She was startled when late that afternoon her butler brought her an engraved calling card bearing the name of Brandon Deverill and informed her that Mr. Deverill was delighted to accept her invitation to tea.
It was with both relief and trepidation that she went downstairs to meet Nicholas. She found him in her drawing room, inspecting the collection of portrait miniatures on a side table.
He looked up when she entered, his dark eyes giving her the same sensual jolt she always felt when he merely looked at her.
"Hello, cousin," he said warmly. "How generous of you to invite me to tea."
His amicable greeting was for the benefit of the servant, she suspected, forcing a smile. He was supposed to be her late husband's cousin. Having tea with him in the middle of the afternoon was not too far beyond the pale. It was his audacity that unsettled her nerves.
"How remiss of me, Mr. Deverill. I entirely forgot to tell my staff that you were expected." She turned to the butler, who was hovering at the door, awaiting her instructions. "Danby, we will take tea here, please."
"As you wish, my lady."
When they were alone, Aurora fixed a baleful glare on Nicholas. "I thought we agreed we would not meet in private," she declared, keeping her voice low so the servants wouldn't hear.
"I don't remember making any such agreement, love."
Before she could argue, he picked up one of the miniatures and showed it to her. It exhibited a handsome gentleman with curling dark gold hair and blue eyes. "Is this your late betrothed?"
Crossing the room, Aurora took the likeness from him and set it back down carefully. "Yes, that is Geoffrey, Lord March," she said, running her fingertips gently over the cherished image.
"I can see why I reminded you of him." Aurora shot him a questioning look and found Nicholas watching her. "When we first met, you said I reminded you of someone who was dear to you. I can detect a certain resemblance between us."
She had forgotten she had ever said that to Nicholas or that she'd ever seen a resemblance in the two men. They were as different as the sun and the moon: one bold and vital, blazing with heat and intensity, the other quiet and soothing and gentle.
"I was gravely mistaken. You are not alike in any respect. Certainly not now that you've changed the color of your hair."
"And you're still in love with his ghost?"
"I don't wish to discuss him, Nicholas." It hurt too much to remember. She gazed defiantly at him. "Would you care to explain what you are doing here? You know it is unwise for us to be together."
He studied her for a moment. "Perhaps, but I thought you could use the company. You said you can't get out much because the conventions of widowhood restrict your movements. And since I had a great deal to do with your claim to widowhood, I feel responsible for making amends."
"I told you, I release you from any responsibility or obligation toward me."
"I'm not certain I want to be released. I took a vow to cherish till death do us part."
"Nicholas… I thought we had settled this. Death did part us, if you will remember? You died and were buried on St. Kitts." Her mouth curved in a mock frown. "Oh, yes, I forgot. That was all a charade, much like the one you are playing now."
Nicholas's lips stretched in a slow smile, but he made no reply. Instead he contemplated her silently with an unsettling, amused gaze.
"What?" Aurora demanded. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I am trying to decide if I like this shrewish side of you."
Aurora took a deep breath. She was acting the shrew, even after she had vowed she would not allow herself to be goaded by his deliberate provocations. It was quite unlike her to let her temper get the best of her. She'd spent her life maintaining strict control over her emotions. But Nicholas Sabine was so very exasperating. And he had agreed to forget their marriage existed. So why was he still acting as if he were her husband, with the right to rule her? Was he going back on his word?
He was gazing down at her now, giving her the full effect of his lazy smile. Aurora wanted to curse him for his irresistible appeal; he knew perfectly well the impact his sensual charm had on her.
"I believe you are being remiss as a hostess, sweet shrew. Aren't you going to invite me to sit down?"
Aurora raised her eyes to the ceiling, but she willed herself to reply serenely. "Very well, Mr. Deverill. Will you please be seated?"
"Ah, excellent. If you could just refrain from looking daggers at me, I might actually believe you meant to welcome me."
With what she considered admirable control, Aurora waited until he had moved over to the settee before taking the chair opposite him, across the tea table.
"So, what shall we discuss?" she asked, folding her hands primly in her lap.