Too Dangerous to Desire (22 page)

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he room was quiet. Candles softly burned beside the bed, the dance of shadows quick under the flickering glow. With a moist towel Evelyn cooled the duchess’s fevered brow. Mirabelle had birthed a healthy boy many hours ago. The babe was secure in another room under the care of the nurse.

Unfortunately the afterbirth had yet to manifest.

The midwife, unable to deal with such a com
plicated condition, prepared clean linens in ex
pectation of the doctor’s arrival and imminent needs. Evelyn, too, was ignorant in the medical matter; she offered the duchess solace with her company and tender hand.

Mirabelle gasped for air, each breath a struggle. Her otherwise rosy cheeks ashen, she appeared a wraith. And it took all of Evelyn’s inner strength to swallow the knot of tears pressed deep in her throat.

“Alice,” the duchess whispered weakly. “I want to see Alice.”

Evelyn glanced at the duke, requesting the man’s silent approval. But Damian stood quietly beside the window, seemingly unmoved by his dying wife’s appeal.

However, Evelyn knew better. The duke’s stone façade was a thin mask holding back a torrent of grief ready to spill forth the moment the duchess breathed her last breath.

Evelyn shivered. She was about to witness the birth of a monster; she recognized the signs well. Her father had slipped into a similar bout of misery upon the death of her mother . . . although she suspected the duke’s bereavement altogether more passionate.

The door opened.

A gentleman entered the room, senior in years. Escorted by the Dowager Duchess of Wembury, he approached the bedside with a leather bag in hand.

Evelyn wanted to weep, her relief was so great. She quickly stepped aside to grant the doctor inti
mate counsel with the duchess.

Curt and efficient, the physician eyed the dying woman prostrated under the covers and said, “I would like everyone to leave the room.”

The duke remained rooted; he offered no in dication he had heard the doctor’s order. Only
Evelyn quietly approached the door, the midwife and dowager duchess determined to stay behind to assist the practitioner.

With a heaviness pressed on her breast, Evelyn quit the room.

Stepping out of the chamber of death did not lessen the load on her heart, though. One look at the sullen countenances of four bereft pirates, and she was filled with overwhelming sympathy.

The dark and brooding figures lined the stone wall, their woe stifled under a misleading mask of forbearance. Only the youngest brigand appeared glassy-eyed with tears.

Evelyn commiserated with the youthful Quincy. Although one year her senior, he appeared a lost child under the pressure of grief.

“How is she?” said James.

Evelyn shifted her eyes to the pirate captain. She parted her lips to betray her misgiving, but sorrow snatched her voice away.

The silence was answer enough, though, for the men’s long features fell even more.

She took in a deep breath. “The duchess wishes to see Alice.”

“I’ll go and fetch the child.”

Evelyn watched the pirate captain’s lonely figure wade through the dark passageway before it disappeared.

“How’s Damian?”

Adam was grouped with the rest of the mourn
ing pirates. United under a parasol of misery, the men behaved with uncharacteristic civility. There was no outward ill-will to indicate their former strife.

She stepped closer to Adam. “The duke is somber, but . . .”

“Yes?”

“But I fear for his mind,” she confessed softly. “Should the duchess die . . .”

“I understand.”

Adam’s eyes filled with despair. She peered deep into the wet pools and witnessed grief
,
even . . . guilt?

“Adam, what is it?”

He pressed the back of his head against the stone wall. “I know my brother’s heart.”

“How do you mean?”

“I can feel the cold, unimaginable shock of watching a wife die . . . and being unable to help her.”

It struck Evelyn, clear as water: Adam blamed himself for his late wife’s death!

Memory of the other night filled her head. Adam had pushed away from her, so cool and abrupt. She had believed it brutality, but now she wondered if guilt had provoked his curt behavior. Did he feel he had betrayed his late wife’s memory
by being with her? A wife he had failed to save from drowning?

The grief fixed across the man’s features was plain to read. He was reliving the death of his wife through the duchess. And it appeared to cause him as much agony now as it had then, which meant . . .

He was still in love with Teresa.

So he will never love you.

Evelyn was startled by the thought. Confused. Where had the baffling sentiment come from? She didn’t search for love. In truth, she was deter
mined to stay away from it—and the dangerous power it could wield over the heart.

Within a few minutes the pirate captain had re
turned with a sleepy elf bundled in his arms.

Alice rolled her fists in her eyes and yawned, blissfully unaware of the trauma unfolding just beyond the bedroom door.

“Is he here?” the child demanded.

James wondered, “Is who here, squirt?”

“My baby brother.”

“Yes, he’s here.”

The elf pouted in distress to hear she was not the baby of the family anymore. At length she huffed. “Where is he?”

“In another room.”

“But I’m still squirt, right?”

Her uncle ruffled her curly hair. “You’ll always be squirt.”

She appeared mollified. “Can I see him?”

“He’s sleeping,” said James. “You can meet him in the morning . . . but Mama wants a word with you.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Mama isn’t going to scold you, I promise.”

The child looked at her uncle, dubious.

James eyed Evelyn with silent instructions. The captain was accustomed to giving orders with just a look, she suspected. He certainly made his wishes clear.

Her footfalls light, Evelyn approached the door and quietly slipped back inside the bedchamber.

“Did you hear me, Your Grace?” The doctor stood beside the duke. “I recommend we wait another few hours. If the afterbirth still does not manifest, I will remove it by hand.”

Slowly the duke nodded, his expression blank. But his eyes were red. Red from tears he had not shed—yet.

Evelyn swallowed her own tears and knelt beside the duchess. “Alice is here.”

The duchess inhaled a heavy breath. “Open the window.”

“Your Grace, I must protest!” the doctor ex
claimed to the duke. “In her condition, it’s highly improper.”

Slowly the duchess insisted, “I don’t want Alice to sense the scent of death. Open the window.”

The doctor looked at the duke. “Your Grace?”

“Do as she says.” The characteristic dark timbre to the duke’s voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “Do anything she asks.”

The midwife whisked across the room to part the glass. Meanwhile the dowager duchess dabbed at her eyes with a napkin and settled in a nearby chair.

The room quiet, the air fresh, Evelyn opened the door once more and motioned for James to bring the elf inside.

Alice was a quick-witted sprite. She took one look at all the grave faces and demanded, “What’s wrong?”

James hushed her and crouched beside the bed so mother and daughter might meet face-to-face.

Mirabelle smiled at the child, her lips shaky. She was trying not to weep, and it pierced Eve-lyn’s heart to witness the tragic exchange.

“Alice, you have a baby brother,” said the duchess.

“But I’m still squirt.”

“Yes, you’re still squirt . . . Bring her closer, James.”

The pirate captain rested the child near her mother, and Mirabelle wrapped her arms around the small figure.

“I want you to take care of your brother,

Alice.” The elf screwed up her face. “Why, Mama?” “Because that’s what big sisters do.” “I thought that’s what nurses do?” “I’d like you to help Nurse. Can you do that for
me?” The elf sighed. “Yes.” The duchess took in another shaky breath. “What’s wrong, Mama?” “Nothing’s the matter, squirt. I’m just tired.” “It’s late,” Alice quipped wisely. “It is. I’m sorry Uncle James had to wake you,
but I needed to tell you something . . . I love you, Alice.”

The sprite regarded her mother with suspi
cion. “I love you, too, Mama . . . Are you mad at me?”

“No.” The duchess stroked the little girl’s hair, her lips trembling. “I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry I’ve been so cross with you lately. I didn’t mean it.”

Now
the sprite looked worried.
“Give me a hug and a kiss, squirt.”
Obediently Alice leaned forward and pecked
her mother’s lips.

Her eyes filled with grief, the duchess quickly asked her brother to take the child back to the nursery.

James collected the elf and headed for the door.

He paused.

Evelyn watched as the pirate captain retraced his steps and pressed a kiss to his sister’s brow before he quit the room, moisture glistening in his eyes.

Once the door was sealed, Mirabelle let out a wretched sob and brought her hands to her face to cover her tears.

The immovable duke was pressed to dash across the room, and to the near outrage of the physician, settled beside his wife on the bed and cradled her in his arms.

Evelyn was gripped by a profound sense of injustice. The couple, intertwined in each oth-er’s arms, let loose the sorrow that pervaded the room, leaving Evelyn to gasp and tremble at the horrific sight. Her heart ready to burst, she darted from the room and went straight into Adam’s arms.

Adam embraced the sobbing woman, crushed her against his breast. She trembled in his arms, and he squeezed her tight to banish her suffering.

But he, too, suffered under the desperate cries of the duchess. The haunting howls coming from the bedroom made his heart cramp.

Had Teresa cried with such vehemence during her death?

He shuddered to think so.

“I think I understand my father better,” said Evelyn.

He looked down at the woman in his arms, her cheeks stained with tears. He hated to see her tears, and brushed the drops away.

“I think I understand you better, too,” she said in an unsteady voice.

“Do you?” he rasped.

“Is this how it was when your wife died?”

Slowly he nodded.

Lightning flashed in Adam’s eyes. He was transported to the stormy sea. The black waves swelled, ready to swallow the fiery wreckage of the
Hercules
. He beat his arms against the robust current, screamed for his wife. But he was a poor swimmer. Strength and voice eventually deserted him. The ship slipped beneath the churning wa-ters—he had let her die.

“You still love Tess, don’t you? You always will?”

Yes, he always would . . . but something else stirred in his heart. Like infant foliage breaking through a charred layer of debris after a fire, a tender sentiment bloomed in Adam’s breast. He was disarmed by it, confident for so long that nothing could ever grow in the bareness of his heart. And yet something did.

Evelyn sniffed. “I can’t believe Ella might die.”

“You mean Belle?”

“Yes, of course.” She appeared sheepish. “I was starting to think of her as a sister.”

Adam was all tangled up inside, too. He grieved for his brother, for the duchess. He grieved for his late wife. And then he looked upon the woman in his arms with a sense of hope. Longing, even.

Longing for what?

He was too baffled by the sentiments inside him to think clearly, though. He only prayed his brother wouldn’t have to live through the horror of losing a cherished wife.