Too Great a Temptation (23 page)

M
irabelle crouched in the corner of the dank dungeon cell, her mind a whirl. She had already dismissed the notion that Damian had lost his wits. The man had apologized to her after snapping her wrists in chains. He was perfectly sound of mind. He knew what he was doing, and he knew it was wrong. That brought her both comfort and distress. Comfort in that he wasn’t a madman on a rampage. But distress in that a reasonable navigator was committing a most
un
reasonable act.

Why?

What did he expect to gain by imprisoning her? Was this her penance for abandoning him at the fair? Was the man really so enraged about the desertion? It seemed ridiculous, really. But nothing made sense anymore. Unfortunately, this was one quandary only Damian could resolve.

The dungeon door burst open.

In the doldrums and distracted, Mirabelle scrambled to her feet in surprise, the chains clattering in her haste.

Damian made his way inside the cell, setting a candle on the ground. He proceeded to unfurl a blanket, all sorts of trinkets spilling forth.

Squinting, her vision adjusting to the light, Mirabelle eyed the bundle curiously, then quickly demanded, “Damian, what’s going on?”

He picked up a pillow, handing it to her.

She grabbed the feathered cushion in frustration and tossed it to the ground. “Why are you doing this?”

He headed back to the pile of knickknacks.

“Tell me!”

“I didn’t have time to prepare the dungeon properly, Belle. You were an unexpected guest.”

“Not about that! Tell me
why
you’ve locked me in here?”

He picked up a second pillow and dropped it at her feet. Something comfy to sit on? She had a terrible suspicion he was trying to make her at ease. But for how long?

“I need something from you, Belle.”

Was that all? Bloody hell, did he have to put her in chains to get her to cooperate?

“Then ask me for it, Damian.”

His voice deepened to a husky timbre. “I’m afraid you won’t give me this if I make a request.”

“Just tell me what you want, damn it!”

He stared at her, fiery grief etched in his expression. “Your brothers.”

She bristled. “What do you want with my brothers?”

He didn’t answer her. He moved back to the coverlet and retrieved two oil lamps, using the burning candle wick to ignite the duo. He then placed the glass orbs around the dungeon, brightening the space.

Pulse thumping, she demanded, “Tell me, Damian!”

Still nothing.

“You promised not to hurt my brothers.”

He collected a mantel clock and set it on a stone ledge, the ticking hands in sync with her own ticking heartbeat.

“I promised not to hand them over to the authorities,” he corrected.

Quibbling over words! Was he daft? “Are you miffed because they tried to force you into piracy? You got away, Damian. Isn’t that enough? Why the petty retaliation?”

He folded the blanket into a neat pile and placed it at her feet. “There is nothing petty about my dealings with your kin. I’m afraid they owe me something precious.”

“What?” she all but cried, panic welling in her breast.

“Blood.”

Crippling pain squeezed her chest. Damian wasn’t making any sense. She hated to think it, but what if he
was
mad, even a little? What then? How to reason with a man who wanted blood?

“I know my brothers locked you in the brig,” she said, frantic, “but you don’t need to take their blood, Damian. They never hurt you!”

“Oh, but they did, Belle. A long time ago. In a way I can never forget.”

Something flickered in the deep pools of his steely blue eyes. Something unsavory. It made her shiver, the bleakness in his gaze. And what was this “long ago” hurt? Damian had met her brothers only a month before. No great length of time. So just
what
was he talking about? Unless there was another matter at hand, one more sinister? Had the rogue navigator been scheming for a while now?

She cut him a grave stare. “Who are you?”

“You already know my name.”

“Who are you really?”

He stepped back and gave a sweeping bow. “The Duke of Rogues, at your service.”

She gasped. “A duke? Then the serving maid at the inn…”

“Was not mistaken,” he said crisply. “That’s right, Belle.”

She shook her head in disbelief. And she had deemed him a stable hand! The man
owned
the bloody castle.

“But what were you, a duke, doing aboard the
Bonny Meg
?” she demanded.

“I needed to get home. I’d lost my ship, my blunt, all thanks to your brother Quincy.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that what this is all about?” A spark of hope flickered in her breast. Lost wealth? That was easy enough to repair. “Damian, my brothers will make restitution, I swear. You don’t need to hurt them. Whatever you lost on that venture, I’ll make sure they repay you.”

“This has nothing to do with money.”

Hope withered, snuffed out. “Then what?”

“I already told you.” He turned around to adjust the flame in the lamp. “Blood.”

She hated that word coming from him. It downright chilled her to the bone. “Damian, please, whatever you think my brothers have done, they don’t deserve to be entombed in here…neither did you.”

He whirled around to confront her. “
What?!
”

She nodded to the corner of the wall. There, in child script, was his chiseled name. She had not noticed the carving until a moment ago. After he’d tweaked the light, illuminating the space even more, it had captured her attention like a lightning strike in a midnight sky.

“Your name is scratched in the stone,” she said. “This is where your father put you when you misbehaved, isn’t it?”

Damian stared at the name in intense concentration, all sorts of passionate emotions flickering in the dark depths of his eyes.

He broke his gaze away from the crudely fashioned handwriting, his attention back on her. “It’s the pathetic scrawling of an eight-year-old boy.”

The ache in his voice was heart wrenching. She knew he had been mistreated by his father, he had told her so, but she had never realized how brutally until now.

The agony he must have endured as a child.
She
was skittish being in such a gloomy and foreboding place. How it must have frightened him, a mere babe!

Compassion replaced her anger and fright, and she wanted to reach out to Damian, to make him understand he was not alone anymore. He need not suffer with childhood torment. He need not go through with whatever ghastly plan he had configured.

“Listen, Damian, this can all be resolved—”

He slammed both palms on either side of her head.

Mirabelle took in a quick breath, stifling a cry. She delved deep into his troubled expression. Anguish twisted his features, contorted his soul. She could see it clearly, the battle within him.
What
battle, though? What was he fighting against with such desperation?

But then his eyes sparked. Red hot anger. Pain transformed into determination, and his breathing steadied. “It can only end one way, Belle.”

She shivered at his cold words and took in a hefty draft of air. “But how are you going to get my brothers to come to the castle? They don’t even know who you are.”

He moved away from her, dragging in a deep breath of his own. She heard it clearly, whistling between his teeth. A hand went to his hair. “I left a note for James.”

So many emotions struggled inside her. So many conflicting sentiments. Head throbbing, heart hammering, she had to focus hard to keep her thoughts in line.

Fear for her brothers, mingled with the ever-present need to stop Damian from this madness, prompted her to quip, “And do you think my brothers are going to accept your ‘invitation’?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

He paused and stared at her. “Because I have you.”

She lunged for him, the chains shrieking, taut with tension when the iron rings reached their maximum length. “I
won’t
help you!”

“You already have.”

There it was, the dreaded truth. It cut to the bone, the twinge in her heart suffocating. “You used me.” The chains clattered against the wall as she fell back, astounded. “All those nights aboard the
Bonny Meg
…at the inn…the kiss at the ball. It was all just a ruse? To get me to come with you without protest? You wanted me to care for you so I would follow you here.”

But you never cared for me, not even a little.

She lifted her hands to her face, the chain links cold and biting against her skin. Oh God, it hurt, the realization. A gash so deep she could barely breathe. She had always suspected the truth, that he felt nothing for her, but she hadn’t realized it
all
an illusion until now. Every tender word and sultry touch aboard the
Bonny Meg
a dastardly ploy.

Damian wavered, a look of confusion and uncertainty flashing in his sapphire blue eyes. “I never meant for you to be here, Belle, but you were so stubborn, and I needed to get you off the ship before…”

“Before what?” she said weakly, breast smarting. “I still don’t understand. There are forty pirates aboard the
Bonny Meg
. What were you going to do? Wrestle each one to the ground?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

“Sink the ship.”

“No!” she cried. “You wouldn’t have dared!”

“Not with you on board.”

She shook her head frantically. “But you would’ve killed them all.”

“That was the intention…it still is.”

Mirabelle’s screams followed Damian out the door. The din pierced his skull, like nails driven through the bone.

He paused in the shadows of the corridor and slumped back against the wall, taking in a long and shuddering breath.

Both fists slammed into the stone behind him. Cursed fate! To give him Mirabelle, balm to his ravished soul, and then make
him
destroy her was a mocking cruelty.

He let out a wretched howl. He was trembling, wracked with regret and pain. He couldn’t move for a long while. Dead inside. So still.

Belle’s wails made him sick to his gut. Damian finally pushed away from the wall, leaving the horrid commotion behind him, each step ponderous, a grave reminder of all he was about to lose.

Instinct urged him to set Belle free; a sense of duty to Adam compelled him to continue with his plans.

Duty prevailed.

Thrashing his woe into submission, Damian marched onward. He had much to do. Candles to light, servants to dismiss to bed. The final confrontation with Black Hawk would occur within his keep’s walls. Although Damian had trained and schemed for a fiery sea battle, an end was an end. And he had already plotted another demise for the piratical brethren.

He would confront the brothers alone. To enlist the aid of his servants might be disastrous. The footmen weren’t trained in combat. The maids would only scream in hysterics. In a moment of panic, someone might even scurry off to fetch the magistrate. And Damian hadn’t come this far in his mission to allow his efforts to sour.

He mounted the steps. They would be here soon, the brothers. Damian was sure of it. James was too shrewd to fumble through the countryside, searching for the Duke of Wembury. The captain would know where to go for information. He would know where to look for Damian. And he would bring his brothers along. Not the whole crew, for it would take too much time to gather together forty horses. But the four brothers would come. And soon. There was no doubt of that in Damian’s mind. The four adored their sister. Thinking her life in peril, they would ride like mad to get here. And Damian would be waiting.

He needn’t go to any extraordinary efforts to capture the pirates. One didn’t dawdle outside a keep, mulling over plans, arguing about potential hazards, when one’s sister was interned within the walls, perhaps being tortured, perhaps already dead. One simply acted. On instinct. On emotion. And Damian would ensure their siege of the keep an easy one. No walls to scale or gates to ram down. A candlelit path to Belle was all it would take to get the brothers down into the dungeon. Then one flick of the wrist on his part and it would be over. The men would be trapped.

An advantage, Damian supposed, that the last confrontation would take place within his home. He knew the castle well. Every dark corner and secret passage. Every weakness and every strength. Unprepared and driven by a reckless desire to rescue their kin, the brothers would finally meet their end. Damian would have his vengeance. And Belle would be lost to him forever.

A
n explosion rocked the castle.

Even in the depths of the dungeon, Damian could hear the blast. He didn’t move, though. Perched high above the sandy walk, concealed by shadows, he hunkered on the wide stone ledge. Waiting.

A twinkle of firelight dotted the dusty dungeon floor. Candle after candle formed a straight path to an open cell door—and a shackled Mirabelle.

She had cried out his name at the sound of the boom. He had not answered her, though.

She was quiet now. Only the ringing rattle of chains, as she moved restlessly in her corner, resounded throughout the cavern.

The brothers were inside the castle, their arrival announced in a most vociferous way. But the explosion would only distract the servants. A good thing, too, for Damian didn’t want anyone wandering down into the dungeon—when the screaming started.

Whispers seeped in through the cracks in the stone. Footsteps treaded faint. Soon a head emerged from the doorway. Three more followed.

The candles flickered gently as the dark figures moved stealthily along the corridor.

Damian observed the pirates from his vantage point, high above the door frame. He could imagine in great detail their thoughts:
The orchestrated commotion up top will surely foil the duke’s trap. Now’s the time to sneak inside the castle and rescue Belle
.

Now was indeed the time. Two years ago, Adam had been murdered. Tonight his murderers would perish.

The brothers ignored the other dungeon doors, following the lighted trail instead.

Keep going
, thought Damian.
Just a little farther and you’re mine.

The chains stopped knocking. “Damian, is that you?” said Belle.

A “shhh” from James was intended to hush her, but it only provoked her cries.

“James!” The chains banged together in Belle’s haste to get closer to the door. “Get out of here! It’s a trap!”

But the brothers only moved faster, closer.

Love. So predictable. Belle’s kin would never leave her behind.

As soon as the four men were in place, just yards away from the dungeon door, Damian straightened and yanked the lever embedded in the wall.

The chains came crashing down. One could hear the rush of metal scraping along the rough stone walls. Two wooden doors in the floor gave way, and the pirates dropped into the oubliette.

Mirabelle screamed.

Damian picked up the ladder resting on the wall beside him and lowered it to the deeper level. He descended the steps and moved nearer to the pit’s mouth.

Two pistols sat tucked in his trousers. He caressed the handles in preparation. So many nights he had imagined this moment. So many dastardly schemes of death had passed through his mind. And now the time for vengeance was upon him…and he did not care to make the pirates suffer. He only wanted the ordeal at an end. A few shots should do it.

A cloud of sand, roiled by the swinging trap doors, engulfed the opening of the abyss. Damian could not see down the hole yet, but he could hear the grunts and groans. It was a deep pit, and inescapable, dug like a well, with smooth round walls. No corners to hide in, no rough edges to scale. A construction from the civil war period, where traitors were dropped in and starved.

“Damian,
please
, don’t do this!”

Mirabelle’s frantic cries pierced his skull. He crouched down, a little ways from the pit’s opening, careful to avoid poking his head over the edge, for the brothers were surely armed and his head would make an ideal target right about now.

“I’m sorry, Belle.” The cell door wide open, Damian peered into the dungeon. Firelight caressed her features, the glow reflecting across her cheeks, all glossy wet with tears. “I have to do this,” he said tightly, fighting back the chaos in his soul. He didn’t think it would be so hard. To murder a band of heinous pirates. He had planned for this day for years. And yet his hands shook right now. He could not grasp the pistol’s handle with certainty.

Belle swished around in her corner, her voice trembling with emotion. “Please, Damian, stop.”

He looked down at the weapon cradled in his palms. “I owe it to Adam.”

“What does your brother have to do with this?”

“Everything. He’s the reason I sail the high seas…looking for pirates.”

She stopped pacing. “You’re hunting pirates? But why?”

“Not pirates, Belle. The Black Hawk. Your brother. All of your brothers.”

She was bewildered. It was evident in her tone. “Damian, what’s going on?”

He stared at the pit, his mind wandering into the past. “Two years ago, the
Bonny Meg
raided a passenger vessel, taking everything of value. The other ship was unarmed, but still the Black Hawk aimed his cannons for the hull, sinking the rig.” He glanced back at Belle. “Adam was on that ship.”

She gasped. “I know who you are. The papers reported the Duke of Wembury’s brother had perished in the sinking.” Mirabelle shook her head wildly, long wisps of her golden locks whipping from side to side. “But Damian, you’re wrong. My brothers never destroyed that ship.”

“I know you think the world of your kin, Belle, but they have to die. Adam deserves justice.”

“No!” The chains clamored as Belle yanked at her bonds. “Listen to me, Damian. The papers were mistaken.”

“The cabin boy survived the wreckage, Belle.
He
reported the tale before a fever took his life. And he claimed it was Black Hawk who fired at the ship.”

“Damian, my brothers plundered the ship, that much is true. But James did
not
murder a vessel full of defenseless passengers.”

“You want me to believe the cabin boy was lying? You would say anything to save your brothers. I know that.”

Damian lifted the pistol.

“Stop!” She shrieked and struggled against her chains. “Think back to that awful night, Damian. There was a storm, remember?”

He gathered his brow, thinking back to the news article in question. “What of it?”

“It was the storm that destroyed the vessel, not my brothers.”

“I don’t believe you. The boy said—”

“The boy was delirious!” She took in a ragged breath. “After my brothers rifled the ship, they sailed away. A wild tempest hit. Even the
Bonny Meg
was crippled and almost drowned that night. The cabin boy confused the two events. The excitement of a pirate raid, the fright of a storm mixed together in his fevered mind.”

“But he
saw
the cannon blasts,” said Damian.

“He
saw
lightning. He
heard
thunder. He muddled up the two, thinking pirates were firing on the ship. But it
never
happened.”

Heart throbbing, Damian stood up and moved away from the pit, walking in circles, his mind a welter of thoughts.

“You’re lying, Belle.”

“I’m not lying, Damian. I swear.”

“You would say anything to save your kin.”

“But it
is
the truth.”

“According to whom? Your brothers?” Damian tucked his pistol away and marched into the dungeon. “You weren’t there, Belle. You don’t know what really happened. Your brothers told you that story so you wouldn’t think them villains.”

She took an undaunted step toward him. “You can’t kill them, Damian.”

“I have to.” His voice softened. “You would do the same if our places were reversed.”

She reached for the weapons. He grabbed her by the wrists and forced her hands behind her back, drawing her snug up against him. He took in a deep and lingering breath, cherishing this one last touch.

“What will you do if I kill your brothers?” he whispered in wretched grief. “Seek vengeance?”

She gritted her teeth, her eyes luminous with tears.

“You
will
come after me, won’t you, Belle?”

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

He pressed his lips to her brow in a tender kiss. “I have to, Belle.” He let her go. “I must have justice for my brother…just like you must have justice for yours.”

He moved back toward the oubliette.

“But this isn’t justice,” she sobbed. “My brothers didn’t kill Adam!”

“Then why aren’t they defending themselves?”

Damian stared at the pit’s entrance. It was silent down below. No groans. No grunts. No curses. The brothers were still. Listening. Waiting.

“Why should they defend themselves?” she rejoined. “You’ve condemned them as murderers. They probably think it a waste of time to argue with you.”

“But you don’t think it a waste of time, do you?”

“No!” she cried. “I know you Damian. You’re not a murderer. If you kill my brothers, you’ll regret it.”

He would regret many things later—the loss of Belle most of all.

“That may be true,” he said, “but I still have to honor Adam’s memory.”

“And is this what Adam would want? For you to kill four men innocent of murder? It was an accident, his drowning. Not a crime.”

Damian wavered. His fingers went to his temples to hush the demons ranting inside his head, goading him to shoot the pirates and be done with it.
Avenge Adam!
It was relentless, the chanting. Haunting. Unbearable.

“Damian, you know my brothers.” Belle broke through the madness in his mind. “They’re
not
monsters. Please, don’t do this,” she sobbed. “It’ll destroy me!”

And with those words, something cracked inside Damian’s heart. A hard shell that splintered, then shattered.

The twinge in his breast throbbed, making it hard to breathe. He loved Belle! So much it hurt. He could
not
go through with his plan of vengeance. He could not devastate Belle like this—even for Adam.

A fist went into the stone wall. Damian’s knuckles cracked, the blood spurted forth, but the pain shooting through his arm helped to counter the cumbersome ache in his chest.

He slumped against the wall and let out a desperate sigh.

Mirabelle twined her sweaty fingers. She
had
to get through to the duke. She couldn’t lose her brothers. Not like this. Not all at once.

Torment gushed in her breast, invaded her throat. She tried to swallow her grief, but the tears flowed freely, thickly.

She shuffled in her corner, cursing the chains that bound her. If only she could get to Damian, shake him, make him see reason.

Damian suddenly moved away from the wall, heading for her.

She wiped her tears on the back of her hand, heart hammering. “Damian?”

He said not a word. In determined strokes, he removed a key from his shirt pocket and unlocked her chains.

The metal clattered to the ground, the sound ringing throughout the quiet chamber. Even her brothers had heard it, for a great murmur arose from the depth of the oubliette.

Damian grabbed her by the wrist and ushered her out of the dungeon. She didn’t protest. Hope sprouted in her breast and clung to her heart in a fierce embrace.

Had she finally changed his mind about letting her brothers go free?

“What’s going on?” came the thunderous demand from the darkness.

“It’s all right, James,” she shouted back. But she wasn’t so sure. A moment ago Damian, mad with grief, had tried to slay her kin. Now he was hauling her through the dungeon, away from her brothers. And she had yet to determine where he was taking her. Or why.

An uproar echoed behind her. Her brothers were furious. Scared, too, she reckoned, believing Damian might hurt her instead. But Mirabelle didn’t have time to think about her own safety. She
had
to make sure Damian didn’t harm her kin.

Whisked down the corridor, past the pit’s opening, Mirabelle was dragged up the stairs. Her brothers would have to wait in the oubliette awhile longer. She still had to convince Damian to let them
out
of the hole.

The duke climbed the steps two at a time. In great haste, too. She stumbled once, then twice. Muttering under her breath, she snatched the side of her dress and yanked it up over her knees.

Round and round they went, ascending to the ground floor of the castle. Truthfully, Mirabelle didn’t care what happened to her so long as her brothers were all right. And she intended to convince Damian to
keep
clear of her kin for good. Just as soon as she could draw breath.

Bloody hell, the man was in a hurry. Not even the smoke in the passageways deterred him from his brisk pace.

Smoke?

Mirabelle wrinkled her nose.

The explosion! That’s right. Her brothers’ doing, of course. A distraction to get inside the castle undetected.

The causeways reeked of sulfur. She coughed back the fumes and brought her wrist to her mouth to hinder most of the heavy smoke.

“Your Grace!”

Damian paused.

Mirabelle smacked right into him.

An aging figure approached—the butler, Mirabelle presumed—all decked out in sleeping gear. His robe disheveled and soot-ridden, he paused before the duke and took in a few deep gasps.

“What is it, Jenkins?”

Jenkins appeared startled by the terse demand. “Your Grace, the castle is under attack.”

“Yes, I know,” Damian clipped. “Is the fire under control?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“My mother?”

“Safe in her room.”

“The rest of the household?”

“Frightened, but fine.”

Damian nodded and started off again.

“Your Grace?”

This time in exasperation, “
What
Jenkins?”

The man bristled at the master’s tone. “The magistrate has been summoned. He would like to speak with you about the—”

“Tell the magistrate to go home,” was the duke’s curt command. “Then open the windows and let out the smoke. Fix whatever needs fixing tonight. In the morning, call for a foreman to oversee the rest of the repairs.”

Jenkins rasped out, “And those responsible for the fire?”

“I will take care of them.”

The attendant spared Mirabelle a curious glance before nodding to the duke in obedience. “Yes, Your Grace.” Twisting on his heels, he disappeared into a cloud of smoke.