The Black Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  Julian didn't. "Something just happened, didn't it?" he asked Scollard quietly. "A moment ago, when you stared upward—you were sensing something. Was my child being born?"

  Scollard arched a brow. "You haven't secured my toast with a drink. Do so, and fulfill its prophecy."

  Taking a dutiful gulp of brandy, Julian continued to scrutinize Scollard's expression. "You haven't answered my question."

  "No. You have." The lighthouse keeper met Julian's stare, conveying volumes with his gaze.

  Eyes damp, Julian nodded, then bowed his head, giving silent thanks to the heavens.

  "Your gratitude has been received and embraced," Scollard said with solemn assurance. "Now finish your brandy. But don't refill your goblet. You won't have time."

  Julian complied, wondering when anything—other than Mr. Scollard's tea—had ever tasted this good.

  "Julian?" Courtney hovered in the sitting-room doorway, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with happiness. "Your wife's patience is officially gone. She says to advise you she has no intention of savoring this prize alone. According to her, you embarked upon this adventure together, and together you shall reap its rewards. I'd suggest you go to her bedchamber posthaste."

  Julian's empty goblet struck the sideboard with a thud. "Is Aurora well? And our babe…?"

  Courtney crossed over and squeezed Julian's hands. "Mother and child are both healthy and strong. Congratulations, Merlin. You're a father. Now, go. Your family awaits you."

  Trembling with reaction, Julian bolted from the room, nearly knocking down Gin and Daniels, who were celebrating in the hallway, slapping each other's backs, and opening two new bottles of gin.

  "We're proud of ye, Merlin!" Gin called, waving his bottle in the air. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

  "I'll let you know." Julian kept going, taking the stairs three at a time, then rounding the landing and racing down the hall.

  He paused before Aurora's closed bedchamber door, his hand shaking as he knocked.

  "Come in." It was Aurora's voice, weak but clear, that beckoned him, and Julian nearly swooned with relief from the sheer joy of hearing it.

  He entered slowly, cautiously, noting that the room was empty save Aurora—who was propped against her pillows—and the tiny bundle she clasped in her arms.

  "Julian." She held out her hand, and Julian was beside her in a heartbeat, bringing her palm to his lips. She looked so pale, so drawn, dark circles casting shadows beneath her magnificent turquoise eyes.

  "Thank God you're all right," he breathed, kissing her fingers, her wrist, her hand. "You look exhausted, soleil. I'm so sorry. Was the pain unbearable?"

  "Only until Mrs. Peters put our daughter in my arms," Aurora replied softly, watching her husband's expression.

  Julian's breath caught and his head came up. "Our daughter?" he repeated.

  "Come meet her." Aurora caressed his jaw, urged him closer as she tucked the blanket away from the sleeping infant.

  Julian stared, emotion knotting his chest in tight irreversible fists as he feasted his eyes on the miracle he and Aurora had created through their love.

  Tiny features met his scrutiny—eyes closed in slumber, dark lashes sweeping fine-boned cheeks, a straight upturned nose, and a pink rosebud mouth—Lord, it was like seeing a miniature Aurora, only with a small cap of his ebony-colored hair. "She's you," he said in a choked voice.

  "Not entirely," Aurora demurred. "Her hair color is yours. So are her eyes. When she awakens you'll see. They're like fiery chips of topaz. Isn't she beautiful?"

  "Beautiful isn't a strong enough word," Julian managed, touching the babe's downy cheek, the warm curve of her chin.

  "She bellows like you, too. Even Mrs. Peters said so. She said we should have expected such a loud yell and such a stubborn arrival—given the unpleasant but most likely prospect that our daughter would take after you. According to Mrs. Peters, you're the most thunderous, willful, and domineering man she's ever met. And you doubtless wouldn't hesitate to pass those traits on to your child."

  At that moment, not even Mrs. Peters' caustic remarks could shatter Julian's euphoric state. "There's another reason for our daughter's turbulent nature," he murmured. "According to Mr. Scollard, she was conceived during that storm at sea."

  "I know. He told me so when he left my chambers—just a few minutes before she was born." Aurora kissed the infant's silky head. "Julian, let's call her Marinna. It's derived from the Latin phrase meaning 'from the sea'. That way, the love in which she was conceived will surround her, stay with her all her life."

  "Marinna Bencroft." Julian smiled, bending to brush a kiss to his daughter's brow, then shifting to cover his wife's mouth with his. "It's perfect. So is she. Thank you, soleil." He framed Aurora's face between his palms. "I love you more than you'll ever know."

  "And I you," she whispered.

  As if to remind them who was the true champion of the day, Marinna stirred, her lashes fluttering then lifting to reveal the brilliant topaz depths beneath. Squirming, she opened her rosebud mouth and emitted a loud, ear-piercing squall that defied her delicate beauty and made her new father jump to his feet.

  Blinking, Julian gaped from his daughter's now-alert, wide-eyed appraisal to his tired, laughing wife. "She takes after me?" he demanded, amazed that so tiny and fragile a creature could make so deafening a sound. "Perhaps. But there's quite a bit of you in her as well." He grinned as Marinna demonstrated that fact, groping at her mother's nightrail in furious, determined motions that vividly stated she had no intentions of being detained or deterred—then bellowing until Aurora moved the offending garment aside. "Quite a bit of you," Julian repeated, his chest tight with emotion. "Such as your decided lack of patience. And your uncanny resourcefulness," he added in an aching whisper as Marinna unerringly found her mark, latching onto her mother's breast, her tiny fist clenched beside it.

  "You have a point," Aurora agreed, tenderly cradling their daughter as she drank. "You, little one, are an impeccable combination of Huntley and Bencroft," she apprised the infant. "And I can't imagine anything more ideal than that."

  Silently Julian agreed. Feeling more blessed than he'd ever imagined, he watched the two women he loved, Aurora's damp mane of red-gold hair sweeping over Marinna's fair skin.

  My daughter. My daughter, he echoed inwardly, besieged by a fierce sense of possessiveness as he drank in the wondrous combination of himself and Aurora: his topaz eyes and dark hair blended with his wife's exquisite features, his own strong-willed intensity melded with Aurora's fire and spirit.

  Abruptly Mr. Scollard's toast sprang to mind, and Julian realized that once again, the intuitive lighthouse keeper had been right.

  Through Marinna, the Huntleys and the Bencrofts were now truly and wholly united.

  And from this day forth, their joys would abound.

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