Haltingly Harry's story came tumbling out: how he had made his way here shortly before dark, how he'd been chased off a brigantine he tried to board, then set upon by a gang of young pickpockets. He seemed most ashamed of his fear.
"I was so afraid," he mumbled, his voice ending in a whisper.
Nicholas didn't mince words. "You damn well should have been afraid. You're fortunate you were only bruised and battered. You could have been gutted and left to die."
"I prayed you would come."
"Count yourself lucky that I don't wring your neck. You frightened Lady Aurora witless."
"I… I am sorry. Will you tell her for me?"
"You'll tell her yourself – in the morning. For now, let's see what we can do to get you cleaned up."
Bending, he lifted the boy carefully in his arms. "I'll take you to my ship first," Nicholas added, rising. "I don't dare present you to her looking like this."
When he had Harry safely on board the Talon, however, Nicholas changed his mind about taking the boy home to Aurora. Harry was exhausted, as well as bruised and battered, but even more than rest, he needed a lesson about the harsh realities of life to underscore the one he'd learned tonight about the dangers.
When the boy was cleaned up and sound asleep in the first mate's bunk, Nicholas retreated to his own cabin, where he composed a message for Aurora. The note was brief, saying simply that Harry was safe and essentially unharmed, but that he would remain on the schooner for a time, to be taught a lesson.
That would undoubtedly rouse her protective instincts, Nick knew, and bring her running. Yet for what he wished to say to her, he needed privacy, which her house with its loyal staff of servants couldn't offer. He sent the message by three of his roughest crew members, trusting that they could protect her when she journeyed to the docks.
His plan worked as expected. In less than an hour, before dawn had even begun to appear, Nicholas heard the clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestone.
Standing at the foredeck railing, he watched as Aurora swiftly descended from the carriage and hurried toward the ship's gangway. He could feel the powerful thudding of his heart, knowing the next few moments could change his life forever.
When she reached the top of the gangway, he moved to help her step onto the deck, grasping her elbow for support.
"What have you done with Harry?" she demanded even before she was on board, her voice hoarse with strain. "Did you hurt him?"
"No, of course I didn't hurt him. He's sound asleep."
Abruptly she pulled away from Nick's grasp. Her gaze riveted on his face, fear and anger evident on her beautiful features in the lantern light. "What did you mean, you want to teach him a lesson?" she said in a fierce undertone. "He should be safe at home in bed."
"He is safe, Aurora."
"You said you intend to keep him on board your ship – "
"Let's not argue here," Nicholas replied warningly, gesturing with his head toward his crewmen, who were climbing the ladder after her.
With a visible effort to control her agitation, she allowed him to lead her. Taking up a lantern, he escorted her belowdeck to the mate's cabin. Quietly opening the door, he stepped aside to allow her entrance.
Harry was curled up in the bunk, fast asleep. Aurora approached him cautiously, afraid of what she would find. The pitiful sight was even more shocking than she anticipated. In the dim glow of lantern light, she could see his battered face – the bruise forming under one eye, the split lip…
A sob caught in her throat, while a surge of nausea rose up to choke her; she had to press her hand to her mouth to stifle it.
This was what violence had done to him, she thought despairingly, fighting the storm of fury and helplessness that raged inside her. Yet Harry was alive, that was what mattered most. She had not been able to protect him, but he was alive.
Needing that reassurance, she reached down to touch his face. The boy stirred in his sleep, but didn't awaken. She drew a shuddering breath.
"Come," Nicholas murmured softly behind her. "He needs to rest after his ordeal."
Reluctant to leave, she tenderly brushed a disheveled lock of hair from the boy's forehead, then forced herself to turn away. After the strain and terror of the past hours, she suddenly felt drained, empty.
She hardly noticed where Nicholas was taking her, but found herself in a small but well-appointed cabin. She didn't resist when he led her to the bunk and pressed her to sit down.
He went straight to a cabinet and poured her a finger of brandy, then returned to her.
"Here, drink," he said, holding the glass to her lips.