Slowly he headed for the washstand, the wounds at his breast still smarting. He dipped his palms into the cold water before he splashed the spray across his features, and combed the moisture through his hair to tame the curls.
A deep hunger was growing inside him: a carnal hunger. He closed his eyes to beat back the lustful beast—but it defied taming.
The reflection in the glass captured his attention: Evelyn watching him closely.
He picked up a nearby towel and patted his face dry. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She blinked, a somnolent look in her eyes. “Are you leaving?”
“I’ll be back soon,” he assured her. “I’m just going to fetch you some breakfast.”
Another memory sparked:
“I’ll be back soon, luv.”
“Don’t go, Adam. Stay here with me.”
“It’ll be all right, Tess. We’ve hit choppy waters, is all. I’m just going topside to see if the crew needs any help. I’ll be back in a minute.”
With a twitch of the head, Adam dismissed the haunting recollection—but a chill still resided in his heart, compounded by the look of uncertainty in Evelyn’s eyes. The same look of uncertainty he had witnessed in Teresa’s eyes the night the ship sank.
However, he would not fail Evelyn the way he had failed Teresa. He understood Vadik’s ruthless and stubborn nature now. He understood the man was a powerful prince, wont to getting his way. But he would not get his hands on Evelyn. Not again.
“What’s going to happen to me?” she said softly.
Such fire burned in her violet eyes, such pain.
Adam approached the bed and knelt beside it. He stroked her knuckles, the skin broken where she’d struggled with the coffin. “You’re going to remain inside the castle for a time. The prince will eventually return home, and then I will find you a new home.”
He admired her as she rested in bed, and was gripped by a profound desire to share other such intimacies with another being—and saddened by the knowledge that he never would.
“I’ll return shortly, Evie. We’ll talk more then.”
He briskly quit the room, unable to maintain his firm composure.
Adam moved through the familiar castle causeways, insensible to his surroundings. Deep in thought, he reflected upon the enchanting woman…and his own desire to be near her. But he would not surrender to the desire. He would remain faithful to his late wife.
Another crisis pressed on Adam’s mind. He had broken yet another vow: to apprehend the pirates. But Black Hawk and his brothers had settled their debt; they had helped him to save Evelyn. He could not in good conscience deliver the men into the hands of the magistrate. Hell, the cutthroats were family! Even if Adam still wanted to see the brigands hang, a public execution would cause his brother and sister-in-law a tremendous amount of pain and embarrassment. And Adam had already caused the couple enough grief.
After a long stroll through the keep’s uncharacteristically cheerful tunnels—he noted the duke had renovated the castle, likely to be more appealing to his wife and child—Adam made his way down into the kitchen labyrinth.
He stood on the threshold, the air rife with freshly cooked fare. He was struck by the familiar furnishings, overwhelmed by a wealth of childhood memories. One in particular stood out from the rest:
“Shove over.”
Adam scooted deeper beneath the table to make room for his elder brother. Damian crawled under the long structure and settled beside him, crossing his legs at the ankles. He opened the book.
“Let me read it,” said Adam.
Damian swatted at his brother’s hand. “You can’t read.”
He pouted. “I know my letters.”
“Oh really?” Damian pointed to a word. “What does that say?”
Adam eyed the scratches. “F…rrr…i…”
“Friday,” said Damian succinctly. “He’s Crusoe’s slave. And we’re going to be here until Friday if you read the book, so don’t pester me anymore.”
Adam made a grimace in protest.
“Did you bring the food?” said Damian.
Adam reached behind his back for the satchel and pried apart the cords. “Two apples rolled in brown sugar.”
He presented one candied fruit to his brother and savored the other for himself.
“Right then, where were we?” Damian scanned the marked page. “Aha! Crusoe and Friday are about to lay siege to the cannibals’ camp.”
Adam snuggled closer to his brother, munched on the apple, and eagerly listened to every word…
Adam spied the grand table, so lofty he could stretch out across it and still leave room for Cook to prepare the meals. He and the duke used to hide in the kitchen. Hide from their father…and it looked as if someone else was in hiding.
Adam narrowed his eyes on the little blond head peering out from under the wood table. She had the golden locks of her mother, but her eyes…she had the duke’s eyes.
Gads, he must look a fright to her! His hair mussed, his clothes wrinkled. To offset his bedraggled appearance, Adam smiled. “You must be Alice.”
Mother had often written to him about the young girl, his niece. She was a joy to the entire castle. And Adam could see why. She had a darling face with inquisitive blue eyes. A little imp, he sensed.
“My name is Adam.”
Her pretty eyes rounded. “Uncle Adam?”
She had heard of him. There was a warm stirring in his heart at the thought that he was not a stranger to her. In name, anyway. And that she did not recoil in fear confirmed that tales of his monstrous behavior toward her father had never reached her innocent ears.
Alice closed her book, a burned and tattered copy of Robinson Crusoe. The very tome he and the duke had once read as children. It was the duke’s favorite book. Father had tossed it into the fire many years ago in a furious fit, but Adam had rescued the pages from the flames and gifted the book back to his brother. He was glad to see Alice reading it—even if it was upside-down!
The quick taps of her feet danced lightly in his ears as she approached him, curious.
“You’re tall,” said the sprite.
“Am I?”
She dragged the burdensome book with her and stopped a short distance from him. “Very tall.”
Adam stared down at her. “Is there something you need me to reach?”
Her pretty features brightened even more. “That.”
She pointed to the wooden bowl perched high above the cupboard. He reached for the mysterious dish, covered with a napkin.
Adam flipped back the linen to reveal a square cut of chocolate.
He eyed the imp. “Is this chocolate for you?”
“Oh yes.”
“Are you sure it doesn’t belong to Cook?”
She blinked. “Oh no.”
Adam was amused by the chit’s blatant attempts at manipulation. She was spoiled rotten—and she had been waiting for just the right saphead to come along and do her bidding. Yet he didn’t feel like denying her the treat.
A darkness entered Adam’s heart, a tremendous regret. He remembered the night he had stabbed his brother. He had come so close to taking the duke away from this precious child! And what of her mother? Adam had aimed a gun at her, too. For one brief and twisted moment he had contemplated ending her life to make the duke suffer. Had she carried Alice in her womb even then?
Overwhelmed by sickness at the morbid thought, Adam swallowed the fresh regret. He crouched and tried to ignore the pounding of his heart, as he offered the little girl her cherished sweet.
Alice was quick to swipe the sugary candy, her eyes round in great expectation. She was ready to bite into the chocolate when she peered at him with concern.
“Don’t be sad,” she said, and snapped a piece—a tiny piece—of chocolate. She handed him the candy. “We can share.”
“Thank you.”
Adam accepted the offering and tried to dismiss the misery from his features before Alice noticed e
ven more distress. He was filled with bitter loathing for himself: a disgust that he had once come so close to devastating so many innocent lives.
Alice gnawed on the chocolate and smiled.
Adam, too, popped the treat into his mouth to coat the tart taste of bile in his belly.
The sound of firm footfalls resounded.
“Alice?”
At the ring of an authoritative voice, Alice quickly stuffed the rest of the chocolate into her mouth.
Adam was still crouched beside the little girl when the Duchess of Wembury entered the kitchen, her belly very swollen.
The woman was a fetching sight, her tawny gold locks in a soft chignon, a few loose tendrils caressing her regal cheeks and jaw. Eyes a soft gold, she wore a quiet, very complimentary, butter yellow frock.
She rested her eyes on Adam for an instant, fire flashing in the amber pools, before she quickly turned her attention to her daughter, and reproached, “Lady Alice Westmore, I warned you not to touch the chocolate. How is Cook going to make the frosting for the cake now?”
The little girl blinked.
The duchess eyed the empty bowl still in Adam’s hands. “Alice, did you eat all the chocolate?”
Alice shook her head vehemently, her cheeks stuffed with the spoils.
Mirabelle narrowed her eyes. “The bowl is empty, Alice. Where is the rest of the chocolate?”
The treacherous sprite pointed her finger at Adam’s round cheek.
The duchess lifted a delicate brow at her brother-in-law.
Overwhelmed by chagrin, Adam swallowed the chocolate.
Mirabelle pointed to the passageway behind her, where a shadow was seen. “Alice, return to the schoolroom with Nurse.”
She mumbled, “Yes, Mama.”
The imp pressed the old book against her chest and strutted from the room, showing no sign of remorse for having snitched on her uncle.
Adam put the empty bowl aside and lifted off his haunches. A tempest raged inside his breast. He had tried to kill the duchess and her husband at one time. Standing across from the woman was intimidating. He didn’t know what to say, how to even express the shame burning inside him.
“I understand you dragged my husband and brothers away last night? To a ball?” Despite her swollen belly, she appeared very officious with her hands on her hips. “I also noticed I wasn’t invited to come along.”
Adam eyed her belly, thinking of the babe about to burst forth.
“It was dangerous,” he said at length. “We didn’t think it wise for you to come along.”
She snorted. “I gathered that. My husband informed me of the goings-on—after he returned home, of course.”
Her hands went to her belly as she stepped deeper into the kitchen.
Adam moved to fetch the woman a chair, but she waved him off.
“I prefer to stand.” She paused a short distance away from him. “I understand I have a new houseguest.”
“Yes, I—”
“Besides you.”
Adam remembered the woman in his care. He was quick to insist, “Lady Evelyn is my responsibility.”
The duchess laughed softly. “Lady Evelyn is a single woman, living under my roof and therefore under my protection. I will see to her needs.”
Something sparked in Adam: a defensive posture. “I promised to protect her.”
“And so you have; you’ve brought her here. Now I will take care of her. And I expect you to be on your best behavior.”
Adam bristled at being mothered like a schoolboy. “I intend to be respectful toward Lady Evelyn.”
“And the rest of the household?”
So that was her point of contention. Would he stab her husband again? Or perhaps her piratical brothers? “I’m not here to quarrel.”
A curt bob of the head. “I’m glad to hear that.” She eyed him closely. “I was beginning to think we would never see you again.”
“I never expected to return.” He searched for something more to say. At length he mentioned: “Thank you for your letters.”
Along with his mother, the duchess had corresponded with him on a few occasions, encouraging him to reconcile with the duke. But Adam was immune to such a suggestion. There was no hope for absolution. His crime against the duke was unforgivable.
“You mean a great deal to my husband,” she said.
I mean nothing to your husband, he wanted to clarify, but remained mum. The duchess was misguided in her belief that the duke cared one whit for him. It did her credit, though, her desire to make her husband content by doing what she thought would bring him happiness.
But Adam’s prolonged presence at the castle would only displease the duke. Adam was just a bother, intruding upon their household. And just as soon as the prince returned to his home country, Adam would depart the castle to find Evelyn a proper home—and never trouble the duke and duchess again.
Mirabelle hugged her belly and moved toward the door. “I think I will go and welcome my houseguest.”
Adam wanted to protest that Evelyn was still his responsibility, but he sensed he was already on precarious ground with the duchess and so refrained from making the objection.
Chapter 20
Evelyn glanced down at her tattered dress. She had ripped the resplendent material the other night, to make bandages for Adam…but she had not ripped it nearly enough.
She reached down, clasped the hem of her skirt, and split it in two. With firm determination, she rent the rest of the silk fabric the prince had draped her in. She would take nothing from him—ever! The fabric hugged her flesh like a prison, reminding her of her royal gaoler. And she was eager to be rid of it; she wanted no memory of him.
She tore the brilliant skirt into more strips, then rived the lining. She battled with the fixed stitching, tearing the seams, tossing the bits of shiny fabric to the floor.
The corset proved troublesome, though, beaded with tiny pearls. She wrestled with the tight sewing, gnashed her teeth in dogged resolve, but her efforts proved fruitless. The quality-built garment was indestructible.
“Do you need any help?”
Evelyn blinked.
She turned around to confront the young—very enceinte—woman standing under the door frame.
The duchess!
Evelyn wanted to hide behind the wingback chair; she looked ghastly with her mussed hair and bruises and mangled frock. But she could not rebuff her hostess.
With a shaky step, Evelyn stepped forward, mustered some refinement, and curtsied. “Your Grace.”
“Rubbish.” The duchess flicked her fingers in the air. “My name is Mirabelle.”
It had been a long time since Evelyn had mingled with members of the peerage. After her mother died and her father turned wild, respectable company had deserted her. She was accustomed to a solitary life. Now she was in the company of a duchess. Bashful, Evelyn gawked at the floor.
Faint footsteps treaded closer, and soon a head stooped and a pair of warm golden eyes peeked up at her.
“You have violet flower eyes,” said the duchess. “Very pretty.”
Evelyn slowly lifted her gaze; the duchess raised her head at a matching tempo.
“You must be Lady Evelyn,” she said.
Evelyn nodded.
“Do you like your room, my lady?”
“Evie.”
Mirabelle lifted a brow.
She finished softly, “You can call me Evie.”
The duchess smiled again. “And you can call me Belle.”
Evelyn spied the woman, a few years her senior, with careful appraisal. She was being very gracious, kind even. It was Evelyn’s experience the peerage was quite formidable, vulgar at times. Once one lost fortune and respectability, the ton was unforgiving. So she didn’t know what to make of the duchess.
And she was married to the “Duke of Rogues.” How chilling! The poor woman must endure such hardship…and yet she appeared cheerful.
“That’s a very beautiful necklace, Evie.”
Evelyn reached for the heart-cast pendant in comfort. “It was a gift from my sister.”
“You are fortunate to have a sister. I have four brothers.”
The black-haired devils!
Evelyn observed the duchess. She could see why the duke wanted to possess the woman, even though she was sister to a band of pirates. The duchess was nothing like her intimidating kin in looks or manner. She appeared beautiful in countenance and spirit alike.
“I understand,” said Evelyn. “With four brothers who are…”
She quirked a brow. “Pirates?”
Evelyn rushed to mutter, “I would be frightened, too.”
“Adam told you about my brothers?”
“Yes…I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For the terrible things you must suffer with such men in your life.”
The duchess let out a husky laugh. “I need to confide something in you, Evie.”
She nodded meekly. “You can trust me. I have no one with whom to betray your confidence.”
“I love my brothers, scoundrels that they are,” she whispered. Then, with more energy: “It’s just such a bother sometimes, to have four very protective males interfering in my life. I often wish I had a sister, too, to confide my secrets and troubles.”
A sadness welled in Evelyn’s breast. “Yes, it’s wonderful to have a sister…I miss my sister.”
“I’m sorry, Evie.” Mirabelle’s features fell, and she glanced around the room. “Are you in mourning for your sister?”
Evelyn dropped her eyes once more. “No.”
“Then why have you covered all the mirrors?”
Evelyn had stripped the bedding to hide the reflective glass. But it was not an easy matter for her to confess, her distaste for mirrors.
“I…um…”
A finger touched Evelyn’s chin, gentle, yet forceful, hoisting her head. “Do you want to hide from the bruising?”
That and her eyes and her cursed face.
“Who hurt you, Evie?”
Evelyn reached for her throat to conceal the ugly abuse, but a firm hand gripped her wrist. “Do not hide from me. I won’t judge you. Tell me, who did this to you? Was it Adam?”
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