Too Great A Temptation Page 4

  Mirabelle marched onward. She should not be so curious. The encounter with Damian had been an accident, pure and simple. A mortifying accident, granted, but an accident nonetheless. It would do her no good to dwell on it. And it certainly wouldn’t do her any good to explore something so trivial as passion. For it was trivial, she was sure. Anything her brothers, especially the younger ones, adored was trivial. And Mirabelle hadn’t come this far in pursuit of her dream to flounder over a petty quiver of the heart and a few flickering sensations in her belly—which could very well be due to hunger, she concluded.

  Despite all her reasoning, though, she still didn’t want to confront the new navigator. Luckily, a hoarse cry for a “bloody clodpole” stopped her in her tracks.

  She opened the door to the cabin and peeked inside.

  “What’s the matter, Quincy?” she said, her words clipped.

  “Well, good morning to you, too.”

  She stepped into the room and took in a deep breath, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. “Sorry, Quincy. My morning’s gotten off to a wretched start.”

  “So has mine,” he grumbled. “Eddie promised to bring me breakfast—a half hour ago. I’m starving!”

  With a sigh, Mirabelle approached the bed. It was a good sign, Quincy’s appetite. The boy was on the mend.

  She sat down on the edge of the mattress and touched his brow. Still warm. She took the compress from the washbasin and placed it over his forehead.

  “I’ll go and find Edmund,” she said.

  “Don’t bother, Belle. I can rail at the lout all the louder when he finally shows up.”

  “But I thought you were hungry?”

  “I’d rather have Eddie’s hide.”

  He was incorrigible, her brother. Rolling her eyes heavenward, she stood up to leave. “Fine, Quincy. Enjoy your ranting.”

  “Stay, Belle, and keep me company for a while.”

  “Bored?”

  “Utterly.”

  She quirked a half smile and sat down again. “Serves you right for getting into that scrape.”

  “Don’t harp, Belle. I’ve suffered plenty. Almost lost my head, and all. Isn’t that enough?”

  “I suppose it is,” she grumbled. “Will you ever learn to behave?”

  He snorted. “This coming from you? A woman who stowed away? A woman who disobeyed the captain’s direct order to stay aboard ship?”

  “It’s not the same, Quincy. I had to do those things. I won’t be left behind or treated differently just because I’m a woman.”

  “But being a woman makes you different, Belle. When are you going to realize that?”

  “When you realize there’s more to life than cards, brawls, and wenches.”

  “That long, eh?”

  She gave him a wry look. “Besides, when I misbehave, I don’t end up in a scuffle, fighting for my life.”

  “Point taken.” He sighed. “I’m lucky Damian came around when he did.”

  Her tone softened a bit. “And if Damian hadn’t come along?”

  “I’d be dead, I guess.”

  The thought chilled her. Looking at Quincy, thinking about the young scoundrel not being around anymore, made her heart hurt, and for the first time, she felt a sense of gratitude toward Damian.

  “You really think you’d be dead?” she wondered.

  “Me against five Americans? Yah, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Five!”

  He looked bewildered for a moment. “Did I say five? I meant two.”

  Mirabelle narrowed her gaze. “You told James the fight was with two men. He’ll have your hide, Quincy, if he ever finds out you were daft enough to take on five!”

  “And since I like my hide right where it is, promise me you won’t tell him.”

  There was a pleading look in his wide blue eyes. He even batted his lashes to try and win her over. The scamp.

  She wouldn’t rat on him, though. James would skin him alive if he ever found out the truth. And what good would that do?

  But she wouldn’t give Quincy the reassurance he sought, either. Let the scalawag sweat a bit. Maybe next time he wouldn’t be so eager to act the reckless fool.

  Mirabelle leaned forward and pressed her lips to the ridge of her brother’s nose. “I’ll go and look for Edmund. I think you’ve waited long enough for your breakfast.”

  “First promise me, Belle, not to tell James.”

  She was up and heading for the door.

  “Belle!?”

  She was out the door, a smile on her face.

  Damian looked through the sextant’s eyepiece. The sun was somewhere in the heavens, but he didn’t see a celestial orb reflecting in the mirror. All he saw were the two bountiful orbs of Mirabelle’s breasts hovering above him.

  He shuddered, a pang of lust gripping him. He had never seen such magnificent breasts before. The vision had lasted only a few precious seconds, but he had captured every detail in prefect clarity. The lone freckle dotting one globe. The way one swelling breast was slightly larger than the other.

  Desire still twisting in his groin, the duke closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep and steady breath, dismissing the erotic vision.

  How could a woman engage in the private matter of bathing and not lock the door on a ship full of men?

  A woman not very chaste, he reckoned. One accustomed to men…so would her brothers really mind if he tangled with her, especially if she had been with other tars?

  Damian stomped the thought asunder. He was never going to find out the truth to that query. He had to get home to England, and he wasn’t about to endanger his mission to scratch an itch in his pants. He had survived two years without a woman. He could bloody well stay celibate for another few weeks…though he was beginning to suspect celibacy did more to distract a man than keep him focused. Two years of it had certainly taken a toll on Damian. One look at a woman’s breasts and he was a mind-boggling fool.

  Damian banished the thought of his unfulfilled lust and peered back into the sextant. This time he positioned the mirror until the sun overlaid the horizon. He then checked the angle on the scale and made a mental note of the figure.

  He had to go back inside the captain’s cabin to study the tables and charts, to obtain the chronometer, to plot a course back to England, but he wouldn’t head back just yet. He would wait awhile longer, to make absolutely sure Mirabelle was gone from the room. He couldn’t risk another sensual encounter with her. His resolve would snap.

  “Something the matter?”

  You, he thought. “Nothing’s wrong, Belle.”

  “Good, because you have no right to be in a dander.”

  Her finger went to her well-endowed chest, attracting his attention. Even under the loose-fitting fabric, the full swell of her breasts was acutely evident.

  Damian groaned quietly.

  “You invaded my privacy, remember?” She poked her slender finger into her bosom. “I’ve had the miserable morning, not you.”

  Damian couldn’t disagree more. He would bet his dukedom she wasn’t suffering the same lustful urges he was struggling to tamp down.

  “How dare you barge into the captain’s cabin like that?”

  “You should have locked the door,” he accused, his tone biting.

  “You should have knocked.”

  True, but he was still thinking like a captain, was wont to doing as he pleased, and the rules of an ordinary tar had yet to set in. And he was going to pay dearly for his misstep.

  Damian looked away from her, his mind in turmoil, and growled, “I didn’t know you were staying in the captain’s cabin.”

  “Well, now you do. So keep your distance, Damian.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Good.” A short pause, then: “And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For saving Quincy’s life.”

  He stared at her, taken aback. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard those words. And hearing them from Belle felt stra
ngely good. It was pleasant, even, knowing he wasn’t a complete failure.

  Gruffly he bit back, “You’re welcome.”

  She wrinkled her brow then. “Isn’t that William’s shirt?”

  Damian glanced down at his apparel. “Aye. Your brother offered me the garbs, seeing as I was left penniless and all but naked on America’s shore.”

  Was that color tinting her cheeks? And at the mention of him being naked? But before he could be sure, she turned to leave.

  “Wait, Belle.”

  She looked back at him, her fiery gaze cutting up his soul. “What is it?”

  He searched his brain for a reason to talk to her. That it was wholly senseless to keep her around did not cross his mind right then. He just didn’t want the moment to end. There was something about Belle that aroused him. Both his body and his…well, he wasn’t quite sure. His heart? Damian didn’t think he had one anymore. Or if he did, it was as dark as cinder. Yet an emotion was buried deep within him. Too deep to be clear. But it clung to his breast with a fierce hold and he could not shake the sensation. It felt strangely warm. Even tranquil. And it had been a while since he’d felt something other than misery inside him. He wanted to hold on to the sentiment a bit longer.

  His eye caught a speck on the horizon. “Is that a ship?”

  She cast her golden gaze over the water. “Aye.”

  “I think it’s sailing this way.”

  “So what?”

  He studied her again, enthralled by the silky strands of her tawny blond hair shifting in the breeze. A stray lock whipped across her sun-kissed features and trapped between the soft curve of her coral pink lips.

  Gripped by a yearning to wipe away the lock, his fingers twitched, preparing to move, but she brushed the wisp of hair behind her ear before he had a chance to do it. A good thing, too, for he wasn’t overly fond of making a complete ass of himself.

  Curling his restless fingers into his palms, he said, “Don’t you ever worry about your safety out here?”

  She shrugged. “No. Why?”

  “What about a sea squall?”

  “This is a sound ship.” Her arms crossed under her breasts. “She can weather any storm.”

  “What about being lost at sea?”

  She narrowed her amber eyes on him. “Do you plan on getting us lost, Damian?”

  Indignant, he returned, “Of course not.”

  “Then I’m not worried.”

  He paused. “What about pirates?”

  This time she snorted. “I’m not worried about pirates.”

  “Why not? That ship”—he nodded up ahead—“could very well be a pirate ship, tailing us.”

  “It’s not,” she said confidently. “Trust me.”

  Her smug assurance annoyed him. She was a bountiful prize for any pirate, who wouldn’t hesitate to plunder her if at all given the chance. She could even be killed! Didn’t she realize that?

  “You should have more respect for the sea,” he chided. “Instead you scoff at danger like your brother Quincy.”

  Her nostrils flared. “That ship”—she pointed to the horizon—“is just sailing by. It’s not a pirate ship.”

  “It could be.”

  “Even so, we’re armed, so I’m still not worried.”

  At her flippant response, he grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed.

  Mirabelle’s breath trapped in her throat at the sudden attack. “Are you crazy?” Her eyes darted to the crew, presumably to check if anyone had yet to notice their little entanglement.

  “Break away,” he bade.

  She trembled in his embrace. He could feel it, the vibrations ripping through her. “If anyone catches us…”

  “So fight,” he demanded.

  She looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. She made a noise of frustration and, wriggling, twisted her wrist this way and that, attempting to break free.

  “Try harder, Belle.”

  Tight-lipped, she glowered at him, clawing at his clenched fingers, leaving glaring red marks all along his hand and forearm.

  With a flick of the wrist, he jerked her closer to him, their noses bumping.

  Delving deep into the pools of her honey gold eyes, now flashing mad, he whispered roughly, “Remember, Belle, there is always someone bigger and stronger out there, just waiting for a chance to hurt you.”

  The salty musk of her hair swirled around him, and Damian suddenly realized just how close to her he really was, his eyes dropping to her full and rosy and damned kissable lips.

  Sensing his poise was about to crack, he admonished, “Don’t you ever make light of that again,” and then let her go.

  Mirabelle staggered back, massaging her wrist, her eyes burning orbs. She looked ready to hurl a slew of obscenities his way, but one look at the crew, casting her curious glances, and she seemed to reconsider.

  In the end, she only warned, “Stay away from me.”

  I intend to, thought Damian, as he watched her sultry figure stalk away. Being close to Mirabelle was a guarantee of hardship, physical and otherwise, for the woman sparked within him emotions he could not tame—or fathom.

  Chapter 4

  “O h, good. Someone to keep me company. I can’t stand counting the wood knots in the ceiling anymore.”

  Damian stepped deeper into the cabin and closed the door. “Feeling better?”

  “Aye,” said Quincy. “I should be up and about soon.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. For a while there, I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

  “I’m tougher than I look,” was his cool reply, but then his eyes lighted with anxiety and his voice took on a pleading pitch. “Oh, and if anyone asks, you saved me from two Americans, not five.”

  Damian quirked a brow.

  “Just promise me you won’t tell my brothers the truth.”

  With a shrug, Damian acquiesced.

  The kid sighed, his demeanor blithe once more. “So tell me, how do you like life aboard the Bonny Meg?”

  Collecting a nearby chair, Damian positioned it next to the bed and sat down. “It’s…interesting.”

  “How?”

  “The choice of crew.”

  “Belle, you mean?” Quincy chuckled. “She’s a challenge, I know. The captain has trouble handling her himself.”

  Damian could commiserate. “So why did he bring her on board?”

  “Bring her?” Quincy snorted. “That’s not the way it happened. Belle stowed away.”

  Now that made sense. It had so often plagued Damian, the reason for her being on ship. A stowaway certainly explained everything. It meant the odd family union wasn’t so odd after all—only Belle was odd.

  “That must have been a surprise,” said Damian, “finding her here.”

  “Was it ever! A fortnight into our journey, Eddie strolled into the galley—the lummox is always hungry—to ask Cook about dinner. And there she was, hunched over the piping cauldron, sampling the stew. Eddie couldn’t believe his eyes. He lunged for her, but she got away, and he almost ended up in the bubbling cauldron. It was a lot of shouting and tearing around deck before we finally captured her. James was furious, we all were, but we were too far at sea to turn around and bring her home. We needed more supplies.”

  “And that’s how you found yourself in New York?”

  Quincy nodded. “We had to get rid of our plund—our cargo, load up some new supplies, and then head home.”

  “So you’re taking Belle back to England?”

  “Hell, yes! Why wouldn’t we?”

  Damian waved a dismissive hand. “Just the impression I got from her, that she was already a member of the crew.”

  “Belle wishes to be a member,” grumbled Quincy. “That’s the trouble.”

  Trouble indeed. Damian could still feel the heat twisting in his belly at the memory of his morning spar with Belle. To avoid her—and another sensual encounter—he had shut himself below deck, tending to navigational charts. But imagine having to endure voyage after
voyage with Belle strutting around deck in her tight leather breeches, her arse swaying like the pendulum of a clock, mesmerizing all eyes. Nothing would ever get done.

  “Why all the questions about my sister?” Quincy abruptly demanded.

  Bemused, Damian glanced back at the kid. “No reason.”

  That got him a skeptical look. “You’re to stay away from her, Damian.”

  He stood up. “I know.”

  “I mean it.” Quincy eyed him intently. “I’m in your debt and all, but that doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want with Belle.”

  Do whatever he wanted with Belle? Now there was a tempting thought.

  “I don’t plan on doing anything with her,” Damian insisted, more to convince himself than Quincy. He backed away. “I was only curious about her.”

  “She belongs on shore, Damian, married with a brood of children. Unless you want the job of hus—”

  “I don’t,” he cut in, reaching for the doorknob. “I only want the job of navigator.”

  Quickly Damian escaped from the cabin, Quincy hollering after him, “Are you sure?”

  Up on deck, Damian paused to inhale the briny sea air. Him a husband? Clearly, the kid’s fever had yet to break. What a daft suggestion. It was no better than being tossed overboard, for the distraction of a wife would surely hamper his mission—especially if that wife happened to be a sultry siren. Besides, he could never take a wife. He was too much like his father. No woman would ever be safe with him.

  The hammering overhead captured Damian’s attention. He glanced up at the darkening sky, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight he beheld.

  Mirabelle was perched on the mainsail yard, pounding away, her thighs straddling the wood beam, her legs crossed at the ankles.

  Was the woman mad? Dangling up in the air like that? She had no business—

  Wait. He had no business giving a damn. Let her brothers worry.

  Damian headed aft, determined to find something other than Mirabelle to occupy his attention.