"Harry is acquainted with him?" Geoffrey asked, puzzled.
Aurora returned an uncertain glance. "Nicholas has been posing as his American cousin, Brandon Deverill."
"Ah, Deverill," Geoffrey said wryly. "I heard an earful about the fellow when Harry recounted tales of his London excursion. My brother does indeed idolize him."
"Your mother won't be as forgiving, I imagine."
"Only because she doesn't yet know about my Simone. Once I tell her, she'll be more amenable to losing you. If you like," Geoffrey offered, "I shall escort you to your house and then to the docks. I take it that is where your Nicholas can be found?"
"Yes, but you needn't put yourself to such trouble."
"It is no trouble. And I confess I should like to meet the man who won your heart."
Aurora turned to go, her mind whirling with anticipation and anxiety. What if Nicholas had already sailed?
Then she would simply follow, a determined voice replied in her head. If he left without her, then she would hire a ship to take her to America. She would not let Nicholas get away.
He owned her heart and nothing else mattered.
Almost an hour had passed before Aurora found herself nearing the docks, feverishly searching for Nicholas's schooner, the Talon. The mist rising off the Thames obscured most of the ships alongside the wharf, but she remembered the general location from her last visit, and then she spied one vessel among the skeletal masts whose ghostly white sails had been raised.
The gangway was still in place for boarding, she saw with relief, although the crew was scurrying about, setting rigging and securing lines in preparation for casting off.
Geoffrey had some difficulty negotiating the gangway and winced when he stepped down onto the deck on his bad leg. They were immediately challenged by a seaman, who directed them to the captain. The captain, in turn, led them to the same cabin where Aurora had made love to Nicholas what seemed like a lifetime ago.
The cabin door was open, but at first she didn't see Nicholas. The man lounging on the bunk was his cousin, Lucian Tremayne, Lord Wycliff, while the nobleman sprawled elegantly in a wooden chair was Lord Clune.
Nicholas stood with his back to her, staring out the porthole window at the dark night. Aurora felt her heart wrench with love. Thank God she wasn't too late.
"Sir, you have visitors," the captain announced before making a polite bow and withdrawing.
She saw Nicholas go totally still, but the other two gentlemen rose to their feet.
"I do believe I've won our wager after all," Clune said in an amused drawl.
"So you have, Dare," Lucian replied. "But this is one wager I don't mind losing. Welcome, my lady. We were just bidding our American friend farewell."
Nicholas turned slowly, as if not daring to let himself hope. His gaze riveted on her face, his eyes dark and intense as he searched hers.
Aurora took a step inside the small cabin and halted, suddenly at a loss for words. How could she say all the things she wanted, needed, to say to Nicholas in front of an audience?
When she remained mute, his gaze dropped to her traveling suit, then moved beyond her to Geoffrey. Nicholas froze, his expression turning bleak.
"So you have come to say good-bye," he said tonelessly.
"No," she replied, her own voice hoarse.
Geoffrey intervened then.
"I don't believe we have met," he said, entering the cabin and taking a step past Aurora. "I am March." He offered his good arm to shake hands, but Nicholas made no attempt to accept.
"I understand why you would not welcome me," Geoffrey remarked lightly, not taking offense. "But you needn't be concerned. I am not your rival any longer. Aurora and I have reached an understanding."
"An understanding?" Nicholas replied warily, his face still shuttered.
"Yes. I believe your wife has something to tell you."
His gaze shifted again to Aurora, intense, questioning.