"I'll leave the door ajar, milady. If ‘e gives you a 'int of trouble, you just call out."
"Thank you."
Her voice was low and melodious, but she said nothing else, even when the guard had left the cell.
Wondering if his vision was an illusion, Nicholas slowly sat up. The watery beam of sunlight filtering through the tiny barred window highlighted dust motes dancing around her dark skirts, but did little to illuminate her features.
Then she pushed back the hood of her cloak, uncovering her bright hair, which was coiled in a smooth chignon, giving Nick a jolt of sexual awareness. Her uncommon beauty seemed to light up the dark stone cell.
She was quite real, the living fantasy of his dreams… unless he had died and this was his version of heaven. Followers of the Muslim faith believed a blessed man would be surrounded by beautiful maidens upon reaching Paradise. The pain from his injuries, however, made Nicholas suspect he was still in temporal form.
She was gazing at him in surprise, studying his face. Then, as if she realized she was staring, she flushed a little and shifted her gaze to the bandage that wrapped his head.
"I see they at least summoned a doctor. I was afraid they wouldn't. No, please don't get up on my account," she added when he tried to rise. "You are in no condition to stand on formality."
"What…" His voice came out too hoarsely, so he cleared his throat and began again. "Why are you here?"
"I wanted to make certain you were all right."
Nicholas frowned, trying to sort out the confusion in his aching head. Perhaps the blows had indeed rattled his brain.
No lady would risk her reputation to enter the bowels of a prison on behalf of a stranger. And she was every inch a lady, he knew – blue-blooded to the core. In fact, hadn't she claimed to be a duke's daughter when she'd dressed down that seaman this morning?
Nicholas stared at her, wondering if he'd missed some vital clue to the enigma she presented. Then a sudden thought struck him.
Was it possible she was here to deceive him? Was that bastard Gerrod up to some sort of trickery, using her to ferret out information?
Nick's eyes narrowed in suspicion. His ship was still at large in the Caribbean, for he'd gone alone to Montserrat to fetch his sister – aboard a Dutch fishing ketcli – not wanting to risk the lives of his crew on his own personal mission. But Captain Gerrod was fiercely set on determining the American schooner's whereabouts.
It could greatly advance the captain's naval career to capture an enemy ship – which was a likely reason, Nick suspected, that he'd been spared immediate hanging. That, and the fact that Gerrod hadn't wanted to make any political missteps by offending his prisoner's illustrious connections.
Grimly Nicholas contemplated his beautiful, unexpected visitor. Was she somehow in league with Gerrod? Her compassion had seemed entirely genuine this morning, and so had her animosity toward the captain. But perhaps she'd somehow been persuaded to work with Gerrod against him.
Had she been sent here to torment him? To tempt a condemned man as if holding out the promise of water to a man dying of thirst in a desert? The stark possibility that such beauty and kindness could be a ruse stabbed Nick with anger.
His jaw tightened. He would do well to remember their nations were at war. As an Englishwoman, she was his enemy, and he had to be on his guard.
She seemed uncomfortable with the way he was watching her, and when he deliberately dropped his gaze lower to linger on her breasts, he thought he saw her flush in the dim light.
"I don't believe we were properly introduced, madam," he prodded.
"No. There wasn't time. I am Aurora Demming."
An appr
opriate name, he thought irrelevantly. Aurora was Latin for dawn. "Lady Aurora. I remember. You made mention of it on the quay."
"I wasn't certain how conscious you were of your surroundings."
At the reminder of the assault, Nicholas raised his hand to feel his bandage. "You find me at a disadvantage, I fear."
An awkward silence stretched between them.
"I brought some items you might need," she said finally.
When she took a tentative step toward him, he focused on the bundle she held in her arms. She seemed oddly nervous as she set her offering down on the cot and glanced around the dim, spartan cell. "I should have brought candles. I didn't think of it. But here is a blanket… some food."
Her gaze met his briefly and then slid away. "I also borrowed a shirt and jacket from Percy's overseer. You seemed larger than my cousin…"