The Passion (Notorious 2)

Nicholas found himself staring at her mouth. "Yes."

"Is there something else you need?"

He flashed a wry smile that held grim amusement.

"Aside from a key to my cell door and a fast ship to ma

ke my getaway? A bottle of rum wouldn't go amiss."

"I… shall try."

"No, don't. I was jesting."

He reached up to brush her cheek lightly with the back of his knuckles. Her lips parted and he heard her soft intake of breath. Nicholas felt his loins stir.

"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly. "For your own good, you should stay away."

She nodded and took a step back, her blue eyes misting. As if unable to speak, she turned without another word and fled the gloomy cell.

With a clang the door swung closed behind her, no doubt drawn shut by the prison guard. Nick bit back a curse at the grim reminder of his imprisonment.

For a moment he stood there, breathing in the faint scent of lilacs she'd left behind and wanting to hit something. He wished to hell she hadn't come. Whether intentionally or not, she had set his blood on fire.

Amazing, considering the sort of woman she was – blue-blooded, proper, straitlaced. The exact opposite of the women he was usually drawn to. Yet if he were free, he might very well have pursued her.

If he were free…

His jaw clenching at the reminder, Nicholas glanced up at the high, barred window of his cell. Damn it to hell, he had to get out of here – or at the very least find a solution to his crisis.

Turning, he began to pace the narrow confines of his cell, his thoughts once again caught up in turmoil. What would happen to his sister once he was dead? He'd sworn a solemn oath to his father to see to her welfare, but because of his blundering miscalculation, he'd been taken prisoner and rendered powerless to help her.

His unaccustomed helplessness left him seething, filled with a furious need to take action, no matter how futile. His pacing became more agitated… until suddenly, he came to an abrupt halt. Nicholas stared unseeing, a wild notion invading the back of his mind.

He had never feared death, although he'd always taken immense pleasure in living his life to the fullest. If he were hanged, his chief regret would be his failure to honor his promise. There might still be a way, however, for him to discharge his responsibilities, albeit from beyond the grave.

Lady Aurora Demming.

She could be the answer.

Or was he insane?

He started to rake a hand through his hair but stopped when he encountered the bandage – a bandage that had been her doing. He'd been mistaken about her, obviously. She was kindhearted, caring; her concern for him was evidence of that. She wasn't in league with Gerrod, or anyone else for that matter. She was indeed an angel of mercy.

Angel and siren, Nicholas thought, remembering her eyes that were the color of sapphires. She was also younger than her regal, aristocratic manner suggested, perhaps barely twenty. Yet despite her recklessness in first coming to his rescue and then visiting him in prison, she was no doubt well bred and virtuous… and high ranking enough to command respect, if not awe, among the beau monde. As a duke's daughter, she would have entry into the loftiest echelons of British society.

Recklessly Nick flung himself on the cot, ignoring the angry protest of his bruised body. His thoughts spun furiously as he stared up at the grimy ceiling overhead. He had no desire to drag the lady into his concerns, but if it meant protecting his sister, he would use the Devil himself. He would utilize Lady Aurora to help his ward, take advantage of her prominent standing in English society…

His mouth curled in a grim semblance of a smile. He must still be reeling from the blows to his head if he was entertaining such fantasies. It was highly doubtful a duke's daughter would lend herself to a mad proposal admittedly conceived in desperation. He intended to make her sacrifice worth her while, of course, yet even so she might refuse.

Well then, he would simply have to convince her.

He had no choice. If there was the slightest possibility of fulfilling his promise, he had to seize it.

Chapter Three

When he summoned me to his chamber, my heart lodged in my throat.

It was irrational, Aurora knew, to brood over a stranger she had met for a brief moment and would never see again. Yet even in sleep she could not forget him. Aurora tossed and turned the entire night, her dreams dark with images of Nicholas Sabine struggling to break his chains while she was powerless to help him.