Shaking her head in denial, Aurora stirred weakly, then gave a soft moan of dismay. Her back was still pressed against the wall, yet when she'd straightened, she felt his warm, wet seed slip down her thigh.
Her hand stole to her abdomen. Dear heaven, how could she have allowed him to make love to her like that? How could she forget him now? She could still feel the powerful thrust of Nicholas inside her, the searing fire he ignited in her…
She took a deep, shuddering breath. She had to crush her feelings for him. She couldn't let him near her again. She could not.
A deep and lonely ache twisted like a knife inside her at the thought of never seeing Nicholas again, never feeling his sensual touch. Yet she had no choice.
She had thought her father domineering and controlling, but Nicholas would be a hundred times worse. He would own her. If she surrendered to him, her soul would no longer be her own. He would rule her, would totally consume her in his blazing passion. And her heart would be seared to ashes in the fire.
Chapter Seventeen
His arms enfolded me; his lips soft on my face eased my tears.
Nick lay staring at the dimly lit ceiling of his hotel room, cursing himself and his handling of Aurora this afternoon. It was inexcusable, the way he had treated her.
He hadn't meant for their argument to go so far, to erupt in a blaze of raw, unbridled desire. But her fury had ignited his resolve, while kissing her had driven him beyond the reach of reason. The instant he touched her, he had been wild to get inside her.
He shut his eyes, remembering Aurora's stunned look as he plunged himself inside her, her flushed face as she became swept up in the flame of frenzied passion. He had taken her against a wall, without preliminaries, without regard to where they were or who might see them. Like any whore. And she had loved it, responding with all the fire he knew was within her.
He didn't regret shattering her icy control. What he regretted was the dark anger that now lay between them. After weeks of carefully wooing her, of aching for her, he had destroyed the fragile balance of trust and growing desire in a blinding flash of heat.
Clenching his teeth, Nick ran a hand raggedly through his dark hair. He wasn't sure now how to salvage the tattered bonds of their relationship – or even if he wanted to salvage them. He couldn't understand the violence of his feelings for her.
Hell and damnation, he was getting in too deep. He'd never before felt such driving, desperate, mind-blotting need for anyone. His vulnerability staggered him. With just a look, Aurora could set his blood on fire faster, make his loins burn hotter, than any woman he'd ever known. He was panting after her like some lust-crazed, heartsick schoolboy…
He swore again, savagely. Perhaps he should walk away, before he made a worse fool of himself. He shouldn't have stayed so long in England as it was.
He was obviously bent on torturing himself. It was looking more and more likely that she would never accept him as her husband or set free the passionate woman she had encased in ice.
Just then he heard a soft rap on the door. Puzzled, Nicholas sat up, wondering who could be calling at this time of the evening. The hour was not yet ten o'clock, and he had turned down dune's offer for a night of carousing on the town.
The rap came again, more insistently this time. Easing himself from the bed, he went to open the door.
His heart gave a jolt of surprise when he saw the woman who stood there. She was veiled and wore a concealing cloak, but he would have recognized Aurora in any disguise.
He felt himself scowl. She had come to his hotel at night alone, risking scandal, after vowing she never wanted to see him again. But then he realized she would never take such a bold step without good reason…
"What is wrong?" he demanded, his expression softening.
"Harry…" Aurora answered in a trembling voice. "He's gone."
"What do you mean, gone?"
"He ran away. Please, Nicholas, you must help me find him."
His jaw flexed grimly. He didn't point out the obvious incongruity of her plea coming so soon after ordering him to keep away from her. Instead, he drew her from the very public hallway into the privacy of his room.
"How long has he been gone?" he asked, shutting the door.
"I don't know. Hours." She raised her veil, her blue eyes imploring. "I found this note when he was late for supper. He left it on his pillow." She handed him a scrap of paper that had obviously been well perused.
Rory, I have gone to seek my fortune. Please do not worry.
Nicholas frowned thoughtfully. "Do you have any idea where he might be?"
"No. My servants have looked everywhere. Please," Aurora repeated urgently. "Will you help me?"
He gave her a look of reproach. "Can you possibly doubt it?" Turning away, he began stripping off his fine cambric shirt.
"What are you doing?" she asked, momentarily startled out of her dismay.
"Changing clothes. I don't want to call undue attention to myself. A fine gentleman would be out of place searching the places Harry is likely to be. Sit down. I will be only a moment."
As he rummaged through the clothespress, she glanced at the comfortable settee to one side of the room. But apparently she was too distraught to obey, for she turned to pace the floor.
"This is my fault," she said in an anguished voice. "I drove Harry away. If I hadn't lost my temper, he would never have behaved so foolishly."
Nicholas shook his head as he shrugged on an old brown coat. "Your temper had little to do with it. Harry has been chomping at the bit to begin his adventures. The only surprise was that you persuaded him to wait this long." When she remained painfully silent, an aching wave of protectiveness hit him. "Don't despair, Aurora. I will find him."
She took a deep, shuddering breath, making a visible effort to control herself. "Where will you even begin searching?"
"The docks. That is the most likely place he would go to look for a berth on a sailing ship. He never gave up his aspirations to sail to France."
Nick traded his shiny Hessian boots for a rougher pair and fished out a slouch hat. When he tucked a pair of pistols in his belt and a knife in his boot, Aurora's blue eyes filled with distress. He resembled the violent pirate she deplored, he knew. Yet she didn't protest. She simply watched him, her dread for Harry evident.
Nicholas could not blame her. In the past he had accused her of being overly fearful, but this time her fear was warranted. A youth of Harry's tender age and sheltered upbringing would be prey for all the miscreants and misfits in London. Nick didn't like to think of the danger the boy faced.
Grimly he slipped a heavy set of brass knuckles in his coat pocket and hefted a walking stick that doubled as a sword. He intended to be prepared for any kind of trouble. When he was ready, he took Aurora by the elbow and steered her toward the door.
"How did you come here?" he asked as he ushered her from the room.
"My carriage. Danby is waiting below for me."
"Have him take you home."
She halted, gazing up at Nicholas pleadingly. "But I want to come with you."
"No, sweetheart. I don't want to have to worry about your safety as well as Harry's."
Aurora clenched her hands into fists, obviously torn. Taking her lightly by the shoulders, Nicholas touched his lips briefly to her forehead in a gentle kiss meant to reassure her. "Go home, Aurora. I will find him, I promise you."
When still she hesitated, he reached up to stroke her cheek. "I am good at rescues, remember? Trust me a little."
She gave him a tremulous smile. "I do trust you, Nicholas," she whispered.
That brave smile tore at his heart.
As he turned her toward the stairs, Nicholas prayed silently that he would be able to keep his promise. For if real harm came to the boy, Nick knew instinctively he would forfeit any hope of prying Aurora from her fear of losing everyone she cared for.
Nicholas went first to the ship he had docked at the wharves. He kept a skeleton crew
there on the schooner in the event he needed to make a swift getaway.
With a few of his roughest seamen, Nick combed the waterfront, looking for the runaway boy.
The night was teeming with humanity, sailors and bawds and cutpurses, while a din of drunken revelry issued from the taprooms and public houses. Nearest the docks, swirls of fog rose from the River Thames, bringing the damp odors of tar and rotting fish and half concealing the hundreds of bare-masted ships lying at anchor along the wharves.
The fog made the search more difficult, misting the cobblestones and making ghostly images of the crates and barrels and drays that occupied nearly every square inch of waterfront.
Yet the fog was the least of Nick's concerns. He was acquainted enough with London's underworld to have developed a healthy respect for it. The thieves' kitchens, the brothels, the opium dens here were some of the most dangerous in the world. Accordingly Nicholas adopted the low language of the waterfront, pretending to be a sailor in search of a runaway cabin boy for his master and even offering a small reward. But no one had seen a fugitive golden-haired boy.
The constricted feeling in his chest grew as the night wore on. Harry could be anywhere – abducted and forced into labor onboard a ship, or apprenticed as a pickpocket or a ragged chimney sweep, or taken into one of the sporting houses whose clientele craved the tender flesh of young boys, or lying in a dark alley, carved up for fishbait.
Or he might be miles away, having set out in a different direction entirely, Nicholas reminded himself. He'd only been relying on gut instinct when he began the search here. Although his gut was rarely wrong, he could have been mistaken. If so, then Harry could pay a costly price…
He set his jaw and continued the search. There was no way in hell he would return to face Aurora without finding the boy.
It was nearing the darkest hours of night when he met up with two of his men as they exited a tavern.
"No luck, guv'nor," one of them confided. "There's nary a sign of the young toff."
"Keep looking," Nick commanded. "When you reach the end of the quay, start boarding vessels and questioning the crews. We won't stop until we find him."
He had started to turn away when he heard a sound that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Devil…"
The raw whisper came from behind a stack of crates, but it wasn't an oath or an invocation of Satan, Nicholas realized. It was a plea for "Deverill," his assumed name.
Giving a low shout to alert his men, he threaded his way through the maze of crates. His heart went cold when he saw the pale shape huddled on the ground.
"Harry?" Nicholas said urgently, kneeling beside him.
The boy groaned and lifted his head. In the darkness, Nicholas could just make out his gold hair.
Nearly naked, he was clutching his stomach and shivering in the damp night air. Stripped of his clothing, he wore only his underdrawers, which stank of urine, no doubt because he had wet himself out of fear.
"Where are you hurt?" Nicholas asked, gently probing the boy's face and limbs.
"My… belly. They hit me…"
Nicholas could feel no blood, but Harry's ribs were tender, as evidenced by his sharp winces. Nick suspected, however, that they were only bruised, not broken.
"You'll live," he said tersely, hiding his sympathy. "Tell me what happened."
Haltingly Harry's story came tumbling out: how he had made his way here shortly before dark, how he'd been chased off a brigantine he tried to board, then set upon by a gang of young pickpockets. He seemed most ashamed of his fear.
"I was so afraid," he mumbled, his voice ending in a whisper.
Nicholas didn't mince words. "You damn well should have been afraid. You're fortunate you were only bruised and battered. You could have been gutted and left to die."
"I prayed you would come."
"Count yourself lucky that I don't wring your neck. You frightened Lady Aurora witless."
"I… I am sorry. Will you tell her for me?"
"You'll tell her yourself – in the morning. For now, let's see what we can do to get you cleaned up."
Bending, he lifted the boy carefully in his arms. "I'll take you to my ship first," Nicholas added, rising. "I don't dare present you to her looking like this."
When he had Harry safely on board the Talon, however, Nicholas changed his mind about taking the boy home to Aurora. Harry was exhausted, as well as bruised and battered, but even more than rest, he needed a lesson about the harsh realities of life to underscore the one he'd learned tonight about the dangers.
When the boy was cleaned up and sound asleep in the first mate's bunk, Nicholas retreated to his own cabin, where he composed a message for Aurora. The note was brief, saying simply that Harry was safe and essentially unharmed, but that he would remain on the schooner for a time, to be taught a lesson.
That would undoubtedly rouse her protective instincts, Nick knew, and bring her running. Yet for what he wished to say to her, he needed privacy, which her house with its loyal staff of servants couldn't offer. He sent the message by three of his roughest crew members, trusting that they could protect her when she journeyed to the docks.
His plan worked as expected. In less than an hour, before dawn had even begun to appear, Nicholas heard the clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestone.
Standing at the foredeck railing, he watched as Aurora swiftly descended from the carriage and hurried toward the ship's gangway. He could feel the powerful thudding of his heart, knowing the next few moments could change his life forever.
When she reached the top of the gangway, he moved to help her step onto the deck, grasping her elbow for support.
"What have you done with Harry?" she demanded even before she was on board, her voice hoarse with strain. "Did you hurt him?"
"No, of course I didn't hurt him. He's sound asleep."
Abruptly she pulled away from Nick's grasp. Her gaze riveted on his face, fear and anger evident on her beautiful features in the lantern light. "What did you mean, you want to teach him a lesson?" she said in a fierce undertone. "He should be safe at home in bed."
"He is safe, Aurora."
"You said you intend to keep him on board your ship – "
"Let's not argue here," Nicholas replied warningly, gesturing with his head toward his crewmen, who were climbing the ladder after her.
With a visible effort to control her agitation, she allowed him to lead her. Taking up a lantern, he escorted her belowdeck to the mate's cabin. Quietly opening the door, he stepped aside to allow her entrance.
Harry was curled up in the bunk, fast asleep. Aurora approached him cautiously, afraid of what she would find. The pitiful sight was even more shocking than she anticipated. In the dim glow of lantern light, she could see his battered face – the bruise forming under one eye, the split lip…
A sob caught in her throat, while a surge of nausea rose up to choke her; she had to press her hand to her mouth to stifle it.
This was what violence had done to him, she thought despairingly, fighting the storm of fury and helplessness that raged inside her. Yet Harry was alive, that was what mattered most. She had not been able to protect him, but he was alive.
Needing that reassurance, she reached down to touch his face. The boy stirred in his sleep, but didn't awaken. She drew a shuddering breath.
"Come," Nicholas murmured softly behind her. "He needs to rest after his ordeal."
Reluctant to leave, she tenderly brushed a disheveled lock of hair from the boy's forehead, then forced herself to turn away. After the strain and terror of the past hours, she suddenly felt drained, empty.
She hardly noticed where Nicholas was taking her, but found herself in a small but well-appointed cabin. She didn't resist when he led her to the bunk and pressed her to sit down.
He went straight to a cabinet and poured her a finger of brandy, then returned to her.
"Here, drink," he said, holding the glass to her lips.
Th
e potent liquor burned like fire. Aurora shuddered as she swallowed, then pushed it away. Bending her head, she covered her face with her hands.
"I told you he was safe," Nicholas finally said.
Her shoulders quivered with involuntary trembles. "I know. I was just so afraid…"
"You didn't truly think I would harm him?"
Mutely, Aurora shook her head. She knew Nicholas wouldn't hurt even a strand of Harry's blond hair, yet he was the worst kind of influence on an impressionable boy…
"You said you meant to teach him a lesson," she said, her muffled reply more a question than accusation.
"I do. In the morning I intend to put him to work swabbing decks and checking rigging."
"Why?"
"Because he needs to learn just how difficult life at sea can be."
Lifting her head, she stared at him. "Harry cannot possibly become a sailor, Nicholas. It is too dangerous. By keeping him on your ship, you will only be abetting his ambition – "
"It is far more dangerous to leave him to strike out on his own." Putting down the brandy glass, Nicholas sat beside her on the bunk. "The boy has a fever, Aurora. A burning desire that won't be quenched. Believe me, I know. I was just like him when I was that age. Perhaps it's hard for you to understand since you've never experienced anything like it, but Harry will have to pursue his ambition until either it burns out or it's satisfied. Either way, you cannot cure his fever by sheltering him from life. He will only resent you for it – the way he now resents his mother. The way I did my father."
"But I am responsible for him."
"And certainly you want to protect him. But he needs the guidance of a man, Aurora. I can give him that."
"He doesn't need the kind of guidance you could provide. You will only teach him violence. I abhor violence, Nicholas. After seeing all the terrible things my father did – "
"I have no intention of teaching Harry to be violent, sweetheart," he said gently. "Only to stand up for himself." When she was silent, Nicholas added more forcefully, "You cannot keep him wrapped in cotton wool forever, Aurora. Certainly not by keeping him imprisoned in the safe little sanctuary you've built for yourself."
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