Too Great A Temptation Page 6

“I saw it in a book,” he said smoothly.

  Mirabelle let out a soft sigh, her heart thumping at a steadier pace. Odd, she thought. The winged hourglass was a pirate symbol, often part of the pirate flag. It was warning to a ship being preyed upon that time was running out: the vessel was doomed. What on earth would it be doing in a book?

  She made a face. “What book?”

  “Robinson Crusoe, I think. I remember a picture in the book, an engraving of a winged hourglass on a pirate flag.”

  The fine hairs on her arms spiked. “I’ve never read the book.”

  “It’s been so long since I’ve read it, too.” Something flickered in the dark pools of his eyes. Something raw and emotional. “I had to steal the book from my father’s library.”

  She snorted. “Your father had a library? What was he, a gent?”

  He seemed taken aback. “No, I mean, he had a few books.”

  “So why did you have to steal it?”

  He looked off for a moment, peering into the empty gallery. “I wasn’t allowed to go near the books.”

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He glanced back at her, his reverie shattered.

  What had just happened to the man? That poignant expression, so full of grief?

  “Why do you have a pirate ring, Belle?”

  Oh, why couldn’t she grab hold of her wits when he looked at her like that?

  “My father got the ring in the Caribbean from a friend.” From a pirate friend, but she managed to keep that part clandestine. And the rest was entirely true. She was just too befuddled by that damn predatory stare of his to conjure up a fib.

  “Your father sailed the Caribbean?”

  She nodded. “A long time ago. He liked the picture in the ring. It reminded him of coming home, of not letting too much time pass away at sea.”

  Damian touched her lips. She bristled at the soft caress, her heart throbbing like a wild winter storm.

  He brushed away the lock of hair trapped between her lips. Had that been stuck in her mouth the whole time? She hadn’t even noticed.

  “You should be careful, Belle.” The low rumble of his voice made her all hot and sweaty. “A ring like that is nothing but trouble.”

  Damian lifted off his haunches and sauntered away.

  Funny, but Mirabelle suspected it was not the ring that was the trouble.

  Chapter 6

  D inner was over. Mirabelle found herself in the mess, surrounded by her brothers. Even Quincy was present, ensconced in a chair, a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders.

  Slumped in her seat, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “So what’s this all about?”

  James had summoned the family to a meeting, but had yet to reveal what the meeting was about. He stood at the head of the dining table, burly arms folded across his wide chest, legs braced apart in an imperious stance.

  She wasn’t impressed by his daunting posture, though. She had seen it far too often to feel intimidated. Her other brothers appeared equally unmoved, especially Edmund, who found the grease stain on his palm more interesting. Only William reflected the captain’s grave countenance.

  “We have a problem,” said James.

  With a sigh of impatience, Edmund wondered, “What problem?”

  “Our new navigator is infatuated with Belle.”

  Mirabelle’s jaw dropped.

  A chorus of protests and stunned exclamations erupted promptly.

  Moving away from the wall, his grimy palm no longer appealing, Edmund cried, “You’re not serious, James?”

  “This is all a mistake,” Quincy asserted.

  “Really, James,” from William, “what brought on this accusation?”

  The captain’s fist came down, making the dirty dishes on the table dance. “Quiet! All of you. I want to hear from Belle.”

  All eyes went to Mirabelle.

  Stunned, she countered, “It’s not true!”

  James gripped the edge of the dining table and leaned forward. “Then tell me why the two of you were perched on the mainsail yard a while ago?”

  Blast it! So James had seen her with Damian. She was definitely going to have to clout that lout of a navigator over the head with her mallet. Look at all the trouble he had caused!

  In a perfectly smooth voice, she fibbed, “Damian was helping me with repairs.”

  James cast her a dubious look. “And this morning?”

  “What about this morning?”

  “You were seen with Damian—in his embrace.”

  Another round of boisterous objections.

  “The man is dead,” vowed Edmund, fist slamming into his palm.

  Mirabelle rolled her eyes. It was the plight of all women, she supposed, to have overprotective, and often hypocritical, guardians of her virtue always buzzing about. Really, what a farce. True, she was their sister, but so what? The women her brothers dallied with were all someone else’s sister in the end, and if one was never allowed to touch another man’s sister, then what would her brothers do with all their spare time? But she couldn’t mention that discrepancy to any of them or the four would be scratching their heads in confusion.

  “Damian is not chasing after Belle,” Quincy affirmed once more with a confidence Mirabelle found puzzling. She wasn’t sure why her youngest kin kept dismissing the notion so entirely. It certainly wasn’t impossible that Damian found her attractive.

  Bloody hell. She was doing it again. Being too curious. She should be rallying behind her youngest brother, not thinking up ways to dispute his claim.

  “Well?” James pressed her when she still didn’t answer.

  “There was no embrace,” she refuted at last. “Damian simply”—she grappled with her brain for a reasonable excuse, and finally blurted out—“caught me.”

  A frown wrinkled the captain’s brow. “Caught you?”

  “I lost my balance.” She shrugged. “A wave hit and Damian took me by the wrist to stop my fall. I would hardly call it an embrace.”

  He didn’t believe her. She could tell by that poignant look in his eyes. Trouble was she wasn’t clumsy, and James knew it. She never lost her balance—unless, of course, accosted by a big oaf some fifty feet in the air. But that was a moot point. What mattered was her reputation for a sturdy grip and foothold. The notion that she should lose her poise on deck during clear sailing was more than a little suspect.

  But what else could she say? Certainly not the exasperating truth, that the new navigator also happened to believe she didn’t belong here. Why, that fact might even endear Damian to her kin, and then the whole lot of them could band together and squash all her hopes and dreams. Mirabelle wasn’t about to let that happen.

  “Belle,” said James, voice low, glare steadfast, “Are you sure Damian isn’t bothering you?”

  “Yes.” If she admitted the opposite, James might assume she was enticing the navigator in some way, hence why he was pestering her. And that would give her brother ideal grounds to banish her from the ship forever.

  With a smug air, Quincy smiled. “I told you he wasn’t after Belle.”

  Edmund stalked up to him, demanding, “And how did you know that?”

  Quincy shrugged. “Because Damian told me so.”

  It was Mirabelle’s turn to explode. “What?”

  William came forward next. “You spoke with Damian about this already?”

  “So he is infatuated with Belle?” From James.

  “No, no.” Quincy gestured with his hand. “Nothing like that.”

  The captain, too, moved toward the youngest Hawkins, until all three men had circled his chair. “Quincy, if you spoke with Damian, you must have assumed something was wrong.”

  “Well, yes, but I overreacted.” Glancing at each of his hovering brothers, Quincy resumed his narrative. “You see, Damian had a lot of questions about Belle and I suspected he was smitten with her. It wasn’t true, though. He was just curious to know why a woman was aboard ship. He wants nothing
to do with Belle, he assured me. He doesn’t find her the least bit interesting.”

  The men in the room all puffed a sigh of relief, but Mirabelle felt as though she’d been smacked in the face.

  “And you’re sure about this?” said James.

  “Aye.” Quincy nodded. “Damian bolted when I suggested he either do right by Belle and marry her or leave her be.”

  It was a sturdy punch to her gut, his words. Quincy had tried to marry her off? She didn’t know what was worse, that he would do such an unseemly thing or that the boorish navigator didn’t want her.

  “Now, Belle,” said William, the first to notice her crimson complexion. “Quincy didn’t mean to upset you.”

  The fledgling of the family finally glanced her way, his expression contrite, his tone placating. “I didn’t, Belle, really. I was just looking out for you.”

  “That’s the very reason you shouldn’t be here,” grumbled Edmund, his temper mellow. “You’re a distraction to the crew, Belle.”

  “And while you haven’t charmed Damian,” James went on to point out, “you might very well charm another sailor.” He sighed at that point. “I just can’t have you on board, Belle. You’re too damn beautiful for your own good.”

  She was on her feet and marching toward the door, the humiliation suffocating. So Damian didn’t want anything to do with her? Not that she craved his attention. Certainly not. But still, all those fiery looks were nothing more than expressions of curiosity? He thought her odd? What a fool she was!

  “Belle!” Quincy wailed, as she thundered past him.

  But William rested his hand on Quincy’s shoulder, stopping the entreaty.

  The brothers let her go.

  Tears pooling, Mirabelle let them gather. She didn’t even wipe them away when they dripped down her flushed cheeks.

  Too beautiful, was she? What rot! But if her infuriating brethren believed it so, she could fix that. In a few minutes she would be as ordinary and unattractive as any poor and weathered tar aboard ship.

  Bursting into the captain’s cabin, she lit the oil lamp suspended on the wall and set to work. First she headed for the table, tossing aside the papers and nautical charts. Nothing. Her wet gaze then lit on the wooden chest at the foot of James’s bed. She tore through the clutter of clothing, looking for the knife she knew her brother kept hidden somewhere in his cabin.

  The knife was a gift to James from their father. It had a decorative ivory handle and a long, glossy, five-inch blade—a sharp blade.

  The lid crashed closed. Still nothing. The bed was next. Crouching on her knees, she groped under the prickly straw mattress.

  Aha!

  Fingers circling the sheath, she yanked the knife free. For a moment she cradled the weapon, tracing her finger along the intricate carving. The scene depicted wild animals in the jungle. It was a priceless souvenir, the knife. One her father had obtained while stationed in India, long before he ever became a pirate.

  Slowly, she pulled the blade from its sheath. The metal glinted in the fiery light and she blinked at the glare.

  Mirabelle walked over to the captain’s shaving mirror, peering into the murky glass. Shadows masked her face, but there was still enough light to go about her task.

  Too charming, was she? Not anymore.

  Grabbing a clump of her long and treasured hair, she lifted the knife to her scalp and cut.

  The knife, wrenched from her grip, went flying through the air, piercing the opposite wall.

  Clutching a small cluster of hair in her palm, Mirabelle whirled around to confront the hulking figure towering above her.

  She was thunderstruck, met by a tangle of dark curls swirling across a strapping chest. She had never seen Damian like this before, his shirt wide open, his lengthy, raven black locks fanning free. He was too ruggedly handsome for words, leaving her belly in knots at the sight of him.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, flustered.

  “I’ve come to study the sea charts. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Get out, Damian.” She averted her stormy eyes. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  Turning quickly, she went over to the other side of the room and jerked the embedded blade from the wall. She didn’t want Damian to see any more of her tears—or the blush that had adorned her cheeks at the sight of him so scantily attired.

  His rough voice faded to a husky whisper. “What’s wrong, Belle?”

  She faced him again, confident her flushed cheeks had lost some color. But one look at his muscled form, and a spark flared deep in her belly. She wondered, unabashed, what it would feel like to rake her fingers through the matted curls on his chest…or to have those lush and arrogant lips pressed hard over hers.

  And then she remembered the bounder didn’t want her, that he didn’t find her the least bit interesting, and she promptly pushed her absurd yearnings aside.

  “It seems I’m too beautiful,” she said, her remark smothered in sarcasm, for she didn’t feel the least bit pretty at the moment, her eyes all puffy and swollen from tears, pieces of her hair hacked away. And knowing Damian didn’t think very much of her, either, made her feel even worse. It appeared only her brothers thought her a temptation, but since they were her brothers, their opinions didn’t count. All doting brothers thought their sisters comely and a target for seduction.

  It didn’t bode well for her dream, she realized, that her kin believed her too attractive to remain aboard ship. No one else considered her fair, but her blind brethren continued to insist she was a menace to the crew with her “charming” good looks. If she didn’t change their minds about the matter soon, she just might find herself dropped back on England’s shore—for good.

  “I have to do away with my beauty, you know?” She walked over to the mirror again, knife in hand. “Tars aboard the Bonny Meg must be ugly. Captain’s order.”

  She lifted the blade to her scalp once more.

  Robust fingers latched onto her wrist.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Damian admonished, the low timbre of his voice prickling her spine.

  She gazed up at him. Piece by piece he took her apart with those heavenly blue eyes. It was as if he could see right inside her heart.

  She didn’t care about his mysterious past right then. Her absurd yearning was back. The yearning to be wanted—even if by him. She was just so tired of being tossed away all the time. Of being told there was something wrong with her. There was a desperate need inside her for acceptance, a need to belong.

  But she would never belong in Damian’s arms, she told herself. It was too great a risk. A risk of the heart. One she wasn’t willing to take. Besides, the oaf didn’t want her, remember?

  She twisted her wrist free of his grip. “Get out, Damian.”

  His sensuous sapphire eyes flared. “Give me the knife.”

  Taking a few steps back, she tried to ignore the jitters in her belly. “I will not.”

  His hand came out. “The knife.”

  “Forget it.” She clasped the blade’s handle even harder. “I have to do this. Don’t pretend like you give a damn.”

  He took a daunting step forward. “And what does that mean?”

  The butterflies wreaked havoc on her insides. “I know you don’t care about what happens to me. You just want me off this ship and rotting on land with some oaf of a husband and a brood of children.”

  A dark brow cocked. “What the devil gave you that idea?” Another step forward.

  Mirabelle bumped into the wall—trapped. “Quincy told me about your little chat.” The tears and humiliation welled in her throat once more. “But you’re wrong, you know? I do belong here.”

  There was a thoughtful look in his smoldering blue eyes. “I don’t care whether you marry an ogre or have a dozen squalling brats, but you do not belong here. It isn’t safe.”

  He was towering above her now, and her heart was pounding away like a blacksmith on an anvil.

  �
��It isn’t safe for my brothers, either,” she said, breathless. “I’m no different from any of them.”

  “The hell you’re not!”

  The man was so close, she couldn’t help but peek at the wide expanse of muscle and the dark tufts of hair that made up his strapping chest. Nor could she ignore the swell of his tight and chiseled pectoral muscles or the nubs of his nipples puckering in the crisp night air.

  Mirabelle squirmed in her spot, a moist heat invading her belly…her loins. The daft desire to press her lips over one of those jutting nipples skipped through her mind, the salacious image sending her heart thumping loud and fierce.

  Blast it! What the devil was the matter with her? Where had such bold passions come from? She had never felt this way before, so enamored, so eager for more. It was gripping and frightening at the same time, the emotions inside her. All sorts of mystifying sentiments swirled in her gut. She couldn’t make any sense of the feelings bombarding her. And the confusion only grew worse…

  Damian traced his thumb along the line of her brow in a slow and sensual caress. “You’re so different, Belle,” he murmured.

  Lost in the zeal of his fiery stare, she flinched at his tender touch. It scorched her skin, the warmth of his finger stroking her brow.

  Breath trapped in her throat as he trailed his thumb softly over the ridge of her nose, making her shiver and her heart throb.

  “So very different,” he said again in a husky drawl, eyes dark and penetrating. There was awe in his voice. She heard it clearly. He looked for answers in the way that he touched her. Answers to one imperative query: why was she so different?

  She sensed he did not mean her sex alone. It was much more than that that baffled him, though she wasn’t quite sure what it was. Perhaps if she could get her thoughts to string together in one coherent line, she might be able to figure it out, but alas, she was blissfully distracted by the thrilling touch of one dashing rogue sailor, and could not think straight to save her soul.

  Damian’s fingers trailed roughly down her arm, her skin tingling, and when he took the knife from her hand, she didn’t protest. She let the handle slip free.

  The blade point hit the wall behind her.