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a curious twinge of disappointment that she didn’t understand. She pushed him from her thoughts with a determined effort.
    Suddenly, she caught her breath. Nicolette realized for the first time that she was entirely naked under the satin sheet. Who had undressed her and for what purpose? She felt totally vulnerable. Was that what Laffite meant when he said he had every right? To do what? Or had he already done it?
    She thought back over the day, frantically trying to piece things together. After the two pirates had taken Sukey from the cabin, one of them came back for her. She’d been terribly groggy at the time, dazed from the blow to her head. She remembered the man fumbling at her dressing gown, using vile language when she tried to fight him off. Then he’d lashed her to the cabin bunk. The next thing she remembered was seeing the corpse-strewn deck and the second party of men leaping over the side to do battle. Finally, her last waking vision from the ship: this man who claimed to be Jean Laffite poised to strike a killing blow. But how had she escaped that perfectly aimed thrust of his rapier?
    How did I get here? she wondered. And where are Aunt Gabrielle and Sukey? Then strange, wistful pieces of her dream crowded in from the edges of her memory—the soothing parts where love took away all the pain and revulsion of earlier in the day. Who was that tender pirate who plundered her while she slept?
    In order to avoid answering her own questions, she tried to get up to find her robe. But the effort of moving made her head throb. She lay back against the pillows and studied her surroundings, forcing her mind from all thoughts of Jean Laffite.
    The room represented a microcosm of many countries and cultures. The wall opposite where she lay was dominated by a massive armoire of cedar, masculinely handsome in its solid strength of design. Next to it sat a black lacquered dressing table with oriental pictures inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold. A mahogany half chest like the one her father used for storing spirits stood near one window, its door ornamented with gilt figures of the Greek deities Aphrodite and Apollo.
    She turned and spied her tired face in an oval mirror set in an ebony frame, its side candle-holders supported by winged sphinxes.
    The bed itself was most elaborate of all, with its fanciful turnings touched with gold leaf, its monogrammed sheets of antique gold satin, and heavy, burgundy velvet hangings suspended from a corona attached to the high ceiling.
    “Like a king’s bed,” she marveled to herself.
    “It was, once.”
    A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room for an instant. Jean Laffite lounged against the doorframe, dressed in a gold velvet robe, the exact color of the flecks in his green eyes—eyes now caressing her bare shoulders from a distance.
    How long had he been standing there watching her? Nikki had no idea.
    “King Carlos of Spain slept in that bed—he and his many lovers shared it. I borrowed it,” he offered her a slightly mocking bow, “especially for you, mademoiselle.”
    She hugged the sheet closer, feeling totally defenseless in her nakedness.
    “If you’ll kindly give me my clothes back, I’d like to 6e on my way home.”
    “Home? But this is home—my home, Grande Terre. Maybe you’ll like it after you’ve been here a while. I hope so.”
    She tried to ignore his remarks and the smoldering look in his eyes. “Where are my aunt and Sukey?” she demanded.
    “Safe… resting.” He moved closer to the bed.
    “How long have I been here?”
    An enigmatic smile touched his lips when she made a slight gesture with her hand, which seemed to suggest that by “here” she meant in his bed, rather than on his island.
    “Long enough, Nikki,” he answered, reaching out to caress her shoulder. “Don’t you remember anything?”
    “No!” she gasped.
    She watched one eyebrow cock upward as he drawled, “A shame.”
    Those two words seemed to say so much—more