Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes)

by Silver, Lily

  Donovan captured her wrist. His free hand covered hers, flattening it against his chest, as if savoring the intimate contact. “I don’t want you to endure the ugly realities of life.” His brusque tone made Elizabeth glance up at his face. “As my wife, you will never be forced to deal with them again. From this point on, if a man offends you, if he looks at you inappropriately, you will tell me so I can deal with it. Is that understood, Mrs. Beaumont?”

  Elizabeth jerked her hand from his grasp. “I should take comfort in the fact that you intend to go bludgeon every man who looks at me? Good God, this isn’t the Dark Ages!”

  “I can’t kill a man for looking at you, but I can make damn sure it goes no farther.” He replied in that high-handed tone she was coming to loathe. “You belong to me.”

  Oh, the arrogant coxcomb! Biting back a saucy retort, Elizabeth gave him her back, determined not to argue with his archaic reasoning. “And you killed Linton, I suppose?”

  “No, I merely wounded him. Linton still lives.” Firm hands circled her shoulders from behind. “Jack found the box of trophies from his victims, just as you described, along with a cache of Laudanum. Jack revealed only Linton’s treachery in helping the smugglers take the ship to the crew. What happened with you will remain between us. Linton was forced to walk the gauntlet between the men and endure their wrath for betraying them. He’d been clubbed and stabbed several times when I met him at the end of the line.”

  “I was afraid—I thought it was a mu-mutiny.” She whispered.

  “No, darlin’.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Linton begged me to save him. I informed him that his hunting days were over and his fate was sealed the moment he cut your hair and marked you as his victim. He seemed surprised that I knew his secret. And then, I gave him a gut wound that would kill him slowly and painfully over several weeks as it turns septic.”

  Elizabeth’s hand flew to cover her mouth. She was appalled by his grisly admission.

  “Don’t worry, Jack won’t let him linger. He’ll hang before dawn for betraying the crew.

  Linton cannot harm another woman. Elizabeth reminded herself as the chilling report sliced through her. Donovan was being honest instead of sugaring the truth to protect her tender sensibilities as he had earlier. She wasn’t sure she liked his brutal honesty after all.

  Donovan’s arms enveloped her from behind. Elizabeth leaned into his embrace. She tipped her head back against his shoulder and placed her arms over his as he cradled her against his solid form. She traced the ropy contours of his forearms and his big hands, marveling at the masculine strength surrounding her like a fortress of stone.

  “You’re safe in my keeping.” He whispered against her ear. Elizabeth swayed with him as his body moved behind her in a timeless gesture of comfort. “You’ll always be safe with me.”

  What was happening to her? She prided herself on her ability to face the dragon without wilting like a fragile flower. Yet, she was trembling in this man’s arms as the events of the past days and weeks pressed upon her.

  “You’ve had a very distressing evening, haven’t you, my sweet.”

  Elizabeth nodded, voiceless and close to exhaustion as he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedchamber. A tinned lantern on the wall above the bed made a pool of light on the sheets, casting a warm, buttery circle on the bed beneath it. Donovan lowered her to the bed and turned as if to go.

  “Donovan, don’t leave me. Please.” Even as she said them, she cringed at pathetic timbre of her words. “I don’t want to be alone.” She pleaded, unable to contain the wave of panic rolling through her. It seemed as if a dam were bursting inside her, the walls of her self-control crackling and rippling beneath the constant fear pressing against them, demanding release.

  “Hush, my sweet girl.” Donovan eased down beside her on the bed. He gathered her in his embrace. They lay quietly entwined in the circle of pale golden light. He reclined with his back propped against the wall. Elizabeth was lying curled on her side between his splayed thighs as she leaned against his rugged chest. She huddled against him, well aware that she was behaving like the weak, insipid females her grandmother despised.

  She didn’t care. She’d hate herself later, when she no longer trembled and started at every noise and shadow. Right now, she just wanted to feel safe in this world of violent men.

  As Donovan held her the frantic churning in her ears receded. She breathed in the clean scent of his skin and surrendered to the urge to caress the soft whorls of hair curling beneath her cheek. She traced the path of a scar with her finger and pressed a light kiss against it.

  The man holding her flinched, and then inhaled sharply. He became a statue.

  Had she given offense by her naïve caress? Perhaps she should not be so curious about his body, or at the very least, his scars.

  In the stilted silence, she glanced up at his face, searching for clues as to his mood. He was gazing down at her. His face was bathed in shadows, being just outside the circle of light.

  “Ma Cherie.” He whispered, as a long, lean finger moved along her arm. It edged along her shoulder and then her neck in leisurely pattern. His hand cupped her cheek, traced it with light fingers and smoothed a stray tendril behind her ear. Donovan’s finger glided across her jaw, circled her chin and nestled beneath it as his thumb outlined her lips in a patient exploration. Each new pass of his thumb along her lips raised fresh trails of desire. Her lips parted under the sensual caress. The tip of his thumb brushed inside of her mouth and then emerged to spread a moist trail along her tingling lips.

  Elizabeth reached up to caress his cheek. It was rough, shadowed with stubble in the late hour, accentuating the sharp planes of his handsome face. It made him look wicked, dangerous, but at this moment, he was neither. Her hand traveled from his rough cheek to settle on the back of his neck. She pulled slightly, urging him to lean in to kiss her.

  His lips quickly descended to take possession of her mouth. In that moment nothing existed beyond the sweet persuasion of his lips as his mouth merged with hers. Taking, giving. Possessing, fulfilling.

  His tongue slid across her upper lip, curling, teasing, and silently pleading for her to open to him. She surrendered her mouth to his intimate caress. It wasn’t the first time he’d been so bold with her in recent days. Elizabeth was entranced by the silken feel of their tongues blending together like musical notes, forming a rich sonata of unrivaled pleasure.

  As he persisted, gently wooing her tongue and enticing it to dance with his, Elizabeth experienced an anxious, needy feeling that was very different from the usual gnawing fear that clawed her insides. This was a pleasant, buoyant urge to be closer—ever closer--to him. She followed her instincts, pressing against him, seeking solace in the warmth of his masculine form.

  Practiced fingers unfastened the lacings of her gown. Elizabeth started as the cool air invaded her tender skin. She stiffened, no longer confident regarding the sensual path he was guiding them down. Without a thought, she clutched the edges of her gown with her fist, blocking his advance.

  Donovan stopped kissing her. He inclined his head, leaning into the circle of light so she could see his eyes. He wanted her, badly. He said as much earlier and she could feel his rigid desire protruding into her backside. It felt as if a rock were lodged between them. Elizabeth swallowed nervously. She’d offered herself to him earlier in a desperate bid to keep him near.

  She shouldn’t have been so rash, but she couldn’t withdraw the invitation now. Still, her hand held the gown closed.

  “Don’t be frightened.” His voice, so soft, so pleading, was like a verbal caress. “You kissed me so sweetly. Allow me kiss you in the same place. It’s all I’ll ask this night, I swear.”

  Shackled with uncertainty, Elizabeth was unable to pull her eyes from his potent gaze.

  She gave a slight nod, her jaw having become so tight it wouldn’t allow speech. She dropped her hand to her lap, resigned to endure the proceedings as best she could.<
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  “I would never hurt you, Elizabeth. You know that, don’t you? You trust me, don’t you, Darlin’? After all this time together, nearly six weeks . . . come, my love.”

  Oh, God! Was this how women fell at men’s urging throughout the ages? His words were as powerful as a magician’s spell when spoken so seductively. Elizabeth found herself nodding agreement as he gazed intently into her eyes and whispered his sweet incantation. “Trust me, Sweet Lizzie. Let me kiss your breasts.”

  At her nod of acquiescence his hand slipped inside her gown. He cupped her breast with gentleness that robbed the gesture of offense. His palm was warm and firm as it cradled and then stroked her tender flesh. She released her captured breath, intrigued by his sensual caress. He wasn’t pinching or squeezing with cruel glee as the smuggler crew had when they cornered her.

  He was gentle, so gentle, as he promised he would be. Somehow, he guided her to lie on her back. She was unaware of it happening, but now he was lying on his side next to her, his face hovering above hers. His face descended, he engaged her in a long, leisurely kiss, a gentle reminder of many such kisses they’d shared in recent days.

  His head dipped and his hair tickled her skin as he placed a light kiss on the tip of one breast. Elizabeth was shocked by the delightful sensation of his warm, moist lips enveloping her nipple. He suckled briefly, sending odd shivers through her breast that resonated deep within her.

  Donovan’s head turned and he gave the same attention to her other breast, once more gently taking the tip into his mouth, suckling and rolling it between his lips until it tingled and budded with desire. She sighed as he teased and suckled the sensitive bud and rolled over it with his tongue. He released it and then blew on it, intensifying her pleasure as his breath caressed the hardened bud he’d moistened by his tongue.

  Elizabeth opened her eyes to find his pale gaze upon her face, not her breasts. She knew that look. He was studying her, measuring her reaction to his touch. Satisfied that he had guided her successfully through what she expected to be an unpleasant experience, he pulled the gaping fabric over her exposed flesh and tied the top lacing with quick fingers.

  She was confused by his gallant retreat. It would be so easy for him to keep kissing her and coaxing her until he had her pressed beneath him, forced to accommodate to his desire.

  Instead, he was keeping his promise? “Go to sleep, Lizzie.” He whispered sweetly, as she continued to stare at him with disbelief. He lay on his side, curled about her. His arm circled her waist, and his head nestled near hers on the pillow. “I’ll be here to chase away the monsters.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Birds? Surely she was dreaming. Entranced by the sound of birdsong after weeks of silence, Elizabeth sprang from bed and crossed the outer room to kneel on the window seat with her hands palmed against the glass. Tall, green mountains were gliding rapidly past her line of view. A white gull glided past the glass pane, followed by two others.

  “Good morning, my sweet.” Donovan was seated at the table. Pearl stood behind him, brushing out his dark hair. Elizabeth blinked and looked again. Yes, the servant was combing his hair backwards, making it appear thick and unruly where normally it was sleek and neat.

  She studied Donovan’s abrupt transformation. Dressed in stark, unrelenting black, he gave the appearance of the fierce pirate he had once been. His black shirt was left open, displaying the scars he usually kept hidden beneath a fine lawn shirt. The scars added to his frightening persona, as did the tousled mane of jet black hair hanging wildly about his shoulders. Dark stubble peppered his jaw, emphasizing those pale, penetrating blue eyes.

  Pearl set the comb aside and picked up a black scarf. He tied it about his master’s brow. The empty eyeholes on Donovan’s forehead left no question as to the purpose of that sheath.

  “This is Ambrose Duchamp.” Donovan gestured behind her.

  She turned with a gasp. A tall, lanky fellow with a swarthy complexion leaned against the wall beside the door. Elizabeth crossed her arms about her chest, keenly aware of her state of undress. She wore only a thin night rail. Her hair was in disarray, and she was barefoot, a severe disadvantage when being presented to a frightful scoundrel.

  “Mr. Duchamp and I escaped France together.” Donovan explained.

  Duchamp made a bow. His dark eyes revealed a tendency toward sulkiness. She sensed he, too, had suffered untold horrors in France. Unlike Donovan, Duchamp had yet to emerge from his malevolent cocoon and rejoin the human race.

  A discreet cough behind her caught her attention. Pearl held open her lavender silk robe. Elizabeth slipped into it and looked about her with unease as she stood between the dangerous stranger before her and the imposing pirate inhabiting the body of her husband behind her.

  “Lizzie.” Donovan intoned. She turned. He held out his arm. She went to him quickly. He wrapped his arm about her in a protective gesture, pulling her close to his seated form. “I’ll find you a position on the estate.” He addressed his guest. “Assisting me in my scientific studies is not feasible. I prefer to work alone, and the opportunity for acquiring specimens is rare.”

  “I could provide you with plenty of specimens, mon ami.”

  “No.” Donovan’s voice deepened to a warning timbre. “Coming across a fresh corpse is one thing, but deliberate killing for scientific--” Elizabeth gasped at his words. Donovan’s arm tightened about her, as if fearing she might flee his grip. “Ambrose is rendering the remains of shark for me, dearest.” He stared hard at his henchmen as he spoke to her. “I use the cartilage for medicinal purposes. Ambrose procures them for me from time to time.”

  “Aye, a shark.” The Frenchman’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he gazed at her.

  “You will be paid handsomely for your services, as usual. But make no mistake; you will not take it upon yourself to provide future specimens for me without my request. Do we understand each other, Mr. Duchamp?”

  The lanky Frenchman nodded, pushed himself away from the wall, and left the cabin.

  “Ambrose tires of life at sea.” Donovan explained, stating the obvious and shoving aside the ambiguous as if it were of little consequence. He gazed up at her. “You’re frowning, my sweet. Did you awaken with a headache again?”

  It was a valid question, as sometimes she awakened with a punishing migraine.

  “No, I did not, thank you. Why are you wearing this. . . this costume?” She gestured to his odd attire. “I was led to believe that you were no longer a pirate, my lord.”

  “It’s true. The Raven is long retired. May I present Le Comte de Rochembeau, one of the identities I maintain on my estate.”

  “One--one of your--“ She stammered, taken aback by his statement.

  “Count Rochembeau is the owner of Ravencrest Plantation. Mr. O’Rourke, my other persona, is his servant, or to be more precise, the steward of the estate.” He stood and placed his arms about her. “No one knows we are the same man.”

  “Why?” Elizabeth asked in a high voice, tamping down the rising panic.

  “Servants blend into the background.” He replied with confidence. “As O’Rourke, I can gain people’s trust, learn their secrets, and discern potential plots against me as the count.”

  Oh Dear! A man would have to be greatly unsettled in his mind to fear others were plotting against him continually. She released her hand from her throat, hardly aware she’d been clutching it as the full import of Pearl’s words swept over her anew. “They tortured my lord.”

  “I must insist that you play along with the ruse for a short time.”

  “But why? Why the need for such an elaborate disguise?”

  “The count adds a dramatic element. His face is rumored to be disfigured, making him a recluse, hence the silk sheath.” He touched the scarf. “It keeps people at a respectful distance. Ach, don’t worry, my bonny lass.” Donovan switched to a convincing Irish brogue. “When you see my face I am Mr. O’Rourke.” He pulled the mask down to conceal his features. �
�When you do not, ma cherie, I am Count Rochembeau.” He added in a flawless French accent.

  The ease with which he switched from one personality to the other was frightening.

  “Does the captain know?” As soon as she asked, she knew it was futile to expect aid from another man. Donovan was her spouse. Legally, she was required to obey him despite his eccentricities. Captain Rawlings couldn’t help her. She was alone in this.

  “Of course he knows.” Donovan replied, seeming perturbed by her question.

  “What about when we’re alone? How should I address you, sir?”

  “By my name.” He pushed the mask up and gave her a dazzling smile.

  She studied his eyes for a hint of madness, but saw none. “And your name is Donovan?”

  “Yes.” He studied her, appearing perplexed. “Interesting point. I use Donovan with my O’Rourke disguise. You must not address me by my Christian name when I’m the count.”

  Elizabeth nodded, stunned by this strange turn of events.

  “You’ll see me as Mr. O’Rourke most of the time. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, Lizzie.”

  It wasn’t herself she worried about!

  “I’ll be ending the ruse soon, a week at most.” He added, caressing her brow thoughtfully with a forefinger. “Do you think you can manage?”

  Did she have a choice? “I will try not to disappoint you, my lord.”

  “Lizzie, you’re taking this too seriously!” He said, laughing and hugging her. “Just think of it as my way of keeping you safe.”

  How does pretending to be two different people keep me safe? She wanted to ask, but did not. The question might upset him, and more than anything, Elizabeth did not want this man to become upset. “Are you afraid your slaves may have planned an uprising?” She asked, endeavoring to see things from his perspective, and perhaps help him.