.

  Aware of the warm body pressed snug against him, Damian whisked Belle across the room, and all but shoved her onto the balcony.

  The key snapped in the lock.

  Belle pounded on the glass.

  Damian turned to face his brother once more, tortured disbelief still stinging in his breast—and yet joy. Trickles of joy seeped through the cracks in his hardened heart at the sight of his brother. Alive.

  But how could this be? “I thought you had died at sea.”

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

  Twisting pain beset Damian’s senses at the mention of his sister-in-law. Teresa had been young, not yet one-and-twenty, on the day of her wedding. And vibrant, too. Full of life and laughter. Damian could understand the horror of losing one so dear. His thoughts shifted to Mirabelle, still pounding on the balcony doors, and he shuddered at the morbid image of her limp body floating atop the waves.

  “Adam, where have you been?”

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

  A flash of grief choked the duke. “Adam, please, tell me what happened.”

  “Why? You
don’t give a damn.”

  Oh, but he did. Damian cared a great deal. He always had. He had just never said it aloud to Adam. Now his brother was back. Ironic, but it seemed too late to tell Adam how much he cared.

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

  “Do you, now?” Adam moved closer to the writing desk. “Very well, then. 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, a burst of lightning hit the holy dwelling and my memory came back.”

  Cumbersome sorrow nestled in the duke’s gut. “So it wasn’t pirates who destroyed your ship?”

  “Pirates? No. It was you.”

  In the haunting stillness that followed, old wounds, still rankling, swelled in Damian’s heart. He realized his brother’s intent then, and he did nothing to dissuade him from his goal, for the shuddering agony swirling in Damian’s gut, the tortured regret, crippled him in a way no mortal wound could. He had done this to Adam. He had taken away his brother’s wife…his soul.

  Adam picked up one of the pistols on the table. Armed with both knife and gun, he resumed his steady advance on Damian.

  The duke didn’t retreat, icy torment hindering his steps. He merely shifted from his spot, away from the glass balcony doors, so if Adam fired and missed, the bullet would not strike Belle.

  “It’s your fault she’s gone.” Dazzling fury beamed in Adam’s eyes. “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.”

  The squeezing ache in Damian’s chest made his sorrow all the more bitter. What he wouldn’t give to grab his brother in a tight hold. To celebrate his return. To shout with joy. But no. He stood rooted to the spot, shivering with despair, taking in the wild rage Adam pounded him with.

  “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.”