Heart of the Diamond

by Carrie Brock

  Before she knew it, Nicki passed close to Rosewood, but she refused to spare a glance for the brooding structure and outbuildings. She had come out to forget the earl.

  So she urged Zeus on, across the rolling fields, leaping low stone fences and narrow creeks.

  The hem of her skirts became soaked and spattered with mud, but Nicki's exhilaration could not be dampened. She would go to her secret place—the castle that had listened to her dreams from childhood.

  There she would find the answers she sought—without the presence of the Earl of Diamond to distract her.

  . . .

  Blake left the dark Rosewood stables satisfied he had sufficiently relayed his plans to the young stable hand. Owen Carson had his hands full with a stable of new workers and more vehicles and animals than Rosewood had room for. But he agreed to send a lad on Blake's errand at once.

  Blake glanced up at the clouds growing heavy with pent up rain. The thought of returning to the house did not appeal to him. There were too many people there.

  From the corner of his eye, Blake saw movement. When he turned his head he saw a flash of color so far away he could scarcely make out the shape of a horse and rider dashing recklessly across the low green grass of the meadow.

  He tensed, and squinted his eyes. The garment the rider wore appeared to be the same shade of riding dress Nicole was wearing earlier. Surely she would not be charging about the countryside so soon after the arrival of guests.

  Of course she would.

  Already the pair slipped over the rise out of sight, headed north. Blake turned on his heel and strode back into the stables, not pausing to consider the wisdom of his actions. All he could think of, all he desired at this moment, was over the hill.

  The men and boys taking care of the animals paid him no mind as he moved down the rows of stalls separated by slatted boards, not solid walls like the Langley stables.

  He paused before Banbury's enclosure, then changed his mind. Nicole most likely had taken one of those stallions of hers, so he continued down the row and came to a dapple grey gelding he had brought from his father's London stables.

  At this end of the barn, away from the busy activity, the horses had more peace and quiet. Tarnish, obviously so dubbed because of the patches of black on his muzzle and legs, whickered softly in greeting as Blake entered the pen and grabbed his halter.

  Blake returned to the tack room with Tarnish in tow. He heard Banbury stomping and pawing at the dirt floor but he had no time to sooth hurt feelings. He meant to catch up to Nicole, and she already had a good head start.

  It took only a moment to replace the halter with a bridle and saddle the horse. Blake led Tarnish into the corral, mounted and rode north. Leaning forward slightly, Blake balanced himself against the jarring as the horse's hooves pummeled the ground. What if he chased not Nicole but one of his neighbors he had not yet met?

  He would certainly look the fool charging after them without hat, cloak, or gloves. But he had already surrendered to the fact that his behavior took an odd turn where Nicole was concerned.

  As the horse topped the rise, Blake quickly scanned the expanse of countryside from the wooded area to the left, then back again toward the first of a series of hills. He saw her at the foot of the next rise. Not too far. He urged Tarnish on and the horse gladly complied, true to his Thoroughbred heritage.

  Any doubt he may have had as to the identity of the rider disappeared long before Blake drew near enough to get a good look. Only Nicole Langley would give herself up to the wild exhilaration of such a reckless dash across damp fields.

  He gained ground on her until he could see the gilded brightness of her hair escaping its pins to cascade down her back to reach her trim waist. That hair belonged down and spilling about her—about him when he swept her into his arms.

  Their mounts were finally within yards of one another. Though Blake knew she could not have heard his approach, Nicole looked back. For the briefest instant her eyes widened as though in fear. Once again Blake experienced a tightening in his chest—he had no desire for her fright. His body craved a more friendly emotion. Quickly, she faced forward again, and did not slow her horse.

  He brought Tarnish abreast of the black stallion, and waited for Nicole to acknowledge his presence. She continued to stare ahead. Blake thought with amazement that she intended to ignore him, as though he would go away.

  Then she flashed a green-eyed glare in his direction. “Are you spying on me?” She shouted over the thundering hoof beats and the cry of the wind.

  He grinned, and raised his voice. “A novel idea, but rather too easy since you continuously show up wherever I am.”

  With a swift movement, Nicole drew back on the reins and brought her horse to a skidding halt. Blake had to react just as swiftly. He backed his horse up to hers.

  “I most certainly do not follow you about!”

  “You passed by Rosewood only moments ago. I am certain you signaled to me.”

  Cheeks flaming, she slashed him once again with those incredible eyes of hers. “I came out here to be alone. And how could I have signaled to you from more than a mile away?”

  Blake looked at the way ahead for a moment, enjoying her irritation immensely. She was a beauty at any time, but no more than when her temper blazed. “Perhaps your horse merely swished his tail.” Beneath Blake, Tarnish stomped and moved nervously, his sides heaving, and mist puffing from his nostrils. Blake looked at Nicole. “My mistake.”

  “Do you mean to say you cannot tell my movements from those of my horse? I believe I shall do myself in at once if that is the case!”

  Blake laughed. “I did not mean to put you in a rage, Nicole.” He glanced at a pile of large stones about a half-mile ahead. “Race me to that rubble. If you win, I shall go away and leave you to yourself.”

  She nibbled at her lower lip, staring at the rocks, suspicious. “And if you win?”

  With a shout to Tarnish, Blake dug in his heels and slapped the reins against the gelding's flank. The horse lunged forward. Blake intended to win this race. The prize would entertain them both immensely.

  But perhaps she would scorn his challenge. She wanted to be rid of him after all. A sudden heat burned upward from his neck to his face at the mental picture of himself riding away from Nicole while she went just as swiftly in the opposite direction.

  He glanced back. There she was, right behind him, and closing fast. With a slight smile, Blake turned and leaned his upper body further over Tarnish's neck, still seeing Nicole's brows drawn together in determination, her lips parted. It was almost as though she whispered sweet words of encouragement to her mount.

  She sat a horse side saddle with more confidence and control than many men could sit astride.

  From the corner of his eye he saw the muzzle of the stallion. Nicole meant to defeat him. To be rid of him. But she would soon realize he did not like losing—had made it his goal in life over the past six years to be the victor. At any cost.

  The finish line lay only twenty paces ahead.

  In a maneuver planned to surprise Nicole, Blake tugged the rein gently against the left side of Tarnish's neck, forcing the horse to move toward the stallion. At the same time he dug in his heels.

  The shoulder of the black stallion bumped into Blake's leg, then the horse shied away. And slowed. Tarnish's powerful legs drove into the ground, covering the last stretch with lightning speed until Blake pulled back on the reins and the gelding skidded to a halt before the pile of stones. Blake turned to face Nicole's equally sudden stop.

  “You cheated!” She snapped before the stallion had regained steady footing.

  Blake proudly noted again the ease with which she retained her seat, even as the horse pranced and reared slightly in nervous excitement. He arched a brow. “Whatever do you mean, my dear?”

  Obviously disgusted, eyes flashing with suppressed ire, Nicole lifted her leg over the saddle horn and leapt gracefully to the ground. “You rammed my horse, and y
ou bloody well know it!”

  “I bloody well never touched your horse,” he said calmly as he dismounted and came to stand before her.

  “Let me see your leg. I am certain there must be black hairs on your trousers.”

  He could not resist laughing, which further enraged Nicole. “Shall I shuck them first, or would you prefer I merely lift my leg for your review?”

  In an effort to appear haughty, Nicole lifted her chin. “Neither. I simply shall not concede you are the victor.”

  With that speech, she lifted her skirts and brushed past him. He smiled as he followed her progress with an appreciative eye. She stepped delicately over chunks of debris that littered the ground along the base of giant, moss-covered stones, until she finally turned to her right and disappeared from sight.

  Blake glanced back to the black stallion nibbling on tufts of tender green grass. Apparently Nicole held no concern the horse would wander off as she had left the reins dangling, but Blake retrieved and tied the ends to a rusted bar protruding from the crumbling wall. He led Tarnish five paces further down the structure where the stacked stones began to curve and looped his reins over a second bar before tracing Nicole's steps.

  A bird screeched a warning as Blake came to an opening in the edifice. Bracing his hand on the rotting wood of the doorframe, he glanced about inside of what appeared to be the ruins of an ancient tower. The disgruntled bird took flight with a noisy pumping of its wings. Blake could hear its complaints fade as he stepped over the threshold.

  “Nicole?” No response. That prompted him to move further inside.

  Slowly, Blake turned as his gaze scanned the monstrous squares of granite that still formed a circular enclosure, though a somewhat lopsided one. Part of the structure had fallen outward, but some of the walls leaned inward, creating dark shadows along their base. He stepped closer to the center where the light trickled down from the sky unhindered. The wooden ceiling had long since decayed away.

  His boots sank into the spongy ground in places, and slipped on pieces of wood and stone in others. The wall ahead of him stood at least fifteen feet high with a narrow arched window half the way up.

  “Welcome to Winterhaven.”

  Blake spun toward the sound of the whispered words. “Nicole?”

  Like a specter, she materialized from the gloom. “Who did you think? The lady of the castle?”

  “Castle, is it? I had first thought it merely a pile of rocks. Now I see it must have been a medieval stronghold.”

  She moved toward him, her steps sure and confident. Blake knew at once she had been here many times. “Winterhaven dates back to the Crusades, I believe. Once I went through some old journals in my father's library and found a mention of this place. It was built by my ancestor, Jasper Langley, to keep his family safe whilst he fought at the side of King Richard in the Holy Land.” She paused and absently twisted her fingers into the velvet of her skirt. “When he returned, his wife had been forced to turn over part of the land to the sheriff for taxes. Winterhaven stood on that land, but she and her children were allowed to stay for payment of rent, which was more and more land. Winterhaven now belongs to you, my lord.”

  “I am not the evil sheriff.”

  Nicole stepped closer and tipped her head back to look into his face. A tiny smile graced her lips. “Then you must be the warrior returning from battle, bone weary and disillusioned.”

  He shrugged. “I ask only for my reward, fair lady.”

  She shook her head. “You are nothing if not persistent. Very well, what reward do you seek?”

  “A simple action on your part.” Blake took a step, and Nicole retreated. “A small prize indeed for a victorious soldier.”

  The grin left her face and she continued to back away from him. Into the shadows they went, advancing, retreating, until Nicole backed up against the stone wall. He placed his hands against the rock at either side of her head, encasing her within the bands of his arms.

  Did she think of her precious Teddy now? A long sliver of weak light came from the arched window at his back and slanted across her face. Beautiful, ethereal. Before this day was finished, she would think only of him.

  “Have your words been stolen from you, maiden?” His voice sounded gruff in the sudden quiet.

  Her gaze searched his face, confused. “Indeed they have. By a man I do not know. Is this the Earl of Diamond or a kinder, gentler man masquerading as the earl?”

  Slowly, Blake bent his arms. He leaned closer to her. “There are many facets to a Diamond, my lady. Have you not realized that by now?”

  She stared at his mouth. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. A wrenching grabbed his insides. Blake could wait no longer. Without warning he brought his mouth down on hers.

  Sweet. Like sipping pure nectar.

  He drank and drank. Blake had known many women, some experienced, some not. But this one. This one could be the end of him.

  But he could not stop his feelings for her. Finally, he drew back. Nicole's eyes remained closed, her mouth slightly open. His starving gaze devoured every feature. He watched the frantic pulse at her neck, her breasts pressing against the fabric of her gown as she breathed. And he saw her hands clenched into small fists at her sides.

  She would be his.

  With a groan, Blake kissed her again. He forced her mouth to open beneath his. Perhaps he wanted her to be afraid. If she pushed him away, he would not force her to accept his attentions. And he could regain some balance, some control.

  But Nicole's lips parted. Her palms flattened against his chest, then slipped upward to his shoulders. That gentle touch consumed him in a heat like none he had ever known. She moved her body against his.

  He had not yet touched her with his hands, keeping her enclosed within the bands of his arms. Slowly, he wrapped one arm about her slender waist, jamming his fingers into the mass of silky hair at her neck to cup the back of her head with his other.

  Her body fit against his perfectly, melding with him so closely he knew she must feel his arousal. He deepened their kiss, thrusting his tongue lightly into her mouth, then withdrawing it. Again. She stiffened. Blake thought she would pull away.

  Nicole drew back, though he continued to hold her body against his, to rest his hand against the fragile column of her neck. With eyes shining, she searched his face, then touched her fingers to his mouth.

  “Is this your reward, then, to prove the depth of my weakness?”

  “My reward is the gift of your kiss freely given.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

  A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “It is an easy gift, my lord. I only wish . . . ”

  Blake experienced a sharp twisting of his heart. She had not said the words, but he knew what she wanted. Something he would never give—could never give. Love.

  “Do you know how lovely you are?”

  Disappointment entered her gaze, then just as quickly went away. Nicole wrapped her arms tightly about his neck and held on, her face buried against his throat. Moments passed before she lifted her head and kissed him—urgently—passionately—until he felt the same desperation overwhelm him. No one would take her from him. No one. Desire consumed him until he knew he would do anything to keep this woman.

  He pressed her against the stones. His hand slipped slowly along her neck past her throat down to cover one breast. Nicole arched into his hand. He stroked her gently until the nipple grew hard and pressed into his fingers through the cloth. He thrust his hips against the thickness of her skirts seeking the release hidden within.

  Blake broke from her mouth to kiss his way along her fragile jawline to her ear. Her breath came in short gasps that inflamed him further. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. All he had to do was lift her skirts and her virginity would be gone. Taken while pressed against the cold stones of a crumbling tower. Like a serving wench.

  He lifted his face from her neck. Her eyes were still closed, but tears streamed down her cheeks.

 
Good God, what kind of monster had he become? This was Langley's daughter. He should not care about her feelings, about her reputation. But he did.

  He was a damn fool.

  Control. Blake took a deep breath and stepped back. He kept his hold on Nicole long enough to steady her, then released her. Cheeks flushed, she swiped at her hair, then began to straighten her gown, all the while keeping her gaze averted.

  “We had best get back. I understand there is to be a ball this evening,” he said with forced normalcy.

  Nicole raised her chin and met his gaze squarely. “Will I see you there?”

  He nodded, suddenly unable to speak for the knot in his throat. Damn it, he should explain his actions, but he did not know how. For too long he had done as he pleased without excuses, without explanations, without recriminations.

  “I shall forget this occurred if you will.” Her voice trembled slightly.

  She stared at him for a long moment, but still Blake did not speak. All she needed to hear from him was that he was sorry, that he wanted her desperately—just not like this.

  He could not bring himself to utter the words. Blake saw her throat muscles contract. She nodded as though he had given her the answer she required. She swept past him.

  Blake pressed his fists against the stones and lowered his head between his extended arms. Gradually, he became aware of the wind whistling softly through the crumbling tower past the emptiness of his soul. Over the moaning breeze he heard the sound of hoofbeats fade into the distance.

  Silence. He leaned his head back to stare through the gaping ceiling of the fortress to the darkening sky.

  She had gone.

  And Blake knew he might have just made the biggest mistake of his life.

  Chapter 13

  . . .

  Blake paused in the double doorway of the Langley ballroom. He surveyed the crowd with a purposefully unconcerned air. The great hive of colorful bees hummed loudly in an effort to be heard over the lilting strains of the orchestra. It could have been one of those damnable crushes the ton so adored in London.

  An enormous chandelier of sparkling crystal reflected light off the massive wall of etched glass across the room. His own guests intermingled with those belonging to the Langleys, though for the life of him Blake could not distinguish between them. Relations, Aunt Sophia had said. My eye, he thought disagreeably.