The Passion (Notorious 2)

A pale sliver of moonlight fell across the bed where Nick lay entwined with Aurora. He had never felt such a sense of rightness – the simple contentment of watching a woman sleep in his arms and knowing he wanted to be like this forever. He might be giving up his adventurous life, but loving her would be an even greater adventure. It would be enough.

She was the only woman he had ever wanted this way, fiercely, desperately, permanently. The only one who filled the empty places in his soul. Every time he touched her, he was swept up by an emotion so intense, it took his breath away.

He loved her. Love. It was like a fire burning deep in his heart. Nicholas drew her closer, pressing his face against the intoxicating softness of her skin, wanting to absorb her very essence.

She was wavering, he knew. For the first time, Aurora was actually contemplating what it would be like to live in America as his wife. For the first time, he could dare let himself believe he might someday win her love.

For the first time he could feel an easing of the taut knots of fear inside him.

Aurora still had made no decision the following day when they returned to London. She was grateful Nicholas rode beside the carriage instead of with her, for her thoughts were in such turmoil, she desperately needed the time alone, without his compelling, vital presence to overwhelm her senses and her good sense.

When the carriage drew to a halt before her house, she was slow to descend, feeling a lingering reluctance to have their magical interlude end. Nicholas escorted her up the front steps, where they were admitted by her stately butler.

It was only after Aurora relinquished her shawl to Danby, however, that she noticed the strange expression on his face.

"Danby, what is it?" she asked. "Are you unwell?"

"Well enough, thank you, my lady." The elderly man cleared his throat. "But if I may be so bold, I fear you should brace yourself for some strange tidings." He paused, his mouth grim. "Lord March has returned."

"Harry?" Aurora replied, torn between alarm and exasperation. "He has run away from home again?"

"No, my lady, not young Harry. It is his brother, the elder Lord March."

Aurora felt a cold chill squeeze her heart. "Geoffrey?" she whispered, suddenly hoarse. "No, that is impossible."

She must have looked faint, for Nicholas's hand came up to support her arm. "You must be mistaken, Danby," she forced herself to say. "Geoffrey has been dead this past year. He perished at sea."

"So it was believed," Danby said solemnly. "But his body was never found. It seems his lordship survived the shipwreck and washed up on the shores of France. He was badly wounded, but he is in truth alive, my lady."

In a shocked daze, Aurora turned to stare up at Nicholas.

His dark eyes were hooded, his expression a mask of stone.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I am that most miserable of creatures, a woman tormented by heartache .

Still shaken by the shocking revelation, Aurora mounted the front steps of the elegant London mansion belonging to the Earl of March. A knot of anticipation tightened her stomach at the thought of seeing her former betrothed again after he'd been presumed dead for more than a year.

At least she needn't concern herself with the impropriety of calling on him. According to Danby, Lady March was in residence, having accompanied her prodigal son to London three days ago, along with young Harry.

Aurora fiercely regretted not being in town for Geoffrey's return. She should have been there to greet him – and the subterfuge she'd engaged in to explain her two-week absence only compounded her feelings of guilt. She'd given out the tale that she was visiting the sickbed of a school-hood friend in Berkshire, when in truth she had been indulging in a fortnight of erotic pleasure with Nicholas.

Briefly she shut her eyes, remembering Nicholas's face when he'd learned the news. His grim countenance had suggested very clearly that he didn't welcome March's revival.

She could scarcely believe this impossible turn of fate herself. It was incredible that the second of her betrotheds should return from the grave…

Nicholas had volunteered to escort her here, but she needed to see Geoffrey alone, in private. She still had no idea what she would or could say to him, whether to tell him of her marriage and her growing passion for another man, but she knew their first meeting would be too personal, too emotional, for an audience.

Aurora was acquainted with the footman who admitted her, and when she asked to speak to his lordship, she was shown at once to a parlor. She braced herself for what she would find, but was surprised when Lady March rose to greet her.

The countess had been crying, quite clearly, but she dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief before taking Aurora's hand.

"I hoped I would have the chance to speak with you before you saw Geoffrey. I… I am afraid you must prepare yourself, Aurora. He is not the same man you knew."

"Danby said he had been severely wounded."

"Yes, that is true… He… he lost an arm." Fresh tears sprang to her eyes.