He demanded my surrender, body and soul.
Aurora shuddered, remembering the passage from the journal that so perfectly described the danger the Frenchwoman had been forced to face. Desiree had become a captive in more than physical terms; against her will she had lost her heart to her strong, vital, compelling prince.
Nicholas was just as compelling, just as dangerous as the journal's prince. His touch as sensual and magical.
Aurora's hand rose to her breast, the burning memory of his caresses still vivid in her mind. She was so very vulnerable to him. As her husband, Nicholas had the right to such intimacies, and more. Yet she didn't dare give him any further chance to take the brazen liberties he had last night. She couldn't afford even to allow him near her. She could no longer trust him. More damning, she could no longer trust herself.
When they had wed, she'd thought Nicholas an honorable man, but he obviously had no qualms about subterfuge or deception – evidenced by his previous ruse where he'd fabricated his burial, or his current fraud, assuming his cousin's identity. And he had stolen into her room and conducted an intimate, sensual assault on her while she slept…
A traitorous heat flushed her body at the remembrance, along with renewed anger at his gall.
She had countless reasons to be angry with Nicholas. Not only did he lack scruples, not only was he recklessly endangering his life and courting scandal, but he was acting as if he owned her – and using threats and extortion to gain his way.
Having lived with her father's black temper for so long, she deplored such violent emotions as anger, but in Nicholas's case, she welcomed it, indeed wanted to nurture it. As long as she could sustain that dark sentiment, she could hold any softer feelings for him at bay.
At least she had persuaded him to give up claiming her as his wife. Yet she couldn't congratulate herself. Even though he'd agreed they would maintain separate lives, she was certain she hadn't seen the last of Nicholas Sabine.
The hour was still early when Nicholas reached the mews near Lady Dalrymple's house, where the cream of Mayfair's pleasure and carriage horses were stabled. The cobblestone yard of the livery was bustling – lads grooming and saddling mounts and ostlers harnessing curricles for morning jaunts.
Nick had arranged to meet his sister there, but while he saw no sign of Raven, he soon caught sight of the Irish stablehand who had accompanied her from the Caribbean. O'Malley was leading out a large ebony Thoroughbred and a stockier groom's mount, both saddled for riding.
Intent on testing his disguise, Nicholas paused beside the Irishman. "I would like to hire an equipage for a few weeks," he remarked casually, "and perhaps a hack as well. Can you direct me to the proprietor?"
O'Malley, a hulking, gray-haired brute of a fellow, gave Nicholas a cursory glance. Evidently seeing a gentleman, he tipped his hat politely. "You'll be wanting Mr. Dobbs in that case, sir. You'll find him in the office at the end of the next aisle."
"Thank you." Nicholas hesitated, studying the black horse. "Magnificent animal. Your mistress always did have an eye for good horseflesh."
His gray head snapping up, O'Malley stared at him hard. "‘Tis a ghost I'm seeing, I'll be thinking," he said slowly.
Nick's mouth crooked in a smile. "No ghost, O'Malley. I bear a resemblance to a certain American pirate who wasn't hanged after all."
The look of amazement on his ruddy face turned to one of delight. "Well, I'll be a bleedin‘ – " He broke off with a sheepish grin. "Beg pardon, guv'nor. I never would have known you with your hair so dark."
"That is precisely my intention," Nicholas said. "I am here in England as Sabine's cousin from Boston, Mr. Brandon Deverill. I calculate that if I can slip by you with your keen eye, I should be able to fool anyone else who might have an acquaintance with me."
"Ah… I see. If you say so, sir. Does Miss Raven know the happy news?"
r /> "I surprised her last night at her aunt's ball, but we had only a moment together. She's to meet me here shortly so we can have the chance to speak alone."
Always a clever man, O'Malley understood at once the need for discretion. "I'll be taking Satan back to his stall then, if it pleases you, sir. You can talk there, like you're looking him over for purchase."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow at the horse, who was standing docilely and mouthing the bit. "Satan?"
"He's a handful, aye, but for Miss Raven, he's a lamb. He belongs to Lady Aurora." At Nick's skeptical look, the Irishman grinned. "‘Tis true. Her ladyship prefers a bit of the devil in her horseflesh, too. And she's as fine a horsewoman as I've ever seen."
Nicholas digested that statement with surprise: the compliment was high praise coming from a man like O'Malley, who had practically been born on horseback.
"Lady Aurora," O'Malley added, "chose this fellow for Miss Raven when her aunt wanted to mount her on a plodder. Satan right snorted fire when she first tried him, but you know her. Never was a horse Miss Raven couldn't tame. The London gentlemen are the same way."
"So I understand," Nicholas said with wry amusement.
" ‘Tis working just the way she planned – and the way her guardian, Mr. Sabine, wanted."
"Thank you for watching over her so well, O'Malley. I'm certain you have Sabine's undying gratitude."
The Irishman gave a hearty laugh. "Well, you should know, you being his cousin and all. If you'll please to come with me, sir…" He tugged on his cap again and led the horses back to their stalls.
O'Malley made Raven an estimable protector, Nicholas reflected as he followed. His fears regarding her welfare had diminished greatly after seeing how ably the Irishman and Aurora were caring for her.