The Lover

by Nicole Jordan

  “Did you just arrive in London?” he murmured as he bent gallantly over her hand.

  “Yes. I called at your house but was told I could find you here. Thorne, it is Isabella. She has been taken captive.”

  His pleasant smile never wavered, although a spark of dark emotion flared in his eyes. “I am delighted to see you again, Miss Evers. Come, you can give me all the news from home.”

  Tucking her arm in his, he ushered her from the ballroom and along the elegant corridor to a large library.

  Caro shivered as he closed the door behind them. A fire had been lit in the grate, but it was still far colder here than home on her beautiful island.

  “So tell me what happened,” Thorne said brusquely, all business now that the need for pretense was over.

  “Isabella was returning home three weeks ago when her ship was overrun by pirates. Thorne, it’s almost certain she has been enslaved.”

  “Sit down and start from the beginning,” he suggested as she began to pace.

  “I couldn’t possibly sit. I have been doing nothing but sitting on board a schooner for two weeks now. I wish it didn’t take so blasted long to reach London!”

  “Well, you won’t do Isabella any good by wearing out my aunt’s carpet,” Thorne retorted. “Would you care for some sherry?”

  His pragmatic tone had a calming effect. Taking a deep breath, Caro moved over to the hearth and held out her gloved hands while Thorne went to a table and poured her a glass of sherry.

  Memories rushed through her mind as she stared at the flames. Lady Isabella Wilde was her dearest friend—a beautiful Spanish widow who frequently traveled the globe, living life as she pleased. The adventuresome Isabella had been like a mother to her, ever since Caro’s own mother died when she was a girl. Isabella was also a role model of independent thinking and had encouraged her in countless ways to pursue her dreams.

  Caro was fiercely determined to free her friend from captivity—and so were all the other Guardians. There was no question they would mount a rescue. Caro had come directly to London to give Thorne his orders.

  He handed her a full wineglass, then settled himself on a sofa while she explained the facts they had pieced together after Isabella went missing—facts that suggested she’d been taken captive by Barbary corsairs.

  “We actually had little information to go on. When Isabella’s ship never arrived, we sent out inquiries. There had been no storms that week, or any other reason to suggest it might have sunk. And then we learned that a vessel flying an Algerian flag had been sighted in the packet’s wake.”

  “And there has been no word of Bella since? No demands for ransom?”

  “None. Sir Gawain sent two agents to Tripoli just in case our intelligence was mistaken, but the odds are greater that she was taken to Algiers.”

  “And Sir Gawain wants me to go directly to Algiers to search for her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doubtless he understands the difficulty in locating her there.”

  Caro nodded. From what she’d heard, Algiers was a large, crowded city with dwellings crammed together like rabbit warrens. And the country itself—the Kingdom of Algiers—was a vast expanse of rugged mountain and hostile desert.

  Her sherry remaining untouched, Caro set her glass on the mantle to reach into her reticule. Drawing out a thin sheaf of folded papers, she handed them to Thorne.

  “All the particulars are here,” she said. “Everything we have planned thus far…each of our assignments, including yours.”

  Thorne pursued the details quickly, not questioning why Caro had come personally to deliver his orders. The Guardians often communicated by mail dispatches and carrier pigeon, but this assignment was too important to risk being lost.

  Caro shuddered to think of what might have happened to her friend. It was hoped that Isabella’s dark beauty and elegant manners would have spared her the fate of many slaves—a terrible life of toil and beatings—and landed her instead in some wealthy lord’s harem. The Kingdom of Algiers was ruled by a Turkish dey, who governed from a massive castle. If Isabella was imprisoned there, breaking her out might be next to impossible.

  Yet first they had to find her. A half dozen Guardians were in Algiers now, seeking information, while several others had been recalled to Cyrene in the event they had to mount a rescue.

  Thorne looked up from studying his orders. “Hawk is leading the search in Algiers,” he verified, “and I am to link up with him there.”

  “Exactly. And I don’t need to tell you how imperative it is that you proceed quickly.”

  He nodded. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning, as soon as I arrange a few details to put my current assignment on hold.”

  The light of anticipation in Thorne’s eyes greatly encouraged Caro. For the first time in weeks, she felt her taut nerves relax the slightest measure. She was infinitely glad to have Lord Christopher Thorne on their side.

  She had known he would be eager to participate in the rescue, since he loved the thrill of danger. And of all the Guardians besides Caro, he was closest to Isabella, so he understood perfectly her anxiety for her friend.

  Thorne rose from the sofa and crossed to her, taking her gloved hands in his larger, stronger ones. “We’ll find her; never doubt it.”

  Caro smiled faintly. She was far more troubled about this mission than any previous one, doubtless because she had such a high personal stake in the outcome. “It is just so frustrating to be this helpless. I cannot stop seeing her at the mercy of some cruel master. She is all alone, Thorne—”

  “Have you considered another possibility? That Isabella may look upon her captivity as an adventure rather than a tragedy?”

  He was trying to reassure her, Caro realized, yet he did have a point. Most women would be terrified to be enslaved by Barbary pirates, but the spirited Isabella was far more resourceful and enterprising than any normal woman. If anyone was a survivor, it was she.

  But still it distressed Caro immeasurably that they couldn’t even begin to make detailed plans until they discovered exactly where Isabella was being held, and until the other Guardians gathered on Cyrene, which could take weeks or even months.

  “You are right, of course,” she murmured. “But I shall go mad with nothing to do but wait.”

  Thorne chucked her under the chin. “Oh, no, my girl, you won’t get off so easily. At the moment I have the perfect task for you. You may make my excuses to my aunt. She won’t be eager to free me from my promise to squire my cousin around London.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because Aunt Hennessy likes you. And she will be more willing to forgive me if you ask it of her.”

  Lady Hennessy had sponsored Caro’s disastrous London season years before and held her in affection, despite the scandal she had inadvertently caused.

  “Just tell her that Bella has gone missing, and that I’m needed to rescue her.” He lead Caro to the library door and opened it. “Do you mean to stay here tonight?”

  “If Lady Hennessy will allow me.”

  “I have no doubt she will—if you promise not to cause a scene at her ball. She is still trying to live down your disastrous season.”

  Color rose in her cheeks at his teasing. “Of course I won’t cause a scene. I intend to make myself scarce as soon as I speak to her.”

  “She will be grateful, I’m sure.” Thorne turned to go, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Caro? One other thing you may do for me…Extend my apologies to Max Leighton.”

  Caro felt every nerve in her body tighten. “Major Leighton is here?” she asked, her voice a bit too high and breathless.

  “Mr. Leighton. He’s a civilian now. But you should know that. He is in all the society pages.”

  She did know. Sir Gawain had all the newspapers shipped to Cyrene weekly so he could keep up with current events in both the world and in the Beau Monde.

  “Why must you apologize to him?” Caro asked, trying to appear casual.

 
“Because I dragged him to this ball so he could keep me company. It was a supreme sacrifice on his part, considering how persistently the ladies are hounding him. I regret having to abandon him to their sweet mercies. Tell Max I am sorry and that my invitation to him to visit Cyrene at Christmas still stands.”

  Caro lowered her gaze to hide her dismay. “If I see him,” she answered reluctantly, “I will give him your message.”

  “That isn’t good enough, love. Promise me you will seek Max out after I leave. Otherwise I will have to delay long enough to do it myself.”

  “Very well…I promise.”

  “No doubt he will be pleased to see you. He was just asking about you earlier tonight.”

  She gave Thorne a startled glance. “He was?”

  “Yes. You evidently made quite an impression on him during his brief visit to the island last year. Now go find my aunt. I will return as soon as possible.”

  As Thorne strode away, Caro stared dazedly after him, wanting to curse. The last person she wanted to see was Maxwell Leighton, but it didn’t seem now as if she would have much choice.

  Caro returned to the ballroom with grave reluctance. She wasn’t a coward—ordinarily. But the thought of encountering Max Leighton again was unnerving.

  It astonished her that he had asked after her. You evidently made quite an impression on him. Heat rose to her cheeks. She could only imagine what he thought of her behavior that night. Acting like a perfect wanton. Pleading with him to make love to her. Practically seducing him. Even now her face burned at the memory. Even now the memory of his touch filled her with a sweet, aching longing.

  Did he have the same remembrances of their night of passion? After all the women he had likely been with, Caro doubted it had meant anything special to him.

  She certainly would never forget it, though. That magical night had shown her so clearly what she was missing in her life. And Max’s wonderful lovemaking had only increased her yearnings….

  It had been a profound mistake to surrender to her wanton urges, but still she cherished the memory. So much so that she didn’t want them spoiled by cold reality, or the disappointment of encountering him in the light of day. She had read numerous newspaper accounts of Max Leighton over the past few months—the titillating gossip about his amorous affairs and the predictions regarding the race to secure his hand in marriage.

  Lamentably, however, she saw him the moment she entered the ballroom. The crowd had parted slightly, revealing his tall, commanding form a short distance away. Rather than a uniform, he wore an exquisitely tailored blue coat that molded his muscular shoulders to perfection.

  He was surrounded by a half dozen beauties, as she expected. Determinedly she tried to repress the hollowness in her chest. After the terrible conflict with Napoleon had ended, she had often wondered if Max was still the wounded warrior, or if he had somehow managed to heal. He did not look as if he was suffering now.

  Just then he turned and met her gaze across the ballroom. Her heart seemed to stop completely. He was still the same unforgettable man she saw so frequently in her dreams. Those were the same striking features. The same compelling blue eyes fringed by dark lashes. He still possessed the same powerful, potent masculinity.

  She could feel herself flushing with warmth as his glance hotly connected with hers.

  For now, however, she needed to find Thorne’s aunt.

  Dragging her gaze away with effort, she spied Lady Hennessy along one wall, sitting with the other dowagers. Grateful for the distraction, Caro threaded her way through the crowds.

  The portly, silver-haired lady looked up with surprise, her expression first breaking into a smile of delight, then fading to one of concern. “My dear girl, whatever are you doing here? Sir Gawain? Is something amiss?”

  Caro bent to kiss the soft cheek that was presented to her. “Sir Gawain is well, my lady. But I fear I have some other regretful news—as well as a request regarding your nephew. May I have a private word with you?”

  “You seem to be taking an extraordinary interest in Miss Evers, Mr. Leighton,” a plaintive female voice murmured. “Surely you realize that she is merely trying to draw attention to herself.”

  Forcing his attention back to his companions, Max raised an eyebrow. “You think she is here merely to create a scene?”

  A half dozen ladies responded, all eager to regale him with tales of Caro Evers, it seemed.

  “My coming-out was the same year,” one remarked.

  “I remember her as a shy, awkward creature. No social skills to speak of.”

  “She could not even dance.”

  “But it was the scandal she caused that was the final straw.”

  The trills of laughter became a chorus as they all seemed to share a common memory.

  “What sort of scandal?” Max asked curiously.

  “Miss Evers dressed up as a man to attend medical lectures.”

  “She was caught studying naked bodies!”

  Several of the ladies shuddered. The tall blonde who had hunted Max earlier added with malicious glee, “And for that, she was banished from the ton in disgrace.”

  His brows narrowing, Max fixed the lady with a cool frown.

  “Do you know her, Mr. Leighton?”

  Smiling faintly, he came to Caro’s defense. “I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Miss Evers last year when she saved the life of one of my lieutenants. In fact, I consider her to be one of the most remarkable women of my acquaintance.”

  His response put an abrupt pall over the conversation. “Now if you ladies will please excuse me,” he added wickedly, “I must go pay my compliments to Miss Evers.”

  Ignoring the looks of dismay on their faces, as well as the blonde widow’s indignation, Max turned sharply and made his way across the ballroom toward where Caro Evers was deep in conversation with Lady Hennessy.

  It was obvious that some urgent business had brought her to London, and he was highly curious to know what it was. He was even more interested to see if any remnant of the fire that had once blazed between them still existed.

  He kept his gaze fixed on her, and was gratified to see how she froze when she looked up and saw him.

  Her gray eyes were as large and lustrous as he remembered, like silver smoke, while her features had the stamp of character and intelligence. Not stunningly beautiful perhaps, but with an inviting appeal all the same.

  Max bowed to his hostess, Lady Hennessy, but it was Caro he addressed. “Good evening, Miss Evers. I wasn’t certain I would ever have the good fortune of meeting you again.”

  She frowned, as if searching her memory. “Do I know you, sir? Oh, yes…Major Leighton, is it not?”

  Max feigned a wince. “You wound me, Miss Evers, if you cannot even recall my name.”

  She pursed her lips. “Oh, I recall it quite well, Mr. Leighton. How could I not, when the gossip columns are full of your amorous adventures?”

  With deliberate gallantry he took Caro’s hand and bent over it, pressing his lips against her gloved fingers, interested to see how she responded.

  Not only did she give a start, but when her eyes locked with his, something warm and primitive arced between them. Her gaze flickered lower then, over his mouth, and Max knew for certain that Caro Evers had not forgotten him.

  A sharp surge of male satisfaction rippled through him, even though she withdrew her hand coolly.

  “Actually I was on my way to find you,” she said. “Thorne asked me to convey his apologies to you. He was called away on sudden business. He regretted”—she glanced pointedly toward the gathering of ladies Max had just abandoned—“having to leave you to the tender mercies of your gaggle of admirers.”

  She rose then, speaking directly to Max. “I hope you won’t mind if I excuse myself, Mr. Leighton. I have had a long journey, and I have another long one ahead of me tomorrow.”

  She bent and kissed Lady Hennessy’s cheek. “Thank you, my lady. Thorne will be glad that you have released him fro
m his promise.”

  The dowager shook her head with mock sternness. “You can’t fool me, my girl. I can see right through him. He wasn’t brave enough to face me, and so he coerced you into pleading his case.”

  Caro smiled. “True, but you must admit, you are quite formidable when you get in a high dudgeon.”

  She turned to Max, her gaze flickering over him before she nodded toward the cluster of ladies who were still watching him. “Perhaps you should return to your devotees. It is obvious they anxiously await you. Good night, Mr. Leighton.”

  Max remained where he stood, staring after her. He had just been dismissed, he realized.

  It was a novel experience for him, and one that should have piqued his indignation. But it had the opposite effect—arousing the primitive male urge to chase fleeing prey.

  Watching him, Lady Hennessy let out a deep chuckle. “Perhaps you have already discovered that Caro is not like any other normal young lady.”

  “Indeed,” Max said wryly.

  “She despises balls and all the other trappings of society. I doubt she will come down again this evening.” Her eyes took on a calculating gleam. “But she is staying upstairs in her former bedroom. If you wish to speak to her, you will have to go after her.”

  Max curved his mouth in an amused, calculating line of his own. “Thank you, my lady. I have every intention of doing just that.”

  A Conversation

  with Nicole Jordan

  Q: Master of Temptation is the first in a new Regency historical series called Paradise. How will this new series differ from the books in the Notorious series? And does this mean that you are finished with the Notorious books?

  Nicole Jordan: My new Paradise series is set partly on a wonderful Mediterranean island and features a secret society of protectors, a bit like The Three Musketeers, only much sexier. I’ll still be writing about dangerous rakes and bold adventurers (and the women who win their hearts!), but for now I’m moving on to a setting with a more delicious scope for imagination and romance. I want to offer avid romance readers something a little fresh and different to pique their interest. And while my island has its own little Beau Monde, this new locale gives me opportunities for intriguing plots during the Regency era that can’t usually be found in a strict English/London social sphere.