Chapter One

At first glimpse he seemed infinitely dangerous, even barbaric.  And yet something in his eyes called to me . . .


British West Indies, February 1813

The scene was Pagan-the half-nude man bound in chains, his sinewed torso bronzed by the Caribbean sun.  Silhouetted against the ships tall masts, he stood defiant, unbowed.

        For a brief instant Lady Aurora Demming felt her heart falter as she stared up at the frigate's railing.  

        He might have been a statue carved by a master sculptor, all rippling muscle and lithe strength . . . except that he was flesh-and-blood male, and very much alive.  Sunlight warmed the hard contours of his body, gilded the dark gold of his hair.  

        That tawny shade of gold was heart familiar.  At first glance Aurora had flinched with the memory of another face forever lost to her.  But this brazen, nearly naked man was a stranger, possessing a raw masculinity quite unlike her late betrothed.  

        He was stripped down to breeches, but though he wore the chains of a prisoner, he remained unbroken, his gaze fierce and remote as he stared out over the quay.  Even from a distance, his eyes seemed to glitter dangerously, giving the impression of simmering anger tenuously controlled.

        As if he felt her gaze, his focus slowly shifted and locked on her, riveting her in place.  The bustle and