Nicole Jordan (40 page)

Nicholas shrugged. “I can’t say I would rather you hadn’t found him. I don’t really wish the man dead.”

“But you would prefer he had stayed away for a while longer?”

He smiled grimly. “A few more days would have been enough. A week at most.”

Lucian took a sip of brandy as he contemplated his cousin. “She is your wife, Nick. You have the right to demand that she live with you.”

“It isn’t nearly that simple.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because I don’t want an unwilling wife. What joy would I find in our union if Aurora found only unhappiness? She saved my life, Luce. How can I repay her kindness by compelling her to live with me? No, the decision has to be hers.”

“Your persuasive skills are better than any I’ve ever seen, including mine. If you want her, why don’t you simply convince her that she wants you for her husband?”

“What the devil do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past month?”

“There is always abduction,” Lucian suggested lightly. “That would buy you more time, at least.”

“That isn’t an option. I would be a fool to resort to physical force. It would only remind Aurora of her bastard of a father.”

Pursing his lips, Lucian shook his head in feigned amazement. “What has happened to you, cuz? Did your near brush with death affect your mind? The Nicholas Sabine I know would never have refrained from even drastic action to get what he wanted.”

A muscle flexed in Nick’s jaw. “This isn’t some game to be won, with Aurora the prize. I once thought so, but that was before I knew her.”

“I suppose you fell in love.”

“Yes. I fell in love,” Nicholas said quietly.
With a woman whose heart was already taken.
His frustration surging anew, he went to stare out the window again.

There was a long silence while Lucian digested that intelligence. “So you will now just let her go?”

“I may have to,” Nick replied grimly. “If she loves March and wants to be with him…”

“I can’t imagine that you would simply allow her to choose another man over you.”

“Laugh if you will, Luce, but her happiness means more to me than my own. I know that’s hard for you to grasp, since you’ve never been in love—”

“I am not laughing, I assure you,” Lucian said with surprising solemnity. “I’ve never had the misfortune of experiencing that malady, but I can understand its effects. To be truthful, I was considering entering the fickle lists of love myself. I’ve been thinking of taking a wife.”

“You? The elusive Lord Wycliff?” Glancing over his shoulder, Nicholas eyed his cousin with skepticism. Lucian was the most sought after bachelor in the country, with the kind of titled wealth and striking good looks that made debutantes swoon. Matchmaking mamas had been laying traps for him for years—and he had avoided them all expertly. “Do I know the lady?”

“No. I haven’t chosen her yet.”

“But you’re prepared to shackle yourself to a bride?”

“It isn’t the bride that interests me. I just thought it time I sired myself an heir.”

This time Nicholas really did stare.

Lucian grinned his charming half smile. “Don’t look as if I’ve suddenly sprouted antlers. I am not particularly fond of my relatives, other than you and Brandon. If I die, I would like to leave some sort of legacy behind. The thought of having a son—my own flesh and blood—has lately been growing in appeal.”

“If you die, Luce?” Nicholas said slowly. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

Lucian’s eyes grew hooded. “I had a…fateful experience recently. A glimpse of my own mortality. It’s surprising how an incident like that makes you reassess your priorities in life.”

“It’s not surprising in the least,” Nicholas said grimly. “In fact, it’s quite common. What happened?”

Lucian remained deep in thought for a moment, as if recalling a dark memory. Nick wasn’t certain what his cousin would have replied, for just then the earl’s majordomo appeared to announce a visitor. “Lord Clune to see Mr. Deverill, my lord.”

Lucian glanced at Nicholas, who nodded. “Show him here, if you please,” his lordship commanded.

Lord Clune greeted both men with an affable smile. “Isn’t it a bit early for tippling?”

“We are toasting Nick’s return from the dead,” Lucian replied mildly.

“I will happily drink to that.” Clune glanced at the crystal snifter in Lucian’s hand. “Your prime stock, I trust?”

“Of course.” Lucian gestured toward the decanter on the side table. “Help yourself. So what brings you here, Dare?”

“An interesting encounter at my club,” he said, pouring himself a glass. “With an enemy of yours, Nick.”

Turning from the window, Nicholas leaned against the frame, giving his friend his full attention. “Which one?”

Clune smiled. “You have so many that you need ask? Captain Richard Gerrod of His Majesty’s navy.”

Nicholas felt himself scowl.

“Gerrod?” Lucian repeated thoughtfully. “I seem to recall that someone named Gerrod left his card here yesterday when I was out. Do I know him?”

“He is the overeager patriot who captured Nick and sentenced him to hang for piracy. Gerrod is in London, and he is clearly after blood. Your blood, Nick. Reportedly when he learned of your escape from the hangman, he was livid.”

“How ill-mannered of me to disappoint him,” Nicholas replied sardonically.

“This is hardly the moment for levity,” Clune commented coolly. “Gerrod considers you gallows bait and is quite anxious to remedy the mistake that was made in letting you slip away. Actually, he was making inquiries about your American cousin Deverill. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he suspects your impersonation.”

“What if he does?”

“Then it makes your situation doubly precarious. I would play least in sight, if I were you. In fact, this might be an excellent time to take yourself back to the Colonies.”

“Or it might be a good time to pay the zealous captain a visit.”

“You cannot be serious,” Clune said with a frown.

A muscle hardened in Nick’s jaw, while a grim smile curved his lips.

“Devil take it, I know that look,” Lucian observed. “You’re spoiling for a fight, Nick—and I cannot blame you. But in this case, I agree with Dare. The odds are too much against you. It would be far wiser to relinquish your desire for retribution and get yourself safely away. There may come a point in the future when you can confront Gerrod, but on your own turf.”

“Perhaps.” Grimly Nicholas turned back to the window, the tension in his muscles screaming for release. He would indeed relish the exultation of a physical fight and the chance to lock horns again with Gerrod. But his cousin was right, Nick knew. It would be suicidal to act now with the entire British navy against him. There were smarter ways to fight his battle with Gerrod.

It was the battle for Aurora’s heart that he didn’t dare lose.

Nicholas locked his jaw against the cold wave of dread that swept through him. By rights he should be alarmed by the news of Gerrod’s blood quest. But the captain wasn’t the cause of the cloying fear in his chest.

What terrified him was Aurora and the choice she intended to make in husbands.

Chapter Twenty-three

Her reflections bleak, Aurora entered her bedchamber to find the lamps had strangely been dimmed.
Nicholas.
She came to an abrupt halt, her heart leaping as she felt his presence.

“Oh, my lady, ’tis very dark here,” her maid said from behind her.

“It’s all right, Nell…I have changed my mind. I don’t wish to prepare for bed just yet. I think I would prefer to sit quietly for a moment.”

“Very well, my lady. Shall I turn up the lamp?”

“No, thank you. Please, seek your own bed. I won’t require you this evening.”

The maidservant curtsied and withdrew. Carefully bolting the door, Aurora turned around, her eyes searching the dim room. Nicholas sat in the shadows in the far corner, watching her.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, wondering for the thousandth time how she would ever tell him of her decision.

“So you spoke to him,” he said finally, breaking the tense silence.

Slowly she nodded, struggling against the flood of tightness that closed around her throat. “Yes. Geoffrey still wants me for his wife.”

For the span of several heartbeats, Nicholas made no reply. He simply watched her, his eyes dark and intense.

“I can’t leave him, Nicholas. He has been hurt enough.”

His voice was low and flat when he ventured to speak. “You want to sever our marriage.”

“I…I have no choice. I cannot hurt him more than he has already been hurt. He has lost his arm, Nicholas. Can you imagine what it would be like to suffer such a fate? Geoffrey needs me to stand by him.”

Time pulsed between them, dark and endless.

“What about your needs, Aurora?” Nicholas asked at last. “What of mine?”

Aurora shook her head. “My needs can’t be allowed to matter. As for yours…You are far stronger than Geoffrey is.”

Nicholas gave a mirthless laugh.

“I have known Geoffrey all my life, Nicholas,” she said pleadingly, trying to make him understand. “He is part of my past…part of me…”

“And you love him.” The words were stark, bleak.

She lowered her gaze. “I cannot abandon him. Can you not see that?”

“I see that you’re trying to protect him. You’re set on protecting everyone but yourself.”

Hearing the sudden harshness of his tone, Aurora wrapped her arms around herself, as if to defend herself against his recriminations.

After a moment Nicholas drew a slow breath. “What do you want me to do?”

“I…I want you to try and seek an annulment.”

He was silent and completely still. She moved closer, searching his expression in the shadows. He stared back at her, his face torn with a raw and agonizing emotion that mirrored her own.

“Very well,” he said finally. “I’ll try.”

“You will try?”

“To have our marriage annulled. So you can be free to wed your true love.”

She had expected fierce resistance, not this quiet resignation. Perhaps he didn’t love her as much as he’d claimed. Despair coursed through Aurora at the thought.

“You will forget me in time, Nicholas,” she said, aching. “You will find someone who can be the wife you want.”

“You think so?”

He lunged to his feet suddenly, no longer resigned. Covering the short distance between them, he reached for her, his hands closing on her shoulders. His velvet grasp was inescapable as he held her in a soft, dangerous embrace. “You think I could ever forget you, sweetheart? That I could forget what we shared?”

“It was just passion….”

“
No.
It was far more.” His eyes blazed. “I love you, Aurora. Understand that. Taste it, breathe it…”

Without warning his mouth came down on hers. His kiss was fierce, demanding, harsh, as if to punish her. She was struggling for breath before he finally ended it.

When he drew back, the dark hunger in his eyes held a power and starkness that both frightened and compelled her.

She read the intent there, even before he swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed, letting her down none too gently.

Aurora tried to sit up but found herself pinned by his strong body. “Nicholas…we can’t do this.”

“We
can
.” His whisper was wild and low. “You need to remember what you are giving up.”

Flattening his hand alongside her head, he held himself above her, staring down. His eyes were ablaze with angry fire, consuming fire. The gentleness she knew in him was gone.

“Can your precious Geoffrey make you feel what I do?” he demanded. Deliberately he reached beneath her skirts and swept his palm along her bare thigh. “Can he set your blood on fire with just a touch? Can he make your nipples tighten, your skin flush? Can he make you grow wet…like this…?”

He found the center of her desire, hot and throbbing. When he slid his finger into her, she gasped, straining against him.

It was all the invitation Nicholas needed. His eyes were fierce, naked in intent, as he fumbled with the buttons of his breeches.

“Nicholas…”

He kissed her again, to silence her protest. He had to make her feel the desire raking through his body, his fierce need.

He couldn’t have anticipated the explosion of passion he unleashed from her. She gripped his head, her hands clutching his hair as she tried to draw his mouth closer, his tongue deeper.

When she frantically welcomed his devouring kiss, he shoved her skirts to her waist and moved over her. He could feel the pulse of fire lash through her as he sank into her, hard, deep, claiming her in a savage stroke of hunger.

It was like sliding into fire. She arched wildly beneath him and moaned into his mouth, a panicky, anguished sound of need. A sound that would haunt him forever.

Shuddering, he drove into her, feverish with intensity. She came almost at once, convulsing in his arms with a wild cry. Aurora sobbed his name as with one last strong plunge the peak burst on him, helplessly, savagely.

In the heated aftermath, the tortured sounds of their breathing filled the quiet room. Nicholas lay buried inside her, wondering if she could feel the desperation pulsing in hot waves through his body. He pressed his face into her shoulder, fighting the wildness inside him, the violent yearning.

Finally he lifted his head. “Don’t do this, Aurora,” he whispered, his voice raw and cracked.

Stirring, she opened her eyes to gaze back at him in agony. “I…have no choice.”

He could see the torment in her eyes. She truly believed she was making the right decision. And perhaps she was.

He looked at her, aching and empty. He had lost.

Nicholas closed his eyes on the anguish and helplessness inside him. A man couldn’t force love. He couldn’t command a heart’s surrender by sheer force of will.

Not trusting himself to speak, he rose from the bed and adjusted his clothing.