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.