Too Great a Temptation (25 page)

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 duchess. “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.

“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.