The Passion
( Notorious - 2 )
Nicole Jordan
To escape marriage to a despised man twice her age, Lady Aurora Demming makes a scandalous arrangement with Nicholas Sabine, a dangerously handsome American facing execution for murder and piracy. She agrees to become his wife for one day . . . and one glorious, intoxicating night. Widowed, Aurora returns to London society with Nicholas's orphaned sister at her side to face a lifetime without love-until her "dead" husband returns, insisting that she honor their vows and haunting her dreams with promises of forbidden desire. . . .
Nicole Jordan
The Passion
To four wonderful writer friends:
Rosemary Edghill, India Edghill,
Donna Sterling, and Deborah Smith.
I hope you realize how special you are.
Prologue
Journal entry, July 16
I take up my pen once more, aching with the struggle in my heart. I must escape this passion that consumes me, but I know not how.
You came to me tonight. I felt your presence, your warmth, before hearing your footfall, my senses are so highly attuned to your nearness. The spell you cast over me has made me your slave more surely than any shackles.
You murmur my name and I turn to you. Your dark eyes are intense, questioning. I stare back, entranced. You have only to look at me and a rush of pleasure fills me.
I move into your arms, aching with love and desperation. Your touch is like a balm, your hand on my breast at once soothing and arousing.
I close my eyes, feeling your maleness, your strength, against my fragility. You know so well how vulnerable I am to you, to your fierce passion. I feel my body flame with it. I tremble at the caress of your lips, your heated breath, your deft fingers as you undress me.
Your robe falls to the floor. In the light of musk-scented candles, your nude body shimmers with grace and power, the master of any woman's fantasies.
Your hand brushes along my loins and I feel myself shudder. In turn I stroke the thickening swell of your hardness. I feel no shame. You have taught me desires of the flesh, sensitized my body to pleasure, burning away all inhibition.
I am already flowing, my center hot and throbbing, turning liquid with your touch, as you lie with me. Your eyes filled with challenge and desire, you move over my body and glide within me, thrusting deeply. My cry is hoarse with delight as I arch in surrender.
You command my senses. I am desperate, hungering to taste you, drugged with your opiate, with the need to fill and be filled.
You flood me in your passion. lam drowning and I draw you down with me.
Afterward, we lie close, our harsh breaths mingling, our damp skin clinging. I feel you grow still as you taste the salt of my tears. Rising above me, you stare into my eyes and see the ache in my heart I cannot hide.
Your fierce kiss is meant to soothe, but it only deepens the conflict tearing at my heart.
The choice is mine, you say. You offer me freedom, a precious gift. Because my happiness means more to you than your own, you will let me go.
But can I bear to live without you?
And is the choice truly mine to make?
PART I Bonds of Desire
Chapter One
At first glimpse he seemed infinitely dangerous, even barbaric. And yet something in his eyes called to me…
British West Indies, February 1813
The scene was pagan-the half nude man bound in chains, his sinewed torso bronzed by the Caribbean sun. Silhouetted against the ship's tall masts, he stood defiant, unbowed.
For a brief instant Lady Aurora Demming felt her heart falter as she stared up at the frigate's railing.
He might have been a statue carved by a master sculptor, all rippling muscle and lithe strength… except that he was flesh-and-blood male, and very much alive. Sunlight warmed the hard contours of his body, gilded the dark gold of his hair.
That tawny shade of gold was heart familiar. At first glance Aurora had flinched with the memory of another face forever lost to her. But this brazen, nearly naked man was a stranger, possessing a raw masculinity quite unlike her late betrothed.
He was stripped down to breeches, but though he wore the chains of a prisoner, he remained unbroken, his gaze fierce and remote as he stared out over the quay. Even from a distance, his eyes seemed to glitter dangerously, giving the impression of simmering anger tenuously controlled.
As if he felt her gaze, his focus slowly shifted and locked on her, riveting her in place. The bustle and noise of the waterfront faded away. For a fleeting moment, time ceased and only the two of them existed.
The intensity of his stare held her motionless, yet Aurora felt herself tremble, her heart suddenly drumming in a painful, almost wild rhythm.
"Aurora?"
She gave a start as her cousin Percy recalled her to her surroundings. She stood on the harbor quayside of Basseterre, St. Kitts, before the shipping office, the warm Caribbean sun beating down upon her. The pungent smells of fish and tar permeated the salt air along with the raucous cries of seagulls. Beyond the busy quay stretched brilliant blue-green waters, while in the distance rose the lush, mountainous island of Nevis.
Her cousin followed the direction of her gaze to the prisoner on the naval frigate. "What has you so fascinated?"
"That man…" she murmured. "For a moment he reminded me of Geoffrey."
Percy squinted across the quay. "How can you possibly tell at this distance?" He frowned. "The hair color is similar, perhaps, but any other resemblance must be superficial. I couldn't imagine the late Earl of March as a convict, could you?"
"I don't suppose so."
Yet she couldn't tear her eyes away from the fair-haired prisoner. Nor could he from her, it seemed. He still watched her as he stood at the head of the gangway, prepared to disembark. His hands manacled, he was guarded by two armed, burly seamen of the British navy, but he gave no notice of his captors until one jerked viciously on the chain that bound his wrists.
Pain or fury made his fists clench, but he offered no other sign of struggle as he was herded at musketpoint down the gangway.
Once more Aurora heard her name called, this time more firmly.
Her cousin touched her arm, his look full of sympathy. "Geoffrey is gone, Aurora. It will do you no good to dwell on your loss. And your grief can only prove detrimental to your upcoming marriage. I'm certain your future husband will not appreciate your mourning another man. For your own sake, you must learn to quell your feelings."
She had not been thinking of her loss, she was ashamed to admit, or the unwanted marriage her father was forcing upon her, but she nodded for her cousin's benefit. She had no business showing an interest in a barely dressed stranger. A criminal, no less. One who evidently had committed some heinous crime to warrant such savage punishment.
With a small shudder, Aurora forced her attention away. The primitive display was no sight for a lady, much less a duke's daughter. She had rarely seen so much naked male flesh at one time. Certainly she'd never been shaken by a man, as she had been moments ago when he caught her eye.
Chastising herself, she turned to allow her cousin to hand her into the open carriage. She'd come to the docks with Percy to confirm her passage to England. Because of the conflict with America and the danger of piracy, there were few ships leaving the West Indies. The next passenger vessel was scheduled to depart the island of St. Kitts three days hence and was only waiting for a military escort.
She dreaded returning home and had delayed as long as she dared, months longer than originally planned, using the excuse that travel was dangerous while a war raged. But her father was adamant that she present herself at once to prepare for her wedding to the nobleman he'd ch
osen for her. In his last letter he'd threatened to come and fetch her himself if she failed to honor the agreement he had made on her behalf.
Aurora had one foot on the carriage step when a disturbance across the quay made her pause. The prisoner had reached the end of the gangway and was being harangued to climb into a waiting wagon, obviously a difficult task because of his chains.
When he moved too slowly, he was given a savage shove that sent him stumbling almost to his knees. Saving himself by clutching the wagon's rear gate, he drew himself up and turned to eye his guard with a contemptuous stare.
His cool insolence seemed to infuriate his tormentors for he received a musket butt to the ribs, which doubled him over in pain.
Aurora's cry of protest at the vicious attack lodged in her throat when the prisoner swung his chains at the guard. It was a futile gesture of defiance, for he was bound too tightly to effect any real damage, but apparently his rebellion was the excuse his guards wanted.
Both seamen set upon him with the stocks of their muskets, driving him to the cobblestones with cries of "Scurvy dog!" and "Bastard sea scum!"
Aurora recoiled in horror at seeing someone treated so viciously, without mercy. "For pity's sake…" she murmured hoarsely. "Make them stop, Percy!"
"It is a naval matter," her cousin replied in a grim tone, speaking in his role as lieutenant governor of St. Kitts. "I have no justification for interfering."
"Dear God, they'll beat him to death…" Without waiting for a reply, she picked up her skirts and ran toward the commotion.
"Aurora!" She heard Percy curse under his breath, but she never slowed her steps nor paused to consider the danger or the madness of intervening in the violent dispute.
She had no weapon at hand and no clear plan beyond attempting a rescue, but when she reached the guards, she swung her reticule at the nearest assailant and managed to hit the side of his face.
"What the 'ell…?"
When the startled seaman flinched at the unexpected attack, Aurora left off her flailing and pushed her way between the fallen prisoner and his assailants. Hiding her own fear, she sank to her knees, half covering the nearly unconscious man with her own body to shield him from being struck again.
The guard swore a vulgar oath.
Coldly furious, Aurora lifted her chin and stared up at him, silently daring him to strike her.
"Ma'am, ye've no business ‘ere," he declared angrily. "This man is a vicious pirate."
"You, sir, may address me as my lady," she replied, her normally serene voice almost fierce as she called upon the power of her rank. "My father is the Duke of Eversley and claims the Prince Regent and the Lord High Admiral among his close acquaintances." She could see the sailor assessing her and her attire; her fashionable silk bonnet and walking dress were the gray of half mourning, with only a touch of lilac trim on the lapels of the spencer to relieve the severity.
"And this gentleman," she added as Percy hurriedly reached her side, "is my cousin, Sir Percy Osborne, who happens to be lieutenant governor of Nevis and St. Kitts. I would think twice before challenging him."
Percy's jaw tightened at her declaration, and he murmured in disapproval, "Aurora, this is quite unseemly. You're causing a spectacle."
"It would be more unseemly to stand by while these cowards murder an unarmed man."
Ignoring the guard's glare, she glanced down at the injured prisoner. His eyes were closed, but he seemed to be conscious, for his jaw was clenched in pain. He still looked half savage-his skin glistening with sweat and blood, a growth of dark stubble shadowing his jaw.
His head seemed to have suffered the worst damage. Not only was his temple bleeding profusely, but his sun-streaked hair, a much darker gold than her own, was matted black with dried blood, evidently from an earlier injury.
Aurora tensed as her gaze dropped lower, yet even so, she felt her heartbeat quicken. The raw masculinity that had unnerved her at a distance was even more obvious this close, the sinewy hardness of his body unmistakable. His sun-bronzed chest and shoulders rippled with muscle, while the canvas breeches hugged his powerful thighs.
Then he opened his eyes and fixed them on her. His gaze was dark, the rich hue of coffee flecked with amber. His intent stare gave her the same jolting sensation she'd felt earlier: the feeling of being totally alone with him, along with a keen awareness of her femininity.
Nearly as strange were the tender feelings of protectiveness his injuries engendered. Gently Aurora reached up to wipe the smear of blood from his forehead.
Chains jangling, he grasped her wrist. "Don't," he muttered hoarsely. "Stay out of this… you'll be hurt."
Her skin burned where his fingers touched, but she tried to ignore the sensation, just as she disregarded his entreaty. At the moment she was less interested in protecting herself than in saving his life. "You don't expect me to watch your murder, do you?"
The pained smile he gave her was fleeting as he released her wrist and struggled to push himself up on his elbows. For a moment he dizzily shut his eyes.
"You need a doctor," Aurora said in alarm.
"No… I have a hard head."
"Obviously not hard enough."
She had forgotten they weren't alone, until her cousin leaned over her shoulder and gave an exclamation of dismay. "Good God… Sabine!"
"You know him?" Aurora asked.
"Indeed, I do. He owns half the merchant ships in the Caribbean. He's an American… Nick, what the devil are you doing here?"
He grimaced in pain. "An unfortunate encounter with the British navy, I fear."
Aurora realized his speech was much softer and flatter than her own clipped sounds as her cousin turned to the guards and demanded an explanation.
"What is the meaning of this? Why is this man in chains?"
The guards were spared having to reply when their commanding officer joined them. Aurora remembered having met Captain Richard Gerrod at some polite government function a few weeks before.
"I can answer that, your excellency," Gerrod said coolly. "He is bound in chains because he is a prisoner of war, condemned to be hanged for piracy and murder."
"Murder, captain? That is frankly absurd. You must have heard of Nicholas Sabine," Percy insisted, pronouncing the American's name Sahbean. "He is a hero in these parts, not a murderer. Obviously you have mistaken his identity."
"I assure you I have mistaken nothing. He was recognized by one of my officers on Montserrat, where he was reckless and arrogant enough to visit a woman in the midst of a war. He most certainly is the notorious pirate Captain Saber. Not only has he commandeered at least two British merchantmen since the war began, but he sank the HMS Barton just last month."
"It was my understanding," said Percy, "that the Barton's crew was saved from drowning by that same pirate and deposited on the nearest isle."
"Yes, but a seaman died in that engagement and several more were injured. And Sabine nearly killed one of my crew yesterday while resisting arrest. He has indeed committed acts of war against the Crown, Sir Percy. Acts punishable by death."
Percy turned to the fallen man. "Is this true, Sabine? You're a pirate?"
Sabine's half smile held cold anger. "In America we use the term privateer, and we've never yielded the right to protect our own ships. The Barton was attacking one of my merchantmen and I intervened. As for commandeering your vessels, I considered it a fair exchange for the loss of two of my own."
Aurora wasn't as horrified as perhaps she should have been at the accusation of piracy. With their two countries at war, Britain considered any armed American ship culpable. And Sabine should indeed have a right to defend his own ships. She knew her cousin would agree. Though such political beliefs were disloyal to the Crown, Percy considered the war a mistake and Britain primarily at fault for instigating it. The charge of murder, however, disturbed her greatly…
"Pirate or not," Percy said to the captain, obviously troubled, "there will be ramifications for taking this man
prisoner. Are you aware Mr. Sabine has any number of connections to the Crown? Including several island governors as well as the commander of the Caribbean fleet?"
The captain scowled. "His connections are all that stopped me from hanging him out of hand. But I doubt that will save him. When Admiral Foley learns of his crimes, I'm certain the order will be given to execute him." Grimly Captain Gerrod looked down at Aurora. "My lady, you would do best to keep away. He is a dangerous man."
She suspected the American was indeed dangerous, but that hardly justified the guards' vicious brutality.
"Oh, indeed," she said scornfully, rising to face the captain from her full height. "So dangerous your crew must beat him senseless, even with him trussed up like a Christmas goose. I quite fear for my life."
Gerrod's lips tightened in anger, but Percy quickly intervened.
"What do you intend to do with him, Captain?"
"He'll be turned over to the garrison commander and imprisoned in the fortress until he can be executed."
Aurora felt her heart clench at the thought of this vital man losing his life. "Percy…" she implored, gazing at him.
"I'll thank you, excellency," Gerrod said darkly, "not to interfere with the performance of my duty. Get to your feet, pirate."
Sabine's lip curled, his simmering hatred of the captain evident in the blistering heat of his dark eyes. But his fury remained tightly controlled as he struggled to his knees.
Aurora helped him stand, lending support when he swayed, and felt her pulse quicken as his hard body momentarily leaned against her. Even bruised and bloodied, the overwhelming maleness of him affected her.
Her cousin must have been reminded of the impropriety, for Percy gently grasped her arm and drew her away. "Come, my dear."
Obviously stiff with pain, Sabine moved toward the wagon. Aurora flinched when she saw the bloody lacerations marring his broad shoulders and muscular back, and again when one of the burly guards grasped his arm and urged him into the wagon.
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