Aurora laced her fingers tightly together. Quite possibly her sympathy for Sabine was greater because of her own difficult situation. She could identify with him; she knew what it was like to be powerless to effect her own future, to have her life not be her own. He was at the mercy of his captors, while she was subject to her father's dictates – and was soon to be ensnared in a supremely distasteful marriage.
Jane must have read the truth in her expression, for she said gently, "You have more important worries than a pirate's fortunes. You would do far better to forget this incident entirely." She rose to her feet with a soft swish of silk skirts. "Come down to luncheon when you are ready. You'll feel better when you've eaten, I daresay."
Aurora, however, did not feel better, nor did she have any appetite. She merely toyed with her food as she anxiously awaited word from her cousin.
When the message did finally come from his offices in Basseterre, Percy's note said little other than to reassure her that he'd spoken to the garrison commander, who promised to have the fortress physician examine the prisoner's injuries.
Aurora shared the note with Jane and pretended to dismiss any further thought of the matter. A short while later she excused herself, claiming she needed to contemplate her packing for her return to England. But she made absolutely no headway. Instead she found herself staring down at the floor, remembering a pair of dark eyes gazing at her intently, and the trembling way it had made her feel -
For mercy's sake, stop thinking of him, Aurora scolded herself.
Logically she agreed with Jane. It was far wiser to put the notorious pirate out of her mind. She would be leaving St. Kitts in a matter of days. And she had her own serious troubles to deal with – namely her imminent engagement to a domineering nobleman some twenty years her senior. A man she not only didn't love but actively disliked for his imperious, overbearing manner and his strict, almost puritanical adherence to convention. A public announcement of the betrothal would be made upon her return to England.
For a moment Aurora felt the same jolt of panic the thought of her impending marriage always engendered. Once they were wed, she would be a virtual prisoner to decorum, indeed would be fortunate to be permitted even an original thought of her own. But as she'd done for months, she forced her disquiet away.
Abandoning the notion of planning for her voyage, she picked up a book of poetry. But when she tried to read, she was unable to focus on the page. Instead she saw the blood-stained features of Nicholas Sabine as he lay helpless at her feet, half naked and in chains. When she tried to push him out of her mind, she failed miserably.
She didn't have to close her eyes to picture him lying in a prison cell, wounded and in pain, perhaps even near death. Would he even have a blanket to cover his near nakedness? Despite the warmth of the Caribbean sun, it was still winter. The brisk ocean breezes blowing off the Atlantic side of the island could make the nights quite chilly. And Brimstone Hill Fortress, where he had been taken, was perched high on a cliff, exposed to the elements.
More alarming, a condemned prisoner could disappear forever in the vast, sprawling warren of dark chambers and narrow passageways of the fortress. Its massive citadel was defended by seven-foot-thick walls of black volcanic stone that had taken decades to construct.
She'd once attended a military reception at Brimstone Hill with Percy and Jane and found even the officers' quarters unwelcoming. She shuddered to think what the prisoners' accommodations were like.
It was no consolation to remind herself that she'd done all she could for him. No use arguing with herself and demanding that she be sensible. She had never been able to walk away from anyone in such a vulnerable position.
The past years would have been easier had she been capable of simply ignoring her conscience, of controlling her protective urges. If she could have maintained a proper detachment when her father vented his wrath on his hapless dependents. But she could never be so unfeeling.
And now all she could think of was Nicholas Sabine, vulnerable and helpless, at the mercy of his brutal captors.
Perhaps if she paid him a brief visit, just to make certain he was being cared for, she would be able to ease her mind enough to forget him…
Feeling her anxiety lessen for the first time since the disturbing incident on the quay, Aurora quietly set down her book. Her heart took up an erratic rhythm at the prospect of seeing the American again, yet she repressed the forbidden feelings as she went to the bell pull to ring for her maid.
She would be defying propriety with a vengeance, perhaps even risking scandal, to visit a condemned pirate in prison, yet this could well be one of the last acts of independence she would ever make.
Chapter Two
I should have trembled in fear, but his touch held me spellbound.
He was dreaming again. Of her. The savage throbbing in his head eased as she bent over him. The tender brush of her fingers on his feverish brow was gentle and soothing, but her touch roused a worse throbbing in his loins.
She was the essence of every male fantasy – angel, Valkyrie, goddess, sea siren. She was golden temptation and primal torment. He wanted to draw her down to him and drink of her lips. Yet she held back, just out of reach -
"You there!"
He awoke with a start, memory and pain flooding him with brutal intensity. Woozily Nicholas lifted a hand to his aching head and felt the bandage there. He was lying on a bare cot, no longer bound by chains. The musket butt prodding his sore ribs, however, was regrettably familiar, as was the burly guard hovering over him.
"You there, bestir yerself!"
His blurred vision steadied. He'd been taken prisoner, he remembered, and brought to the fortress on St. Kitts, where he would probably hang for piracy and murder. At first he'd paced his cell like a wounded animal, his frantic thoughts on his half sister and the debacle he'd made of his promise to protect her. But exhaustion and pain had finally forced him to lie down. He'd fallen into a tortured slumber, only to begin dreaming of the golden-haired beauty who had defended him so valiantly on the quay.
What the devil was he doing? Nick swore at himself. Lusting after a strange woman, no matter how beautiful or courageous, was completely mad under the circumstances. Instead he should be focusing on his sister and ward, trying to think of a way to ensure her safety once he was dead…
"I said bestir yerself! There's a lady to see you."
Nicholas slowly raised himself up on his elbows. Beyond the guard, the cell door was partway open…His gaze shifted and his heartbeat seemed to stop.
She stood there just inside the dim chamber, tall, slender, regal as a princess. Even with the hood of her black cloak casting her exquisite features in shadows, he knew her. Yet unlike the avenging angel he remembered from the quay, she appeared hesitant, uncertain. Wary.
"I'll leave the door ajar, milady. If ‘e gives you a 'int of trouble, you just call out."
"Thank you."
Her voice was low and melodious, but she said nothing else, even when the guard had left the cell.
Wondering if his vision was an illusion, Nicholas slowly sat up. The watery beam of sunlight filtering through the tiny barred window highlighted dust motes dancing around her dark skirts, but did little to illuminate her features.
Then she pushed back the hood of her cloak, uncovering her bright hair, which was coiled in a smooth chignon, giving Nick a jolt of sexual awareness. Her uncommon beauty seemed to light up the dark stone cell.