"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?"

"I surprised her last night at her aunt's ball, but we had only a moment together. She's to meet me here shortly so we can have the chance to speak alone."

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.