"The Passion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jordan Nicole)

PART II Dance of Passion

Chapter Seven

Against my will, he haunted my dreams.

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 dune'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."

Chine 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," Chine 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," Chine 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.

"I imagine," Clune commented obliquely, "there were others besides your father who didn't welcome the news of your marriage." He gestured along the sidelines toward a tall, stately gentleman dressed as Henry VIII. The Duke of Halford stood there stiffly, eyeing the crowd with his quizzing glass in apparent disapproval of the gaiety. "His grace would not have appreciated your jilting him."

"But I did not jilt him," Aurora replied.

"No? Rumor has it that you were to wed Halford."

"My father favored the match, but we were not betrothed."

"Still, a man as proud as Halford would have taken your sudden marriage as an insult."

"Actually, he was rather understanding," Aurora said, greatly shading the truth, "when I confessed that I fell hopelessly in love with my husband."

"Well," Clune remarked with a sardonic smile, "his grace has evidently given up pursuing you if he's here looking over the season's crop of debs. You are fortunate to have escaped, in my not so humble opinion."

Aurora could not agree more, although it would have been impolite to say so. She shuddered to think what her life would have been like as Halford's duchess, being forced to follow his counsel and accept his dictates.

When they met upon occasion now, Halford treated her with frosty politeness. For Raven's sake, though, Aurora swallowed her dislike and tried to remain cordial. There was no point in antagonizing him further or making an outright enemy of a nobleman who was a respected figure in the ton.

"Yes, a fortunate escape," Clune added with uncustomary seriousness, "yet you are not so fortunate in love apparently. It is regretful that two of your betrothals should end so unhappily."

Aurora swallowed the sudden ache in her throat and merely nodded. It hurt to remember losing both Geoffrey and Nicholas.

"You must be lonely, with no one to console you. I could easily remedy that, my sweet. I understand Wycliff's to be away on business for some time. Doubtless Lucian would wish me to look out for you in his absence."

"You are too kind, my lord," she murmured wryly. "But there is no need for you to concern yourself with my welfare – or to remain at my side all evening. You should be dancing yourself."

One elegant eyebrow arched. "Do I detect a dismissal, Lady Aurora? I am wounded."

She smiled, doubting she had hurt the practiced libertine in the least. "Surely you realize my dilemma, my lord. It will only arouse comment for me to be seen in your company."

"Very well. I am astute enough to take a hint. I shall look for you on your morning rides in the park, then." With an engaging smile, Clune gave her an elegant bow and turned away in search of more willing prey.

As she watched him go, Aurora found herself reflecting on his comments about her marriage. It was true that most of society thought she had ruined her life. Perhaps her action had been socially disastrous, but she couldn't regret wedding Nicholas Sabine. No matter how gravely he had jolted her life, he had given her a means for independence that she cherished, one she could never have hoped to attain on her own.

And he had changed her in intangible ways as well – more than she would have thought possible after such a fleeting acquaintance. She had never been the daring sort, except perhaps on horseback. Rather she was sensible and proper, suitably conscious of the duty owed her rank and family name.

Yet since her experience with Nicholas, she had become less patient with society's shallow strictures and rigid rules, less willing to be governed by others' expectations. Tonight was a prime example. Before her marriage, she would never have attended a masquerade while in deep mourning, even in disguise.

There was something liberating about thumbing her nose at convention, albeit from behind a mask. And social prestige seemed so unimportant now compared to the life-and-death issues she had faced a few short months ago. While once she had been a respected figure in society, she didn't much lament her loss of stature.

She was now Lady Aurora Sabine. She had kept her title, since it accorded her a certain deference, but she had set up her own household in a small but elegant residence in Mayfair. Raven was staying at her Aunt Dalrymple's town house for the Season, although come summer she would remove to the country to spend time with her grandfather, who was something of a recluse.

Aurora treasured the freedom her own establishment gave her, even if she was ordinarily confined to its small boundaries. Except for her obligation to guide Raven in society, she lived quietly as a bereaved widow. She rode early in the morning when only the most avid horsemen were about, rather than at the fashionable hour of five when the park was crowded with the cream of the ton. When she accompanied her ward shopping – Raven had required an entire new wardrobe to make her come-out – she wore black and kept her face veiled to honor her husband's memory.

Her display of mourning, however, wasn't all pretense. She wanted to accord Nicholas the respect due a beloved husband. She couldn't forget the tender lover who had swept her into unexpected ecstasy and made her a woman, or deny her gratitude for saving her from an unbearable marriage and from her father's dictatorial rule.

Escaping her father's anger and iron control had felt like a heavy yoke being lifted from her shoulders. She was so very grateful for her liberation. Truthfully, she hadn't realized how badly she craved freedom until she'd tasted it. And now that she had, she would never again allow herself to be so thoroughly dominated by any man. She owed Nicholas for that realization and for her newfound strength.

The Frenchwoman's journal, too, had influenced her indefinably. She was no longer the virginal innocent she'd been on her wedding night. The journal had taught her much about the mysteries of passion and helped her to understand the powerful feelings Nicholas Sabine had aroused in her so effortlessly.

For a moment as she remembered him, a poignant ache tightened her throat. It had been four months since Nicholas's death. Four months that she had tried to put him out of her mind. Thoughts of him would intrude at odd times, but each day it was becoming easier to bury her sorrow. Sometimes long hours went by when she didn't think of him at all.

It was the nights when he haunted her dreams…

Aurora squared her shoulders. She would not allow herself to be tormented by memories. She had vowed to make a new future for herself, and she would not look back.

Her life was on an even course now. There was no turmoil, no grief, no dread. No strife stemming from disputes with her father or his violent rages.

She couldn't remember when she had last felt such equanimity. She was content, even happy now. A quiet, uneventful, peaceful existence held a vast appeal after the upheavals in her past.

She did not have to answer to anyone but herself now. She alone was in control of her fate. Finally, finally her life was her own. And that was precisely how she wanted it.

It was perhaps an hour later when Aurora lost track of Raven. Searching the crowd, she finally spied her charge across the ballroom.

Raven was not dancing but stood on the sidelines, conversing with a swashbuckling pirate who sported an eye patch and a sword hanging from his waist sash. Her face was flushed with excitement, and she was laughing and talking animatedly.

Aurora felt her heart catch when she saw the pirate. She didn't actually recognize him, but the sense of familiarity was uncanny. He had the lithe, athletic form of her late husband – the same broad shoulders and narrow hips and long, sinewed limbs. The same aura of danger, of vitality. When he laughed in amusement at something Raven said, his teeth flashed white against his bronzed complexion.

His coloring was quite different from Nicholas's, however. His hair, half hidden by a rakish headscarf, was ebony instead of dark gold.

Aurora raised a hand to her brow. Her mind was playing tricks on her, obviously. Her tender remembrance of Nicholas was making her imagine his ghostly presence.

Just then Raven glanced over her shoulder, as if searching for Aurora. The pirate turned his head slowly, and their gazes locked.

Aurora felt the color drain from her face. For an instant, time ceased to exist, and she was back again in her marriage bed with Nicholas, drowning in his dark, fathomless gaze.

With a whispered oath, Aurora turned and fled.

She found herself in the library, where a lamp had been lit to chase away the gloom. Dizzily she moved toward the sofa and leaned against the high back. Her face felt flushed with perspiration, her pulse erratic.

Pulling off her mask, Aurora bit her lip hard, wondering if she was going mad. She had been unable to forget Nicholas, but she had never before so vividly conjured his image -

"Aurora." The low murmur came from behind her.

She went completely still, memory slicing at her heart. It couldn't be his voice. The man she remembered so poignantly was gone.

"Aurora, look at me."

Slowly she turned around. The pirate was standing there, just inside the room. Dear God, he looked so much like Nicholas… despite his black hair and marauder's attire.

Her fingers gripping the back of the sofa, she squeezed her eyes shut, but when she opened them again, the image was still there.

"No…" Her denial came out in a hoarse rasp. "You are dead…"

"Not quite, love."

Slowly he removed his eye patch, letting her look fully at his features. She could not have mistaken those eyes. Those dark, beautiful eyes. Nicholas.

"Oh, my God," she whispered.

His mouth curved in the faint semblance of a smile. "Aren't you glad to see me, angel?"

Unable to answer or even catch her breath, Aurora raised a hand to her temple. She felt faint with shock, her knees so weak they started to give way. She would have sunk to the floor but for Nicholas. In two strides he had reached her side and grasped her beneath her elbows, lending her his strength. His touch felt very real.

"I don't understand…This can't be."

"It can, Aurora. I am truly here, in the flesh."

She stared back, her gaze riveted on his face. "How…?"

"At the last moment Commander Madsen balked at giving the order to hang me because of a service I had once done a family relation. Instead, he had me transported to Barbados so the British navy could carry out my sentence instead."

"But… I saw your grave…"

"What you saw was a deception, I'm afraid. Percy believed you wouldn't leave unless you were convinced you could do nothing more to save me, so I asked him to feign my burial. He arranged it with Madsen – although he had no notion of the commander's change in plan."

The grave was a deception? Stunned, she searched his face, trying to take in the enormity of the revelation. Nicholas wasn't dead. For a dozen heartbeats she remained unable to speak, her emotions a turmoil of shock and bewilderment… anger at his deceit… joy at seeing him again.

Still not quite believing, she reached up to touch his face. His skin was warm and smooth shaven. His hand closed over hers, holding her palm to his cheek, and for a breathless moment they remained that way, staring at each other.

When another wave of weakness hit her, making her sway, he bent and swept her up in his arms. Aurora suddenly found herself held against a hard male chest. The feel of him was just as startling as his sudden appearance.

She murmured a protest, but Nicholas shook his head. "You should lie down. You've had a shock."

He carried her around the sofa and settled her there, then went down on one knee beside her.

"I'm fine, truly," she murmured as he unfastened the top clasp of her domino.

The further shock of his warm fingers on the bare skin at her throat made her shiver with remembrance. Nicholas seemed aware of it as well, for his hands suddenly went still. He was looking at her breasts, she realized. Abruptly her nipples tightened and pushed against the bodice of her gown in twin, hard peaks.

Her breathing faltered as his heated gaze lifted to her face. "I didn't dream it – how beautiful you are." His voice had fallen to a husky whisper.

Aurora's lips parted, but no sound came out.

Then Nicholas drew an unsteady breath of his own and released her. To her relief, he rose and went to a side table, where he poured her a brandy.

Not wanting to remain in such a vulnerable position, Aurora sat up and smoothed her disheveled clothing. When he returned, Nicholas settled on the sofa beside her and ordered her to drink.

Obediently she took a sip of brandy. The fiery liquor burned her throat, but at least her senses stopped swimming.

"I'm sorry to behave like such a weakling. It's just that…"

"I have come as such a shock?"

"Yes." She frowned, searching his face. "It has been months, Nicholas. Why did I hear nothing of your being alive? I cannot believe Percy never wrote me – "

"I doubt he knew at first. The British navy presumed me drowned at sea, and I thought it best to encourage their belief. It's possible Percy heard rumors later and wrote to warn you, but a letter could have gone astray. Mail is often one of the casualties of war."

Reminded of the deception Nicholas had perpetrated with her cousin, Aurora felt a spark of renewed anger surge through her. He had deliberately made her think him dead, letting her weep over his grave. Letting her grieve for him for months…

"You might have warned me yourself," she said, fire edging her tone. "How could you put me through that – "

"I'm sorry, Aurora. Perhaps I should have tried to get word to you, but the war made it difficult. And at the time I was rather occupied trying to survive."

Aurora shook her head. How could she be angry with Nicholas when he was really, truly alive? Her ire fled as swiftly as it had been born, replaced by a fierce swell of joy. She gazed up at him searchingly, not knowing even where to begin with her countless questions.

Nicholas seemed able to read her mind. "You're curious to know how I escaped hanging?"

"Yes, of course. How did you manage it?"

"I jumped ship during a storm. I told you Madsen changed his mind about carrying out my death sentence and instead had me sent to naval headquarters at Barbados. I was being conveyed there in a brig when a gale blew up. The wind broke the mainmast and left us floundering in the water."

Aurora remembered the fierce storm that had prevented her own departure from St. Kitts the day Nicholas died – or the day she thought he had died.

"In the commotion, I managed to break my chains and dove overboard. I wasn't followed. No one believed I could survive in those seas, and it was over half a mile to shore. I was presumed dead."

"How incredible… You're alive because the weather turned violent?"

His smile was ironic. "I know. But it's you I owe my life to, siren. Our marriage delayed my execution long enough for fate to shift in my favor."

Aurora bit her lip, recalling anew the long months of sorrow when she had thought him dead. "I wish I had known you were alive. It would have saved me countless hours of grief."

"Did you grieve for me, Aurora?"

"Yes, of course. You were my husband."

There was a short pause. "I still am."

She drew a sharp breath as the import of his comment sank in. Nicholas was still her husband. They were still wed. Merciful heaven…

"In fact," Nicholas added in a low voice, "that's the reason I am here in England. I have a wife here. You."

Once again shock held her speechless. She stared at him, her mind reeling.

"I might have come sooner," he continued, "but it took me weeks to make my way to safety and locate my ship. Then it took more time to arrange for my journey here. Because of the war, I had to commandeer another of my cousin Wycliff's ships and outfit it for the voyage. And I had to hire a British crew with papers that would gain them entry into Britain."

"Entry…" Alarmed, she reached out to grasp his hand. "My God, you can't be seen in England. You're an escaped prisoner – "

"Easy, sweeting. I already have been seen. I'm here in disguise. As you can see, I dyed my hair. And I've assumed the identity of my American cousin, Brandon Deverill. We bear a strong resemblance, and I don't think he would oppose my impersonation. Brand has his own shipping firm in Boston, and at the moment he is rather occupied with the war."

Aurora's eyes widened. "The war! Nicholas, if your cousin is American, then he wouldn't be welcome here in Britain."

"He would if he were a British loyalist, which is what I'm claiming to be. There are hundreds – perhaps thousands – of loyalists who object to the war and who have sought refuge on British soil, so my story is not at all unusual. I imagine Brand might protest that small detail of my deception, since he despises you Brits after what your government has done to Boston shipping. But I'm sacrificing his reputation for a good cause."

"But… if you are found out, you could be hanged. At the very least you would be arrested."

"Most definitely, but I don't intend to be found out." His teeth flashed in an amused smile – an amusement that Aurora could not share. His nonchalance only rekindled her anger.

"You cannot possibly think to remain in England, Nicholas. Don't you understand? You will be killed."

"I am rather hard to kill, angel. This wasn't the first time I've escaped death by a whisker."

She could well imagine he had faced death before and no doubt enjoyed it. His casualness made her furious, as did his audacity. He had even come to the ball dressed as the infamous Captain Saber, a foolhardy risk that incensed her.

Aurora stared at him, torn between wrath and dismay. Devoid of gentlemanly trappings in his rakish pirate's garb, Nicholas looked the picture of a brazen adventurer, daring fate and laughing in the teeth of danger. Yet Aurora shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he were discovered.

"I am serious, you cannot stay," she pleaded.

"So am I – and I cannot leave just yet. Not when I came all this way just to see you."

"Well, you have seen me, so you may go."

"But we have a dilemma to resolve, sweetheart."

"Dilemma?"

He fixed her with his intense gaze. "What to do about our marriage."

Marriage. An unexpected sense of panic rose up in her. She was overjoyed to know Nicholas was alive, but it didn't necessarily follow that she was pleased to have him for her husband. His presence complicated matters dreadfully – especially since he couldn't even show his face without risking capture and death. Marriage to him would turn her life upside down, would shatter all her hard-won equanimity, would destroy the peace she had finally found. His very nearness sent her senses reeling -

Just then they heard laughter in the hall, and a couple walked past the library door. Aurora froze, deathly afraid Nicholas would be recognized.

"You must go," she whispered fiercely when the laughter died away. "Someone might see you. Might see us and perceive your disguise."

"I told you, being seen doesn't concern me."

"It does me."

"That is quite evident, faintheart."

"Nicholas…!" she said, losing patience.

"Perhaps you're right. A ball is no place for such a serious discussion. But we still need to talk about our marriage."

"Yes, of course. But not now."

"Very well, later." He raised her fingers to his lips and brushed a light kiss there. "I will find you after the ball."

When Aurora nervously withdrew her hand, he reached up to touch her cheek. She shivered with the same warm shimmering sensation his touch always aroused in her. The dark awareness in his eyes told her clearly he knew how he affected her.

She watched as he replaced his eye patch and once more became the dashing buccaneer. He went to the door then, and gave her a final lingering glance before disappearing from the room.

Aurora remained where she was, still feeling the overwhelming impact of his presence, still reeling from his startling revelation.

Her notorious husband of one night was very much alive. And she had no earthly idea what to do about it.