Too Great a Temptation (22 page)

With that resolved, Damian took Belle by the hand. “Let’s go.”

Mirabelle blinked. “Go where?”

He dragged her.

She dug in her heels. “Tell me, Damian.”

It was then he heard the clinking sound. He paused to look her over, wondering what she had on that was causing so much racket. He spied the bundle in her other hand.

“What’s that, Belle?”

“Nothing.” The bundle disappeared behind her back.

He reached around and grappled with her for the small sack. When she didn’t relent, he kissed her—hard. Knocked the wind from her lungs; his, too.

In the chaos of the stormy kiss, she lost her grip on the sack and it plunked into his palm.

“Scoundrel,” she hissed.

He quirked his lips. Weighing the velvet bag in his hand, he concluded it was blunt. “Going somewhere, Belle?”

She huffed. “I was trying to get home.”

“Not yet, I’m afraid.” He tossed the bundle back to a waiting Henrietta. She caught it in the darkness of the night without fumbling. Impressive. He looked back at Belle. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

There was more promise in his voice than threat. And when she shivered in his embrace, he rebuked himself for sounding like a seductive lover. He couldn’t dally with Belle anymore. He damn well knew it. He had come for her to take her back to his castle. He needed her to avenge his brother. He could not have a wonderful life with her. It was as simple as that.

He took Mirabelle through the garden.

“Good-bye, Henry!” she cried.

“Bye, Belle!” Henrietta hastened to the garden edge. “Let me know how it all turns out.”

It was going to turn out miserably, that’s how
, he thought. Damian pushed back the twisting grief in his belly and pressed on.

“How did you find me, Damian?”

Good. Something other than pending doom to think about. “It wasn’t hard,” he returned gruffly. “You told me about Henry, remember? And how she was the daughter of Baron Ashby.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she murmured, thoughtful.

“I just figured you would go to her.”

Through the courtyard and out into the street, Damian hauled his wily pirate over to the stationed gelding. He hoisted her into the seat and straddled the beast behind her.

“What, no rope to bind me?”

He nudged the horse onward. “Don’t tempt me, Belle.”

She made a noise akin to a huff. “Why are you here, Damian? Why did you come back for me?”

“Like I said, I’m not finished with you yet.”

She stiffened. “You mean you’re not finished torturing my brothers?”

He didn’t say anything.

“You scoundrel!”

She thrashed in his arms.

He clamped her body close to his, giving her nary an inch to move.

“I should have known you didn’t care!” she cried. “A rotten bounder like yourself!”

Lips close to her ear, he whispered, “Did you want me to care, Belle?”

She fell silent then, her body trembling with suppressed emotion.

At least she was back to hating him. He had made an asinine blunder in kissing her just a short while ago, arousing passions better left dormant. But his fiery temptress had so frazzled him with her hasty desertion that he’d all but lost his wits. Now he had her back; his wits, too. And it was time to return to the mission at hand. There would be no more kisses or passionate strokes or amorous words. From this moment on, there would be only death and despair.

“W
ho lives here?”

Nestled amid a lush green valley stood an old and imposing edifice. Two soaring, round towers framed the ancient dwelling, the spire roofs disappearing in the late afternoon mist.

After a night of respite and another long day of riding, they had come upon the striking fortress, the castle resting like a solitary tomb on a forgotten burial ground. The swirling fog only darkened the already grisly gray walls. And with no light flickering through the stony slits, the structure appeared all the more uninviting.

“I live here,” said Damian.

“
You?
” Mirabelle twisted her neck to confront the navigator. “I thought you were a sailor?”

“I take to the sea when I must.” He was staring straight ahead, shadows churning in his sapphire blue eyes. She had seen that look before, long ago, aboard the
Bonny Meg
, when he had spoken of his father. The castle must remind him of the man, and in a very ghastly way. Had his father been a servant there, too? Was that why Damian looked so sullenly upon the place?

Mirabelle had loved her own father dearly. She couldn’t imagine what Damian was feeling. It was such a bizarre sentiment to her, the dislike of a parent.

“What do you do here?” she said. “Work in the stables?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

“It doesn’t matter, Belle.”

The low timbre of his voice sent quivers through her limbs, and she had to think hard to remember the words. “Where are you taking me, Damian?”

“Home.”

She gestured with her head to the castle. “In there? But why?”

He didn’t say anything.

“Damian?”

Still nothing.

Mirabelle was mystified. Why had he brought her here? Surely he must realize she would tell her brothers where he lived. So what the devil was going on?

He doesn’t want the affair to end yet, silly
.

Mirabelle mulled over the thought. Was he keeping her to delay the good-bye? Just one more night of sweet passion?

The man must be mad. Did he think her a wanton ninny? The arrogant blackguard! He had betrayed her brothers, dragged her across the country, and he thought her daft enough to submit to his savvy charms—
again
?

She snorted. Well, if he attempted to seduce her once inside the castle, he was going to get a mighty sore lip—again.

But then another, more disturbing thought raided her mind. Why was he riding so slowly?

Mirabelle puckered her lips. If her instinct was spot on and the man wanted another tussle, why wasn’t he tearing up the grassland to get to the castle? Why the steady canter? It just didn’t make any sense.

They approached the fortress, so inhospitable. Not even ivy blanketed the walls to offset the barrenness. Modifications had been made over the years, though, for it was not an iron gate that greeted them but a set of tall, well-polished wood doors. The front doors?

“Damian, shouldn’t you be steering the horse round back? To the servants’ entrance?”

Not that she intended to dally with the navigator. Certainly not. But still, if he wanted to seduce her, he damn well couldn’t haul her through the front door and introduce her to the master! Damian would have to be more clandestine than that.

“Blast it, Damian! If anyone sees us we’ll surely be in trouble.”

But he still said not a word, the dratted man.

She let out a growl in frustration just as the steed came to a halt. Damian dismounted and dragged her down from the saddle, tucking her under his arm. He had been doing that a lot of late, the oaf!

He didn’t bother to knock or announce himself. He simply opened one of the illustriously carved doors and stepped into the entranceway.

“Have you lost your wits?” she hissed, fearing to attract any notice. But the castle appeared to be as lifeless on the inside as it was on the outside. Dark, too. Nary a candle was in sight. Just two elaborate sconces on the far wall provided illumination. Low burning at that.

The shadows in the room were impressive. The gargoyles, too. Four sat perched above her head in hideous poses, each facing a compass direction. Curtains, heavy and dingy, bloodred in hue, concealed the windows and much of the stone façade. There was a mammoth brick fireplace embedded in the side wall, so big, she was sure she could step inside it without the need to stoop. It was lit, but mere embers glowed in its gaping mouth.

Damian stalked down the corridor with her in tow. He moved along the passageways like the master of his domain. The arrogance. He didn’t so much as flinch when a maid scurried by. Mirabelle did, in trepidation. Caught! But no, the maid hurried off without even protesting the intrusion. She seemed in even more of a fright than Mirabelle. Odd. Then again, it was an odd home. So gloomy and hostile. The staff must be skittish of everything and everyone. She certainly would be if she was cooped up in here.

After twisting through one hall, then another, she demanded, “Where are you taking me, Damian?”

He didn’t answer. No surprise there. But then, he didn’t have to. A staircase appeared at the end of the causeway—going down.

Mirabelle rooted her heels in the runner. Something was dreadfully wrong. Servants dwelled in the upper levels, didn’t they? Usually in the attic space. Only the kitchen resided underground—or a dungeon.

Despite her resistance, Damian easily carted her down the winding staircase.

The alarm in her voice was evident. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Down and down they went. Into the depths of hell it seemed. The air grew rank. The light grew scarce. And Mirabelle couldn’t hear the rats for the thumping of her quivering heart. What was this place? Why was Damian bringing her here?

The ranting panic in her breast encouraged her to send her booted toe into Damian’s shin. The man didn’t even cringe. In one deft swoop, she found her rump perched over his shoulder.

She pounded on his back with her fists. “Say something, damn it!”

He didn’t.

She squirmed.

He grasped her even harder.

Damian had lost his wits. Surely there was no other reason for his ludicrous behavior.

But she couldn’t fret over his abrupt spiral into madness for very long. Hinges squealed, and she frantically swished her head from side to side to better see where he was taking her.

Everything was upside-down. And dark. Nothing but stones and a door and…chains.

Damian set her on the ground. She bolted. He grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her in the air. She shrieked and thrashed all the way to the wall.

“Damian, please,” she begged. “Don’t do this!”

Manacles clapped around her wrists: a loud and deafening closure of iron. The sound boomed throughout the empty chamber. No. Dungeon. It boomed in her heart like a death knell, too, foreboding nothing but misfortune.

“Why?” she croaked through her tears, her voice raw and faint from screaming.

She was secured to the slimy stone wall, the dampness chilling to the bone. But the chill in her soul was even more insufferable. And Damian’s tender words made it all the worse.

“I’m sorry, Belle.”

D
amian burst into his bedchamber and marched straight over to the bed. He yanked the opulent coverlet off the mattress and tossed it to the floor, spreading out the corners. He grabbed the pillows off the bed next and dropped them into the center of the blanket. He then stalked around the room collecting lamps and other knickknacks.

He paused. Weeping resounded in his head. Deafening sobs that crippled him. Belle’s sobs. He could not blot out the hurt, the bewilderment he had heard in her voice. He could not dismiss the grief reflecting in the amber pools of her eyes. Grief so poignant, so cutting, his own heart ached in a way reminiscent of the time Adam had died. And Belle’s imprisonment was a death of a sort. The death of hope.

Interminable darkness clouded his mind. It swallowed his soul and let out a grunt of satisfaction in having had him for supper. He was lost to that darkness now. He would never be able to find his way out of the bowels of despair without Belle. And she would never offer him a saving hand. Not once he killed her brothers.

He was truly alone now. He had always believed with Adam’s death his solitary existence was complete. But after meeting Belle, he’d realized there was still joy in life, though he would never get to feel that joy.

It was a grief he had not imagined. It was a grief he had not known he could feel. But feel it he did. A fiery wound pulsing in his heart. And the more he reflected on the torment awaiting him, the more his movements grew stagnant, his breath more laborious. He was sweating with fear. The fear of losing Belle. Of knowing he would devastate everything good left in his life by hurting her.

It ripped through him with twisting agony, the realization of what he was about to do. How could he destroy Belle like this? How could he just surrender to the darkness?

“You’re home.”

At the sound of his mother’s dispassionate voice, Damian glanced toward the door, a welter of emotion stirring in his breast.

Emily stepped into the bedchamber, adorned in mourning garb. After all this time, she still retained her macabre attire. He suspected she always would.

She moved to the center of the room. “How long will you be staying this time?”

He cast her a quizzical look. Long ago, she had grown accustomed to his frequent sea trips. The pestering questions about his whereabouts and activities had ceased the night Adam had perished. She had disentangled herself from his life completely. Two years ago, he had wanted her to do that very thing. Today, though, he wouldn’t mind her attention.

But she would never again show interest in him. Some time ago, he had resigned himself to a life without his mother’s company, which made her current query all the more baffling.

Damian swallowed the knot of icy grief in his throat, and set the amassed trinkets in the middle of the coverlet. “I’m staying for good, Mother.”

She made a wry face at the word “mother.” It didn’t hold much meaning to either of them now…though perhaps that wasn’t entirely true.

Damian sensed the pressure on his heart at the memory of his mother. After the death of the former duke, Emily had tried to repair their tattered relationship, but by then, he’d had no desire to form a rapport with her, and had brushed aside her conciliatory efforts with scorn. She had persisted in her attempts to mend their bond for years, until Adam had died. Then she withdrew into her woe, the world and everyone in it lost to her—even him.

Emily glanced down at the bundle of paraphernalia in the center of the blanket. “Then why are you packing again? Or are you just redecorating?”

“Redecorating,” he said firmly.
The dungeon
. But he refrained from saying that part aloud. He intended to return to the dungeon. He wouldn’t leave Belle in there alone—as he had been left alone.

Emily dismissed the odd accumulation on the floor and walked over to the window. She had aged much these last two years, he reflected, appearing well beyond her seven-and-forty years. Her dark black hair pinched in a tight chignon, thick gray wisps streaked her coiffure. The darkness in her eyes, under her eyes, around her lips, gave her an even greater appearance of age. An ancient wraith prowling the corridors of the keep, that’s what she looked like. Destined to haunt the castle causeways for an eternity, grief grounding her in an empty existence.

She stopped at the window and gazed out into the blackness. “I heard a scream.”

Damian stiffened but otherwise didn’t express any emotion. “A maid must have seen a mouse. You know how skittish the staff can be.”

“Especially with you for a master.”

He studied her small frame thoughtfully. “Why are you here?”

She looked back at him. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“No.”

“Two years ago today Adam and Tess drowned at sea.”

His heart shuddered. Was it really two years to the day? He had never counted anniversaries before. Time had had no meaning for him. The quest for pirate blood was endless. No deadline by which to achieve his goal. But now the two-year anniversary of his brother’s death would mark the end of Damian’s quest. It would also mark the end of Damian’s life, for he would lose Belle tonight.

“I had Jenkins dim all the lights in remembrance,” said Emily.

Damian hadn’t even noticed. Doubtful thoughts about what he was doing to Belle had congested his mind, still congested his mind. But when he considered his mother, her bleak and soulless stare strengthened his resolve. An ideal source of inspiration, she reminded him of why he had to realize his plan of vengeance. Adam had been the one constant goodness in both their lives. Sentimentality could not distort Damian’s sense of justice. He owed his brother more than that.

“It’s hard to believe he’s been gone this long.” She moved away from the window and came to stand across from him. “I’ve had the chapel in the west wing restored. I’m going to go and light a candle for Adam. Will you come with me?”

He stood so close to her, within arm’s reach. He was alone with her, too. He had never been allowed to do that while Father was alive. But near to her as he was, it made no difference now. He might as well be back on America’s shore for all the intimacy there was between them.

“I can’t come with you,” he said.
I have pirates to round up.

She nodded and headed for the door. “I thought I would ask.”

He watched her go. So many times in the past he had watched her go and abandon him. Turn her back on him and leave him to his father. All the anger, all the resentment inside him welled in his breast at that moment. He hated to admit it, but it hurt what she had done. He loathed to confess to such a sniveling and pathetic weakness, but the agony of one lonely and forgotten boy suddenly stabbed him in the chest, and even he, the cynical “Duke of Rogues,” could not ignore the embedded blade.

“You’ve never thought to ask before,” he said tightly, holding back the bitter howl he wanted to spit forth. “In the past two years, you’ve never asked me anything about Adam. Why now?”

Emily paused in the door frame and turned to confront her son. “You weren’t home during the first anniversary.”

“But
why
ask me to commemorate the second?”

“It was the proper thing to do.”

He snorted. “You’ve never done the proper thing before.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I think we both know that, Mother.”

Emily’s apathy cracked, her bottom lip trembling. “This coming from you? A man who has desecrated every code of decency.”

“And the code of decency
you
desecrated?”

“Such as?”

“You left me with
him
!”

There. He had said it—or shouted it, as it were. He had wanted to say it for most of his miserable life.

Something glistened in her eyes. “I tried to save you from him, Damian, you know I did.”

He did know. He remembered the night she had come to the dungeon to comfort him. He also remembered how she got beaten for it.

“Why didn’t you
keep
trying, Mother?”

She made a mournful grimace. “I tried to get you away from your father, but he guarded you like Hades guarding the damned at the gates of hell. I couldn’t get anywhere near you. Don’t you remember? The castle was filled with his minions. His so-called friends. All wretched, leering, drunken louts. They watched my every move when your father was away.”

Aye, Damian remembered them, too. “The Henchmen,” as Father had christened them. Villains of all sorts prowling the keep at every hour, engaging in orgies and drunken brawls and fiendish pursuits—tormenting him, for one.

“So why didn’t you take me away from here and run?” he demanded.

“And go where?” Her sharp voice cracked. “I was the wife of a duke. No magistrate would listen to my pleas. No church would give me sanctuary. I was to live with my husband, as was proper. I
belonged
to him. There was no place I could hide where he or his ‘friends’ could not find me. Not even my family would take me in once the wedding vows were spoken. I was
his
. There was nothing I could do.”

That truth didn’t ease the turmoil gushing around in his breast. It didn’t take away the years of agony or silence the ranting demons in his head. No one could do that, save Belle.

“So you just left me.” Shuddering grief gripped him. “Is that it, Mother? Traded me for Adam?”

“I couldn’t save you both.” Her voice quivered, her eyes brimming with tears. She wasn’t so dead on the inside, after all. “You are my biggest regret in life, Damian.”

“Birthing me?”

“No.” She shook her head. “My regret is that I couldn’t save you.”

Her words came late. Crushingly late. He was about to turn Belle forever against him. He should not be trying to resurrect old wounds now. It would do him no good. He could never heal them. He was hopelessly lost—or he would be soon.

“Go and light your candle, Mother.”

Damian pinched the ends of the coverlet and swung the bundle over his shoulder. He picked up a candle and headed for the door.

Emily blocked the entrance. “Why didn’t
you
change? Once you were older and your father was gone?”

“I was lost,” he said simply. “And I couldn’t find my way back.”

He brushed past her, leaving her in the entranceway to fight back her sorrow, and traveled though the dimly lit corridor, making his way back down to the dungeon.