Nicole Jordan (12 page)

“No.” Aurora shook her head. Soaking in a hot bath might have eased the unfamiliar aches of her body, but there wasn’t time. “Thank you, Nell, but I will make do with wash water. And then you must help me dress quickly. I must pay a call on the governor at once, and there isn’t a moment to lose.”

She had to try to save Nicholas, even if it meant defying his wishes and breaking any or all of her promises to him.

Aurora found the governor, Lord Hearn, at his plantation home, where she pleaded fervently with him to intervene with the navy and spare her husband’s life. It took all her powers of persuasion to convince him simply to consider such a politically damaging step. Even then, his lordship insisted on discussing the matter with his lieutenant governor first.

She wasted precious time searching for Percy, making a fruitless trip home. By the time she tracked him down at his offices, nearly three hours had passed since she had said farewell to Nicholas in their bridal bower, and the day had turned chill gray, with dark storm clouds threatening to the south.

When she met Percy coming out of his offices, his expression looked as grim as she had ever seen it. He greeted her tersely, saying he was just on his way home to find her. And when she began telling him about the governor’s possible willingness to intervene, Percy shook his head. “Aurora, I am afraid it is too late.”

“Too late? What do you mean?”

“I received a message from Commander Madsen only moments ago. He has already acted. Nicholas is gone.”

Aurora felt herself turn white. “No…that can’t be true.”

“I’m sorry. It is.”

“He can’t be dead,” she whispered hoarsely. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to stem her cry of despair as pain lashed through her.

After a moment, Percy reached out to take her other hand. “Aurora, you know Nicholas would not want you to grieve for him. He wished you to forget about him and move on with your life…. Indeed, we should be leaving shortly to find his sister. Not only did I promise Nick I would escort you there this afternoon, I don’t like the looks of the sky. A storm is brewing, and we should make haste if we hope to outrun it. My yacht is waiting to take us to Montserrat—”

“I want…to see him.”

He frowned. “I told you he is gone.”

“I want to see his body. Please, Percy…I cannot go without saying good-bye.”

He gave a heavy sigh. “I feared you might feel this way, that you wouldn’t be convinced to leave until his fate was final. Very well. I will take you to see his grave, if you insist. He was buried at the fortress.”

She stood over the freshly dug grave in stricken silence, her heart as heavy as the dismal sky, while tears slipped relentlessly down her face. There was no headstone or marker. Only bare, pungent earth to indicate the passing of the man whose vital presence had touched her life so briefly…and so powerfully.

Aurora bowed her head, fighting to hold back a sob. She felt cold, sick inside. And along with the salt of her tears was the bitter taste of guilt. Guilt for not trying to do more to save him.

Nicholas, I’m sorry.

“Come now,” her cousin murmured at her elbow. “You have a promise to fulfill.”

She nodded mutely, the muscles of her throat locked tight.

Percy understood why she’d had to come here. Only seeing Nicholas’s grave could convince her that he was truly gone.

Only now could she accept the finality of his death.

She donned widow’s weeds for the journey to Montserrat—a traveling dress of black bombazine that she’d originally worn to honor the memory of her late betrothed. No sooner had Aurora and Percy boarded his yacht, though, when the dark sky opened up. They were forced to wait nearly an hour before the rain diminished enough to permit them to set sail.

Aurora was glad for the storm, for the weeping sky and lashing winds mirrored her mood exactly. She watched dully from the captain’s stateroom as the storm spent its fury outside.

The worst of the squall bypassed them to the south, but choppy seas made the short voyage to the nearby island rough. However, by the time they arrived, the angry clouds had turned to scudding fleece, with the sun making an occasional appearance.

Because of its rugged green hills and considerable Irish population, Montserrat was known as the Emerald Isle of the Caribbean, and after the rain, it glistened like a jewel in the sun. When the schooner dropped anchor, the passengers were rowed ashore. Percy hired a carriage, which swept them past rich flatlands planted in sugar cane toward gentle, tropical-forested mountains. The climb offered a magnificent view of the sea, yet Aurora scarcely noticed. She was grateful for her cousin’s silence, for she wanted to be alone with her own dark thoughts.

Eventually the driver brought them to a halt before a plantation home. The house had a certain charm, boasting the arched stonework and shaded balconies of the West Indies, brightened by colorful bougainvillaea and hibiscus. But it had seen better days, as evidenced by fading whitewash and peeling green paint on the shutters.

No grooms or footmen came to greet them, and when Aurora and Percy climbed the front steps to wield the knocker, a long wait ensued before they heard the sound of movement from within.

A young woman opened the door. She was dressed in a plain blue muslin gown and held a pistol in her hand.

Aurora blinked to find the weapon aimed at her heart, while at her back Percy muttered an oath and roughly drew her aside, out of direct range.

The young woman lowered the pistol with a murmur of apology. “Forgive me. I expected someone else. We’ve had trouble lately….” Her voice trailed off.

“What sort of trouble?” Aurora asked, recovering from surprise.

“Some rather unpleasant visits by the British navy.” Her mouth curled in derision, before she schooled her features to politeness. “What may I do for you?”

“We’re here to see Miss Raven Kendrick,” Aurora replied, although she knew this must be Raven. A rebel and a beauty, Nicholas had said. This young woman was certainly that, with her ebony hair and blue, blue eyes and her deadly looking pistol.

“I am Miss Kendrick,” Raven answered. “And you are…?”

“Lady Aurora…Demming. And this is my cousin, Sir Percy Osborne. We are here on behalf of your brother.”

A look of alarm crossed her face. “What do you know of my brother?”

Aurora swallowed, momentarily made mute by the ache in her throat. She felt Percy’s hand at her elbow, supporting her.

“He was taken prisoner, that much I know,” Raven declared. “Is he all right?” When Aurora’s eyes blurred with tears, the girl’s mouth went white. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“I…I’m afraid so.”

Raven’s eyes filled with grief. After a moment she turned away, bowing her head as she struggled for composure.

Finally, though, she turned back. “What happened?” she whispered hoarsely.

“It is rather complicated,” Aurora answered in a low voice. “May we come in?”

“Yes…yes, of course.” Squaring her slender shoulders as if bracing for a blow, she stood back to give her visitors admittance.

Three days later Aurora stood at the stern of a two-masted brig with her new ward, watching the island of Montserrat fade to a green speck on the horizon. It had been harder than she expected to say good-bye to Percy—everything had been harder with her heart so heavy. She would miss her cousin and Jane dearly.

Fortunately the past three days had been a whirlwind of activity, offering little chance to grieve. Aurora had spent the interval helping Raven make final preparations for her relocation to England: packing up her worldly possessions and closing the house, bidding farewell to the last few servants, and selling the last-remaining livestock, including a mare Raven was inordinately fond of. They both shared a passion for horses, it seemed.

During that time Raven had singlemindedly thrown herself into her tasks. She’d spoken little about her half brother, but Aurora suspected the girl mourned his death with a surprising intensity. Though Raven hadn’t known Nicholas long—only a few years—during that short time she had apparently grown quite attached to him. Aurora thought it fortunate that she and Percy had arrived on Montserrat when they did, for Raven was indeed planning to leave the next day and go in search of her brother.

The girl had been shocked by his death and taken aback to learn about the change in wardship. But once she read Nicholas’s letter, she offered little protest to the arrangement—confiding that she saw the benefit of having someone like Lady Aurora guide her in society and claiming to be glad for Aurora’s consoling presence.

Aurora thought Raven showed remarkable courage in leaving behind the only life she had ever known. It couldn’t be easy, traveling partway around the world to live in a strange country with scornful relatives she had never met, attended only by her maid and a faithful Irish stablehand named O’Malley, who apparently had appointed himself Raven’s personal guardian.

Now, standing beside Aurora at the ship’s railing, Raven kept her chin lifted and stubbornly set as she watched her home disappear.

“You have always lived on the island, have you not?” Aurora murmured in an effort to distract the girl’s sorrow.

“The whole of my life.”

“I know you will greatly miss it.”

Her mouth quivered momentarily, making her seem younger and more vulnerable than her nineteen years. But she quickly controlled it. “It doesn’t matter. This is what my mother always wanted for me.” Taking a deep breath, Raven pointedly turned to face the bow of the ship. “And I have no family left now.”

“You have me,” Aurora said gently.

“I’m glad.” She managed a tremulous smile. “I’m glad Nicholas found you.”

Repressing the shaft of pain that pierced her at the remembrance, Aurora faced forward as Raven had done. “You shall make a new life in England, Raven. We both shall.”

“Yes.” Clenching her jaw, Raven slipped her hand in Aurora’s.

Inspired by the young woman’s courage, Aurora raised her gaze to the endless sea, where home beckoned. She, too, would have to leave the past behind and look toward the future. A future without Nicholas.

“A new life,” she vowed in a fierce whisper.

Sleepless, Aurora lay curled beneath the covers of her bunk, watching as dawn spread rosy fingers of light through the shipboard cabin. The brig belonged to the Earl of Wycliff, and the cabin she shared with her maid was comfortably if sparsely appointed.

There was no reason to rise early. The voyage to England would last seven or eight weeks if good weather held, and this was but the first morning. Except for their servants, she and Raven were the only passengers on board, and they both made poor company at present.

The cabin was quiet except for the steady slap of waves against the hull and the breathing of her maid, who had finally fallen asleep in the opposite bunk after feeling ill much of the night.

Too quiet, Aurora thought regretfully. She could not be grateful for the solitude, her first since leaving St. Kitts. For the most part, she had managed to bury her own sorrow, avoiding thoughts of Nicholas above a dozen times a day, refusing to allow herself to dwell on her loss. At least until now. Now, in the quiet of dawn, the pain came rushing back with renewed force.

Closing her eyes, she fingered the ring he had given her, which she wore now on a gold chain around her neck. The metal was warm from her body and reminded her acutely of Nicholas and the searing passion they had shared on their brief night together.

Unable to bear the solitude of her dark thoughts any longer, Aurora rose and braced herself against the sway of the ship as she silently began to dress. Even though she would have been glad for the companionship, she had no wish to wake poor Nell. Perhaps if she went above deck, she might find the captain or one of his officers to bear her company.

She was extricating a shawl from her valise when she came across the parcel wrapped in layers of tissue paper. Her fingers traced the name written in a weak hand: Nicholas Sabine. The parcel had been left for him by Raven’s mother among her possessions.

Aurora felt her heart twist strangely as she opened the wrapping. Inside was indeed a book as he’d expected, although not just any book. Aurora caught her breath at its stunning beauty.

The cover was inlaid with gold leaf and adorned at the four corners with clusters of semiprecious stones. Embossed into the gold was the title:
Une passion du coeur—par une dame anonyme.

A Passion of the Heart—by an Anonymous Lady.

Curious, Aurora opened the jeweled cover. The book was a journal, she realized, written nearly a hundred years ago, though it had been published more recently.

The first entry, also written in French, was dated September 3, 1727:

It has been seven months since I was captured by Turkish corsairs and sold as a slave in Constantinople into the harem of a prince. Seven months since my gradual conversion from despair to desire, to unwilling love.

Only today was I allowed pen and parchment to set down my thoughts about my captivity.

I remember vividly the day I was brought before him as his concubine. I was so innocent then, a Frenchwoman of good family, unprepared for the mysteries of passion that awaited me at the hands of my new master. I could not know how profoundly he would affect me, awakening a woman’s tender longing and hungry desire.

At first glimpse he seemed infinitely dangerous, even barbaric. And yet something in his eyes called to me…

Aurora shut her eyes, reminded so poignantly of the first time she had seen Nicholas on board the naval frigate. Then, he had been a captive, bound in chains, and yet he had seemed just as dangerous, just as compelling, as the prince in the journal.

She moved on, turning pages that seemed worn and obviously well read. Nicholas had said the book was his father’s gift to the woman he loved. Raven’s mother had evidently loved him in return, if the condition of the pages were any indication. Numerous passages had been underlined, one of which drew Aurora’s eye.