“Well, where’s the doctor?” demanded Mirabelle.
“There’s nothing more he can do for the duke.”
“He left?!”
“No, he retired for the night. He’ll stay at the castle for the next few days to observe the duke’s recovery.” Features aglow under the fiery lamplight, the duchess glanced up to say, “You care a great deal for my son, don’t you?”
“I do,” Mirabelle whispered, a terrible ache in her breast. “You find that hard to believe?”
The baffled look in the woman’s eyes shifted to one of chagrin. “He is not an easy man to love. I know of few who have ever cared for him.”
“Do you care for him?”
The duchess seemed startled by the blunt query, but then she made a sad smile. “I loved him a long time ago. I suppose I still do. But when he turned out to be just like his father, I was devastated.”
“He’s not like that anymore,” said Mirabelle, adamant. Damian had said so himself, he was a reformed rogue. She hadn’t believed him then, but she believed him now. He had spared her brothers’ lives tonight. He had saved her from Adam. Despite all he had suffered, great torment and loneliness, goodness still dwelled in his heart.
There was a long pause before the duchess said quietly, her lips sagging, “I lost Damian to his father long ago. I would hate to lose him again, only to…”
“Adam?”
She took in a sharp breath. “Yes, to Adam…my son…alive.”
Mirabelle studied the older woman. She looked battered with age and woe. Such pain she must have endured at the hands of her husband. Such pain at the loss of both her sons. One from drowning, the other from debauchery. But now her sons were resurrected. Now she had a chance to make a good life with both. Hopefully.
The duchess swallowed her grief, casting Mirabelle a thoughtful look. “You never did tell me your name.”
She hesitated. “My name is Mirabelle.”
“I see.” Her melancholy smile turned almost pleasant. “And how did you meet my son?”
“Aboard a ship. My brother was the captain.”
The duchess nodded, then stared hard at Mirabelle’s belly. “I’m going to have to find you some fresh clothes, my dear.”
Mirabelle glanced down at the blood stain across her midriff. Her heart pinched at the gruesome sight. “Thank you.”
She suddenly wondered why the duchess was being so kind, but then she remembered, she was still wearing Henrietta’s ball gown. The duchess must think her a noble lady. And Mirabelle wouldn’t disabuse her of that belief. She didn’t want to be run off the estate should her true identity be revealed. She wanted to stay by Damian’s side, to see him recovered. Then she would leave.
Her attention back on her son, the duchess pressed her palm to Damian’s brow in a tender gesture. But right away, her features fell.
“What’s wrong?” Mirabelle crawled over top of the covers, to hell with propriety. Close to Damian, she placed a hand on his chest and took in a sharp breath. “He’s warm.”
“I know.” The duchess dipped the cloth in a nearby basin and squeezed the excess water. “I think I’ll go and wake the doctor.”
Handing the washcloth to Mirabelle, she quickly left the room.
Fingers trembling, Mirabelle wiped the compress over Damian’s brow and cheek and neck and chest. Tears pooled in her eyes. Tears of fright. He had to live. Her heart would simply shatter without him. He needn’t marry her or be with her. He just had to wake up. To live and breathe and walk the earth. She could endure anything then.
Mirabelle gulped back a shuddering sob. Here she was, just like her mother, her very happiness resting on a man’s every breath. And just like her mother, she might lose the man she loved. Only she would lose him forever. Damian would not come back from the grave the way her father had returned from the sea. And that was more than she could bear.
Mirabelle closed her wet eyes and pressed her lips to Damian’s in a tender kiss.
“Just live,” she breathed.
Chapter 30
M irabelle inhaled the dewy morning air. Gripping the balcony ledge, she overlooked the well-manicured estate, peppered with trees and shrubs. Her eyes then roamed along the dusky horizon, as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the distant hills.
Damian was still asleep. A shadow of death hovered over him. For two days now, he had battled fever and chest injury alike. But would he come out the victor? She had yet to determine that.
Fear ridden, she prowled the bedchamber most nights. If she closed her eyes, terrible thoughts of death and despair swarmed her mind. On occasion, though, exhaustion overtook her, and she collapsed into a nearby chair or napped next to Damian on the bed. But most of her time was spent fretting and nursing and praying.
“How’s he doing?”
Mirabelle glanced over her shoulder. Quincy filled the doorway. The rest of her kin were still hiding somewhere in the castle, waiting to take her home.
“Breathing,” she said in reference to Damian’s condition. It was the only optimistic thing she could say about the duke.
Quincy stepped onto the balcony. “And how are you doing?”
Barely breathing.
“I’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “How did you get up here?”
“I had this whole spectacular invasion planned in my head. Scaling walls, and all.” He sighed heavily. “But I didn’t need to do a single thing but walk up. Really, Belle, this place is like a tomb. The servants more like ghosts than flesh and blood folks. No one said a word to me as I passed through the corridors.”
She stared at the glorious sunrise. “Years of dwelling in fear have dampened their spirits.”
Quincy settled beside her on the balcony and propped a hip against the ledge. “I’m to deliver a message.”
“What is it?”
“Come away with us and James will let you serve aboard the Bonny Meg.”
She glanced at her brother askance. “Bribery?”
“A promise.”
She snorted. “A desperate promise.” James had already tried to steal her away, but she had locked the door on him. Barred from the bedchamber, the captain had grudgingly retreated, though he and the rest of her kin still lingered in the shadows of the keep, waiting for her. But James was weary of waiting, it seemed, for he had sent the baby of the family to try and coax her away from the duke.
“I don’t think so, Quincy.”
“But Belle.” He took her by the arm, a beseeching look in his delft blue eyes. “You’ve always wanted to be a pirate.”
And so she had. Ever since the death of her father, she had yearned to sail the Bonny Meg. It had always been a liberating experience, tending to the sails and gaffs high above deck, the wind whipping through her hair, the sun kissing her cheeks and tickling her skin. Such peace it had brought her. But now…
Mirabelle scrunched her brow. Now the ship seemed rather lonely. A lost body adrift on the waves without a soul. Without Damian.
And she wasn’t going back to that hollow ship. Even the gentle swell of the water beneath the hull would not bring her comfort anymore. She was sure. Thoughts of her parents aboard ship would not console her any longer. She was sure. Nothing could take the place of Damian in her heart. Not even the sea.
“I’m retiring from piracy, Quincy.”
But she wasn’t going home, either. Not now. Not for a long time. She would wait to see Damian well and then she would leave. Go on a sojourn. She wasn’t sure where, though. Scotland perhaps. She’d heard childhood tales of Scottish ancestors. She might go in search of them. But she wasn’t going home to an empty house, that much was for certain.
“Oh, blast it!” He folded his arms across his chest. “Do you really care that much for the bloke?”
“Yes, Quincy, I do.” She took a deep breath, quelling the fluttering beats of her heart. “I love him.”
“Love?” He said the word like it was a foreign sound, something akin to Turkish. “Why?”<
br />
“Because…” Because she had never felt such a sense of belonging as when she was with the duke. And peace. And passion. All interwoven as one. She had never wept for anyone as she had wept for Damian, not even for her parents. She had never felt such pressing despair at the thought of losing the duke. It overwhelmed her, the fear…“Because I just do, Quincy.”
He sighed in defeat. “You’re bloody stubborn, you know that?”
“I have to be, with so many disagreeable men in my life.”
“Fine.” Quincy grumbled and scratched his head, locks disheveled. He really needed a bath. “I’ll go back and inform James.”
She nodded. “And tell James not to come up with any more offers. I won’t accept them.”
He muttered something about “pain” and “sister” and whatnot, but she didn’t pay his ramblings much heed.
The glowing sun hovered above the hilltops, the dawn bright and welcoming, but even the warm and spectacular rays could not wash away the darkness staining her heart.
Mirabelle stepped off the balcony. She left the doors wide open, a soft breeze whistling through the room.
Tiptoeing to the bed, she slipped overtop the covers and nestled next to Damian. She liked curling up beside him, inhaling his heady scent, taking in his warmth, listening to his breathing, garbled as it was. It gave her hope that he would live.
Resting her head on Damian’s shoulder, she bunched her fist against her lips and fought back the tears.
With a huff, she said, “You scoundrel! You had no right to make me fall in love with you. I was content to live out my life aboard the Bonny Meg until the day I met you. You ruined everything!” She spoke to him as though he could hear her, and she didn’t care how ridiculous it seemed. She needed to talk to him. It made her feel better. Quietly, she said, “Too bad you’re a duke. If you were a simple navigator, then we could be together.”
Mirabelle sensed the tears leaking. Fright roiled in her belly. God, how she loved this man! It overwhelmed her, the emotion. Blanketed her in tranquil warmth. But it also allowed more sinister feelings to creep into her heart. Feelings of pain and loss.
She brushed away the moisture from her cheeks and gave Damian a peck on the lips.
When she pulled back and opened her eyes, she gasped.
Lids heavy with sleep, Damian peeped at her through the dark fringes of his faintly raised lashes. Though he couldn’t get his eyes opened all the way, he still stared at her with indisputable scrutiny.
Her heart shuddered with bliss at the wonderful sight.
“Damian!” She kissed him again—hard. A little too hard perhaps.
He grunted, but otherwise didn’t seem to mind. Slowly his eyes drifted down her frame, scorching the skin under her clothes, then lifted back up again. “All right?”
“I’m fine,” she swiftly assured him, and reached across his chest to pick up the glass of water sitting on the nightstand. By the sound of his raspy voice, he really needed the refreshment.
Trembling hand tucked under his head—for she was giddy with delight; it was very nearly bursting from her—she held the glass to his lips so he could better drink the cool tonic.
Damian looked around the room. “Adam?”
“He’s gone.” She set the glass back on the stand. She almost missed the table, her fingers were shaking so hard. “But I’m sure he’ll come home one day. He just needs some time to be alone.”
Despair glimmered in the duke’s eyes for a moment before he returned his smoldering gaze to her. Then warmth spread through the luminous orbs, and she thought her heart would shatter at the passion reflecting in the deep blue pools.
“I love you,” she blurted out, then blushed at her outburst. But she was afraid he might fall back asleep—and never wake up—and then she would miss her chance to tell him what was truly in her heart.
“I heard,” he croaked.
Her blush deepened. Her ramblings! And about all sorts of intimate things. “Um, about that…”
But her words trailed to a stop when she noticed his grieved expression. He wanted to tell her something. Something obviously unsavory.
“Oh,” she said sheepishly and pushed away, a wicked wound on her heart. He didn’t love her back. No wonder he looked so distressed. Here she was, revealing her adoration, and the man didn’t return her affection.
A cumbersome pressure on her voice, she whispered, “I suppose it’s time for me to go home.”
“Belle—”
She scooted to the edge of the bed. “I understand, Damian. I’m a pirate. You can’t have me about the castle.”
He captured her wrist. “I love you, Belle.”
Breath trapped in her throat. Her heart hammered in her breast, the beats deafening, ringing in her ears.
“But I…I can’t be with you,” he said softly.
The squeezing ache in her chest startled her for a moment. “It’s the pirate thing again, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not that.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Then what?”
It was back in his eyes, that same forlorn, even hopeless, look. “I’ll hurt you, Belle.”
“Damian—”
“I will,” he insisted. “It’s in my blood. I’m just like my father. One day, I’ll break your spirit and—”
Filled with comprehension, Mirabelle pressed her body next to his and kissed him for all she was worth. She ravished him as he had ravished her so many times in the past.
Now that, surely, got some air into his ailing lungs!
“You are not your father,” she said, breathless.
He was a bit breathless, too, and it took him a moment to say, “But I hurt your brothers, and one day I’ll hurt you, too.”
“You dropped my brothers into a pit, Damian. That’s about all you did.”
“The pit?” he rasped.
“Oh, I let them out, don’t worry.” Her hand flitted toward the door. “They’re lurking about somewhere. But you see, Damian, you have a heart and a soul. I know you’ve kept both under lock and key for so long, and maybe you really think you’ve lost them, but you haven’t. I believe in you, Damian. I trust you…I love you.”
Arms clamped hard around her waist. Even with his ailment, the strength and brawn in Damian’s embrace was still there. And she knew in that moment he would be all right.
“Don’t go, Belle—ever.”
She looked down at him, stunned. “What?”
“Marry me.”
A little voice inside her hooted with joy.
“But I’m a pirate. What will the ton think?”
“The ton will think I’ve married a ‘merchant’s’ daughter.”
“But that’s scandalous.”
There was a dark glow in his charming gaze. “And I’m a rogue duke wont to scandal. I’d say it’s fitting.”
Mirabelle held her breath, as a flurry of sensations stormed her breast. But one sentiment prevailed…
She wanted to laugh. It tickled her throat, the merriment. Tears welled in her eyes, drenched her cheeks. Tears of delight this time. And of pleasure. Heavens, her whole body shuddered with glee. She wasn’t afraid to give her heart away anymore. She understood her mother better now. It was worth the risk to love, she realized, for the joy was immeasurable.
Intent on a bit of mischief, she smiled and said, “And why should I consent to be your wife?”
“You’ll have a castle, Belle.”
Slowly, she shook her head. “Not good enough.”
“A title, then.”
Again, she shook her head. “Still not good enough.”
“All the gold you could ever wish for.”
She pretended to think about that, but then shook her head. “I still want more.”
“How about a duke’s heart?” he whispered, piercing her with a passionate stare. “It’s yours, Belle. Forever if you want it.”
Misty eyed, she pressed her lips to his in a tender kiss. “Now that, Your Grace, is a treasure t
oo tempting to resist.”
Epilogue
D amian waved his hand, clearing a path through the cloud of dust. The din of the workers around him was making his head hurt, and he headed for more clandestine shelter.
Winding through the castle causeways, he passed the sitting room. The door was ajar, and he could see his mother ensconced in a chair by the window.
Damian paused and stared at the woman thoughtfully. Macabre garb aside, she was arrayed in sapphire blue, lost to her thoughts and a letter in her hands.
Quietly, he closed the door of the parlor to give her peace. He was glad she had remained at the castle. After the wedding, the dowager duchess had resolved to return to London, claiming the newlywed couple needed their privacy. But Damian had asked the woman to stay. After so many years of separation, he wanted to get to know his mother better. And she wasn’t opposed to the offer.
At the end of the corridor, the duke mounted the steps and headed for the west wing. The spring sunshine was pouring in through the unmasked windows, the heavy drapery dismantled and buried somewhere in the attic. It was tranquil, too, and he heaved a deep sigh to be away from all the commotion below stairs.
He soon reached the room. A smile on his lips, he stood under the door frame for a time.
Inside, his wife stood with a frilly cushion in each hand, her head whisking from one to the other as she tried to make a decorating decision.
His wife.
Damian loved the way the word sounded in his heart. It warmed his soul.
He stepped into the chamber and treaded softly toward her. She was bedecked in a resplendent gown of toffee brown, and when she moved, the morning light shimmered off the glossy fabric, making her glow and sparkle, taking his breath away. “Need some help?”
Mirabelle whirled around—and her belly nearly swiped him in the gut. “Yes!” She held out the pillows. “Look at the lilac drapes. Now which cushion is a better match? The powder blue or the mist green?”
Too Great A Temptation Page 27