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Julian's hand fell away from Aurora's cheek, his mind racing with the implications of all he'd just contemplated.
It was time to stop running, to stop dismissing his feelings for Aurora as the natural consequence of an ever-burgeoning passion, to stop fearing the ramifications of what already was.
The truth was staring him straight in the face. He'd fallen in love with his wife.
The realization was startling, even though on some peripheral level he'd known it—battled it—for days. He who needed no one, relied upon no one, shared his life with no one, had lost his heart to his bride.
More startling still was the fact that as he now confronted the reality of his feelings, he found himself accepting them with astonishing ease—at least with regard to the relinquishing of his emotional freedom. Probably because when it came to Aurora, what he'd be relinquishing paled in comparison to what he'd be gaining. His breathtaking bride had totally reshaped and redefined his views of passion and marriage, offering him a union that was exquisitely unconventional and far superior to anything he'd ever anticipated, much less witnessed in others. Love with her would doubtless be the same. Having Aurora by his side would renew his excitement, his sense of adventure. For, as they traveled the world together, he'd be seeing it all for the first time—through his bride's exuberant eyes.
Yes, loving Aurora would give him a real reason to sail off on new ventures. But more significant, for the first time in his life it would give him a real reason to come home.
A muscle worked in Julian's jaw. The whole idea of being in love with his wife would be downright captivating were it not for the more sobering aspect, the one Aurora herself had touched on during her impassioned speech—and the one that had compelled him to battle his feelings for her.
Safeguarding lives was something he took very seriously. That task was difficult enough when those involved were emotional strangers. But when they were his brother, and now his wife, it became infinitely more critical, his sense of responsibility intensifying to vast proportions.
He'd been fully aware of all that the day he asked Slayde for Aurora's hand; and he'd accepted his new obligations the day he slipped a wedding ring on her finger. She'd become his that day, and he would protect her life with his own.
Then it had been critical.
Now it was essential.
Because now he was in love with her, transforming his task from a fierce responsibility to an emotional necessity. And that rendered him susceptible, vulnerable, giving his enemies—and Aurora's—a sharp edge.
So be it, Julian thought, determination pulsing through his veins. He'd sharpen his wits, heighten his resolve to shield Aurora from harm. And he would shield her from harm, come hell or high water. But he wouldn't—couldn't—stop loving her. What's more, he didn't want to. Loving her felt more right than all his triumphant adventures combined.
He had to tell her.
Tenderly he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, lowered his mouth to hers. He would awaken her, make love to her, whisper his newly discovered feelings as she shattered in his arms…
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed six.
Julian frowned, jolted back to a less-pleasant but all too crucial reality. The night was upon them. He glanced toward the window, noting that the winter sky was already dark. They'd have to hurry if they wanted to reach Fowey, check out both taverns Stone had mentioned, and still hope to find Barnes. Given the sailor's advanced age, he would probably leave his fellow seamen and go home to bed at a reasonable hour.
Finding him was vital.
Just as vital was getting Aurora in and out of those seedy pubs as quickly as possible. The later the hour became, the greater was their chance of running into trouble.
And of running into Macall.
Soberly Julian gazed down at his wife, Stone's warning resounding through his head. Remember what I said, Merlin. Macall's after ye—and he's got more ammunition now. With that, Stone had paused, glanced at Aurora. Don't let him use it.
Stone didn't know just how accurate an assessment he'd made.
A near-violent surge of protectiveness shot through Julian, followed by a jolt of rage. Let that filthy bastard Macall try to hurt his wife. If he so much as touched her, he'd be dead before he blinked.
Sucking in his breath, Julian shelved his grand emotional proclamation for later, kissing Aurora again, this time purposefully rather than seductively. "Sweetheart, wake up."
She sighed, mumbling something unintelligible as she unconsciously lifted her face to receive his kiss.
"Soleil," he breathed into her lips. "It's time. We've got to dress, gulp down a hasty dinner, and ride to Fowey all within the hour."
Aurora's eyes snapped open. "I fell asleep," she announced.
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Yes, I know."
"Ummm, you feel good," Aurora murmured, wrapping her arms about Julian's neck, lifting her lower body to his.
"Do that again and we'll never find Barnes," he warned, fighting the urge to answer her body's invitation with his own.
