The Passion n-2

by Nicole Jordan

  How I ache with the struggle in my heart and the irrevocable choice he has given me. I long for freedom; I yearn to escape this strange, exotic world and return to the familiar, genteel life I once knew. Yet the chains of passion binding me are as strong as my yearning.

  What am I to do? What future is there here for me? He can never wed me, not if he means to survive the political intrigues of the Turkish court. Acknowledging his love for a foreign woman, a Christian no less, would be viewed as fatally weak. I can remain only as his concubine, one of many. The children born of my body would belong to his savage world, never mine.

  And love can so easily fade, passion more swiftly still. He desires me now, yet what of five years from now, or ten, or thirty? Will I still be beautiful in his eyes when my flesh has lost its firmness, when my white skin its smoothness, when younger beauties seek to gain his affections? He claims so… but can I believe professions made in the magical heat of passion? Can I believe the love that burns in his dark eyes?

  He says the choice is mine alone. Seeing my sadness in captivity, he has offered me the power to break my chains. He will set me free, if that is what I wish, because he desires my happiness above his own.

  And so I struggle to decide what is truly in my heart. Do I grasp at this chance for freedom, making my escape, never to see him again, never to feel his sensual touch again? Could I bear to live without him? Or do I remain with him, a slave to passion, abandoning all thought of my former life, my family, my friends, my very life, to be with him for as long as he wants me?

  Sweet heaven, I do not know.

  Aurora shut her eyes, torn by conflict as Desiree had been. Like the Frenchwoman, she had an irrevocable choice to make: to keep her heart safe and avoid the pain of an impossible love. Or to risk an uncertain future with a magnificent man.

  What am I to do? She could no longer fight her passion for Nicholas, or deny that her feelings for him were growing ever deeper. She trembled with the joy of being in his arms; his presence brought her desperate happiness. But to lose Nicholas after loving him would be devastating.

  Even now it would be hard to let him go. Could she bear to live without him when he left England?

  Aurora shook her head in despair, feeling as lost as Desiree had felt.

  "Aurora?"

  With a start, she glanced up to see Nicholas standing beside her.

  Her stomach muscles clenched involuntarily. This was her last day with him in their secret paradise. Until.now they had mostly avoided the main issue between them – the matter of their marriage. But she could see in the solemn depths of his eyes that the time had come to face truths she was still not quite ready to face.

  He sat beside her on the stone bench. "Did you come here to escape me?"

  "Not really," she murmured, avoiding meeting his penetrating gaze. "I was merely thinking."

  He took her hand, entwining his warm fingers with hers. "Thinking about the choice you have to make?"

  "Yes."

  "Whether you will come with me when I leave England."

  "Yes."

  "And have you reached a decision?"

  "No… not yet." She raised her troubled gaze to his. "I've never been to America, Nicholas. I don't know a soul there."

  "You know me."

  "And what happens when you go off into the world seeking adventure?"

  "I told you, I am done seeking adventure." His thumb stroked her palm absently. "Life with you would be adventurous enough. Each day with you seems fresh and new."

  When she didn't answer, Nicholas smiled faintly. "There will be times I shall have to travel because of my shipping business, but I would like nothing more than to have you sail with me. If you prefer to remain home, though, you will have new friends to bear you company. I think you will like my mother and sisters, and I know they will love you. We could make it work, Aurora."

  She searched his dark eyes. "I still find it hard to believe you would be willing to give up your freedom."

  Nicholas shrugged. "Freedom is overrated, I've come to realize. There has never been anything in my life I cared enough about to make me want to give it up. Until you."

  "You'll give it up until you tire of me."

  He returned her gaze steadily. "That will never happen."

  "How can you know?"

  She heard him draw a measured breath. "Because… I've fallen in love with you."

  Stunned, disbelieving, Aurora stared at him.

  "It's true," Nicholas said with a crooked, masculine smile. "You captured my heart on the quay in St. Kitts. Only it took me some time to realize it."

  "You don't really love me…" she breathed.

  "No?" She watched his dark eyes turn very deep and soft. "How could I not love you after what you did for me? You saved my life, Aurora. You came to my rescue like an avenging angel, sparing me the brutal pleasure of my guards. You wed me at great risk to yourself, when you knew your father would be outraged. You've cared for Raven as if she were your own sister."

  "Nicholas, you are confusing love with gratitude."

  "No, sweeting. I'm not. From the very first, I've felt a bond with you that I've never experienced with any other woman." His voice was low, vibrant. "On our wedding night, it seemed as if we were joined in spirit as well as the flesh. The next morning, severing that bond… Sending you away was the hardest thing I've ever done. And afterward, when I knew I would live, you haunted my dreams. You stole my heart and left me aching with desire."

  Her own heart wrenched at his singular admission. Could she possibly believe what Nicholas was saying? Did he truly love her? Or was he only telling her what he thought she wanted to hear, so that she would remain his wife?

  "Nicholas," she said finally, "a marriage needs more than carnal desire to sustain it throughout the years."

  "We have much more than that, sweetheart."

  "We have passion, I cannot dispute that. But how long will that last? Passion can fade so easily."

  He gazed down at their entwined fingers. "Or it can grow into love."

  Aurora followed his gaze to their clasped hands, myriad emotions welling in her – want, hope, wonder, need, doubt.

  He leaned his forehead against hers. "Be my wife, Aurora," he said, his voice soft.

  "Nicholas…" she murmured. She wanted so much to believe him. "I… need more time."

  After a moment he drew back. "I understand. You're not yet ready to commit yourself." He kissed her gently on the mouth and stood, releasing her hand. "You don't have to decide just yet. We'll return to London tomorrow, but it will take a few days to prepare my ship to sail."

  "So soon?" she asked with a sharply indrawn breath.

  His handsome face was a study in solemnity as he gazed down at her. "I'm afraid so." He hesitated. "I want you to come with me to America, Aurora, but I won't compel you. You would only resent me for it. You have to come willingly, because you want to be with me. With all my soul I hope your answer is yes."

  He turned away then, leaving her to herself. Aurora watched him go, her gaze blurring, her heart torn.

  Did she dare risk believing him? Or was Nicholas still trying to rescue her from her passionless existence, embellishing his arguments with tempting beguilements and promises of love in order to persuade her? How could she be certain what he felt for her was truly love? How could she even be certain of her own heart?

  After a long moment, she glanced down at the jeweled book in her lap. Fresh tears stung her eyes as she remembered the Frenchwoman's fate in the journal. Desiree's prince had promised her raptures of love more precious than treasure, but in the end had given her only pain; the tale had ended tragically with the death of her prince.

  Desiree had made her choice – to remain with her lover – but in so doing, had become his greatest vulnerability. Betrayed by the schemes of a jealous concubine, she was stolen from the palace harem by his fiercest enemy and carried off to a remote mountain fortress. The prince had mounted a long siege, determined
to rescue her, but while he had killed her abductor, he was mortally wounded himself.

  Desiree had wept tears of agony as her lover lay dying in her arms. Yet it was her anguished lament afterward that still rang in Aurora's mind.

  Regret tastes like bitter poison on my tongue. Why, why did I ever let my self love you?

  With trembling fingertips, Aurora reached up to wipe her tears away, wondering with a sharp sense of desperation if she was succumbing to the same malady.

  A pale sliver of moonlight fell across the bed where Nick lay entwined with Aurora. He had never felt such a sense of rightness – the simple contentment of watching a woman sleep in his arms and knowing he wanted to be like this forever. He might be giving up his adventurous life, but loving her would be an even greater adventure. It would be enough.

  She was the only woman he had ever wanted this way, fiercely, desperately, permanently. The only one who filled the empty places in his soul. Every time he touched her, he was swept up by an emotion so intense, it took his breath away.

  He loved her. Love. It was like a fire burning deep in his heart. Nicholas drew her closer, pressing his face against the intoxicating softness of her skin, wanting to absorb her very essence.

  She was wavering, he knew. For the first time, Aurora was actually contemplating what it would be like to live in America as his wife. For the first time, he could dare let himself believe he might someday win her love.

  For the first time he could feel an easing of the taut knots of fear inside him.

  Aurora still had made no decision the following day when they returned to London. She was grateful Nicholas rode beside the carriage instead of with her, for her thoughts were in such turmoil, she desperately needed the time alone, without his compelling, vital presence to overwhelm her senses and her good sense.

  When the carriage drew to a halt before her house, she was slow to descend, feeling a lingering reluctance to have their magical interlude end. Nicholas escorted her up the front steps, where they were admitted by her stately butler.

  It was only after Aurora relinquished her shawl to Danby, however, that she noticed the strange expression on his face.

  "Danby, what is it?" she asked. "Are you unwell?"

  "Well enough, thank you, my lady." The elderly man cleared his throat. "But if I may be so bold, I fear you should brace yourself for some strange tidings." He paused, his mouth grim. "Lord March has returned."

  "Harry?" Aurora replied, torn between alarm and exasperation. "He has run away from home again?"

  "No, my lady, not young Harry. It is his brother, the elder Lord March."

  Aurora felt a cold chill squeeze her heart. "Geoffrey?" she whispered, suddenly hoarse. "No, that is impossible."

  She must have looked faint, for Nicholas's hand came up to support her arm. "You must be mistaken, Danby," she forced herself to say. "Geoffrey has been dead this past year. He perished at sea."

  "So it was believed," Danby said solemnly. "But his body was never found. It seems his lordship survived the shipwreck and washed up on the shores of France. He was badly wounded, but he is in truth alive, my lady."

  In a shocked daze, Aurora turned to stare up at Nicholas.

  His dark eyes were hooded, his expression a mask of stone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I am that most miserable of creatures, a woman tormented by heartache .

  Still shaken by the shocking revelation, Aurora mounted the front steps of the elegant London mansion belonging to the Earl of March. A knot of anticipation tightened her stomach at the thought of seeing her former betrothed again after he'd been presumed dead for more than a year.

  At least she needn't concern herself with the impropriety of calling on him. According to Danby, Lady March was in residence, having accompanied her prodigal son to London three days ago, along with young Harry.

  Aurora fiercely regretted not being in town for Geoffrey's return. She should have been there to greet him – and the subterfuge she'd engaged in to explain her two-week absence only compounded her feelings of guilt. She'd given out the tale that she was visiting the sickbed of a school-hood friend in Berkshire, when in truth she had been indulging in a fortnight of erotic pleasure with Nicholas.

  Briefly she shut her eyes, remembering Nicholas's face when he'd learned the news. His grim countenance had suggested very clearly that he didn't welcome March's revival.

  She could scarcely believe this impossible turn of fate herself. It was incredible that the second of her betrotheds should return from the grave…

  Nicholas had volunteered to escort her here, but she needed to see Geoffrey alone, in private. She still had no idea what she would or could say to him, whether to tell him of her marriage and her growing passion for another man, but she knew their first meeting would be too personal, too emotional, for an audience.

  Aurora was acquainted with the footman who admitted her, and when she asked to speak to his lordship, she was shown at once to a parlor. She braced herself for what she would find, but was surprised when Lady March rose to greet her.

  The countess had been crying, quite clearly, but she dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief before taking Aurora's hand.

  "I hoped I would have the chance to speak with you before you saw Geoffrey. I… I am afraid you must prepare yourself, Aurora. He is not the same man you knew."

  "Danby said he had been severely wounded."

  "Yes, that is true… He… he lost an arm." Fresh tears sprang to her eyes.

  "Come, sit down," Aurora said solicitously. Leading the countess back to the settee, she sat beside the distraught woman and put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

  "I am unclear about what happened," Aurora said, wanting to distract Lady March from her grief. "How did he even survive?"

  Her ladyship drew an unsteady breath, struggling for composure. "When his yacht sank off the coast of France, Geoffrey washed ashore, badly injured and with no memory of his past or even his identity. He was taken in by a French family, where he remained in hiding from Napoleon's army, recovering his health. But his arm grew putrid and had to be…" She shuddered. "It is a miracle that he is even alive, and I am very grateful, truly, but… my poor son…" Her voice broke on a sob and she buried her face in her hands.

  For a long moment she sat quietly weeping, while Aurora murmured consoling reassurances. Finally the countess's tears stopped and she recovered enough to use her kerchief to blot her eyes.

  "Oh, Aurora, I am so glad you have come," she said, her voice muffled by lace. "You are just what Geoffrey needs. I know you will stand by him – " Abruptly the countess raised her tear-streaked face in consternation. "You would not be put off by a missing arm… would you? That would not change your feelings for him?"

  "No," Aurora said soothingly. "Of course not. My feelings for Geoffrey will never change."

  Lady March nodded gratefully. "He seems despondent, Aurora. His memory still is not fully restored, and he is so very thin. I fear for him. But now that you are here…" She forced a smile. "Everything can return to the way it was. You can be married this summer, and become my daughter in truth."

  Aurora's heart twisted, both at the hope she saw in her friend's eyes and the hurt she knew she would bring when she confessed that she couldn't marry Geoffrey. She started to reply, but then realized it would be fairer to tell Geoffrey first.

  "I would like to see him, if I may," she said quietly.

  "Yes, yes, of course… I believe he is in the library. I will have Starks show you there."

  Aurora knew the way, for she'd spent many a pleasant hour in the March library. But it was better for her to be announced, to allow Geoffrey time to prepare himself – and time for herself to bring her own emotions under control.

  Several minutes passed before she found herself at the library door, her heart beating painfully. Geoffrey stood at the window, his back to her. The right sleeve of his jacket was pinned up nearly to the shoulder.

  "Geoffre
y?" she said quietly.

  He turned slowly to meet her gaze. Her first reaction was one of shock as they stared at each other across the room. His beloved face was lined with pain, and he was far thinner than before. But he gave her the same gentle smile.

  It was all Aurora could do to hold back the ache of tears in her throat. She managed a smile, however, as she crossed to him. Needing to touch him, to feel that he was truly alive, she reached up to put her arms around him. "Welcome home," she said simply, pressing her face into his shoulder.

  She held him that way in an embrace that was comforting rather than carnal. Hesitantly his one good arm slid around her shoulders to draw her closer.

  After a moment, Geoffrey gave a soft laugh. "I should have realized you would know precisely the right thing to say."

  Aurora drew back, searching his face. "I am so very glad to see you. I've missed you unbelievably."

  His handsome mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "I fear I cannot express the same sentiment… About missing you, I mean. Until a few weeks ago, I had no memory of my past life. Only images…" He reached up to touch her cheek. "I saw your beautiful face, Aurora, but I never knew why. It was only when Wycliff found me that the images became stronger. I think he must have jogged something loose in my mind, for I've slowly been regaining my memory since then."

  "Wycliff? The Earl of Wycliff found you in France?"

  "Yes, Lucian rescued me. In truth, I owe you both a debt of gratitude. It's because of you that he spent the last two months scouring the French countryside, searching for me."

  Aurora frowned, wondering what the earl would be doing in France when the two countries had been at war for years. "How is that possible? How could Wycliff avoid capture by Napoleon's forces for that long a period?"

  "He was in disguise, actually."

  "Disguise?"

  Geoffrey looked ill at ease. "Aurora, I will tell you something in confidence. Wycliff is actually a spy. A damned good one, I understand."

  "Spy?" She stared, suddenly remembering the wild tales his younger brother had told her about Geoffrey. "Harry claimed you were engaged in spying," she said slowly, "but I thought he was simply fabricating a fantasy."