The Black Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  "Don't be upset by that." Julian reached up, his knuckles tenderly caressing her cheek. "The blade on Macall's sword was broad and thin…" He paused, drew a breath that was still slightly unsteady. "It was able to slash a fairly deep cut with very little effort. But he hadn't gotten down to the serious business of killing me yet, so no real harm was done." Ever so gently, Julian's thumb traced her lips. "Stop looking so worried. I'll be fine." He made an attempt to rise, then thought better of it, sinking back into the chair.

  "Stay still," Aurora instructed.

  He flashed her a weak smile. "I don't dare disobey. Not when you're so adept with your brother's pistol." His smile faded, his brows drawing together as he felt her hands tremble against his throat. "Soleil, you're very pale. Are you all right?"

  She nodded. "He didn't harm me. Other than a stiff forearm, I'm fine."

  "That's not what I meant." Julian's hand slid around to caress her nape in slow, soothing motions. "You just killed a man. That's a very courageous and difficult thing to do."

  Aurora met her husband's gaze, tears glistening on her lashes. "Yes, I did. And I'd do it again in an instant if your life were at stake."

  Profound emotion tightened Julian's features. "Barnes was right. I am a lucky man—lucky to have you, lucky to be alive…" He drew yet another shaky breath. "Perhaps even a merlin has its limits. Perhaps it's time I stopped tempting fate."

  "Perhaps it's time you rested," Aurora countered in a quavering whisper. She lay her palm against Julian's jaw, her voice barely audible over the din. "I need to get more compresses, anyway. Mr. Barnes is still here. He seems to be taking his role as my guardian very seriously, not only by offering his aid, but by warning the other men to stay away from me. Thus far, they've all complied. So I can move about in relative safety. You, on the other hand, had best lie still, else I'll have one of those sailors stand guard over you. I won't have you jumping up and undoing all my hard work by reopening your wound and worsening the bleeding."

  "Aurora—" Julian seized her hand before she could leave him, bringing her fingers to his lips. "Thank you. I'm grateful to know my life lies in such beautiful, capable hands."

  "And I'm grateful you're alive—more grateful than I can say." Aurora broke off, seeking the right words to convey how terrified she'd been at the thought of losing him, how fervently she'd prayed that her determination would make up for her lack of skill. God, if that bullet had missed…

  "It wouldn't have," Julian murmured, reading her mind. "You're too bloody good a shot."

  "I never held a gun before in my life."

  "Trust me, soleil. You're not a woman who needs teaching—at anything."

  With a watery smile, Aurora leaned forward, brushed her lips to his. "I love you, Julian."

  Rising, she made her way across the pub, skirting the tables and halting when she reached the counter. "Mr. Rawley?" she summoned the tavern keeper. "Excuse me, but may I have a few more clean towels?"

  Rawley shot her a disgruntled look. "I already gave ye a half dozen."

  "The wound was worse than I thought."

  "Listen, lady." The tavern keeper slammed a goblet of ale to the counter, leaning over to stare belligerently at Aurora. "I've seen a lot worse in my time. In case ye 'aven't noticed, this ain't exactly London's West End. The only reason I even 'elped ye out this much is 'cause I took pity on ye. But the Cove's a pub, not a sick ward. So get yer 'usband up as quick as ye can, and get goin'."

  "I intend to." Aurora tried to control her anger—and her nausea. The tavern keeper's breath was nearly as foul as his temper. Still, she needed his cooperation for a short while longer. And that meant holding her tongue. "Mr. Rawley, I apologize for disrupting your routine. I'd like nothing better than if Julian were well enough for us to take our leave. But that can't happen until his wound stops bleeding. It's slowed quite a bit. Another few compresses should do it. So if you'll just allow me a few more towels and just as many minutes, I'm sure we'll be able to accommodate your request."

  "Fine—ye want towels? Get 'em yerself."

  "I'd be happy to. Where are they?"

  Rawley jerked his head toward the rear of the pub. "Back there. In the storage room."

  "Thank you. You've been most kind." Veering sharply about, Aurora stalked off, weaving her way through the rows of tables, pausing only to wave at Barnes as she passed.

  "Where're ye goin'?" he called out.

  "To get more compresses. Mr. Rawley's busy," she returned as loudly as she could.

  Skirting the tavern's furthermost table, she reached the area in question, frowning when she saw there were not one but two doors to choose from. One of them had to be the door she sought.

  It wasn't the first. Yanking it open, she was greeted with a burst of cold night air, informing her that she'd come upon the back entrance to the pub. Fine—then it was the other door.

  Pulling it open, Aurora breathed a sigh of relief as rows of boxes and piles of towels told her that this was indeed the storage room.

  "'Ey, duchess, ye need 'elp?" one of the sailors at the last table yelled good-naturedly. "I'll take on Barnes and yer 'usband if ye'll take me in that storage room with ye "

  "Yeah, sure ye will," the sailor beside him chortled, giving his friend a dubious look. "'Er 'usband's Merlin. Even 'urt, 'e'd be able to thrash ye. Forget Merlin's wife and drink yer ale."

  Both men dissolved into laughter and tossed back their drinks.

  Aurora shrugged off the good-humored teasing, stepping inside the chamber and gathering up a small pile of towels—she hoped enough to finish treating Julian's wound so they could go home.

  With that goal in mind, she retraced her steps, shutting the storage room door and turning to leave.

  The cold hard object that was jammed against her ribs changed her mind.

  "Good evening, Aurora."

  Her head jerked about as she recognized the familiar voice, and she peered over her shoulder, requiring confirmation that her assailant was indeed who she thought it was.

  "Drop the towels, my dear," the Viscount Guillford said with a pleasant smile. "You're coming with me."

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  The towels tumbled from Aurora's hands. "Viscount Guillford?" she gasped, paralyzed with shock.

  "Shh, keep your voice down, my dear. We wouldn't want to alert your husband to my presence. Not when you've just gone to so much trouble to save his life." Guillford pressed the gun closer against her as a purposeful reminder. "I needn't tell you what harm this pistol can do. You discovered that for yourself firsthand, not a half hour ago. So just do as I say and you won't get hurt. Nor will Julian."

  Aurora sucked in her breath, aching to cry out, to alert some of the sailors to her plight in the hopes of ending it. Yet she couldn't—wouldn't—risk their lives, her own, and certainly not Julian's, before discerning the viscount's state of mind. Was he insane? Angry? What in God's name was his motive for holding a pistol to her, threatening to kill her and Julian? Would he in fact carry out his threat—shoot her, then rush into the room and shoot others?

  She had to find out. "What is it you want me to do?" she asked cautiously.

  "Do?" he murmured. "Merely looked pleased to see me, speak to me as if we were having a most enjoyable chat, then walk out that rear entrance as if we were leaving together."

  "But why…?"

  "Do it." Another jab of the gun. "Unless you want me to finish what Macall began."

  Aurora forced a smile to her lips, half-turning to face Guillford, only too conscious of the pistol shoved into her ribs. "Why, Viscount Guillford—what an unexpected surprise," she managed. "'Tis delightful to see you, my lord."

  "Excellent," Guillford commended under his breath. "Now turn and walk through the open door."

  Still numb with shock, she complied, marching silently into the darkness of night. "Where are you taking me?" she inquired, her hand casually shifting to her side as they descended the st
eps.

  "Don't bother searching for your reticule. It's lying on the table beside your husband. Be grateful for that. Because I assure you, I'm a far better and more experienced shot than you. As for where we're going, you'll know soon enough."

  Reaching the foot of the stairs, Aurora whipped about to face him, her initial shock supplanted by anger and confusion. "I refuse to take another step until you tell me where you're taking me, and why. You obviously followed us here; 'tis not exactly your type of establishment. And you obviously want something in exchange for me. What?"

  A flicker of a smile crossed the viscount's patrician features, and he paused on the bottom step. "Perhaps retribution," he suggested softly. "Has that thought occurred to you?"

  "Yes—and I dismissed it just as quickly. Because unless you have another reason for seeking vengeance—one of which I'm unaware—I refuse to believe you were so totally devastated by our severed betrothal that you'd resort to violence. So why are you dragging me off like a pirate's prize?"

  "An interesting choice of words, and a most intelligent conclusion." Guillford's smile faded, and he gestured toward the path with his pistol. "Both of which I'd be happy to address—after we're ensconced in my carriage and on our way. By the way, don't defy me again or test the limits to which I'd be willing to go. I assure you, I'm far more dangerous to you than Macall ever was. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. So don't toy with me. Walk." He shoved her forward with his pistol, propelling her away from the Cove.

  Instantly Mr. Scollard's words, his fervent warning, sprang to Aurora's mind: Don't underestimate the dangers that await, from sources expected and unknown. They lurk in numbers, and in numbers must be undone. Greed is a great propellant. Vengeance wields more power still. And desperation is the most menacing by far, for it offers reward with no risk.

  Wisps of dread converged into abhorrent realization. The lighthouse keeper had been alerting her and Julian to the fact that not one, but two enemies loomed ahead to be faced: first Macall and then Guillford. Macall was the expected source, the one propelled by greed and vengeance.

  Making Guillford the unknown danger, propelled by a desperation he himself had just described: he had nothing to lose and everything to gain—or, as Mr. Scollard had phrased it, reward with no risk.

  But why? Based upon what? What had made Lord Guillford so desperate that he'd resort to kidnapping, maybe even murder to attain his goal?

  Don't underestimate the dangers, Rory … Mr. Scollard's voice seemed to urge. Don't…

  That intangible reminder was enough to dissuade Aurora from pursuing the explanation she sought, at least for now. Later, she'd uncover her answers. First she had to escape.

  Abruptly she came to a halt, sucking in air and weaving on her feet. "Wait," she managed. "I think I'm going to…"

  "The only thing you're going to do is march toward the path," Guillford returned coldly, seizing her arm and pushing her along. "You're no more about to swoon than I am. If murdering a man doesn't render you squeamish, I doubt a mere abduction will. As I said, don't toy with me. Stop stalling for time. It won't work." He saw her start of surprise. "Did you think I wasn't aware of what you were doing? Never underestimate me, my dear. You might be a very bright and resourceful young woman, but I am a brighter and more resourceful man. Now hurry over to the path. My carriage is waiting just beyond those trees."

  "So I was right—you are kidnapping me."

  "Correction. I already have."

  "For what reason?" she demanded.

  Guillford's only response was to quicken their pace, shoving Aurora farther from the Cove and deeper into some ominous unknown danger.

  * * *

  Uneasiness tightened Julian's gut.

  Aurora had been gone far too long to still be collecting towels.

  Slowly he raised his head, testing the limits of his own endurance. The room spun for a moment, then righted itself. He swung his legs to the floor and pushed himself to a standing position. Another wave of dizziness claimed him, then subsided. Tossing the stained towel at his neck to the chair, he walked into the middle of the room, scanning the pub for Aurora.

  No sign of her.

  A bit unsteadily, he made his way to the counter, signaling Rawley over. "Where's my wife?"

  "Good, yer better. Look's like the bleedin's stopped. Now ye can go home." The tavern keeper took one look at Julian's murderous expression and softened his words. "Maybe ye and the missus would like an ale before ye go? It'd do ye a world of…"

  "Where is my wife?" Julian thundered.

  Rawley backed off a half-dozen steps. "She wanted towels for yer wound. I sent 'er to the storage room to get 'em."

  "You sent her alone?" Julian saw red. "Are you insane? What if one of your filthy patrons…?" He broke off, squelching his rage. Choking this unfeeling bastard to death would only take time away from what mattered most: finding Aurora—a goal that was becoming increasingly more urgent by the second, given her conspicuous absence and the intensifying knot in his gut. "Where's the storage room?"

  "Back there." Rawley pointed.

  Wound and dizziness forgotten, Julian barreled his way through the pub, nearly knocking sailors down in his haste. He reached the rear of the tavern, noted the open door leading to the outdoors, and thrust his head out.

  The littered grounds behind the tavern were deserted.

  Veering about, Julian ripped open the storage room door, nearly tearing it from its hinges, and stepped inside.

  No Aurora.

  "'Ey, Merlin, she left already," one of the sailors at the last table called out. "I guess this place finally got to 'er."

  "Left?" Julian's insides wrenched. "When? Where?"

  "'Bout five minutes ago. Through that there door. With one of yer kind. Real blue-blood type. Guess 'e gave 'er a ride 'ome."

  Julian stalked over, grabbing the sailor's shirt and lifting him half off his chair. "Tell me what this man looked like. What he said. What my wife said. Anything you can remember."

  "Sure," the red-faced sailor squeaked out. "But I don't think ye need to worry. She seemed real 'appy to see this fella."

  "Yeah, she did," the other sailor concurred, nodding and scratching his beard. "She smiled and talked to 'im like they was good friends."

  "Bencroft? What's goin' on?" It was Barnes, his weathered face creased with concern as he hobbled over. "Where's yer bride? Last time I saw 'er, she was gettin' ye some towels."

  "That's what I'm trying to find out," Julian replied. "These men say Aurora left with someone."

  "Left?" Barnes echoed in disbelief. "She'd never leave without ye."

  "I know." Julian glowered at the sailor whose collar he grasped. "Talk to me," he demanded, giving the man a shake.

  The sailor emitted a gasp, indicating that Julian's grip was choking him.

  Shakily Julian lowered him to his seat, striving for control. "Tell me what you know."

  "All right." He sucked in air. "Let's see—'e was tall, dressed real good. Kinda lean, not muscular, if ye know what I mean. Sharp features, dark hair. Yer duchess called 'im m'lord."

  "She called 'im somethin' else, too," the bearded fellow added. "Before she dropped the towels and left with 'im. Viscount somethin' or other—pill or will—no! Gill, that's what it was. Viscount Gill—somethin'!"

  "Viscount Gill—something," Julian repeated, the logical and heinous piece falling into place. "Guillford?"

  "Yeah, that was it! Is 'e a friend of yers?"

  Julian didn't answer. He was already halfway to the back door.

  "Bencroft, wait!" Barnes called out. "Yer too weak to go after this fella by foot. Rawley's 'orse is tied out back. Take 'im. I'll deal with Rawley."

  With a grateful wave, Julian rushed outside, bounding down the steps and around to the corner of the building, his own light-headedness forgotten. He had to rescue Aurora.

  The mare was tied to a beam alongside the pub, just as Barnes had said. Freeing the reins, Julian vaulted i
nto the saddle and took off toward the path, surveying the area as he rode.

  He heard the hoofbeats echo from farther up the path.

  Eyes narrowed, Julian peered into the darkness, spying the moving outline of an open carriage heading away from the Cove.

  Its driver was tall and lean. Its passenger was small and slight.

  A shaft of moonlight illuminated her hair as the carriage veered around a bend, revealing its red-gold color and heightening it to that of a burnished flame.

  Digging his heels into the mare's flanks, Julian took off in pursuit of his wife.