Too Great a Temptation (10 page)

Mirabelle didn’t say anything. Bloody stupid of her to have mucked up the cabin space like that, shredding all that linen. But she’d needed
some
thing to tear to pieces after Damian had called her a fool.

It was still a sore point for her, being castigated for doing what any other sailor would have done. But being a woman, she wasn’t suppose to do things like help save the ship from sinking.

Men and their ridiculous reasoning!

An elbow to the ribs brought her out of her pensiveness.

“Eddie’s on his way down,” said Quincy, “with all his tools in tow. I wonder if he’ll come fumbling headfirst?”

“Please don’t sound so hopeful.”

The siblings watched as Edmund made the steady descent, Quincy grinning in anticipation of a fall, Mirabelle apprehensive of one.

When Edmund safely set foot on deck, she sighed in relief.

Quincy, on the other hand, clicked his tongue in disappointment. “He didn’t even swallow a nail!”

She rolled her eyes heavenward. When would her two youngest siblings give up the constant sparing? James and William got along just fine. Why couldn’t these two be friends?

It was only in times of danger that Edmund and Quincy banded together in complete accord. But did the ship have to be under constant attack for the brothers to get along? Mirabelle hoped not. She trusted it was their tender age making them so quarrelsome and nothing more. In a year or two, when each matured, the back-and-forth bantering should come to a stop. If she had to endure their pugnacious tendencies for the rest of her life, she might seriously reconsider her dream of being a seafarer.

Edmund soon approached them, holding his finger and glaring at it intently.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I have a splinter.”

“Let me tend to it,” Quincy offered.

Edmund cradled his hand against his chest. “Not on your life.”

Quincy snickered. “’Fraid, are you?”

“I’ll tend to the splinter.” She stepped between the two warring titans, then nudged Quincy in the arm. “Go and fetch me a needle.”

When he didn’t budge, she gave him a shove. “Go!”

With a sigh, Quincy headed off to find a needle, and Mirabelle turned her attention to her remaining kin. She examined his finger, doing a little poking and prodding to asses the minor abrasion, Edmund hissing and wincing the entire time.

A short while later, Quincy returned with the needle, and a whole new round of poking and prodding began, with Edmund jerking his hand away and griping over the unnecessary pain.

It was a few combative minutes before the splinter was finally retrieved.

“I’ve got it,” she said.

Peering over his sister’s shoulder, Quincy examined the tiny sliver of wood, then focused his gaze on his brother. “
That
little thing had you hopping in anguish?”

Edmund, having lifted his finger to his lips to suck on the drops of blood, mumbled, “Would you like me to give you a splinter up your—”

“Enough.” Mirabelle cut them each a disapproving glance. “What is wrong with the two of you? Always puffing out your chests and squawking like roosters. There are more important things to worry over.” Such as the welter of emotions swirling around in her gut whenever she thought of Damian. Like the fear of losing him to his injury, gratitude for saving her life, and the desire to put her hands back on his fevered flesh…maybe even press her lips to his chest for a decadent taste.

Mirabelle sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, forget it. I don’t care anymore. Just kill each other and get it over with. At least then we can have some peace aboard ship.”

She stalked away, her brothers staring curiously after her.

“What’s the matter with her?” wondered Quincy.

“I don’t know,” said Edmund, his attention back on his finger. “Maybe she’s having her monthly courses.”

Quincy looked back at his brother. “I’m going to knock your teeth out for putting that thought in my head.”

D
amian battled the turbulent waves, the chill of the water sapping his strength. He cried out Adam’s name, but wind and spray whipped across his face, snuffing his voice.

Soon he would slip beneath the waves and sink to the bottom of the sea. Soon his struggle would be over.

But a hand suddenly broke through the thrashing water. A hand of hope. It clasped his wrist and yanked him back to the surface.

Damian opened his eyes to find Mirabelle hovering above him, ensconced in a rickety little boat, urging him to climb aboard. The sight of her made his heart hurt, but in a way he had never felt before. Not with pain, but with…joy.

At her behest, Damian attempted to pull himself up into the boat, but something snagged his ankles. He glanced down to see the grim face of his brother, distorted by the violent waves. Adam tugged and tugged, pleading with Damian to join him on the seabed. Damian looked back at Belle, who was shouting for him to ignore his brother, to climb up into the boat.

But Damian could not.

He couldn’t leave his brother alone in the dark ocean. He deserved to share in Adam’s fate. His brother had set sail for home in the hope of saving Damian from his monstrous self. Had Adam remained in Italy, he would still be alive. He would be settled in England, blissfully wed, with a child perhaps.

But Adam was gone. Murdered at the hands of pirates. And all because Damian couldn’t take care of himself.

The least Damian could do was join his brother on the ocean floor. It was where he rightfully belonged. Besides, he could never be happy with Belle. He was a scoundrel, just like his father, and he would only hurt her in time.

With one last look into Belle’s lovely eyes, Damian let go of her hand and drifted away into the cold darkness.

Mirabelle poked her fingers into her ears. Hell’s fire, but she could
still
hear the blasted snoring!

Gnashing her teeth, she glared at her lump of a brother, stuffed under the bedcovers, blissfully sleeping away.

She wished James to purgatory right then.

Her eyes closed, she steadied her ragged breathing, quelling the urge to smack her kin over the head with her boot. She turned her thoughts to less maddening matters, going over her chores for the following day, but wherever her mind wandered, it always seemed to return to one constant spot—Damian. The meddlesome navigator who bothered in her affairs…and who risked his life to save her.

Why?

Why would he do such a thing? He had known her a fortnight. Why save her at detriment to himself? He wasn’t her kin. They weren’t even friends.

So what were they then?

The question haunted her. And that damn snoring didn’t give her a moment’s peace to think.

Gracefully, Mirabelle rolled out of the hammock and treaded softly toward the door. She scooped up her boots on the way out of the captain’s cabin and paused in the corridor to slip on the leather pair.

She needed some fresh air and headed down the gallery, but the muffled noises coming from Damian’s room gave her pause—and had her pressing her ear to the door.

Prudence eventually gave way to curiosity, and she stepped into the cabin.

Damian was asleep in bed. Still nude, still ruggedly handsome…still tempting to touch.

You shouldn’t be in here, Belle
.

True, she thought. But she had to check on Damian. Just a quick peek to make sure he was all right.

But in the dimly lit room, the shadows emphasized the contortion of pain on his face, and she realized he wasn’t sleeping very soundly. The incoherent rambling wasn’t comforting to hear, either.

Worry sprouted in her breast.

Mirabelle walked over to the bed and gripped Damian by the arms. “Wake up, Damian.”

“No,” he resisted, fighting her off. “Let me go. Let me die in peace.”

“Like hell I will!” She gave him a firm shake. “If you think you’re going to die and leave
me
to suffer the guilt of it, think again. Now open your bloody eyes!”

He did.

Damian blinked once, twice, the mist of drowsiness dispelled. “I’m not in the ocean?”

“No,” she assured him with a sigh. “You’re safe aboard the
Bonny Meg
.”

His gaze narrowed. “What are you doing in here?”

“I heard noises.” Moving away from the bedside, she allowed the lamplight to fall on his bronzed and rough features, casting him in a fiery glow. Tempting indeed. She hooked her hands behind her back to resist touching him. An idle caress might ease the restless twitch in her fingers, but only for a short time. One caress would eventually inspire another and another. It was a risky path to tread: one she wasn’t willing to take. “I came to see if you were all right.”

Damian reached for his temples. As soon as he fingered the thick head dressing, though, he scowled. With a flick of the wrist, he whipped the bandages off his head and tossed them to the floor.

She reached down to pick up the discarded cloths. “I know it’s a nuisance, but you really should wear the bandages a while longer.”

But the moment she stepped toward him, he visibly tensed. “Don’t touch me.”

She froze and raised a questioning brow.

“I mean, I’m fine.” His words were clipped. “I don’t want the bandages.”

The strips of linen landed on the table. “You’re a grumpy patient, you know? More so than Quincy.”

“Quincy didn’t have a pounding headache to be grumpy about.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “By and by, why would
you
suffer guilt if I were to die?”

She shrugged. “You did save my life. If you die, I guess it would be my fault in some way.”

“Well,
if
I die, don’t feel guilty, Belle. It was my choice to pull you from the wave.”

“About that…” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why did you save my life?”

He seemed deep in thought, troubled even. Not that she dwelled on it for very long. Hell, no. She heard the sharp intake of breath, observed the wide expanse of his magnificent chest heave, and all other thoughts went overboard.

It was disgusting, really, how easily her mind wandered when confronted with a patch of bare skin. But Damian was different from any other man she had ever seen. He was not a brother or a familiar sailor. He was new and interesting and virile and…

“I guess I didn’t want to lose another innocent soul to the sea,” he rasped.

She blinked. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “I lost someone to the sea once. I didn’t want it to happen again.”

“Oh.” She didn’t press him further. She could tell by the tightness in his voice it was a sensitive point for him. It was also one of the few things he’d offered to tell her about his past, so she wouldn’t badger him with questions—yet. Maybe later, when he was feeling better. After all, her curiosity was too keen to simply let the matter rest. “Well, whyever you did it, thanks.” She headed for the door. “I’ll let you get some rest now.”

“Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Stay, Belle. Talk to me.”

Really, she shouldn’t. She had come to make sure he was all right. He was fine now. There was no reason for her to stay…except that she wanted to.

“It’s not right for me to be here, Damian. Those were your words.”

“I know, but…”

“In need of a bedtime story?”

“Something like that.”

Oh, what the hell. Mirabelle straddled a nearby chair. “I can’t sleep, either.”

“Why?”

“James snores.” She gesticulated with her fingers. “It’s like a trumpet blast to the ear all night.”

“I wonder if I snore?”

“You probably do. All men snore.”

Damian tucked a strapping arm beneath his head and cocked a brow. “Is that so?”

Hell’s fire, the man was sexy, lounging in bed like a fabled titan, his dark hair unruly, his jaw dusted with the shadow of a beard. And that broad chest! Big and built of muscle and covered in a mat of sable curls. And what about those lips? So lush. So well suited against the backdrop of his sharp, chiseled features. So tasty to look at…

Mirabelle pulled her wayward thoughts together and focused on the question at hand. She really had to stop ogling the navigator like that.

She counted off on her fingers. “My father snored, James snores, Quincy likes to talk in his sleep—which is just as bad. I’ve never heard a peep out of Eddie or Will, though. That’s three men out of five who snore, so chances are, you snore too.”

“I see.”

“I think you men do it to irritate the women in your lives.”

He shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“All I know, my brothers take great joy in pestering me.”

“Did they always pester you?”

“Always?” She thought back. “No. They doted on me as a child, but the attention wasn’t quite so aggravating back then.”

“What was your life like as a child?”

She hesitated. “My life?”

“You mentioned before your father was a sailor.”

She nodded warily. “He was a merchant sailor for a few years before he wed and retired from the sea to become a cabinetmaker…and then he joined the Royal Navy.”

“Why? A cabinetmaker earns more, doesn’t he?”

How much to tell him? Mirabelle wasn’t sure. Secrecy was imperative during the voyage home. Damian could not be trusted with the crew’s identity yet. But there was no harm in telling him a little about herself, surely.

She took in a deep breath, the dark memories coming to fore. “Father didn’t want to be in the navy, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“They just took him off the street one night.”

The bitterness in her voice was clear. It had happened so long ago, before she was even born, yet the story of her parents’ suffering still made her seethe with anger.

“They?” said Damian. “A press gang?”

She nodded. It was the year 1788. The Royal Navy was desperate for sailors. Few enlisted voluntarily—likely due to the dismal pay and horrid treatment aboard vessels—so press gangs were hired to “collect” young and healthy men and bring them aboard. Drake Hawkins had been one of those unfortunate men.

“Father never had a chance to say good-bye to the family. He was attacked coming home from work one night. Hauled into the nearest port, he was thrashed into submission. The next few years aboard the
Neptune
were pure hell for him.”

“And your mother?”

Mirabelle shrugged. “She didn’t fare much better. Alone with two small boys and little money, she had to take on a lot of work. Milkmaid. Apple seller. Scavenger. She was up at four every morning, and always went to bed well after dark, but still, the few pennies she earned didn’t help much. Sometimes James and William went to bed hungry. Sometime the cold winter winds broke through the rotting roof. And she missed my father the entire time.”

It was that very grief Mirabelle wanted to avoid. She would not give her heart to a man as her mother had done, and then risk that heart being broken. The years Mother had spent apart from Father had darkened her spirit. She had loved him so much, and when he had disappeared, the pain of it had overwhelmed her, nearly shattered her. She never did recover from the separation, from the years of toil and wretched loneliness. Even after Father’s return, she was not the same woman anymore. She had changed irrevocably. Joy and laughter did not come easy to her anymore. Mirabelle didn’t want that kind of a life. She didn’t want to be so attached to a man that his every breath determined her very happiness. She didn’t want to give a man that kind of power over her: the power to destroy her.

In a low timbre, Damian wondered, “How long was your father gone?”

“About twelve years.” Mirabelle wrapped her arms around the back of the chair and rested her chin on the rail. “Father tried to appeal to the Admiralty about his impressment, but his plea went unheard. He was stuck aboard the
Neptune
. The commander never let him off the ship…well, sometimes Father was allowed to go on land, but only in really dreadful places, where no one would think of deserting.”

“I guess that explains the age difference between you and your older brothers.”

She nodded. “Mother never remarried. She was convinced Father was still alive and would come home one day.”

And her mother’s conviction hadn’t been in vain. After more than a decade at sea, visiting countless foreign and inhospitable lands, the battleship
Neptune
had crossed paths with the pirate ship
Jezebel
. After a triumphant battle, more than a hundred pirates had boarded the navy vessel, taking the crew hostage. While ransacking the ship for supplies, the pirate captain, Dawson, had invited any weary sailor to come and join his band. Her father had been the first to volunteer.

Never mind that Drake Hawkins was committing treason. He had lost the love for his king long ago. Being forced to abandon a family had a way of hardening a man’s heart. But Drake had forever vowed the king his enemy on the day he’d been whipped for opposing the commander’s brutal treatment of the crew. Twelve lashes with the rod, salt rubbed into the bleeding and blistering wounds. Drake had not a smidgen of loyalty left for the crown after that.

Her father would spend another year aboard the pirate ship
Jezebel
, touring the Caribbean. His carpentry skills proved invaluable in repairing the frigate. In time, Drake even befriended the pirate captain. It was that friendship that eventually led to her father’s release from servitude. Captain Dawson even gave her father a parting gift: a ring with a winged hourglass emblem.

“My father came home one day. He just appeared in the doorway, having escaped from the navy. Mother wept for days. The family was reunited and I came along a year later.”

There was a thoughtful look in Damian’s smoldering gaze. “So life was good once more.”

Mirabelle glanced away for a moment, tickles of delight scampering along her spine. The man really had eyes too beautiful for words. And it frightened her, what he could do to her with just one scorching look. She had to be more like her brothers. The Hawkins boys were renowned for their interludes—and for keeping their hearts locked up tight. She had to be the same way. She could not let her fascination for Damian go beyond desire.