Damian could scarce find breath to speak. It was true. So true. He whispered, “I’m sorry, Adam.”
“Oh no.” Adam shook his head vehemently. “That paltry and insincere gesture isn’t going to absolve you of what you’ve done.”
Damian knew that, but he had to say the words nonetheless. And he was earnest in his repentance. He would gladly forfeit his own life if it would bring Tess back. Not that Adam would believe him.
It was a mocking cruelty, the family reunion. Adam, always serene and brimming with laughter, was now a twisted soul filled with grief—the very loneliness and despair that had plagued Damian for much of his life. An unsavory thought, but it seemed both brothers were now destined to dwell in hell.
Damian could feel the tears burning his eyes. Tears! He had not shed a drop since he was a babe.
Wracked with conflicting emotion, Damian stared at the knife in his brother’s bandaged hand. Comprehension suddenly filled him.
“It was you in the prison courtyard,” said Damian, his voice taut with stress, memory of that night welling in his mind. The night he had met Belle for the first time. The night she had shot a pistol from a prison guard’s hand—Adam’s hand—and saved his life.
“And I almost had you, too,” affirmed Adam, taking another step forward. “You’ve been a bloody nuisance to track this past year, always disappearing at sea. I’d traced you as far as New York—to a gaol, no less.” He sneered, “You can’t keep your despicable habits under control in any country, can you?”
Damian knew it was a moot point, but the fiery pain in his breast compelled him to admit the truth: “I was looking for the pirates who I thought had killed you.”
“You giving a damn about someone other than yourself.” Adam snorted. “I don’t believe you.”
Damian didn’t expect him to. The “Duke of Rogues” changing his ways? It was rather hard to swallow. But it was the truth nonetheless. “So you followed me home?”
Adam nodded “I wasn’t going to let you out of my sight again.”
“Then it was you who tried to sink the Bonny Meg?”
“It wasn’t my intent—at first. I had no wish to devastate what I thought was a simple merchant ship. I only wanted you,” he said with deafening purpose. “I got too close to the ship one night, trying to keep up with you, and almost clipped the vessel. I strayed behind a bit after that, but when I saw the pirate flag hoisted, I decided to try and sink the ship. I figured I’d get rid of two pests at once.”
Adam came to a halt before him. He must have realized by then that Damian wasn’t going to attack him or even try to defend himself, for he lowered the pistol to his side—though he still maintained a tight hold on the knife.
Mirabelle banged away on the glass, frantic, her muffled screams piercing to the heart.
Adam finally peeked her way. “She appears to care for you a great deal.”
An icy knot of despair choked the duke, for he knew those words could not be true. She couldn’t care for him, not after what he had done to her and her brothers. She was frightened, was all. And wanted out of the room. Away from the madness unfolding before her.
“And I suspect you care for her, too?” Eyes filled with venom, Adam glanced back at him. “I followed you both to London, and then I followed her to the ball. I didn’t want to lose sight of her. I sensed she meant a great deal to you.”
A pang of fear sprouted in Damian’s chest. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to set things right,” said Adam, seething. “In memory of Tess, I’m going to take your place as the next Duke of Wembury and put an end to the dynasty of misery you have wrought…or I was. But I’ve changed my mind. I think there’s an even better way to make you pay for what you’ve done.”
Adam suddenly lifted the gun and aimed it for the glass doors.
Mirabelle stumbled back in surprise.
Damian roared, “No!”
The duke pounced on his brother and both men crashed to the ground with a tremendous thump.
Struggling for the weapon, Damian blasted, “You will not hurt her, Adam! She is as innocent as Tess. Your strife is with me!”
Adam stopped fighting. He glared at his brother, chest heaving.
The pistol hit the rug with a muffled thud.
Bitterness flickered in Adam’s eyes. “You’re right.”
Damian gasped at the stinging pain, as cold metal sliced through warm flesh and blood.
“I think it’s time your wicked ways come to an end, brother.” Adam pushed the knife in deeper. “You’ve disgraced this family long enough.”
Mirabelle screamed.
The blade thrust deep in his chest, Damian sensed the strength withering from his limbs and slumped forward, gripping Adam by the arms.
In one swift movement, Mirabelle kicked up her leg and sent her boot through one of the small windows in the balcony door. Knocking away the broken fragments of glass still embedded in the frame, she reached her hand through the opening and desperately fumbled with the key in the lock, trying to open the door.
On his knees, Damian watched her. He wanted to shout to her to stay on the balcony—away from Adam—but he had not the voice to do it. Blood gurgled in his throat and he could not get the words out.
Adam shrugged off his brother’s hold and stood. He yanked the knife from Damian’s chest and lifted it high above his head, ready to take another stab at the duke. He was trembling, his eyes wide and luminous in the dimly lit room. “Why won’t you fight me now!?”
Damian gripped the gash in his chest, blood seeping between his fingers, and managed to croak, “Because I love you.”
The blade hovered in the air.
The room was still, but for Mirabelle’s weeping and hysterical struggle with the door.
The moments ticked by; the knife flickered in the light. Finally, after a long and tense pause, the blade clattered to the floor.
Adam dropped to his knees, opposite Damian, and raked his fingers roughly through his hair. Eyes fresh with tears, lips quivering, he stared at the duke, a heavy mist of confusion evident in his tortured gaze.
He suddenly grabbed Damian by the sides of the head and leaned in to whisper wretchedly: “Why did it have to be like this?”
Damian could not answer, blood suffocating him.
Adam was back on his feet, stumbling toward the door. He opened it just in time to collide with his mother, who clutched her breast and took a staggered step back.
Adam paused briefly, just long enough to touch his mother’s cheek in tender regard, before he disappeared into the corridor.
That was the last thing Damian saw before darkness clouded his mind.
Chapter 29
M irabelle jerked the key in the lock.
The balcony doors burst open. Blinded by tears, her heart wedged in her throat, she rushed to Damian’s side.
“Damian!”
He was limp. A mountain of a man sprawled on the floor. Blood was gushing from the wound in his chest, and she clamped her palm over the lesion to halt the flow. It did no good, though. The thick red liquid oozed between her fingers, over her wrist, and pooled onto the carpeted floor.
Eyes darting to the doorway, Mirabelle noticed a woman, entranced and flabbergasted. She looked a great deal like Damian, and it didn’t take long to conclude she was his mother.
“Do something!” Mirabelle shouted at her.
The duchess, startled, snapped her attention to the duke. Her already pale features withered even more, and for a moment, Mirabelle feared she might faint. But in the next instant, she hollered, “Jenkins!” and in quick steps, dashed to kneel beside her son.
Clasping her hand over Mirabelle’s, she tried to stave off the flow of blood.
Damian wasn’t breathing right. Harsh, rasping sounds. Something akin to a hiccup, too, as he tried to gasp for breath.
The butler scurried into the room then, aghast.
“Grab his feet, Jenkins!” ordered the duches
s. “We have to get him to the bed.”
The butler did as directed, while Mirabelle and the duchess hoisted Damian by the arms. The duke was a big man and it wasn’t easy to shift him, but between the three of them, they managed to make their way over to the bed and set him atop the feather mattress.
The bandages came out next, collected by Jenkins. When Damian’s wound was temporarily bound up, the duchess ordered for the doctor to be fetched posthaste, and the butler disappeared from the room in a jiffy…
Making her way through the castle, Mirabelle wandered a bit, searching for the spiral steps that led to the dungeon. The doctor was with Damian now. There was naught more she could do for the duke, but wait. Wait to see if he would live.
She glanced down at her dress, smeared with blood—Damian’s blood—and took in a shaky breath. She was still trembling; she couldn’t stop. The attack on Damian, so brutal, churned in her mind. Over and over again, she remembered the heated exchange between brothers, such anguish in both their voices. And she remembered the moment the knife had pierced the duke’s chest. It was an image she would never forget, for her heart had all but shuddered to a stop at the ghastly sight.
Mirabelle paused and closed her eyes, trying to banish the wretched memory. But it haunted her still. Even more haunting was the fiery expression of grief in Damian’s beautiful blue gaze, just before he’d been stabbed…before he’d saved her from Adam’s misguided wrath.
The tears gathered, and Mirabelle let the briny beads soak her cheeks. Damian had dropped to his knees and surrendered his life to Adam in place of hers. He’d been prepared to die for her. Scant time ago, she’d deemed him a cruel despot. Chided herself for her folly, for getting so attached to such a devious rogue. But now a great welter of warm sentiments stormed her breast. Now she prayed that the duke would live.
Sniffing back the tears, Mirabelle resumed her search. She had to find her brothers and set them free. She had whipped through the keep earlier that night, when the passageways had been clouded with smoke, so she didn’t remember the exact route. But it wasn’t too long before she recognized the curved stone entranceway to the castle’s depth, and the winding stone steps that spiraled into the darkness.
Mirabelle scooped up a candle along the way and made her steady descent, lifting her frock to prevent tripping.
Once on the sandy walk, she set the candle down and grabbed the ladder next to the door, hustling it over to the pit.
“It’s me, James,” she assured him before she stuck her head over the hole. Knowing her brothers were armed, she didn’t need them mistaking her for a foe.
“Belle!” chimed a chorus of desperately relieved siblings.
The scrambling started below. Feet shuffling. Bodies knocking. Shouts erupting.
“Here comes the ladder,” she said, and carefully eased the wooden structure into the pit.
“Thank God,” from Quincy.
“’Bout bloody time,” grumbled Edmund.
“Let’s all get out of here,” encouraged William.
“Just as soon as I kill the navigator,” admonished James.
Mirabelle paused. “What was that, James?”
“Nothing, Belle,” he griped. “Now drop the ladder, will you?”
She quickly hoisted the ladder out of the pit.
“What do you think you’re doing?” cried Edmund.
“You’re not going to hurt Damian,” she shot back into the darkness below.
“He tried to kill us, Belle,” growled the captain. “You think I’m going to let that—”
“You know exactly why he tried,” she cut in. “He believed you’d killed his brother. You would have done the same if anyone had hurt Will or Eddie or Quincy. Besides, Damian didn’t go through with it, did he?”
“Drop the ladder, Belle.”
“Not until I have your word, James, that you won’t hurt Damian.”
Silence.
“Fine.” She set the ladder on the ground. “I’ll come back in the morning. Perhaps then you’ll have an answer for me.”
She started to walk away.
“Don’t you dare leave us down here, Belle!” bellowed James.
“Get back here, Belle!” from Edmund.
“She won’t come back,” quipped Quincy. “She’s as stubborn as the rest of us.”
“Promise her, James,” said William.
Mirabelle kept moving.
“Belle!”
She paused and looked back. “Yes, James?”
It was quiet for a moment, then: “I promise.”
She sighed in approval. She would accept her brother’s word. James might be a pirate, but he had never lied to her.
“Good.” She marched back over to the oubliette. “Now you, Will.”
“Me what?”
“It’s your turn to promise.”
He let out a winded sigh. “Oh, all right. I promise.”
Mirabelle picked up the ladder. “Quincy?”
“I promise, too,” said the youngest.
“Edmu—”
“I promise,” he said tersely. “Now drop the blasted ladder!”
Confident in the sincerity of all four declarations, however begrudgingly given, Mirabelle slipped the ladder back down the hole.
“Leave the same way you came,” she said. “And don’t cause another fire.”
“You’ll ride with me,” James shouted up to her.
She paused again.
“What now?” groaned Edmund.
Mirabelle lifted the ladder up a bit, so her brothers couldn’t quite reach it. “I’m not going with you, James.”
“Like hell!” came four unanimous objections.
“I mean it,” she said. She would tarry long enough to see Damian well, to hear the steady breath in his lungs once more, to glimpse the smoldering fire in his eyes. Then her frazzled temperament would be satisfied. Then she could go home.
A sharp pinch on her heart at the thought of leaving the duke had her vowing, “I’m staying right here with Damian.”
“I order you back to the ship, Belle!”
She snorted. “I don’t think so, James.”
“The navigator or duke or whatever the hell he is, is mad!” James stormed. “You are not staying here.”
“Damian isn’t mad,” she contested. “He was upset about the death of his brother…who isn’t dead anymore.”
“What?” said James.
“Never mind.” She waved a hand and almost lost her grip on the ladder. She now better understood why Damian had kidnapped her. Why he had needed her to lure her brothers. Crushing pain had compelled the duke to seek reprisal. She, too, would have taken any opportunity to avenge her kin. It was a brutal cycle, retribution. It would wind endlessly if it could. But it would come to a stop this very night.
“The point is,” she resumed, “Damian longed for justice, and he thought he had found it when he’d captured the four of you. But he realized he was wrong. He isn’t mad. And he isn’t dangerous. He’s hurt, and I’m not going anywhere until he’s well, is that clear?”
“Belle,” came a growl from the darkness, “it sounds like you care for the bounder. Are you telling me you didn’t stay away from him like I ordered you to?”
She hesitated, then said, “Would you be furious if I said yes, James?”
Something crashed into the wall of the oubliette. It sounded suspiciously like a fist.
“I knew something was going on between the two of you!” James growled, “I should have chained you to your bed, Belle.”
She made a wry face.
“Damian is dead,” vowed the captain.
Her heart fluttered. “James, you promised!”
“I don’t care what I said!” the captain blasted, then paused to ask, “Did he ask for your hand?”
“He’s a duke!” she cried. “He’s not going to marry a pirate.”
“I don’t care if he’s a bloody king, the scoundrel! How could he disgrace and then abandon you?”
“I would hardly call it a disgrace,” she said quietly to herself, remembering the torrid nights she had spent in Damian’s arms. Nights she had wanted as much as the duke.
“Forget about it, Belle.”
A bit dazed, she wondered, “Forget about what, James?”
“What I said about you marrying the duke. I forbid it.”
She gnashed her teeth. “Damian isn’t going to ask me, James.” Then quietly, so he could not hear, “Not that you’d have a bloody say in it if he did.”
“Good.”
Exasperated, she demanded, “Why good? A second ago you wanted the duke’s head on a pike for abandoning me in ‘disgrace.’”
“Because he’s a madman,” said James, “and I won’t leave you in the castle alone with him.”
“He’s not mad!” She let out a noisy exhale. “I have to get back to Damian.”
“Forget it, Belle,” James barked. “You’re coming home with us!”
Mirabelle let go of the ladder.
An “ouch” from Quincy had her flinching, but just as swiftly, she was on her feet and hurrying to get out of there.
Leaving behind the tumult of four brothers, each struggling to be the first one out the hole, she mounted the steps, and dashed back up to the ground floor and then on to the second level.
Inside Damian’s room, Mirabelle found the duchess dabbing a moist cloth over her son’s brow, a harried look on her face.
And Mirabelle could understand the woman’s concern. Hell’s fire, but the duke looked wretched. Bandaged and blanketed and struggling for breath.
Sickness roiled in her belly. A terrible fright and sense of panic. Oh God, she loved him! She couldn’t deny it anymore. The truth pounded in her heart, clamored in her head.
Overcome by the fervid realization, Mirabelle needed a few measured breaths before she could find her voice again, shaky at that. “How is he?”
“I don’t know,” said the duchess, still nursing her son.
A quick spring to her step, Mirabelle skirted around the bed. Restless, she yearned to touch the duke, to curl up beside him and never let him go. If she could just feel the warmth of his skin, press her palm over his still beating heart, it would soothe her jitters. But out of respect for the duchess, she remained stationed by the bedside—though it hurt like hell to keep her hands off Damian.
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