Nicole Jordan (13 page)

His hand on my breast was at once soothing and arousing, his skilled fingers stroking my taut nipple, a torment to my sensitized flesh.

A flush of embarrassment stung Aurora’s cheeks at the explicitness of the text. She had promised to read the journal and decide whether it would be appropriate to give to Raven, but she could answer that question with one glimpse.

Nicholas could not have known the scandalous nature of the journal’s content. She herself had never read anything so openly licentious. And yet she couldn’t deny its forbidden allure. The Frenchwoman’s erotic descriptions had a poetic, lyrical quality about them that was at once powerful and fascinating.

Her gaze settled on another passage at random:
His bold touch inflamed my innocent senses, driving me to greater heights of pleasure, kindling the burning need in me.

Nicholas, oh Nicholas.
She closed the cover, unsure she could bear to read something that brought back such tormenting memories.

Wrapping her shawl about her to ward off the dawn chill, Aurora hesitated a long moment before picking up the journal and leaving the cabin.

Above deck, the crew was scurrying over the brig, climbing the rigging and adjusting the innumerable sails. Not wanting to be in the way, Aurora went to stand at the rail.

After the dimness of her cabin, the bright sunrise blurred her vision. Or perhaps it was tears. She could barely see the vast ocean stretching out before her. The brilliant blue-green waters of the Caribbean had become the gray of the Atlantic, while a chill breeze buffeted the ship, making the canvas snap overhead.

Shivering, Aurora wrapped her arms around herself and lifted her face to the wind, glad for the numbing effect.

She stood at the railing for a long while, her heart aching as she remembered Nicholas. He had been so vital, so larger than life—
For mercy’s sake, stop thinking of him!

Somehow she had to force her memories of Nicholas out of her mind. That brief chapter in her life was closed. When she reached England, she would make a fresh start. She would begin a new life for herself, one free of emotional tumult. She would be her own woman, with no domineering father or commanding husband to control her or make her life a misery.

Faith, she should be counting her blessings rather than wallowing in sorrow for a man she hardly knew. Logically she should be grateful their marriage had lasted such a short time. She could never have been comfortable with Nicholas as a husband. His intensity, his passion, his raw virility, were too overwhelming….

Whatever bonds they had formed were physical. Bonds of the flesh, not of the heart. Their marriage had been a purely cold-blooded business contract, nothing more. And she would have to bury his memory with the same cold-blooded detachment.

With renewed determination, Aurora swallowed the ache in her throat and forcibly turned her thoughts to the journal she clutched in her hand. The lady had been captured as a slave but found passion in the arms of a magnificent stranger. What was her tale? How would her story end?

Anxious for the distraction, Aurora found a keg to sit on out of the direct force of the wind. Then, her heart taking up an unsettling rhythm, she opened the jeweled cover to the first page and began to read.

At first glimpse he seemed infinitely dangerous, even barbaric. And yet something in his eyes called to me….

PART II

Dance of Passion

Chapter Seven

London, June 1813

The masquerade was a grand success if the size of the crush was any indication. The ballroom overflowed with shepherdesses and princesses, armored knights and mythological gods. Even the Prince Regent had made an appearance earlier, assuring a triumph for the ball’s hostess, Lady Dalrymple, who was Raven’s aunt.

Behind her satin mask, Aurora kept a watchful eye from the sidelines as her ward moved through the lively steps of a country dance with a Cupid. Raven was dressed as a gypsy and fit the role to perfection, with her flowing ebony hair and bright skirts and gold bangles.

More than one gentleman obviously admired both the costume and its wearer. Standing beside Aurora, the Earl of Clune eyed the vivacious gypsy with interest.

“Your ward appears to be enjoying her success,” Clune remarked. “But I’m surprised her aunt condoned her attendance at a masquerade.”

“There is no harm in it,” Aurora replied mildly. “Lady Dalrymple would never allow any scandalous behavior in her own home. And it would have been cruel to keep Miss Kendrick imprisoned upstairs in her bedchamber and deny her the experience of her first masquerade. Besides, she has made her come-out, and she is older than most debutantes—and decidedly more mature.”

The earl turned to regard Aurora, probing her mask. “It is also surprising to think of you as her guardian. You cannot be much older than she.”

“Two years. And I am more friend than guardian to Raven. I do, however, take my responsibility for her quite seriously.” Aurora returned Clune’s gaze steadily. “If you are thinking of pursuing her, my lord, I feel I must warn you against it. I’m certain you would not suit in the least.”

His rakish smile was all charm. “Indeed. Chaste young debutantes are not my style. I have a decided partiality for lovely young widows, however. If you find yourself in need of consolation, Lady Aurora, I would be delighted to oblige.”

Aurora repressed a smile behind her mask. Jeremy Adair North, nicknamed “Dare” for his outrageous exploits in the bedrooms and ballrooms of Europe, was one of the premier rakes of the beau monde. It was hard to dislike him, no matter how wickedly or scandalously he behaved, for he possessed a seductive charm that was infectious. His wealth and rank also served to excuse his notoriety in the eyes of the ton. In addition to an earldom, he was reportedly soon to become the Marquess of Wolverton, for his grandfather’s health was failing rapidly.

Aurora had known Lord Clune for some years. He’d never paid her the least attention until now, undoubtedly because she was considered fair game in her widowed state. The moment he had spied her across the room, he’d sought to discover the woman behind the mask, claiming that he relished a mystery. He hadn’t stopped quizzing her until she revealed her name.

“Must I remind you I am in mourning, sir?” Aurora asked, deliberately adding an edge of sternness to her tone.

“And yet you are here this evening. It is hardly considered proper to attend a public function so soon after suffering a bereavement.”

“My husband did not wish me to grieve for him. And until tonight I’ve taken care to follow proper conventions of mourning. Even now my deviation is not so egregious. I am not dancing, and I’ve made every effort to conceal my identity. You did not recognize me, you must admit.”

Clune eyed her with amusement. Her costume, consisting of a silver domino and a headdress encrusted with crystal beads, was rather plain compared to the other guests’extravagant attire, and extremely modest, covering her head to toe, while her mask hid all of her face but her mouth and chin.

“On the contrary,” Clune responded in mock offense. “I would never fail to recognize the most alluring beauty in the room.”

Aurora bit back a wry reply. She had no intention of engaging in a flirtation with the most notorious rake in London. She was highly conscious of the need for circumspection, for Raven’s sake, as well as her own, and knew the risk she’d taken in coming here.

“My sole reason for attending tonight,” she explained patiently, “is that Miss Kendrick asked me to provide her support. She does not yet have so many friends that she feels comfortable in society.”

“She is not lacking for admirers now, certainly,” his lordship commented, shifting his gaze to the ballroom floor. “Witness the gaggle of besotted young bucks flocking around her.” The dance had ended, and a laughing Miss Kendrick was completely surrounded by a dozen young gentlemen, all vying for her attention.

Aurora was gratified to see Raven so much sought over. She was fitting in to the British social whirl amazingly well. Indeed, with her vivacity and frank outspokenness, she had earned a reputation as an “original.”

To Aurora’s delight, Raven had proven a joy to befriend. Despite her unconventional beliefs and hoydenish ways, her manners were extremely agreeable, and she could be graceful and poised and articulate when she chose to. She primarily needed to polish her social skills and her understanding of the intricacies of etiquette.

It was her attitude, particularly her tendency toward recklessness, that was most likely to land her in trouble. But she was trying very hard to repress her natural high spirits. Except for her early morning gallops in the park with Aurora—gallops that Aurora admittedly was guilty of encouraging—Raven had made a staunch effort to conform to convention, so that none but the highest sticklers could find fault.

She listened carefully to every utterance Aurora made, for she was adamant about fulfilling her mother’s lifelong wish—making an excellent match by wedding a title and fortune. Having grown up in the limited society of a small Caribbean island, shunned by her haughty relatives because of her conception, Raven was determined to join the elite realm of the British aristocracy that had repudiated her mother.

She might very well reach her goal of having a half dozen offers of marriage by the end of the season, Aurora suspected. It was a coup that earlier this evening Prinny had pronounced Miss Kendrick “charming.”

“A pity you must refrain from dancing,” Clune mused aloud. “But I suppose you cannot afford the slightest indiscretion after your disastrous marriage.” When Aurora sent him a sharp glance, he smiled lazily. “I say that in jest. Doubtless I’m one of few people who don’t consider it shocking that you wed a notorious American. I remember Nicholas Sabine from his visit here a few years ago—quite an impressive man. The first and only Yank to be welcomed as an honorary member of the Hellfire League.”

Clune was the nominal leader of the club of wicked rakes called the Hellfire League. He, along with Nicholas’s English cousin, the Earl of Wycliff, had been the subject of sensational gossip for years, and deservedly so.

“I remember being green with envy,” Clune admitted, “listening to Sabine tell about his adventures…. Exploring foreign lands, searching for hidden treasure, battling bandits…He once narrowly escaped being skewered by an angry warlord’s scimitar on the Barbary Coast, were you aware?”

“I hardly find that cause for envy,” Aurora replied dryly.

“Perhaps not, but his courage was admirable. To hear Wycliff tell it, your Nick was a hero countless times over. In India once, he tracked down a man-eating tiger that had been preying on villagers for months. Took the animal down with one shot. They renamed the village after him.”

Wycliff had told her similar tales about her husband’s exploits. Nicholas reportedly had once saved the life of a Russian prince while hunting wolves. When the nobleman’s troika went through the ice into a lake, Nicholas had pulled him out and carried him more than a mile to shelter. He’d been rewarded with enough priceless jewels to ensure a luxurious life for years—which, added to the fabulous pirate treasure he’d discovered beneath the Caribbean in his youth, had made him a wealthy man long before he assumed control of the Sabine shipping empire.

Aurora felt her gaze blur momentarily at the bittersweet thought of Nicholas. Without question, he had often risked his life simply for the thrill of it, but he had also saved a number of lives in the process. It was one of the reasons she felt such guilt over his death; she’d done nothing to save him until it was too late. If only she had insisted on speaking with the governor sooner…If only…But it did no good to dwell on the past.

And she preferred to remember Nicholas as the tender lover he had been on their wedding night, rather than the reckless, dangerous man she knew he was at heart.

“I understand,” Clune observed, “your father was not overjoyed that you wed during your sojourn in the Caribbean.”

“No,” Aurora murmured. The ton had been scandalized by her marriage, as expected. Even for a duke’s daughter, it was anathema to marry a brazen pirate who’d met an ignominious end on the gallows. But her father had been
livid
at her transgression, lashing out at her in a convulsive fury that had left her shaken—although publicly he’d maintained a chill pretense of indifference, unwilling to add more fuel to the sensational fire her highly improper marriage had caused.

Thankfully his vow to cut her off without a shilling had had no teeth, since her marriage settlement had made her quite wealthy. Nicholas’s cousin, Lucian Tremayne, Lord Wycliff, had attended to the complex financial details at once—when he could have made it extremely difficult for her to secure any part of her claim to her late husband’s fortune. Then, when she was treated with disdain by certain high-browed members of the ton, Wycliff had entered the fray, proving her strongest defender and providing her the protection of his exalted name and position, warmly welcoming his American cousin’s bride into his family.

Her path was far smoother after that, for few people would dare slight a man of Wycliff’s consequence.

For the most part, however, her acquaintances had stood by her. She was still received except in the most rigid of circles. Her closest friends called upon her at her new home with regular frequency, allaying her loneliness. And in some respects, ironically, she had become more of a matrimonial prize than before. A wealthy widow who needed consoling was prime game for fortune hunters—or rakes, Aurora thought with a glance at the handsome, licentious, fair-haired lord standing solicitously beside her.