by Andrea Kane
"I'm too excited to trip." Despite her quip, Aurora complied, knowing that to do otherwise would be sheer stupidity. Besides, they were so very close to their goal.
Clutching the lantern, she scanned the lower portion of the sketch, then struck off, veering to the left.
Their path wound in serpentine fashion as they walked past numerous passageways that led to parts unknown. Some minutes later, Aurora stopped to consult the drawing. "How much farther do you think we have to go?"
"If our course stays true to scale, we're more than halfway there," Julian supplied from just behind her. "Curve twice more—each time following the passage to the extreme right—then veer sharply left. Walk about ten or twelve feet, I should say. Then stop. The opening on Geoffrey's sketch is somewhere in that vicinity."
Aurora sucked in her breath. "Splendid." She continued as Julian had instructed her, following the precise course the drawing depicted, stepping gingerly over sharp pieces of rock and cracked sections of dirt. She could feel Julian's presence behind her, his excitement as palpable as her own.
"We're here."
Julian's terse words sent shivers down her spine and Aurora halted, holding out the lantern and surveying as much of the nearby area as she could. Below them, the same ragged path. Above them, the same low granite ceiling. And to either side of them…
A harsh gasp escaped Aurora's mouth. "Julian, look."
Even as she spoke, he was easing past her, seizing the lantern, and peering over her head at a spot where the granite wall adjoined the ceiling. A section of stone had been cut away, replaced by what appeared to be a grating of some sort—one that resembled an iron gate. From what Aurora could make out, the gate appeared to be approximately the size of a window, and there was an alcove behind it, although how deeply that alcove was set into the stone, she couldn't tell. What she could tell quite clearly by the light of the lantern was that the gate boasted a thick, hinged, vertical column that spanned its length dead center, and that opposite the hinge on the left and right-hand sides of the gate were carved two deep-slotted keyholes.
One keyhole was adorned with the image of a fox, the other of a falcon.
"This is it!" Aurora exclaimed. "We've found our great-grandfathers' hiding place!"
Exultantly Julian nodded, eyes narrowing as he examined the grating. "Geoffrey and James were ingenious to design this as they did. One alcove, one gate, two means of gaining entry. That way, either of them could get to the treasure if something should happen to the other. Clever as hell." Julian gave the grating a cursory rattle, confirming what they already knew—it was locked. "We don't need to guess how to open it."
"Can you see inside?"
"Only a glint of metal."
"I can't bear the anticipation." Realizing Julian's coat was still wrapped about her shoulders, Aurora dug into the pocket, extracting the keys one by one. "This key is Geoffrey's—it should coincide with the Fox." She pressed the key into Julian's palm.
Rather than inserting the key and opening the lock, Julian merely glanced down at the scrap of metal in his hand, then placed the lantern on a nearby ledge and turned to his wife. "Do you have James's key ready?"
"It's right here—why? You only need one key to get into the alcove."
"True. Nevertheless we're going to do this together." Julian's knuckles brushed her cheek, equal measures of pride and tenderness lacing his tone. "We're partners, my love. Just as our great-grandfathers before us—only, as Mr. Scollard so aptly put, our partnership exceeds friendship. I'll act on Geoffrey's behalf, and you on James's." He wrapped an arm about Aurora's waist, lifting her off the ground until she was at eye level with the keyhole. "Shall we?"
With trembling fingers, Aurora inserted James's key into the slot where the falcon gleamed, watching as Julian glided Geoffrey's key into the notch embellished by a fox.
Simultaneously she and Julian turned—and with two telltale clicks, the locks released.
Both sides of the door swung open.
"Let me do this part," Julian instructed, staying Aurora's immediate motion to reach inside and lowering her to her feet so he could devote his full attention to the matter at hand. "Lord alone knows what might be crawling around in there."
That convinced her.
Still, she stood on tiptoe, eyes straining as Julian reached into the dark recess.
An instant later he tugged out a strongbox, lowering it down far enough so they could both have a full view.
The chest was unadorned but for two gilded images on top—one in the shape of a fox, the other in that of a falcon.
"Oh, God. Julian, this really is happening." Impulsively Aurora reached forward and seized the strongbox, only to discover just how heavy the iron chest was. With great reluctance she forced herself to release it, digging her nails into her palms to curb her impatience. "Open it—quickly."
A corner of Julian's mouth lifted. "Such admirable restraint—caution over craving. I'm proud of you, soleil. You've become a true adventurer." He held out the chest, gripping it firmly as he offered it to her. "Go ahead. Reap your reward. I'll hold it, you open it."
"I? Really?"
"You. Really."
Aurora needed no second invitation. She yanked up the strongbox lid, and together she and Julian gazed inside.
Atop the contents was a single slip of paper, its words faint and faded but still discernible:
Whether truth or myth, it is written: 'He with a black heart who touches the jewel will reap eternal wealth, while becoming the carrion upon whom, for all eternity, others will feed'. If neither Geoffrey Bencroft nor I return to complete our mission, 'tis the task of our chosen descendants to do so. For our families, for our King and country, and for whatever forces might possibly exist that are greater yet less palpable than we—I beseech you, restore this gem to its rightful home. Then, for all eternity, peace will abound. James Huntley, 1758.
Sweeping the note from its bed, Aurora and Julian stared into the strongbox.
An enormous black jewel glistened back at them.
"The black diamond." This time Aurora couldn't restrain herself. She reached in, her fingers closing around the stone. Snatching it from the chest, she stared in amazement at the gem's unwieldy size. "Dear Lord—it fills my entire palm. It's immense."
"Yes, it is." Julian transferred the stone to his larger hand, holding it out so they could both admire the smooth, multifaceted surface by lantern light. "We did it, Aurora." Tearing his gaze from the stone, he met his wife's radiant stare, triumphant flames blazing in his topaz eyes. "We bloody well did it." Abruptly he replaced the gem in its iron bed and set the strongbox on the ledge beside the lantern, swinging Aurora into his arms and kissing her fiercely. "Hell and damnation, we did it!"
Elation exploded inside Aurora and she laughed, flinging her arms about her husband's neck. "Yes, we did it! At last—the curse of the black diamond will be ended, along with all the hatred, the fear, the wrongful accusations." Realization sank in, sweeter than all the world's adventures combined, and the thrill of victory lulled into a more wondrous sense of peace. "Just think," she whispered, accosted by a fuller, richer kind of joy. "The past will truly be righted and finally, finally put to rest. And oh, Julian, the future will be ours."
"The future and the world," Julian concurred fervently, his own exhilaration tempered by the same deep-seated happiness reflected in Aurora's eyes. With solemn reverence, he stroked her face, a myriad emotions tightening his. "I love you, Aurora Huntley Bencroft."
"And I you," she breathed. "As of today—as of this very minute—we've truly melded the Huntley and the Bencroft names, not just legally but actually." A poignant pause. "'Tis time for the peace James spoke of—and we shall commemorate it as he and Geoffrey would have wished." She raised her chin a notch, alerting Julian to the magnitude of her declaration. "I am now officially and proudly the Duchess of Morland." Her fingertips caressed her husband's nape. "And you, my darling husband, are truly the Duke of Morland—just
as your great-grandfather before you. Chilton and Lawrence might have tainted the title, but they couldn't destroy it. Not when you're here to restore it to all its glorious, unconventional nobility."
A muscle worked in Julian's jaw.
"It's time, Julian," Aurora said with ardent conviction. "Let the anger and resentment go. Geoffrey would have wanted it that way." She never looked away. "So would Hugh."
That dissolved the last of Julian's resistance. Slowly he nodded, framing Aurora's face between his palms and making his own private peace with the past—and himself. "You're right," he acceded quietly, emotion darkening his gaze. "Very well then, the Duke and Duchess of Morland we are. Although I don't think I can ever bring myself to live in that mausoleum."
"You don't have to. I have splendid plans for your great-grandfather's estate. Plans that would make him and James very happy."
Julian looked intrigued. "Care to share those plans with me?"
"Later," she replied mysteriously. "Right now, all I want is to go home. Home—to Merlin Manor, our irreverent staff, and our soft, enticing bed." An impish smile. "Or have you forgotten my vow to best you?"
"To best me and to warm me," he reminded her, flashing that wicked grin Aurora loved so much. "The answer is no. I've forgotten neither. In fact, my beautiful wife, I think going home is an excellent idea. After all, before we ride first to Pembourne to flourish this stone before Courtney and Slayde, and then to London to turn it over to the Prince Regent, we owe it to ourselves, to truly celebrate our new titles—and seal our family union—properly."
Aurora's eyes danced. "Need I ask what 'properly' means?"
"No. You needn't."
"Do you think Geoffrey and James would object to our delaying our trip a day or two?"
"I think they would applaud it."
"In that case…" Aurora wrapped her arms about her husband's neck, tugging his mouth down to hers. "I'd love to go home—after you provide me with an initial opportunity to best you. Would that be possible, given your assurance that our great-grandfathers would so heartily approve?"
Julian's lips curved against hers. "Here? In this cave?"
"Here. In this cave." Aurora cast Julian's coat to the ground, lowering herself upon it and gazing up at him with a seductive grin. "You wouldn't need to stoop over that way if you were lying down," she pointed out.
"True." He came down beside her, propping himself on one elbow. "Have I mentioned how much I love your sense of adventure?" he murmured, tunneling his fingers through the luxuriant waves of her hair.
"Ummm, once or twice." Aurora snuggled closer, wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of her life in her husband's arms. "Then you don't mind that this cave is somewhat primitive and more than a little uncomfortable?"
"Not a bit, soleil." Julian tipped back her head, bending to cover her mouth with his. "I promise to make up for the less than optimum surroundings in the very best way I know how."
"How reassuring," Aurora sighed, her lips parting to the exhilarating pressure of her husband's possession. "Since I, better than anyone, know how diligent you are about keeping your promises."
With a husky chuckle, the new Duke of Morland proceeded to fulfill his promise, besting his duchess and being bested by her in return.
And thus, the Fox and the Falcon's long sought-after peace was consummated.
* * *
Epilogue
« ^
Merlin Manor
April 1819
For the fifth time in as many minutes, Julian stalked down the steps and paced the length of the hallway to the sitting room and back. He scarcely noticed the golden brown gangly limbed dog race by, fleeing for his life as a small dark-haired tot wobbled after him on unsteady legs.
"There you are, Tyler." Courtney swooped down on the child, scooping his wriggling body into her arms and cradling him against her. "Leave Tyrant alone, sweetheart. You've tortured him enough for one day, wouldn't you say?"
Huge jade eyes stared back at her. "No," her fourteen-month-old son replied solemnly.
"See what you're in for, Julian," Courtney teased, attempting for the umpteenth time to make her brother-in-law smile.
"What's taking that bloody midwife so long?" Julian demanded, coming to a screeching halt. "She's quick as a whip when it comes to throwing me out. Why can't she deliver my child half as swiftly? Why?"
Courtney's gaze filled with compassion. "Julian, Aurora is going to be fine. I promise."
"You haven't seen her."
"Yes, I have. I left her chambers not twenty minutes ago. And the instant Slayde gets back, I'll be returning. She's a bit tired out, but she hasn't lost one bit of her spirit. In fact, you look equally as haggard as she." Courtney indicated Julian's rumpled clothing and tousled hair. "I don't expect you to sleep, but why don't you at least sit down and rest for a bit? You've been awake and pacing the entire night."
"She was crying out—in pain," Julian continued, scarcely hearing, much less complying with, Courtney's suggestion. "I heard her all the way from the landing. Aurora doesn't cry out in pain; hell, she doesn't even whimper. Why is she suffering so much?"
"You won't believe me, but the results will be worth every moment of pain."
"You're right, I don't believe you." Julian glanced about restlessly. "Speaking of Slayde, where is he? The last I remember he was dashing out of here, half-dressed. And that was hours ago, in the bloody middle of the night."
"He should be returning any time now. He left as soon as Aurora's pains began so he could go fetch Mr. Scollard. Aurora wanted to have her oldest friend here to share this miraculous occasion." A smile. "I think this will be one of the few times Mr. Scollard actually agrees to leave the lighthouse."
"Scollard—yes, maybe he can help her. He always seems to know what to do. He knew this babe would be coming. He as much as told us so when he spoke of our wedding trip. I wish he'd been there during those last few weeks at sea. Aurora spent half the time with her head in the chamber pot, and I had no idea how to ease her sickness. Can you imagine what that was like?"
"It sounds like every one of my sailing voyages," Courtney returned dryly. "I'm always seasick."
"Not Aurora. We sailed from the Far East to India, to the Continent, and not once during six months at sea did she become ill. Not until those last horrible weeks. Prior to that she was as natural a sailor as she is an adventurer. There were a few times when she was the only one on board who remained unaffected by the elements. Twice we hit storms that would—and did—turn seasoned sailors' faces green. The entire crew was retching, begging each other to switch shifts so they could retire to the berth deck. But not Aurora. I had to literally drag her below; she wanted to stay topside and ride the rolling waves, feel the ocean spray in her face. The ship pitched, the waters surged—and Aurora reveled in every moment. Then suddenly on our way back to England, everything changed. She became tired, queasy—hell, she could scarcely eat a morsel or stroll the deck without becoming ill. I was frantic. I thought she'd contracted some horrible disease as a result of our travels. I couldn't wait to get her home and examined by my physician. Why the hell didn't I realize she was carrying my child? How could I have been so stupid?"
"Julian, Aurora herself didn't realize she was with child." Courtney attempted to soothe him. "'Twas a natural assumption on your part that…" She broke off, whipping around as a ruckus erupted at the front door: loud pounding followed by sharp words and a purposeful slam.
An instant later Slayde strode through the hallway, Mr. Scollard beside him. Spying his wife, Slayde headed toward her, pausing once or twice to glare over his shoulder at Daniels, who was wandering about in disoriented circles, mumbling gibberish under his breath.
"I know your butler's a bit unusual, Julian, but doesn't he believe in opening the door?" Slayde demanded.
"Daniels is a bit unnerved by Aurora's discomfort." It was Courtney who answered, lifting her face to receive her husband's kiss and giving him—and Mr. Scollard�
�a meaningful look. "So is Julian. He was just berating himself for being unaware that Aurora was with child on their journey home."
Slayde arched an amused—albeit understanding—brow in Julian's direction. "No one realizes the moment a child is conceived—with the exception of Scollard, who knows about it beforehand. Stop being so hard on yourself." Leaning over, Slayde ruffled his son's dark head, transferring him from Courtney's arms to his own. "I'll watch Tyler," he murmured for his wife's ears alone. "Go to Aurora; she'll want you there." In a normal tone, he added, "I needn't ask if there's any news. Mr. Scollard assures me there isn't."
"Well, of course there isn't," the lighthouse keeper inserted with more than a trace of indignation. "If Rory had needed me sooner, I'd have been here."
Julian paled. "Does she need you now?"