Alexandra Benedict - [Too]

by Too Dangerous to Desire

  Adam had found the lieutenant and many other former naval shipmen in bleak circumstances. For a generous income, a good two dozen had agreed to aid Adam in his endeavor. And after years of searching, Adam and the motley crew of sailors would see their mission complete.

  Tomorrow.

  At midnight.

  Adam stretched his hand across the table. “You’ve done an excellent job, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you, Capt’n.”

  Only Lieutenant Faraday was aware of Adam’s true lineage. The rest of Adam’s crew believed him a gentleman with his money and manners, but knew no more about him or the reason behind his pirate quest. Yet the tars were keen to follow their captain anywhere, so long as he provided them with a steady income and a chance to avenge Black Hawk’s many victims.

  Faraday limped toward the door. “I’ll let you get back to your…ward, Capt’n.”

  “Lieutenant…”

  “I’ll fetch you before the meet, sir.”

  The door closed.

  Adam dismissed the lieutenant’s cheeky quip, and rubbed his palms across the length of his face. Fire danced beneath his feet, the impatient jig the result of years of fruitless searching for the infamous buccaneer.

  I have you at last.

  There was nothing to stand between Adam and the ruthless brigand—except for his “ward.”

  Adam looked out the window to spy the woman still chopping wood. What was he going to do with Evelyn while he went to apprehend Black Hawk? She spooked so easily. He needed to find some way to make her feel safe at the cottage while he was gone. But how?

  “Bloody hell.”

  Evelyn dropped the axe with gusto. Her fingers burned with energy. She minced the wood into kindling, thinking about Adam.

  He was not just a quiet cottager, mourning the loss of his wife. He was a captain. He was aggressive. He was a man—with secrets.

  Had she really expected to find a safe haven with him? The man had a dual nature—all men did. She knew that, too. So why had she agreed to stay at the cottage with him?

  “You’re very proficient with an axe.”

  She paused, startled.

  Adam stood beside the house with a shoulder braced against the wall. He watched her closely, his stone blue eyes friendly.

  His eyes!

  She remembered now; she had trusted the look of kindness in his eyes. That’s why she’d agreed to stay at the cottage with him.

  She wondered, “Where’s the lieutenant?”

  “He’s gone.”

  Adam approached her slowly. Her bones tingled as the expression in his eyes turned smoldering—aggressive.

  With care he grasped the axe and curled back her fingers before he took the tool from her grip.

  She was bewitched by his robust touch. It singed her skin, firm strokes that swelled the blood in her veins and made her heart throb.

  Adam tested the weight of the axe. “It’s quite heavy.” He observed her closely. “You don’t look very fatigued, though.”

  She was baffled by her peculiar reaction to the man, overwhelmed even by the warm—yet unfamiliar—sentiments gathering inside her. “I’ve chopped wood for years.”

  “You’re strong, then?”

  She gathered her brow. “I suppose so.”

  “Wait here.”

  Adam set the axe aside and disappeared inside the cottage. He returned shortly—armed with two blades.

  Evelyn stared at the luminous steel, resplendent in the sunlight, and took an instinctive step back. “Where did you get the swords?”

  “I keep the pair in the chest at the foot of the bed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I might need them one day.”

  He spoke with conviction, as though he was sure he would need them one day.

  She shied away from the blade—and from Adam. “What are you going to do with the weapons?”

  “I’m going to teach you how to dance—with a sword.”

  She looked at him, bewildered. “But why?”

  “So you won’t be afraid of him anymore.”

  Would such a day ever come? She had to admit, it was an appealing idea. But she cringed in the face of violence. How was she going to learn to fight?

  “I can’t, Adam.”

  “Take it.” He lifted the blade higher. “You already possess the strength to wield it; you only lack the skill. Let me teach you to protect yourself.”

  She stared at the sword, tendrils of fright—and anticipation—wrapping around her spine.

  You won’t be afraid of him anymore.

  This was her one chance to learn how to defend herself. And despite her misgiving, her distaste for violence, she wasn’t ready to resign the opportunity just yet.

  Evelyn complied; she took the sword.

  “Good,” he said. “Get a feel for the weapon in your hand.”

  She maneuvered it from side to side, testing the weight, the girth.

  He eyed her movements closely. After a few minutes, he moved beside her. “Let us assume the position.” He adjusted his form. “En garde.”

  Evelyn wondered where Adam had learned the art of swordplay, but her curiosity was stifled as she eyed his feet and mimicked the man’s posture.

  “No, not like that, Evie. Like this.”

  He moved his right foot forward again.

  She did, too.

  He cocked his left foot sideways.

  She did, too—and wavered.

  “Steady,” he said.

  Adam cupped her lower back to balance her. A thrilling warmth stabbed her spine and quickly spread throughout her body.

  Evelyn was startled by the intensity of her response to the man’s intimate touch. So startled, she very nearly dropped her sword.

  “Stretch out your left arm, Evie. It will balance you.”

  Evelyn wondered about that, but obeyed her teacher. She lifted her left hand.

  “A bit higher, Evie.”

  He nudged her elbow upward.

  Another sharp prick of heat, making her arm tingle. Whatever was the matter with her? That baffling sentiment was stroking every nerve in her body again. It was difficult to concentrate on the lesson at hand when her limbs were shaky, her feet unsteady.

  “Now spread your legs apart.”

  She bristled at the command. Yet another dewy warmth beset her…right between her legs.

  She couldn’t fathom the peculiar sensation. Blood rushed to her heart. A loud thumping resounded in her ears.

  Woozy, Evelyn tried to obey Adam’s command, but his rough voice and muscular touch and robust essence were making it hard for her to do so. And his words! She licked her dry lips. The man’s words made her feel faint.

  “Very good, Evie. Now bend your knees just a bit.”

  She was already shaky. If she tried to crouch, even a little, she might drop straight to the green.

  Adam placed his palm on her shoulder and pushed her down. She buckled—but didn’t quite collapse altogether.

  “There,” he said. “Now for the footwork.”

  Evelyn swallowed a groan. She was quivering, sweating slightly. Her legs were light, unstable. She didn’t think she could dance around with the blade.

  There was an odd feeling creeping into her belly. A heat she had never known before. It alarmed her…intrigued her. She wanted it to disappear, yet she wanted to explore it a mite longer, too.

  She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath to quell the conflicting emotions inside her. She was with Adam to learn how to fight, to defend herself. She must concentrate. Wayward thoughts only distracted her. She had a chance to protect herself from harm.

  Take it!

  “Are you ready, Evie?”

  No!

  “Yes,” she whispered. “What do I do next?”

  The blade quivered in the air.

  Adam offered her a curious eye.

  “I’m fine,” she confirmed. “Please continue with the lesson.”

  Adam lifted his
own sword to mirror her posture. “First we advance.”

  He stepped forward.

  She moved quickly—too quickly—the energy inside her overwhelming, and lost her footing.

  A thick arm circled her waist to stop her fall.

  He was flush with her; she could feel his breath stir the hairs on her head—and bring her to life. Such potent life. She could smell him. Feel the sinewy muscles at his midriff move against her arm. The rapid knock of his heart beat against her shoulder, and she closed her eyes to better feel the rhythmic thumps, to match her own heart’s tempo to his throbbing pulse.

  “Not so fast,” he said in her ear, the warmth of his breath making her shiver. “Take it slow.”

  He stepped away from her.

  She almost cried out at the loss of his touch. For too long she had suffered in solitude. The brief connection with Adam, the bond of blood and bone reminded her how very much alone she was—and how very much she mourned the loss of companionship.

  “Are you all right, Evie?”

  She nodded, weakly. And to dismiss the ache in her belly, she resumed the first position. “How do I advance?”

  “Observe.”

  She looked across at him, admired his sharp and masculine profile.

  “Extend your right foot first, Evie.”

  Evelyn snapped her attention to his boots.

  He demonstrated. “Then follow with your left foot.”

  She mimicked.

  “Much better,” he praised—and smiled.

  Evelyn’s heart pinched at the man’s soft expression, so dashing.

  “Next we retreat.” He tapped his leg. “Move your left leg first this time, then your right.”

  He danced backward.

  She followed suit.

  “Well done, Evie.”

  She smiled in return. The admiration he offered filled a dark and lonely chasm in her soul. She wanted to do better, to improve.

  “Now we lunge.” He darted forward.

  Evelyn mirrored his movement with ease. She had an abundance of energy inside her, and shooting outward with her body was a very convenient way to dispel some of that emotion.

  Adam quirked a brow. “Impressive.”

  Evelyn shied under his praise.

  “Let us tackle the blade work, shall we?” He brandished the sword. “To defend yourself, strike from side to side.” He demonstrated. “Or in a circular motion.”

  Evelyn assumed the first position, then cut air.

  “Good, but be sure to keep control of the blade.” He gripped her wrist to steady her hand. “Like this.”

  There it was again: the stirrings in her heart, her belly. Why did his touch disarm her so?

  Evelyn absorbed the warmth of his fingertips. She tried to absorb the lesson, too, but was having a deuced hard time listening to the instructions.

  Adam moved to stand in front of her. “Now for the attack. Strike under your opponent’s blade.” He slowly demonstrated. “Or over.”

  She mimicked once more.

  Adam assumed the first position. “En garde.”

  Evelyn carefully thrust forward. He parried.

  “Good, Evie. Again.”

  Again she attacked. Again he protected himself.

  “Now defend yourself,” he said, “while I attack.”

  Adam slowly moved forward, giving her an opportunity to practice the foot and blade work.

  For some time the couple exchanged tepid blows. But with each attack and parry, Evelyn grew more accustomed, more comfortable with the blade.

  At length, Adam stilled. “Well done. Now I want you to attack me. Really attack me. Put all your strength into the blow.”

  She wavered. “But I’ll hurt you.”

  “No, you won’t. Trust me.”

  He assumed the first position.

  Evelyn swallowed the knot in her throat. She took in a deep breath—and lashed out.

  With a lightning-quick stroke, Adam parried the blow and knocked the blade right out of her hand.

  She gaped.

  “You have to learn how to really fight, Evie. In battle, your opponent will strike back with greater force than I did.” He inclined his head toward the fallen blade. “Pick up the sword.”

  She retrieved the weapon.

  “Attack me again,” he said.

  The man was a proficient swordsman, she realized. There was no reason to fear for his well-being. With less anxiety, she lunged again.

  But once more, Adam deflected the blow with precision and disarmed her.

  Again she wondered: Where did he learn to fight like that?

  “Evie, you have to think of me as an enemy.”

  She picked up the sword, uncomfortable with the suggestion. She was already wary whenever she was near the man. What secrets did he keep? Why did his smile, his touch, shake her very senses? But to think of him as an enemy? It was too chilling, too real. Was he a foe?

  “Evie, look at me.”

  She glanced up to find his expression determined.

  “Think of me as him.”

  Her heart throbbed at the very idea, the wild beats booming in her ears. She shook her head with intrinsic revulsion. “No, I can’t.”

  “It will help you to focus; give you reason to strike at me—hard.”

  “I don’t want to think of you as him.”

  “Fight me.” Adam advanced. “Fight me like you would him.”

  Startled, Evelyn raised her blade to parry the blow.

  He lunged.

  She deflected the next strike, too.

  “Fight me, Evie!”

  But a numbness beset her at the thought of him, made her legs and arms wooden. She stumbled backward, pressed against the cottage wall. She was cornered, Adam’s blade aimed for her throat.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  The dark cloud of determination in Adam’s eyes softened. He sighed. “I’ve pushed you too far, too soon, haven’t I?”

  He lowered the sword.

  She dropped hers in shame. “I can’t do this.”

  “Evie, wait!”

  But Evelyn dashed from the garden, insensible to his entreaty.

  She was never going to be free of him. Even the mere thought of him had made her cower, foiled all the progress she had made with Adam. She could never fight him, much less win. And she had been a fool to think otherwise.

  Chapter 7

  Evelyn picked at the blades of grass in a blind and lazy fashion.

  “Evie?”

  She stiffened at his approach, but did not turn around to confront him. Twisting the meadow grass around her finger, she snapped it from its root.

  Adam hunkered beside her, blocking the sunlight, casting her in shadow.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Evie.”

  “I know,” she said quietly.

  She wasn’t mad at Adam. She was angry with herself. Ashamed, too. He had such power over her, enough to render her weak and worthless. She resented him for it…but she feared him even more.

  “Come back to the cottage,” he said. “There’s still more to learn about swordplay. I won’t push you too hard this time.”

  She plucked another blade of grass. “I will never best him.”

  A firm finger tipped her chin upward. “You only think that because you’re afraid. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

  She was met by a pair of striking blue eyes. Such a soft shade of blue, near gray. There was a softness in his countenance, too. Beneath the rugged features and hard expression, she sighted a mark of thoughtfulness—and was disarmed by the vision. So few had been kind to her over the years. Was Adam different?

  “Tell me who he is, Evie?”

  To quell the panic rising in her breast, she inhaled an unsteady breath. How could she trust Adam? He was still a stranger in so many ways.

  And yet she was weary. Weary of keeping her troubles, her pain pressed deep inside. She was alone in the world. She had no one to turn to, no one to offer
her a comforting hand.

  Yet Adam offered one.

  Dare she take it?

  “He is my brother-in-law,” she confessed.

  Adam stilled. Something changed in his expression. A dramatic anger flared; she could tell. Not toward her, but toward him.

  “And he murdered your sister? His wife?”

  She struggled to keep back the tears. “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  It chilled her to think about him, and she started to rock herself in comfort. “Because he likes to destroy everything which is good, everything which is beautiful.”

  “Ella?”

  Evelyn inhaled a deep, salty-air breath. “Yes, my sister was very beautiful. She had hair like a night’s sky, and eyes…”

  “And eyes like yours?”

  She nodded.

  Adam stroked her knuckles in comfort. “And what does your brother-in-law want with you?”

  But even the soothing ministration of his touch was not enough to calm the icy fright that danced in her heart and snatched her breath away at the thought of her fate if he ever found her.

  Evelyn scrambled to her feet. “I have chores to do.”

  “Evie, wait!”

  He reached out to stop her, but she was too quick for him; she sprinted back toward the cottage.

  Adam took in a long breath to ease the rumble of rage in his belly. To murder one’s own wife? It was beyond foul. Though he was not so naïve as to believe each husband cherished his wife the way he had honored Teresa, it still revolted him, boggled him, the abuse.

  The distant shriek of gulls evoked a long dormant memory. He could still hear the echo of his mother’s cry—as Father thrashed her mercilessly.

  Adam cut through the terrain with quick and angry strides, tamped the grisly reflection into the very bowel of his soul. He might shun such cruelty against a woman, but he was accustomed to it. Father had been a beast. A lifetime of hedonistic pursuits had put him into an early grave—and saved Mother from more misery. But had the former duke lived, Adam wondered if his mother, too, would be buried in a churchyard right now.