Helpless, Aurora bit her lip to keep from crying out in protest.
Captain Gerrod gave her a stern glance as both guards climbed in after the prisoner, but he addressed her cousin. "I hadn't planned on escorting the prisoner to the fortress- I should be preparing my frigate to sail for the American seacoast to join the naval blockade. But I see I must, to ensure my orders are carried out to the letter."
"I intend to visit the fortress myself," Aurora threatened rashly, fearing what they would do to their prisoner once they were alone. "If you dare beat him further, I promise you will regret it."
She felt her cousin's fingers tighten on her arm in warning and barely refrained from shaking off his grasp.
The captain gave a stiff, angry bow, and then climbed into the front passenger seat and ordered the elderly black driver to drive on. Aurora and Percy watched as the pair of draft horses drew the wagon away.
"You will not involve yourself further, Aurora," Percy muttered under his breath.
Stubbornly she freed her arm from his tight grip. "You don't condone such vicious treatment, I'm sure of it. If Mr. Sabine were an English prisoner in American hands, you would expect him to be dealt with humanely."
"Of course I would."
"What will happen to him?" she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse.
Percy didn't respond at once, which confirmed her worst fears.
"Surely there will be a trial," Aurora protested. "They wouldn't hang someone of his consequence at once, would they?"
"It may not come to hanging," her cousin answered grimly. "The admiral might very well show leniency."
"And if not? Can you intervene?"
"I have the authority to overrule an admiral's commands, but doing so would perhaps mean the end of my political career. My views on the war are frowned upon as it is. And setting free a condemned prisoner would likely be considered treason. Piracy and murder are grave charges, my dear."
Aurora gazed back at Percy bleakly. "You must at least send a doctor to see to his injuries."
"Of course. I'll speak to the garrison commander myself and see that Sabine receives proper medical care."
She stared into his blue eyes that were so much like her own and could read the concern there-as well as the comment he didn't voice.
What did it matter if Nicholas Sabine's wounds were treated if he shortly was to hang?
Percy's wife was alarmed by the bloody condition of Aurora's gown, but less appalled by the reason than might be expected.
"I don't know that I would have had the courage to intervene," Jane said thoughtfully when she'd heard the tale.
The two women were alone in Aurora's bedchamber. After Percy had escorted her to his plantation home and then left to fulfill his promise regarding the prisoner's medical treatment, Aurora's maid had helped her change her gown and then took it away for cleaning. Lady Osborne remained to get a more detailed, private accounting of the morning's events.
"I don't think it particularly courageous to stop a man from being beaten to death," Aurora retorted, still outraged by the morning's incident. "And my intervention seems to have done little to change his fate."
"Mr. Sabine has prominent family in England," Jane said more soothingly. "The Earl of Wycliff is his second cousin. Besides possessing enormous wealth, Wycliff has always commanded a great deal of power in government circles. He could very well intercede on his cousin's behalf."
"They may hang him long before news of his imprisonment reaches England," Aurora replied darkly.
"Aurora, you haven't developed a tendre for Sabine, have you?"
She felt herself flush. "How could I? I met the man only this morning, and just for a moment. We were not even formally introduced."
"Good. Because frankly he isn't at all a proper sort of gentleman, despite his connections. Indeed, I suspect he is rather dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
"To our sex, I mean. He's an adventurer and something of a rake-and an American, besides."
"Percy called him a hero."
"I suppose he is. He saved the lives of some two hundred planters during a slave revolt on St. Lucia a few years ago. But that hardly makes him acceptable. Common gossip says he is the black sheep of his family who spent his adulthood traveling alien lands and engaging in any manner of wild exploits. Only after his father died did he become the least respectable-and only because he inherited a fortune and took over the family business interests."
"You haven't accused him of being much worse than half the wild young bucks in England."
"He is indisputably worse, I assure you. Otherwise he would never have been accorded membership in the notorious Hellfire League, despite being sponsored by his cousin, Lord Wycliff."
The Hellfire League, Aurora knew, was an exclusive club of the premier rakes in England, dedicated to pleasure and debauchery. If Sabine was a member of that licentious association, he was indeed wicked.
"And you cannot dismiss the fact," Jane added pointedly, "that he is a condemned pirate, with blood on his hands."
Aurora looked down at her own hands. One of her dearest friends, Jane was both attentive and shrewd enough to evaluate a situation objectively – attributes that made her an ideal politician's wife. Percy quite rightly adored her, a sentiment that was wholly reciprocated.
"Aurora," Jane said, "is it possible you've become absorbed with this man to escape your own concerns? Perhaps you are trying to ignore your own plight by involving yourself with a stranger's fate."
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.
She was quite real, the living fantasy of his dreams… unless he had died and this was his version of heaven. Followers of the Muslim faith believed a blessed man would be surrounded by beautiful maidens upon reaching Paradise. The pain from his injuries, however, made Nicholas suspect he was still in temporal form.
She was gazing at him in surprise, studying his face. Then, as if she realized she was staring, she flushed a little and shifted her gaze to the bandage that wrapped his head.
"I see they at least summoned a doctor. I was afraid they wouldn't. No, please don't get up on my account," she added when he tried to rise. "You are in no condition to stand on formality."
"What…" His voice came out too hoarsely, so he cleared his throat and began again. "Why are you here?"
"I wanted to make certain you were all right."
Nicholas frowned, trying to sort out the confusion in his aching head. Perhaps the blows had indeed rattled his brain.
No lady would risk her reputation to enter the bowels of a prison on behalf of a stranger. And she was every inch a lady, he knew – blue-blooded to the core. In fact, hadn't she claimed to be a duke's daughter when she'd dressed down that seaman this morning?
Nicholas stared at her, wondering if he'd missed some vital clue to the enigma she presented. Then a sudden thought struck him.
Was it possible she was here to deceive him? Was that bastard Gerrod up to some sort of trickery, using her to ferret out information?
Nick's eyes narrowed in suspicion. His ship was still at large in the Caribbean, for he'd gone alone to Montserrat to fetch his sister – aboard a Dutch fishing ketcli – not wanting to risk the lives of his crew on his own personal mission. But Captain Gerrod was fiercely set on determining the American schooner's whereabouts.
It could greatly advance the captain's naval career to capture an enemy ship – which was a likely reason, Nick suspected, that he'd been spared immediate hanging. That, and the fact that Gerrod hadn't wanted to make any political missteps by offending his prisoner's illustrious connections.
Grimly Nicholas contemplated his beautiful, unexpected visitor. Was she somehow in league with Gerrod? Her compassion had seemed entirely genuine this morning, and so had her animosity toward the captain. But perhaps she'd somehow been persuaded to work with Gerrod against him.
Had she been sent here to torment him? To tempt a condemned man as if holding out the promise of water to a man dying of thirst in a desert? The stark possibility that such beauty and kindness could be a ruse stabbed Nick with anger.
His jaw tightened. He would do well to remember their nations were at war. As an Englishwoman, she was his enemy, and he had to be on his guard.
She seemed uncomfortable with the way he was watching her, and when he deliberately dropped his gaze lower to linger on her breasts, he thought he saw her flush in the dim light.
"I don't believe we were properly introduced, madam," he prodded.
"No. There wasn't time. I am Aurora Demming."
An appr
opriate name, he thought irrelevantly. Aurora was Latin for dawn. "Lady Aurora. I remember. You made mention of it on the quay."
"I wasn't certain how conscious you were of your surroundings."
At the reminder of the assault, Nicholas raised his hand to feel his bandage. "You find me at a disadvantage, I fear."
An awkward silence stretched between them.
"I brought some items you might need," she said finally.
When she took a tentative step toward him, he focused on the bundle she held in her arms. She seemed oddly nervous as she set her offering down on the cot and glanced around the dim, spartan cell. "I should have brought candles. I didn't think of it. But here is a blanket… some food."
Her gaze met his briefly and then slid away. "I also borrowed a shirt and jacket from Percy's overseer. You seemed larger than my cousin…"
It was his state of undress that was tying her tongue, Nicholas realized. If she was like other gently bred ladies of her station, she would hardly be accustomed to visiting a half-nude man or estimating the size of his physique.
"How did you get past the guards?" he asked cautiously.
She seemed grateful for the change in subject. "I prevailed upon the garrison commander, Mr. Sabine." Her smile was fleeting. "Actually I resorted to a slight deception. I implied that my cousin Percy sent me."
"And did he?"
"Not exactly."
"I thought Gerrod would have forbidden me any visitors."
"Captain Gerrod has no authority over the fortress garrison, nor is he much liked here on the island."
"Then he didn't send you to question me?"
A look of puzzlement drew her fine brows together. "No. Why would you think so?"
Nicholas shrugged. If she was dissembling, he would be much surprised. But if she had an ulterior purpose for coming here, he couldn't fathom what it was. Did she want something from him?
When he reached for the bundle she had brought him, she retreated a step, as if fearing his proximity. He withdrew the shirt and carefully pulled it on, wincing at his aching muscles.
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