Too Dangerous to Desire (18 page)

The matter was settled. Evelyn would live in America, and he would go with her to make sure she was safe. It was a sound plan. The pirate cap
tain was right; the prince would never give up the search for Evelyn. He might return home, but he would keep the henchmen in England to look for her . . . to punish her for deserting him.

Adam was stiff with fury at the thought of Evelyn interred in a coffin. She would never find herself—alive!—in such a ghastly place again. He would see to it.

“Am I disturbing you?”

She disturbed his every waking thought. And un-waking thought. He had to struggle to repress the passion he had for her. She was everything his dark and lonely soul was missing . . . and she was everything he couldn’t have.

“It’s late.” Another stone stroked across the lake. “What are you doing here, Evie?”

Each light step she took warmed his body until a fire was raging in his belly.

She stopped near him; her long, dark hair swat
ted his arm in the tender breeze. “I need to speak with you.”

The gentle taps of her hair against his sleeve dis
tracted him from his sport, and the stone dropped into the water with a loud plop.

He sighed.

Evelyn stepped closer to the pond and picked up a small rock. She flicked her arm and sent the pebble flying.

Adam listened to the audible slaps of water as the stone skipped over the surface twice, thrice . . . five times.

He lifted a brow. “Impressive.”

“As children, my sister and I used to skip rocks by the lake where we lived.”

He imagined her as a little girl, running beside the lakeshore with her sister . . . joyful.

“What is it you need to speak to me about, Evie?”

She turned toward him with a solemn ex
pression. “I don’t want you to stay with me in America.”

Adam’s heart dropped like a stone in the water. “What?”

“You have a family here in England. I don’t want you to be estranged from your kin. It’s a ter
rible feeling, I know. And I don’t want to be the cause of it. I can look after myself in America. I will work as a governess. You don’t have to remain with me.”

The idea that she did not need him, that she
did not
want
him, had a profound effect on Adam, making the blood pound in his breast and re
sound in his ears. “Are you mad?!”

She started. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t reside in America alone. What about the prince?”

“He won’t think to look for me in America. He knows I have no money with which to buy pas
sage aboard a ship. It will never occur to him I might travel across the ocean with a band of pi
rates. He will never think to look for me so far.”

To hell with her reasonable point!

“No!”

She appeared startled by his curt rebuttal, but after a moment she said, “Do you remember what you promised me the other night?”

Adam bristled at the erotic memory of the woman pressed between his legs as he’d bussed her trim midriff.

“You promised to give me whatever I asked for.”

Blast her for using
that
vow against him!

“And I’m asking you to return to England after I’m settled in America.”

Every muscle in Adam’s body was taut. He glared at the woman with a desire to shake sense into her.

“You are not living in the New World without me,” he said tightly.

“Be reasonable, Adam.”

“Me? How can you even suggest I abandon you in a strange country?”

“I told you; you have a family.”

“If you failed to notice at dinner, I am
not
on good terms with my family.”

“But you can reconcile with your kin if you return to England.”

Adam stalked away from her. Why the devil was she so eager to be rid of him all of a sudden?

“It’s improper for you to live with me in Amer
ica.” She sighed. “It was different at the cottage; we were alone. But in America I hope to begin a new life, to get acquainted with a family of respectable means in need of a governess.”

Yet another excuse as to why he should sail back to England. How many more did she have? What was the
real
reason behind her antagonism?

“I will hire a female companion,” he said. “We will not be alone together.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Adam. I want you to return to England.”

He headed for her with brisk strides. He low
ered his lips a hairbreadth from hers and gritted, “And I’ve made up mine. I’m staying with you in America.”

For a moment he thought he might have per
suaded her to submit to good sense, but then he observed a defiant spark in her eyes.

“You are not my husband or my father. You have no clout over my life.”

He wanted to argue the point; he had a duty. He had promised to protect her. But he sensed the woman would only rebuff that argument, too.

Pushed too hard, she was combative. He was glad to see the hot-tempered streak in her. But did she have to argue with
him
? He was not the enemy, didn’t she realize that?

“It’s settled then?”

She mistook his quiet indignation for begrudg
ing agreement. He didn’t disabuse her of the mis
conception, though. Let her believe him in accord. It offered him time to find some other way to convince the woman he had every intention of re
maining with her in the New World.

nm

re you ready?” Evelyn dropped the comb, startled. With no mirror in the bedroom, she had not no
ticed Adam’s approach.

She turned around to confront him—and sup
pressed a shiver.

Adam was dressed in black breeches; the mate
rial hugged his legs. It also illustrated the brawn pulsing through his muscles. Her own pulse quickened at the sight of him, her heart throbbing faster as she skimmed her eyes over the rest of his robust form.

Draped in a crisp white shirt with no vest or coat or neck cloth to tidy his rugged appearance, he reminded her of their lazy days at the cottage by the seashore. He had dressed in rural attire then, too. And she was gripped by a profound desire to return to those dreamy days before the dark cloud of uncertainty and mistrust had cast a shadow over them.

She peeked through the bedroom window. It was early morning and she had to wonder, “Ready to do what at this hour?”

“To continue with our lessons.”

Evelyn had had very little sleep, overwhelmed by restlessness after her heated talk with Adam the other night. Her brain a bit foggy, she said, “What lessons?”

Adam took her by the hand and dragged her from the vanity. “You must learn to defend your
self, remember?”

Evelyn tossed the comb aside, his meaning clear. “But I don’t want to fight with swords!”

“Very well.” He pulled her from the room. “You will learn to fight with your hands instead.”

Some minutes later, Evelyn was sheltered be
neath a cluster of trees in the garden with Adam.

“Let’s begin,” he said, “before the sun rises too high and the heat drives us to seek shelter indoors.”

“What about your injuries?”

She eyed him closely as he pushed up his sleeves and exposed his stalwart forearms. It baffled her, the energy he possessed. He had strength enough to crush bones, yet he was tender at times, too.

“I’m fine, Evie. You must learn to protect your
self.” There was a dark glow in his eyes. “I won’t always be beside you.”

Adam sounded displeased by the remark. Clearly he was still vexed with her for foiling his plan to be her guardian. But she’d had to do it. The thought of being ruled by another man, especially one who made her yearn for kisses, was frighten
ing. He had power over her, like her father and the prince. It was only in a different form. But it would bring her the same heartache.

“Are you ready, Evie?”

Slowly he circled her.

Evelyn shivered under his assessing stare. He prowled around her like a predator about to pounce.

“Yes, I’m ready,” she said.

But she was having a deuced hard time ignor
ing the jitters in her belly and concentrating on the session at hand. Rapt by the man’s hard stare, she started to feel like real prey.

Evelyn gasped as a hard set of arms circled her from behind and clinched her waist. She could feel the man’s muscles as he pressed against her back, feel the flex of his weight. He was so tight against her, so firm. His strength confused her . . . comforted her . . . alarmed her.

“Break away, Evie.”

Lost in reflection, she quickly composed herself and struggled. But her thrashing proved ineffec
tual; he maintained his hold. And the more she battled, the more frustrated she became.

At length she stilled. “It’s hopeless.”

“It’s not hopeless,” he said deeply by her ear, making her quiver with delight. “After years of physical work, you have the strength to resist. You only need to learn how to do it properly.”

He let her go.

The cool morning air whooshed across her back, moist with sweat, washing away the heat of Adam’s touch.

She shuddered once more, this time at the chill of being let loose.

“If trapped from behind,” he said, “use your feet as a weapon.” He demonstrated. “Kick back against your assailant’s shin; you’ll throw your at
tacker off balance.”

Evelyn eyed his every move.

“Try again, Evie.”

He approached her, moved behind her, and wrapped his arms around her.

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” she said.

“Just don’t break my leg.”

For a moment she didn’t budge; she just let the heat from his torso warm and invigorate her spirit.

But then his arms pinched her waist, remind ing her to fight. She did. She raised her foot and sent it back. She didn’t strike with force; she didn’t want to crack his shin, but keeping her locked in
his embrace, he allowed her to practice her aim
until she nailed him right below the knee.

“Well done, Evie.”

There it was again, that familiar joy at being praised.

“You can also use your elbow as a weapon.” He let her go. “Put your arms around me.”

She balked. “What?”

“I want you to pretend you’re the assailant.” He crooked his hand to encourage her. “Come.”

Her heart thumping loudly in her ears, Evelyn opened her arms wide and slowly reached around either side of his waist.

Goodness, he was big. Her fingers just touched at the apex of his chest . . . and the fire that burned in her belly quickly spread through the rest of her, too.

She pressed her cheek against his back and in
haled the spicy scent of his musk. Prickles of ner
vous delight danced across her fingertips as she hugged him with all her might.

Adam was quiet. He had stilled under her em
brace, and for a short while she sensed his steady breathing and nothing more.

There was a quiet roughness to his voice when at last he said, “With your elbow aim for the ribs.” He slowly demonstrated the movements against her. “Now you try.”

Once more Evelyn was cocooned in his arms.

And once more she resisted the impulse to sigh in contentment.

She trained her eyes on the tree for balance, and then curled her body to slowly mimic the attack postures.

“Good.” He let go of her midriff and faced her again. “Now in a frontal attack, use your knee.” He shot his knee upward to demonstrate. “Aim for the most sensitive part of a man.”

Heat touched her cheeks as her eyes inadver
tently fixed to the said muscle between his legs.

Quickly she focused on the well-hewn ground instead, but she sensed her straying eyes had not gone unnoticed by Adam, for he said gruffly, “Why don’t we practice with our hands next?”

She prayed the earth would shake and crack and swallow her whole. How mortifying! If only her instructor weren’t so captivating. A boorish toad would be ideal, she thought. Such a teacher would spare her from further embarrassment.

“If your hands are free, strike at the throat.” He made a quick chopping movement. “But make sure to put considerable pressure on the target or you won’t do any harm.”

Choking back her discomfiture, she followed suit.

Adam pointed toward her eyes. “Or poke your finger into the villain’s eye.”

She grimaced.

“It will disarm him, Evie, and give you a chance to run away.”

“What if my hands aren’t free?”

“Bite!”

“I don’t know if I can do this. It’s so . . . bloody.”

“If your life depends upon it, you
will
do it. Get angry, Evie. It will give you the inner strength to fight.”

His conviction was infectious. Resolute to con
quer her qualms, she followed his direction and practiced the movements.

As the morning progressed and the sun burned brighter, Evelyn sighed.

“Are you tired?” He gestured to a tree. “Do you want to rest in the shade?”

Her limbs aching, she readily assented and crouched beside the tree, the gnarled root an ideal stool. Adam joined her beneath the canopy of leaves and pressed his back against the rough bark in respite.

“You’re doing well,” he said.

“Thank you.”

She observed her slippered feet, stained with grass. As the conversation lulled, her thoughts returned to Adam, her instructor. The man was skilled with a sword, with his fists. That he could so easily render an enemy senseless offered her comfort. However, it also disturbed her, for she had
to wonder if he would ever turn his fists against
her . . . as the duchess had subtly suggested. “Is something the matter, Evie?” She poked the grass with the tip of her shoe. “I
was just thinking.” “About?” “About veiled dangers.” He crouched beside her. She peered into his soft
blue eyes. Once she had found truth and kind
ness in the pair. Now she looked upon him with apprehension.

“Do you still fear being in the castle, Evie?” She formed her words carefully. “The duchess
thinks I might still be in danger.” He frowned. “The duke will
not
harm you.” “It is not the duke she thinks will harm me.” Quietly Evelyn stared at him. “Oh.” Adam glanced away. He moved away, too.

Restless energy thrummed through his muscles. It was evident in the way he bristled. “I admit, I’m not surprised.”

She pinched her brows together. “Why not?” “The duchess and I parted on very poor terms four years ago.” “Because you quarreled with her husband?

And is the woman still angry with you?” “I think she is afraid.” “Of you?” “Of what I might do.”

Evelyn regarded his inscrutable features, masked by the shade of leaves. “And what might you do?”

Adam looked at his hands. “I hurt my brother once.”

“How?” she whispered.

“I stabbed him.”

Evelyn grabbed the locket at her throat for comfort and support. Terrible thoughts beset her: thoughts of Adam attacking the duke in a feral rage . . . attacking her.

“You . . . you stabbed him?” she stammered. “But why?”

“Evie, listen to me.”

He reached out to clasp her hand, but she jerked her fingers away.

Adam stepped back, his eyes cloudy, stormy. “I was a very angry man many years ago. I blamed my brother for my wife’s death.”

Evelyn stilled the rampant beats of her heart, shushed the blood in her ears. “The duke killed your wife? I thought she drowned at sea?”

“She did. Six years ago, Tess and I curtailed our wedding tour to return to England and help the duke. He was still a wicked man then, the ‘Duke of Rogues.’ But he was also my brother. I thought I could save him from his wickedness.” Adam sounded tortured. “There was a brutal storm one
night. Tess drowned, but I survived. After the sinking, I was filled with grief . . . rage. I blamed the duke for my wife’s drowning. I reasoned if he wasn’t such a villain, Tess and I would still be on our wedding tour. We would not have had to sail home to save the duke from sin—and Tess would still be alive.”

“So you tried to kill him?”

“I wanted to avenge Teresa’s death.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He bowed his head. “I realized my mistake.”

She could hear the shame in his voice, the regret. Her thoughts whirled, danced together in a mad rush. She searched her brain for comfort, for words to soothe the turmoil, the agitation in her breast. “Why
is
the duke so wicked?”

“He
was
wicked. And it was all my father’s doing. The late duke was a villain.” The man’s voice was hard. “Always drunk, he hurt my mother . . . and my brother.”

Evelyn gasped softly. Something sparked within her: an instant comprehension and sym
pathy, for she, too, had suffered under the wild rantings of a foxed father.

“I escaped the beatings,” said Adam, “only be
cause I was second born and Father didn’t care much for me. He was obsessed with making his heir, my brother, a rogue—just like him.”

The light of knowledge filled the dark pockets of her imagination. “And so Damian became the ‘Duke of Rogues’?”

Slowly Adam nodded. “As boys, Damian and I had gathered in secret for many years. Father didn’t want us to be friends or even brothers.”