The Passion (Notorious 2)

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 op

ened 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: Unepassion 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.

His hand on my breast was at once soothing and arousing, his skilled fingers stroking my taut nipple, a torment to my sensitized flesh.

A flush of embarrassment stung Aurora's cheeks at the explicitness of the text. She had promised to read the journal and decide whether it would be appropriate to give to Raven, but she could answer that question with one glimpse.

Nicholas could not have known the scandalous nature of the journal's content. She herself had never read anything so openly licentious. And yet she couldn't deny its forbidden allure. The Frenchwoman's erotic descriptions had a poetic, lyrical quality about them that was at once powerful and fascinating.

Her gaze settled on another passage at random: His bold touch inflamed my innocent senses, driving me to greater heights of pleasure, kindling the burning need in me.

Nicholas, oh Nicholas. She closed the cover, unsure she could bear to read something that brought back such tormenting memories.

Wrapping her shawl about her to ward off the dawn chill, Aurora hesitated a long moment before picking up the journal and leaving the cabin.

Above deck, the crew was scurrying over the brig, climbing the rigging and adjusting the innumerable sails. Not wanting to be in the way, Aurora went to stand at the rail.

After the dimness of her cabin, the bright sunrise blurred her vision. Or perhaps it was tears. She could barely see the vast ocean stretching out before her. The brilliant blue-green waters of the Caribbean had become the gray of the Atlantic, while a chill breeze buffeted the ship, making the canvas snap overhead.