Nicole Jordan (30 page)

“I am returning to my hotel, but I planned to walk. You are welcome to join me, if you care to.”

“Walk?” Clune said in amusement. “On foot? What a novel idea.”

Patting his belly, Nick forced a grin. “This indolent life of a privileged gentleman is turning me shiftless and lazy.”

“And restless, it seems.”

“Ah, no, that is nothing new.”

“You realize, of course, that you are taking your life in your hands, walking alone this near Covent Garden.”

Nicholas raised his walking stick, which concealed a deadly rapier. “I could use some excitement to enliven the evening.”

Clune cocked his head thoughtfully. “I share your ennui, if not your restlessness. Perhaps I will join you.”

“Be my guest, but I warn you, I may not be the best of company just now.”

“Then we will be well matched.”

Nicholas sent him a penetrating glance. “Any particular reason you say so?”

“Nothing of consequence,” Clune answered lightly. “Perhaps I’m merely growing jaded in my waning years. I suppose even a dedicated libertine can begin to tire of a life of sin and debauchery.”

Tactfully Nicholas refrained from comment. Clune’s age was hardly an issue—he was still in his early thirties at most—but the years of hard living were evidently taking a toll on his soul.

The earl dismissed his carriage and fell into step beside Nicholas. A moment later Clune spoke, sounding surprisingly serious. “To be honest, my dark mood is probably due to my grandfather.”

“I hear Wolverton is faring poorly.”

“Quite. He isn’t expected to live out the month.”

“Are you close?”

“Not in the least. He’s a bloody tyrant. We haven’t spoken in years, even though I’m his heir.” Clune’s jaw hardened. “I won’t weep when the old bastard breathes his last.”

“You’ll be a marquess then?”

“Yes, regrettably.”

Nick waited for an explanation.

“I have no desire to assume the responsibilities that go with the title.” Clune let out his breath in a sigh. “But I suppose we all must leave our youth behind at some point.”

“True,” Nicholas agreed, understanding that lament all too well.

For a while, each man was occupied by his own brooding thoughts. Eventually, however, Clune interrupted the silence again. “I take it your courtship of your wife is at an impasse?”

Nick’s mouth twisted grimly. “Whatever gave you that notion?”

Clune smiled at the sardonic reply. “Something about the way you resemble a caged jungle cat, perhaps. Forgive me for prying, but it seems to me that drastic measures are called for.”

“How drastic?”

“Have you considered abduction?”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “You’re not proposing I emulate
you
, I trust. If I recall, Dare, the last abduction you engaged in landed you in a duel and caused you to shoot your closest friend.”

With a rueful laugh, Clune shook his head. “That was clearly a mistake, one I infinitely regret. But I am not advocating anything illegal, or even immoral. Carrying your wife off for a passionate interlude would be well within the law and your rights as a husband.”

“You have my curiosity aroused,” Nicholas replied cautiously. “What are you suggesting?”

“A quiet love nest where you can persuade your bride to your way of thinking. At the very least, Lady Aurora would find it…stimulating.”

“And I suppose you have a specific nest in mind?”

“In fact, I do. I have a house in Berkshire that would prove ideal for your purposes—completely secluded and well-staffed with discreet servants. I have yet to meet a woman who was not captivated by its exotic…ah…charms.”

When Nicholas didn’t immediately respond, his lordship brought up another point. “It would have the further benefit of removing you from London for a time. It wouldn’t hurt for you to make yourself scarce just now, my friend. Damien Sinclair asked about you this afternoon. He noticed the resemblance between you and the American who was a guest at our gathering of the Hellfire League three years ago.”

“I thought perhaps he might have remembered me.”

“You are taking a risk by remaining here, Nick.”

“I know,” he said thoughtfully.

It was indeed risky, chancing discovery by staying in London to be near Aurora, especially when he was making so little progress.

Nicholas grimaced. That reckless urge of his to defy fate was one of Aurora’s chief complaints, and it had been the biggest bone of contention with his father as well. They had fought over it until the last, when the older man lay dying. Nicholas had never quite overcome his guilt for being such a disappointment to his father. He’d sworn then that he would settle down and fulfill his responsibilities—yet here he was, neglecting his shipping business and risking his life for a possibly hopeless cause.

Aurora was still fiercely resisting his pursuit, in part because she deplored his recklessness. She would be happier if he simply left England….

Frowning, Nicholas turned that reflection over in his mind. Perhaps he could use that argument with her—that it would be safer for him to leave town….

“I would be more than pleased to put my house at your disposal,” Clune offered, interrupting his thoughts.

“That is extremely generous of you,” Nick answered. “Let me consider it.”

He did intend to give the idea serious thought. Having time alone with Aurora, without the strict constraints of society to dictate her every action, could indeed break the impasse between them, as well as give them a chance for intimacy that could lead to deeper feelings….

It would also lessen the risk of discovery, Nicholas reminded himself. And his well-honed instincts for danger told him that time was running out.

He would have to act in regards to Aurora, and soon.

The impasse broke the following day, in a manner neither of them expected.

Raven was having a final fitting for the gowns she would wear while visiting her grandfather this summer, and she wanted Aurora’s guidance. Knowing Harry wouldn’t be comfortable in Lady Dalrymple’s home and that Raven’s aunt wouldn’t welcome a rambunctious ten-year-old boy, Aurora left Harry in her butler’s charge. Nicholas planned to call that morning to keep Harry occupied with a game of chess.

It was late afternoon by the time Aurora arrived home. When she heard strange sounds emanating from the drawing room, she gave Danby a puzzled glance.

“I believe Mr. Deverill and his young lordship are practicing fisticuffs,” the butler informed her as he relieved her of her veiled bonnet.

Her heart leaping to her throat, Aurora moved swiftly past him. When she reached the drawing room door, she came up short. Some of the furnishings had been pushed aside to clear a space in the center of the room, and both Nicholas and Harry were in their shirtsleeves, brandishing their bare fists.

“Yes,” Nicholas was saying. “Keep your hands up, even when you attack. Like this…” He demonstrated, assailing an imaginary opponent with a flurry of jabs.

Aurora went cold. Fear squeezed her heart, along with a fierce anger. “What in God’s name are you doing?” she demanded hoarsely—and unnecessarily. Quite clearly he was teaching Harry to fight.

Nicholas straightened and turned to face her, as did Harry. The boy’s young face was bright with excitement. “Rory, come and see what I have learned,” Harry began.

Her irate gaze remained riveted on Nicholas. “I asked what you are doing.”

“I heard you the first time,” he replied mildly. “I am teaching him the basics of self-defense, although he could use a qualified instructor.”

“How dare you,” Aurora said through gritted teeth.

“There is no cause for alarm. It isn’t dangerous—”

“Of course there is cause for alarm. He could be
hurt
. Harry is just a child, and you are teaching him violence.”

“He is old enough to learn to defend himself.”

Her jaw locked with anger. “Get out, Nicholas,” she grated out. “You are not welcome here. I don’t wish you to see Harry again.”

She ignored the boy’s startled, bewildered look. She had called Nicholas by his real name, but she was too furious to care. “From now on, you will keep away from him, do you understand me? I forbid you even to speak to him.”

“But Rory,” the boy began plaintively. “I asked Mr. Deverill—”

“Harry, go to your room, please.”

“Rory…”

“Now, at once!”

The boy gave her an accusing glance, his lower lip trembling. But surprisingly he didn’t argue further. Instead, he stiffened his skinny shoulders and glanced at Nicholas, then marched past her out the door.

“You handled that well,” Nicholas remarked sardonically, reaching for his coat.

Her chin rose regally. “How I deal with Harry is no concern of yours.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t consult you first, Aurora. But I didn’t realize you would object so strongly.”

“Of course I object. You are teaching him how to assault people!”

“It isn’t at all the same thing. Don’t you think you are overreacting just a bit?”

“Not in the least. I am protecting him from your influence. You will end up getting him injured or even killed.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. “Just because you live in fear doesn’t mean that you should force young Harry to.”

Aurora glared. “Get out, Nicholas! Get out of this house before I have you thrown out.”

His eyes narrowed. “Some day you will have to face your fear, sweetheart. You’re afraid of life, so afraid you’ve buried yourself alive. But you cannot just stop living simply because you might be hurt.”

She was too angry to acknowledge the truth in his accusation. “I told you to go!” Quivering with fury, she pointed commandingly at the door.

Nicholas strode past her, but instead of leaving, he swung the door shut. When he turned to her, she felt as if she might melt from the blistering heat of his eyes. “Listen to me—” Crossing to her, he grasped her by the shoulders.

She recoiled from him, struggling. “Don’t touch me….” She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t release her. Enraged, she drew back her hand and struck his face with her open palm.

His head jerked back, while his face went so dark that she instinctively stepped back.

Aurora stared, horrified by what she had done. She had never struck anyone in her life. Dear God, she was no better than her father…. And Nicholas…He looked as if he might strike her in return.

“I…I’m sorry…” she stammered, her heart pounding as she waited for his expected explosion.

It never came.

“You’re sorry?” he asked softly. His expression had suddenly changed.

Moving slowly, inexorably, toward her, he backed her to the wall, pinning her with his body. His eyes were ablaze, astonishingly not with anger, but with a fierce tenderness.

“Don’t be sorry, Aurora,” he goaded, his grasp a velvet manacle on her wrist. “I would rather have you lashing out at me than keeping your rage bottled up. Strike me again, if you want.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stared at him. His thighs burned into hers; his breath seared her lips. His expression was hard and sensual, his eyes dark with arousal. He was going to kiss her, she knew.

“Don’t…” she protested in a shaking undertone. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

“No? Then why are you quivering? Why is your pulse so wild?”

Reaching down, he lifted her skirts and slid his hand under them and up her thigh, his hard, warm palm shocking on her bare skin. She went rigid, then gasped when his fingers found her feminine cleft.

He laughed, a low, taunting sound, deliberately inciting her. “Your body tells a different story, Aurora. You’re so responsive, I have only to touch you and you grow wet.” He stroked her slowly, making her throb.

Her hands rose to his shoulders, half clinging, half pushing, as she struggled to break free. “Stop…!” she gasped as his fingers slid deeper into her slick warmth.

“You want me, sweeting. You want me moving between your legs, filling you.”

“I don’t….” she denied, but her protests were lies. Her entire body ached for him, her blood was on fire.

Nicholas felt the same fire. Just touching her had made him harden in the space of a breath. He was aching enough to burst. He clenched his teeth, wanting to seize and possess and consume.

He could feel her resistance, but no fear. Had he sensed that, he would have stopped at once, but she wasn’t afraid of him. And he wouldn’t back down this time. He
wanted
a fight from Aurora, wanted her fury. Fury was a short step from passion, and he wanted her passion more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted to destroy her rigid control, to release her rage, to show her that fierce emotion wasn’t such a terrible thing.

He stared into her blue, blue eyes. Each time he touched her, she responded like a woman desperate to live, desperate to love, but she wouldn’t let go unless he drove her to it.

Purposefully he bent his head.

The hard kiss robbed her of breath. Expert, ruthless, he crushed her mouth with his, until a quickening, blinding throb of raw sensation caught her in its grasp. Feeling her shuddering response, Nicholas drew back, his own eyes hard and filled with a low, dangerous flame.