She stood up abruptly, uncomfortable with the intimate turn of the conversation. "That reminds me. You entrusted me with another mission…"
She went to her dressing table and drew out the jewel-encrusted journal, which was carefully wrapped in oilcloth. "Raven's mother left this for you. It is the book your father gave her."
When she handed the package to Nicholas, he opened it curiously. "An expensive gift, obviously," he murmured.
"So it would seem – and rather old."
"What is it about?"
"It is a journal, written by a Frenchwoman who was enslaved in a Turkish pasha's harem."
After reading the title, Nicholas thumbed through a few pages, then shot Aurora a glance. "You've read this?"
"Yes." She felt herself blushing again. "I wanted to see if it was appropriate for Raven. It most certainly is not."
"I would say not," he observed, giving her a long, vaguely amused look. "I doubt your upbringing prepared you for anything this erotic, either."
"Of course it didn't," Aurora replied. She had been shocked by the explicitness and sensual detail of the journal… and yet captivated at the same time. Against her better judgement, her breeding, even her will, she had found herself drawn into the beautiful, erotic recounting of the Frenchwoman's love affair with her master, a tale of smoldering passion, so vividly told. She had actually read the journal more than once. She knew some passages by heart, although she had no intention of admitting it to Nicholas.
"Now that you are here," she told him, "I can turn it over to you. You can be the one to decide when Raven is old enough to have it."
"I look forward to reading it with great anticipation. Now, where were we in our discussion?"
"We had concluded our discussion."
"Not quite," Nicholas said. "Before you changed the subject, I was remarking on your passionate nature, you will recollect. I was saying that I don't imagine you'll be happy remaining celibate your entire life."
Her discomfort returned in full measure, as did her vexation with Nicholas. A discussion of such private issues was wholly out of bounds, despite his apparent belief that he had a right to such intimacy.
Aurora gave him her coolest glance. "I believe that is entirely my concern, Nicholas. I also believe that I have discharged my promise to you, and that we have said all there is to say. It is time now for you to go."
"Not yet."
She tensed. "What do you mean, not yet?"
"Before you take a vow of celibacy, you should consider what you are rejecting. Come here, Aurora."
Her look turned wary. "Why?"
"Because I want to kiss you."
"You must be jesting."
"Not at all. We started off on the wrong foot last night, with my reproaching you for forgetting your widowhood. I would like to make up for it."
Nervously Aurora backed up a step. "There is no need for you to do anything but leave, Nicholas. Immediately. You have no right to be here – "
"Actually, I do. I am your husband. The law gives a husband the right to share his wife's bed."
"You are not my husband. In the eyes of the world, I was widowed four months ago."
"Need I remind you how curious your servants would be to find me here?" His half smile irked her almost as much as his veiled threat. "I have only to call out and they will come running."
"You wouldn't dare. You would never risk exposing your identity."
His eyebrow lifted, as if to ask whether she wanted to test her theory.
Resolving to call his bluff, Aurora put her hands on her hips in defiance. "Now that I think of it, I could report you to any number of governmental authorities. I expect the navy would be eager to recapture an escaped pirate."
A gleam lit his dark eyes. "I don't think you will turn me in. You don't want to see my neck stretched on the gallows."
Her frustration reached the boiling point. What she wanted was to wipe that knowing look off Nicholas's handsome face. It was utterly underhanded to use her concern for him as leverage to force her to do as he wished.
She couldn't possibly expose him, though. Not only because she was desperate to avoid the scandal that would ensue if he was found in her bedchamber, but because she couldn't bear to see any harm come to Nicholas. She nearly stamped her foot in vexation.
"You know very well I cannot denounce you," she finally muttered. "I don't want your death on my conscience."
"I knew you were a compassionate woman."
"Well, I thought you were a gentleman," Aurora retorted, infuriated by his reckless, irresistible charm.
"I am a gentleman."
"You most certainly are not. A gentleman would honor his promise."
"Which promise was that?" Nicholas asked, a lazy fire in his eyes. "The one regarding our union, where I pledged to love and cherish my bride?"
"The one where we agreed to one night of marriage."
"One night wasn't enough," he said softly.
"It will have to be. I don't intend to play the wanton with you."
Nicholas held out his hand. "Come here and kiss me, Aurora, before I decide to raise my voice."
She glared at him. "This is blackmail!"
"So it is."
"You are despicable."
"And you are as beautiful as I remember… more so, since the sadness in your eyes is gone. Come here. I won't claim my marital rights. I only want a kiss."
The velvet edge in his voice didn't reassure her in the least. Yet he might very well reveal his presence to her servants unless she did as he wanted. "One kiss, and then you will go?"
"If you insist."
"You swear it?"
"Unequivocally."
Every muscle in her body stiff, Aurora unwillingly complied. When she moved to stand beside the bed, however, Nicholas made no attempt to kiss her. Instead he took her hand.
Gazing up at her, he drew her forefinger completely into his mouth and suckled. A treacherous heat radiated suddenly from the pit of Aurora's stomach, and she had to stifle a gasp.
"You said one kiss," she said through clenched teeth.
"You can't deny the pleasure you feel," he murmured. "Your heart is beating much too rapidly for you to claim disinterest."
"Will you please just get on with it?"
"So impatient," Nicholas replied lightly.
He drew her down and pressed her back upon the bed, then eased his body over hers. She could feel the strength of him against her – the powerful granite of his thighs, the flat, hard belly, the muscles rippling in his chest and shoulders.
He remained that way for a long moment, gazing down into her eyes, his fingers cradling her cheek.
"Well?" Aurora demanded breathlessly, trying to ignore the temptation of his beautiful mouth.
"Sheathe your claws, siren. I only want to remind you of what you would be missing… the pleasure to be found in my arms," he whispered before his lips lowered to cover hers.
Chapter Ten
The strength of his desire alarmed me. Yet I was more frightened of myself, of the fierce desire he stirred within me .
Hunger ran rampant through Nicholas as he drank of Aurora's trembling mouth. Her lips were incredibly soft, her warmth feeding his senses like flame.
When she stirred restlessly beneath him, his hand closed in the silk of her hair, holding her still for his kiss, his tongue thrusting slow and deep, penetrating in a blatant imitation of what he yearned to do between her thighs.
In only moments, she was pressing against his fully aroused body, her hips rocking against his, seeking his hardness. He felt a surge of triumph at her helpless response. When she moaned softly, Nicholas shuddered, so swollen with need he felt near to bursting.
Yet he was the one who broke off the kiss. In an agony of desire, he rolled over onto his back, breathing harshly. He had vastly overestimated his control, he knew that now.
Draping an arm over his forehead, Nick sucked in a deep breath. He was still aching, his hardened shaf
t cramping beneath his breeches. But he didn't dare continue kissing Aurora. It had been a mistake even to touch her.
Beside him, she unsteadily rose up on her elbow, her hair sliding over her shoulders in an untamed fall of pale gold. She looked shaky, uncertain, as she gazed at him with wonder and concern in her wide blue eyes. She'd felt the same powerful forces that he had, he knew. The pure carnal desire. The raw, primal need that still throbbed through him. The intense, heart-wrenching feeling of intimacy that he'd never experienced with any other woman.
Oh, yes, the bond between them was very real.
"You can't pretend," he murmured, his voice edged with hoarseness, "that there is nothing between us."
"That… was only lust."
"Four months is indeed a long time for a man to be without a woman," he said wryly. "But I've endured longer abstinences. And my lust doesn't explain your response, dearheart. Come now, admit it. You wanted more than a kiss from me."
Her hand rose to her lips, still lush and wet from his kiss, and another fierce ache surged through Nicholas. The temptation to take her was so great, he had to lock his jaw against the yearning inside him.
He had best leave, before his resistance shattered, before he gathered Aurora in his arms and ravished her till they were both too exhausted to care about such matters as scandal and mortal danger.
Untangling himself, Nick rose and began to dress, aware that she was watching him warily.
"You really are leaving?" Aurora asked finally as he shrugged into his tunic.
"I said I would."
Evidently she didn't trust him to keep his word about settling for merely a kiss. And she clearly was still troubled about their situation.
"But what about our marriage, Nicholas? You do agree that we should not try to carry on as husband and wife? That we should live separate lives?"
Now wasn't at all a good time to admit he intended to claim her for his wife. "That does seem the best option at the moment."
He could almost sense her relief. His response evidently emboldened her to remark further.
"I do wish you would reconsider remaining in England and return home."
"My business here isn't yet concluded," Nicholas replied – not really a lie; Aurora was his business. He started to tie his costume's sash around his waist, but changed his mind. "I will, however, leave my sash and saber in your keeping. A pirate wandering the streets might arouse suspicion."
"It might indeed," Aurora replied with a renewed tartness. "You are bound to be discovered if you insist on this mad impersonation."
He flashed her a bold grin and finished dressing. When he had flung his cloak around his shoulders, tying the cords loosely at his throat, she was still regarding him with disapproval.
Nicholas hesitated. This was the first time in his life he could remember leaving a woman's bed without first finding satisfaction – or fully giving it. And this woman was his wife. With her sleep-tousled hair and passion-bruised lips, Aurora was so beautiful it made him ache.
He couldn't help himself. Returning to the bed, he took her face in his hands and kissed her hard.
"Nicholas!" she exclaimed breathlessly, drawing back. "You promised you would leave!"
"Lower your voice, love, or the servants will hear," he warned. "That was only a farewell kiss. It might be days before we even speak again."
He picked up the journal and tucked it inside the pocket of his cloak. Going to the window then, he eased himself up to sit on the sill and swung his legs over.
With one last, lingering look, he disappeared.
Aurora fell back on the bed, relief flooding her, her heart still beating violently from his kiss, her body throbbing with the restless yearning he'd kindled in her.
It frightened her, the tumult of emotions Nicholas aroused in her so effortlessly: exasperation, anger, exhilaration, desire…
He was not the kind of man for which a woman could hope to maintain indifference. He was unpredictable, bold, threatening. The kind of man who would overwhelm a woman with passion, with desire, with need. Who would command her heart as well as her body.
He demanded my surrender, body and soul.
Aurora shuddered, remembering the passage from the journal that so perfectly described the danger the Frenchwoman had been forced to face. Desiree had become a captive in more than physical terms; against her will she had lost her heart to her strong, vital, compelling prince.
Nicholas was just as compelling, just as dangerous as the journal's prince. His touch as sensual and magical.
Aurora's hand rose to her breast, the burning memory of his caresses still vivid in her mind. She was so very vulnerable to him. As her husband, Nicholas had the right to such intimacies, and more. Yet she didn't dare give him any further chance to take the brazen liberties he had last night. She couldn't afford even to allow him near her. She could no longer trust him. More damning, she could no longer trust herself.
When they had wed, she'd thought Nicholas an honorable man, but he obviously had no qualms about subterfuge or deception – evidenced by his previous ruse where he'd fabricated his burial, or his current fraud, assuming his cousin's identity. And he had stolen into her room and conducted an intimate, sensual assault on her while she slept…
A traitorous heat flushed her body at the remembrance, along with renewed anger at his gall.
She had countless reasons to be angry with Nicholas. Not only did he lack scruples, not only was he recklessly endangering his life and courting scandal, but he was acting as if he owned her – and using threats and extortion to gain his way.
Having lived with her father's black temper for so long, she deplored such violent emotions as anger, but in Nicholas's case, she welcomed it, indeed wanted to nurture it. As long as she could sustain that dark sentiment, she could hold any softer feelings for him at bay.
At least she had persuaded him to give up claiming her as his wife. Yet she couldn't congratulate herself. Even though he'd agreed they would maintain separate lives, she was certain she hadn't seen the last of Nicholas Sabine.
The hour was still early when Nicholas reached the mews near Lady Dalrymple's house, where the cream of Mayfair's pleasure and carriage horses were stabled. The cobblestone yard of the livery was bustling – lads grooming and saddling mounts and ostlers harnessing curricles for morning jaunts.
Nick had arranged to meet his sister there, but while he saw no sign of Raven, he soon caught sight of the Irish stablehand who had accompanied her from the Caribbean. O'Malley was leading out a large ebony Thoroughbred and a stockier groom's mount, both saddled for riding.
Intent on testing his disguise, Nicholas paused beside the Irishman. "I would like to hire an equipage for a few weeks," he remarked casually, "and perhaps a hack as well. Can you direct me to the proprietor?"
O'Malley, a hulking, gray-haired brute of a fellow, gave Nicholas a cursory glance. Evidently seeing a gentleman, he tipped his hat politely. "You'll be wanting Mr. Dobbs in that case, sir. You'll find him in the office at the end of the next aisle."
"Thank you." Nicholas hesitated, studying the black horse. "Magnificent animal. Your mistress always did have an eye for good horseflesh."
His gray head snapping up, O'Malley stared at him hard. "‘Tis a ghost I'm seeing, I'll be thinking," he said slowly.
Nick's mouth crooked in a smile. "No ghost, O'Malley. I bear a resemblance to a certain American pirate who wasn't hanged after all."
The look of amazement on his ruddy face turned to one of delight. "Well, I'll be a bleedin‘ – " He broke off with a sheepish grin. "Beg pardon, guv'nor. I never would have known you with your hair so dark."
"That is precisely my intention," Nicholas said. "I am here in England as Sabine's cousin from Boston, Mr. Brandon Deverill. I calculate that if I can slip by you with your keen eye, I should be able to fool anyone else who might have an acquaintance with me."
"Ah… I see. If you say so, sir. Does Miss Raven know the happy news?"
Always a clever man, O'Malley understood at once the need for discretion. "I'll be taking Satan back to his stall then, if it pleases you, sir. You can talk there, like you're looking him over for purchase."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow at the horse, who was standing docilely and mouthing the bit. "Satan?"
"He's a handful, aye, but for Miss Raven, he's a lamb. He belongs to Lady Aurora." At Nick's skeptical look, the Irishman grinned. "‘Tis true. Her ladyship prefers a bit of the devil in her horseflesh, too. And she's as fine a horsewoman as I've ever seen."
Nicholas digested that statement with surprise: the compliment was high praise coming from a man like O'Malley, who had practically been born on horseback.
"Lady Aurora," O'Malley added, "chose this fellow for Miss Raven when her aunt wanted to mount her on a plodder. Satan right snorted fire when she first tried him, but you know her. Never was a horse Miss Raven couldn't tame. The London gentlemen are the same way."
"So I understand," Nicholas said with wry amusement.
" ‘Tis working just the way she planned – and the way her guardian, Mr. Sabine, wanted."
"Thank you for watching over her so well, O'Malley. I'm certain you have Sabine's undying gratitude."
The Irishman gave a hearty laugh. "Well, you should know, you being his cousin and all. If you'll please to come with me, sir…" He tugged on his cap again and led the horses back to their stalls.
O'Malley made Raven an estimable protector, Nicholas reflected as he followed. His fears regarding her welfare had diminished greatly after seeing how ably the Irishman and Aurora were caring for her.
Raven made an appearance in only a few moments. A trifle breathless, she entered the stall and, without pausing, threw her arms around Nick's neck in a strangling hug.
"No need to choke me, pet," he said, laughing as he pried himself from her grasp.
"It is either that or shoot you," Raven retorted. When she drew back, however, her blue eyes were sparkling. "You do deserve to be shot, Nicholas. You have no conception of how I grieved for you – and Aurora, too. I've lived with such guilt, believing I got you killed. Why did you never send us word?"
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