Too Great a Temptation (16 page)

“Fine, Belle,” he growled. “I’ll think about joining the crew.”
Just leave
, he thought, for he couldn’t stand looking at her through the iron bars anymore, knowing he couldn’t touch her—ever again.

“Really, Damian?” She dropped down to sit on the balls of her feet, her legs splayed. Though she was covered in her leather breeches, Damian couldn’t stop the salacious image of her legs bare and splayed from skipping through his head. And he hated himself all the more for still finding her so irresistible.

“Really, Belle,” he returned gruffly. “Now go before Quincy finds us in a compromising position.”

Her brow furrowed. “How’s that?”

The bloody temptation was more than he could bear. He realized then, if he didn’t break off his obsession with Belle, he would never see his plan of vengeance to fruition. She would always be in the way, distracting him. And she would always give him false hope for a life he knew he could never have. A life void of emptiness and pain. A life filled with promise and joy.

He grabbed her through the cage and hoisted her to her knees, so her body was flush with the cold metal bars. One arm wrapped around her midriff, his other hand cupped the warmth between her legs.

She gasped.

He kissed her hard through an opening in the bars.

“If you insist on spreading your legs,” he growled, breaking away from the heated kiss, “then I’ll insist on ravishing you.” With a cruel smirk, he added, “But next time, Belle, you don’t have to get down on your knees and beg me like a tavern whore.”

The sound crack to the mouth knocked his head back.

Mirabelle pushed him away and staggered to her feet, her amber eyes spitting fire. “You son of a bitch!”

She was gone then, the lantern forgotten.

In the shadows of the brig, Damian sat back against the wall, fingering his tender jaw.
Good girl
, he thought.
Hate me. I deserve it.

And he did deserve it. He was nothing but a worthless, miserable sod. He couldn’t do anything right—except bring out the worst in a person. And that talent had just come in handy. Belle surely despised him now. She wouldn’t be coming around anymore, tempting him. He would spend the rest of the voyage alone.

It was bloody better that way.

It really was.

M
irabelle hammered away. It was dark out. Only a small lantern off to the side provided her with a glimmer of light. It was so dark, in fact, she wasn’t even sure she was driving the nail into the right place. But she didn’t care right then. If she didn’t vent her fury on something, she would have to vent it on some
one
. And as tempting as the idea might be, she didn’t think it very wise to smack Damian across the head—even if he did deserve it.

A whore! The bloody ass had called her a tavern whore! To have said something so ruthless, and after everything they had been through. Why? Because he was on a pirate ship? Was he really so angry about it? Would he join the crew now that he knew the truth?

Oh, she didn’t give a damn about Damian anymore. She had tried to save his life. First by locking him in the brig, then by urging him to become a pirate. And how had he repaid her good intentions? By insulting her, the blackguard. He had enjoyed their tryst as much as she had. What did that make him?

She snorted. Not a whore, that was for sure. Apparently, only a woman could be saddled with such a stigma. Bloody unfair, really. She couldn’t do anything that she desired without being condemned for it. And she was growing sick of all the reprimands. First from her brothers and now from Damian.

The pounding in her chest painful, Mirabelle gritted her teeth to halt the surge of tears welling in her eyes. She had grown to care for the lousy bounder. There was no sailing around that truth. But he apparently didn’t give a fig about her. He never had. He’d claimed an infamous reputation. A rogue. She should have believed him.

She was such a fool. A sentimental fool. She bloody well deserved to feel so rotten. This was the very reason she had vowed to never give her heart away. It made her vulnerable. It made her weak…It made her miserable.

Well, she had learned her lesson. Never again would she let anyone into her heart. Never again would she rely on anyone for her happiness. It was up to her—and her alone—to find it, fight for it, and keep it. And that’s just what she intended to do.

“Belle?”

She glanced up to find James hovering above her. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you go below and get some rest?”

She turned away from him. “I’m not tired.”

“Then I’m ordering you to bed.”

She hit the nail head hard. “Why, damn it?”

“Because I won’t have a ship left to sail if you keep trying to fix it.”

Brow creased, she stepped back to examine her handiwork, and it was then she realized what James was talking about. The starboard rail did look rather crooked.

She let out a winded sigh. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Don’t be. I know this has been a rough day for you.”

You have no idea
. “How’s the crew?”

“Mending.” James crossed his arms over his chest and propped his hip against the rail. “Brice is recovering nicely. He should be up and about soon.”

“That’s good.” Brice, their quartermaster, had been stationed at the helm when a cannonball demolished part of the rail, peppering him with a series of splinters. “And the ship?”

“She’ll make it back to England, I’m sure. But she’s going to need a minor overhaul once we reach land.”

She nodded. “Did you figure out why the other ship attacked us?”

“Not yet. But I intend to. Anything else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Any more questions before I order you to bed—again?”

She made a moue and handed James the hammer. “No.” She started to move away from him, took about two steps before she paused to face the captain again. She had vowed to dismiss Damian from her head and heart, but despite that conviction, she said, “What will happen to Damian?”

“Don’t worry about the navigator, Belle. I’ll take care of him.”

That didn’t sound too good. She shouldn’t have asked. Now she would never get any sleep.

Morning rays filled the brig through the cannon holes in the hull. Damian squinted at the shaft of sunlight creeping over his face, then moved his head to the side to avoid the brilliancy.

With a growled oath, he rolled onto his back. He had never had such a miserable night. Pirates had infested his dreams. He’d ached for Belle in a most wicked way. And now he awoke to a stiff pain in his neck and back and everywhere else for that matter. The result of spending the evening on the hard wood floor.

With a grimace, he slowly sat up. The blood rushed to his head, his temples throbbing.

“Bloody hell.”

It was like rousing from a drunken stupor, only he hadn’t had a drop of spirits.

Damian swiveled around to press his back against the wall. He had a full view of the room from his vantage point, and so was quick to notice the figure that strode in through the door.

Bile burning in his gut, Damian glowered at Quincy. A dastardly, loathsome, murdering pirate. An enemy.

Squatting, Quincy set the tray of food on the floor. He offered Damian a grim, even contrite expression. “I guess this is kinda my fault.”

Damian couldn’t stand to look at the kid anymore. Grief wracked his brain. Quincy was nothing but a merciless cutthroat. It almost defied reason. But harrowing as the truth might be, the kid was a villain. And he had to die.

“If I hadn’t dragged you along,” said Quincy, “you’d be in
New York
right now. Stranded, granted. But safe.”

Damian looked back at him, fiery pain cutting up his soul. “Forget about it, kid.”

Quincy was about to say something in return, then quirked a sable brow. “What happened to your face?”

Damian reached for his chin. It was then he noticed the swelling. His lips were puffy, too. A parting gift from Belle.

“Never mind, kid.”

Quincy shrugged. “Listen, Damian…”

But another large figure appeared in the doorway then, curtailing Quincy’s remark.

The Black Hawk.

Damian’s muscles hardened.

James took an ominous step into the room. “Out, Quincy.”

With a sigh, the kid lifted off his haunches and departed, leaving Damian alone with the pirate captain.

The two men glared at each other for a moment.

Damian was a mess inside. James had murdered his brother. A rabid rancor gripped Damian. A desire to destroy the pirate who had slain his kin…but why did
James
have to be Black Hawk?

Damian wanted to howl in agony. So long he had hunted Black Hawk. So many nights he had stood atop the poop of his own ship, staring into the black beyond, wishing for Black Hawk to appear so he could send the piratical swine to the seabed. Vengeance had once seethed through his blood for the pirate captain. Now Damian was in turmoil. The anger still churned in his belly, but it was not easy to think of James as an enemy. Damian had come to respect the captain over the last three weeks. He was a sage commander, who elicited the respect of his crew—a pirate crew.

Damian took in a sharp breath. James was a fiend. He had to remember that. He
would
kill the captain and the rest of the men. Adam’s death demanded vengeance.

“Why?” Damian growled, “Why are you a pirate?”

James stepped deeper into the room. “And what else should I be?”

“Anything but a pirate.”

“Oh? And what if I want to be a cabinetmaker, like my father?”

“Then be one.”

He grunted. “Aye, it sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? Marry and have a family and work hard every day of my life, until one day a troop of goons come along and take it all away.”

“The press gang.”

James lifted a black brow.

“Belle told me about your father.”

“Did she?” James moved to stand in front of the cage. Darkness swirled in his cobalt blue eyes. “Then you should understand why I’m a pirate, Damian. I’m not going to heed law, only to have my life snatched away by ‘king and country.’”

A tight knot formed in Damian’s throat. “And what of the lives you devastate?”

It was hypocritical, the query, coming from him, considering all the lives
he
had devastated, but Damian needed to know the answer nonetheless.

“And what lives would those be, Damian?”

“The lives of your victims.”

He gave a chortle. “Really, Damian, do you think I pillage miserable farmers? What do you care if a lofty merchant or lord looses a few pence?”

Oh, he cared. He bloody well cared a lot.

“Enough of this,” said James. “I’ve decided what I’m going to do with you.”

“I thought the choice was supposed to be mine?”

“Not anymore.” James crossed his arms over his chest. “Since you saved both Quincy and Belle’s lives, I am indebted to you. Therefore,
you
are going to join the crew and I won’t have to kill you.”

Damian fisted his palms to hold in his temper. “I won’t do it.”

The captain’s voice was cool, considering the fiery subject matter at hand. “Aye, you will.”

“I’ll escape as soon as we reach England.”

James shook his head. “You won’t leave this ship for the next year.”

Damian couldn’t restrain the fury anymore. “You’ll keep me in this cage for a bloody
year
!”

Composed, but determined, James returned, “I’ll let you out of the brig once we’re at sea—far away from land.”

“That’s—”

“The way it’s going to be,” James said tersely. “After a year, you’ll be as guilty of piracy as the rest of us. I won’t have to worry about you turning us in then. Take heart, Damian, you might even come to enjoy being a pirate.”

Damian was about to contest the remark, but then decided against it. He was protesting for the wrong reason. True, he had no intention of becoming a bloody pirate, but he needn’t worry about that ever happening. He was going to scuttle the ship, remember? Once Belle was gone, of course. He had only to bide his time. The
Bonny Meg
would soon be home. Belle would be back on land—she had said so herself, that James would never let her join the crew. And then the ship would set sail again, bent on another piratical venture. Since Damian was allowed out of the brig once the vessel was at sea, he’d have no qualms about sinking it. He would see his vow of vengeance to an end, bring his own miserable existence to a close, and he wouldn’t have to harm a hair on Belle’s head to do it.

More at ease, Damian refrained from any further comment. The captain must have interpreted his silence as reluctant acquiescence, for he gave a curt nod of approval and then unlocked the brig door.

H
ome.

Mirabelle gazed at the shadowy coastline. The remaining journey to England had been without incident. No storms. No sea battles. No tempestuous rows with a certain navigator.

She propped her elbows on the rail, a soft breeze whistling through her hair. It was late. Only the glimmering dots of firelight, poking through the tavern windows, illuminated the ghostly shore. The
Bonny Meg
had dropped anchor a little ways from port. Most of the men had already departed for a brief interlude on land. After a few days of carousing in the taverns, and once all the repairs were made, James wanted the crew to head back to
New York
and complete the plundering mission
she
had interrupted. She, of course, was not invited to come along.

Mirabelle let out a heavy sigh. She had tried, she really had, to convince the captain she would make a good seafarer. She had done her work without complaint. Volunteered for any of the more laborious, even odious, chores. But her efforts had made no impression on the captain. He’d never once mentioned she might be able to join the crew. There was nothing left to do but pack her belongings. It was time to go home.

She abandoned the bow and headed for the captain’s cabin. James was already inside, hunched over a table, shuffling through a stack of charts. He glanced up at her.

“I’ve just come to gather my things,” she said quietly, heading for her side of the room.

James cocked his head, following her trek across the cabin. “You’re not going to beg me to let you stay?”

She stuffed a shirt into her carrying case. “No.”

“Why?”

He sounded genuinely confused and she turned around to confront him. “Why should I? I don’t need to hear—again—how I don’t belong here. I’m bloody well sick of hearing it.”

James crossed his arms over his chest. He propped his hip against the desk and studied her curiously. “You concede defeat then?”

“Yes,” she gritted out, jamming another garment into her bag. Was he going to be a blasted nuisance about all this and rub defeat in her face? “Do you want to hear me say it? Fine. I give up. There, will that do?”

He nodded. “It’s settled then.”

She shrugged. “I suppose it is.”

Mirabelle continued to collect her things. She dreaded going home. It was going to be lonely, the house all quiet, eerily so.

For some absurd reason, Damian came to mind at the thought of loneliness. She remembered how she had felt in his embrace—anything but lonely. Bah! She shook her head to dismiss the haunting vision. It was all in her head. She really belonged right here, aboard the
Bonny Meg
. If only there was some way for her to stay…

Oh, forget it. Why dwell on the impossible? She would go to London and visit her friend Henrietta Ashby. That would help offset the loneliness.

James didn’t say anything for a while, then: “The men have been talking.”

“About what?”

“You.”

She stiffened. “What about me? No, wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear about how unlucky I am or other such rot.” She crammed her hairbrush into her sack.

But James ignored her request for silence. “Apparently, you were very helpful on the day of the battle.”

“I was? I mean, of course I was.” She narrowed her gaze on James. “The crew told you this?”

He nodded. “It seems you did everything right that day. The men were…”

“Impressed?” she said hopefully.

“Surprised.”

“Oh.” She continued to stuff her breeches away. “I guess that’s better than angry or appalled.”

“It looks like you’re not the bad omen many of them suspected you would be.”

“Well, lucky me.” She dropped the sarcasm, though, when another, more pleasant thought hopped into her head. “James, are you trying to tell me something?”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe I can stay aboard the
Bonny Meg
?”

He snorted. “No.”

She jammed another shirt into her already stuffed sack. “Then why the hell are you telling me all this?”

He shrugged. “I thought you should know.”

“Well, now I do. So thank you and good-bye.”

She was strutting for the door when James grabbed her by the arm.

“You’ve got a bloody bad temper, you know that, Belle?”

Her amber eyes flashed. “And you have a stubborn streak that would put a mule to shame. What of it?”

He let go of her arm and heaved a deep sigh. “Nothing.”

“James,” she drawled, “are you sure you’re not thinking of letting me stay?”

“Yes…maybe.”

Her heart missed a beat. “Really? Oh, James—”

“
Maybe
.” He was glowering at her as if she’d done something wrong. “The men aren’t so opposed to you joining the crew anymore. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you stay, but I guess you don’t have to pack your bag just yet,” he groused. “We’re here for a few days and we’ll talk about it some more in that time.”

She could barely contain her joy. Oh, what the hell! Mirabelle dropped her bag of belongings and flung her arms around her brother’s neck.

“Thank you, James.”

He was reluctant at first, but then he returned her embrace. “I’m not making any promises, Belle.”

“I know,” she whispered and kissed his cheek for good measure. “But thanks for giving me the chance.”

He grunted. “Are you going to hate me if the answer still turns out to be no?”

She contemplated that for a moment, then said, “I could never hate you.” And it was true, she couldn’t. Even if he was an obnoxious lout sometimes.

“Good.” He pulled away from her, looking somewhat discomfited at having teetered on the edge of sentimentality. Swiftly he composed his features and gave a curt nod. “Now off with you, Belle. Cook needs help in the galley with inventory.”

A grin on her face, Mirabelle kicked her bag in a corner and all but skipped from the room. She couldn’t believe it. She might yet be able to stay. Stay with her kin and…with Damian.

She paused in the corridor, her merriment ebbing away. Damian was going to join the crew. She had forgotten about that. He was trapped aboard the
Bonny Meg
for at least a year, according to James. And if she joined the crew, she would have to spend time with the bounder. It was unavoidable. She was going to be reminded, over and over again, each time she saw him, of what he had done to her—the good and the bad.

Bloody hell.

Damian shifted in his cage. He was back in the brig now that the
Bonny Meg
had reached shore. And all he could think about was Belle. She was going to leave the ship soon. He was never going to see her again. That had been the plan all along, to break away from her, yet he wanted to tear the blasted iron bars apart with his bare hands. A great need overwhelmed him. A need to see her, talk to her…kiss her one last time.

“You’re going to be stuck in there for a while, you know?”

Heart pounding, Damian looked up at the familiar sound of a husky voice to find Belle standing in the doorway.

He took in a deep and measured breath. She was a vision in black, breeches and tight leather vest. And she could still stir the flames of his passion just by being. He need only glance at her, hear one sultry word from her, and he felt alive, invigorated.

He was going to miss her.

It appeared Mirabelle wasn’t going to venture farther into the room. She remained by the door, arms crossed in a defensive manner. Her catlike eyes were masked by shadows, yet he could
feel
her fiery stare. It warmed his blood, sent his heart thumping even faster, the primal look she gave him.

“Are you leaving now, Belle?” It hurt to say the words. Cut right down to the bone.

“No, I’m not leaving.”

After a few thoughtful moments, he furrowed his brow. “Right now, you mean? But you are leaving the ship soon, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “It looks like I’m staying right here.”

“What?” he rasped, a welter of emotions rising in his chest.

“James is going to consider letting me join the crew.”

“That’s madness!” he suddenly blasted. “You have to get off the ship!”

He could see the muscles in her arms flinch. “I don’t have to go anywhere, Damian. By and by, if I stay,
you
are going to keep away from me. Got that?”

“You’re not staying, Belle.” It was a firm remark, said more to soothe the panic in his breast than anything else, for Damian did not have the authority to make such a decision. The captain did. And if James was daft enough to allow his sister to remain on board, then Damian’s pledge of vengeance was dashed. He could never sink the ship with Belle a part of the crew.

“The captain will come to his senses,” said Damian. “He
won’t
let you stay.”

“We’ll just see about that.”

And then she sauntered out of the room.

With a hard jerk, Damian kicked the iron bars opposite him, the metal ringing out in vibration.

What the hell was he going to do now? He had to get Belle off the ship. But how? She was a bloody stubborn wench. She would never leave unless he dragged her off. But no. That wasn’t a good idea. She would just swim back to the ship, he was sure.

Damian slumped his brow in his palm and rubbed his throbbing temples. Perhaps James would find his wits and forbid her to stay…or perhaps not. Damian couldn’t take that chance. He had to get Mirabelle off the
Bonny Meg
. He had to keep her safe. It was an instinct so primal, it consumed his mind.

He growled in frustration. It had all gone amok, his vengeful intentions. He had trained and primed for every conceivable circumstance over the last two years. But meeting Belle was the one happening he had never prepared for, the one glitch in his scheme he could not have anticipated. And if he didn’t find a way around the predicament of her being here, he was going to fail in his mission.

So what to do? How to get Belle off the ship
and
keep her off?

Put her under lock and key, that’s how
, he thought, disgruntled. But the only way he could do that was if he kidnapped her…

Damian lifted his head. Was it possible? Could he abscond with Belle and still achieve his vow of vengeance? The thought slowly took root.

If he kidnapped Belle, he’d get her off the ship. That was one problem solved. And if he took her back to his castle, her brothers would surely follow—right to the dungeon. That was two problems solved. He’d keep Belle safe while exacting revenge on the pirates who had murdered his kin. Not all the pirates, granted, but the ones that mattered for sure, the ones in charge of the venture—Belle’s brothers.

Damian mulled over the idea a bit more and decided it was a sound plan. There was no other way around the quandary. He couldn’t risk letting the
Bonny Meg
weigh anchor and set sail with Belle on board. He had to do this. He had no other choice.

Quincy strode in, tray in hand.

“Brought you some dinner, Damian.” He set the fare on the ground. “How are you doing?”

Damian didn’t say a word.

“Sorry to hear that.” The kid scratched his head. “It’s only for a little while more, you know? James will let you out just as soon as we’re at sea.”

Still nothing.

“Well, I’m off now,” said Quincy. “Most of the men are already in port. I’m going to join ’em.” He grinned. “Off to meet Tilly, and all. I’ll be back in the morning—or maybe noon. But don’t worry, I won’t forget about you.”

Quincy lifted off his haunches.

Damian stood as well.

A sound crack between the eyes silenced the kid. He hit the floor with a cumbersome thump.

Damian crouched down and shifted Quincy’s body so he could better reach the trouser pockets. Arms stretched, he groped along the kid’s leg, feeling for the keys.

It didn’t take long to locate them. He pushed Quincy’s body away from the door, then unlocked it.

Once free, Damian grabbed the kid under the shoulders and dragged him into the brig. He was about to secure the door, but paused. Quincy might wake up and holler for help before Damian had a chance to smuggle Belle off the ship. Maybe he should kill the kid now and be done with it?

But a sharp pain in his chest dissuaded him from that idea. Instead Damian tore at Quincy’s shirt, making two long strips of cloth. He secured the kid’s wrists with one strip and fastened a gag over his mouth with the other. That should keep Quincy quiet for a while.

Locking the brig door, Damian turned and walked away. There was no reason for him to bloody his hands now. Shortly, he’d have all the brothers caged in the dungeon of his castle, and then he’d have his revenge.

Dismissing the uncomfortable ache still in his chest, Damian focused on the task at hand, prowling the passageways, making his way toward the captain’s cabin. Fortunately for him, the ship was virtually deserted, so he could skulk along the dimly lit corridors without much risk of discovery. He was in need of a certain provision before he abducted Belle. A provision he was sure the Black Hawk possessed.

Damian reached the captain’s door. It was closed. He pressed his ear to the wood, listening. No movement within.

Carefully he opened the door. A quick peek confirmed the room was indeed empty. He slipped inside and went straight to work.

Under lamplight, Damian scavenged for gold. Ironic, really, considering he didn’t want to be a pirate. But without blunt, he’d never get home. There was clothing to buy and transportation to arrange, and throwing his ducal name around was no assurance he’d get everything he needed. Townsfolk might not believe he was the Duke of Wembury, after all. He certainly didn’t look the part, with his long black hair and scruffy beard. Why, he looked more like a…pirate.

He thrust that disturbing thought aside. Rummaging through the captain’s things, Damian searched for coins. He looked in trunks and in burlap sacks. Nothing. He explored the bed. But all he found was a stunning dagger. There had to be money somewhere. Every captain had a stash. Damian had always stored his valuables in a safe aboard his ship. But where did James hide his?