Legacy of the Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  "As you are, I presume."

  An ironic sound escaped Courtney's lips. "I? Hardly. I dreaded every moment of our journeys. That's why the second part of Papa's gift meant so much. He planned to spend one full week with me. On land. Funny—" Her voice quavered. "At the time, it seemed too short an interval. Now, one week seems like the most priceless of gifts."

  Slayde felt a wave of compassion—and a surge of confusion. "If you dreaded your journeys, why in God's name did you go? Surely your father didn't insist that you remain—"

  "He didn't," she interrupted. "Papa never knew of my feelings. No one did. In fact, you're the first person I've ever told. Had I confessed the truth to Papa, one of two things would have happened: either he would have given up the sea, which I couldn't abide—'twas his life—or he'd have restored me to boarding school, which would have been akin to thrashing me. I'd spent months pleading with him to withdraw me and equally as many months upending the school so they were more than happy to comply."

  Slayde's lips twitched. "It sounds like you were a terror."

  "I was." He felt her smile faintly against his shirt. "Trust me, Aurora is a lamb in comparison."

  "What a harrowing thought." Slayde's brows knit. "When we first spoke of your father, you referred to the Isobel in affectionate terms—as your home."

  "It was. Because Papa was there. But every night, I prayed for the impossible: that he would tire of the sea on his own and choose for us to settle down. To make a real home, together."

  "I see." Slayde stared off into space, wondering why he, the most circumspect of men, was asking so many intrusive questions, and more importantly, why he felt compelled to know as much as he could about his beautiful houseguest. "Is your mother alive?"

  "No. Mama died just after I was born. I never knew her. But I knew a great deal about her. Papa spoke of her constantly: her beauty, her warm-hearted nature, her enthusiasm for life. Of course, he was more than a bit subjective. He adored her."

  "Did she live near the docks? Is that where they met?"

  A soft breath of laughter. "She lived in a mansion. They met when Papa's ship was docked and Mama happened to be strolling near the water's edge. Mama's parents were blue bloods—titled and affluent. Needless to say, they were less than thrilled with her choice of husbands. But it didn't matter, not to her or to Papa. They were very much in love. The fact that she was an aristocrat and Papa a sea captain mattered not a whit. Eventually, their devotion triumphed. They procured her parents's blessing and were married that very week." Courtney rose up, inclining her head in question. "Do you recall the timepiece you rescued? The one you placed in the nightstand drawer?"

  Slayde nodded. "I remember."

  "It's the finest of captain's watches. And Papa's most treasured memory of Mama. She gave it to him as a wedding gift, a symbol of their lives and their love. Not only is the craftsmanship exquisite, the scene within—" Courtney broke off, her eyes widening eagerly. "Would you like to see it? Really see it, in detail?"

  The glow on her face was worth the cost of a dozen timepieces combined. "Yes, I would. Very much."

  Gingerly, Courtney twisted about and extracted the piece of silver with a familiarity that made Slayde suspect she'd done this repeatedly over the past two days. "I realize you must already have glanced at it," she said, "but 'tis far too beautiful for a cursory look." Lovingly, she caressed the gleaming case, extending the watch for Slayde's perusal.

  He took it, noting the intricacy of the pattern etched on the outside. "It's lovely."

  "Open it," Courtney urged. "Hold it to the lamp so you can see the scene inside."

  Slayde complied, studying the enchanting picture that greeted him.

  A solitary ship graced the center of the watch's face. The vessel appeared to be paused on a course to the lighthouse depicted on the right—no, not paused—unmoving. Cushioned by peaceful sea waters, the ship remained as it was, halted midway to its destination, suspended in time.

  "According to Papa, Mama claimed he was the ship and she, the lighthouse," Courtney elaborated, her voice choked. "That's because, until a few days past, the picture moved. The lighthouse beam appeared, beckoning, and the ship sailed toward it, hastening toward its welcoming light just as Papa always did to Mama. He took the watch with him wherever he traveled, kept it with him all these years—even after she died. It was his way of having Mama beside him, always." A shuddering breath. "He gave me the timepiece just before he was forced overboard, told me to keep it as a memory of them both. I clutched it long after that animal locked me in my cabin. I was afraid to open the case, because I knew what I would find. At last, I relented, needing to see I was wrong—only to discover I was right. Just as I dreaded, the watch had stopped." Hollow emptiness returned to Courtney's eyes. "It won't start again until Papa is home where he belongs."

  "Courtney—"

  "Don't tell me he's dead," she refuted in a strangled whisper. "I refuse to accept that." Two tears slid down her cheeks. "I can't explain it, but while I realize up here"—she touched her brow—"the implausibility of what I'm saying, in here"—she lay her palm over her heart—"I believe otherwise." Valiantly, she struggled for control. "So let's not discuss it, all right? Let's speak of something else."

  With a wordless nod, Slayde snapped the watch case shut and replaced it in the drawer. "The timepiece is exquisite. Your mother had exceptional taste." A heart-beat of a pause. "And an exceptional daughter."

  Warm color tinged Courtney's cheeks. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." Unsettled by his own sense of imbalance, Slayde sought a safer ground. "Tell me, why did you hate sailing? Was it the lack of privacy?"

  Courtney shook her head, capturing a tear with the tip of her tongue. "No. I had all the privacy I wished for. In fact, I spent long hours alone in my cabin. Only Papa visited me there. The men were given strict orders—by Papa—never to enter my quarters."

  "I don't blame him. A beautiful woman, together with a shipload of men? Were I your father, I'd have locked you in."

  A twinge of amusement. "I was hardly compromised. The men treated me with the utmost respect. After all, my father was their captain."

  "Where did your ship journey?"

  "To the Colonies. We carried furniture and other English goods to New York and Boston."

  "Did you dislike visiting the Colonies?"

  "Actually, I found them quite fascinating. Why?"

  "I was only wondering if perhaps that was the reason you disliked your trips aboard the Isobel."

  "No, it wasn't."

  "Very well, then; was it the food you so detested?"

  Courtney's lips curved. "In truth, the meals served at Madame La Salle's Boarding School were far more apt to cause fatal illness than those served aboard the Isobel. I also had less privacy, more restrictions, and far more unsavory companions at school than at sea. No, 'twas none of those things that deterred me."

  "I'm mystified, then. What caused you to loathe sea travel?"

  "The fact that the moment the ship left the wharf, I became violently seasick and remained so for the duration of each and every trip. Which, incidentally, is why I spent so much time in my cabin. 'Tis difficult to walk about the deck with your head in a chamber pot."

  Laughter rumbled in Slayde's chest. "I should think it would be."

  "I truly hoped I'd outgrow the weakness with time," Courtney murmured ruefully. "But after twenty years, that possibility seems unlikely."

  "Twenty. Is that how old you're turning next month?"

  "Yes."

  The lighthearted moment vanished as ugly memories lanced Slayde's heart like a knife. "I was only a year older than that when my parents died."

  Tilting back her head, Courtney studied his expression. Then, tentatively, she reached up, her fingers brushing his jaw. "I can't begin to imagine how agonizing that must have been. At least I was spared seeing Papa—" She broke off, drew a sharp, unsteady breath.

  "I was the one who found them," S
layde replied tonelessly. "I returned to Pembourne late that night. I knew something was amiss when I found the front door slightly ajar. They were in the library on the floor. They'd been run through by a sword. The whole area surrounding them was covered in blood. No matter how many years go by, I'll never forget that image. It's ingrained in my mind forever."

  "The authorities never unearthed the murderer?"

  "They stopped looking as swiftly as they possibly could. Officially, the crime was declared the unfortunate result of a burglary, since the strongbox containing my mother's jewels was missing. That was the official report. The truth is another story entirely." Seeing Courtney's puzzled expression, he stated flatly, "To be blunt, Bow Street

  was terrified. Lest your father have neglected to mention it, the world believed—believes," Slayde amended in a bitter tone, "that the Huntleys are condemned to an eternity of hell. A hell spawned by some bizarre, nonexistent curse, one that is perpetuated by the very greed of those who seek its source."

  "The black diamond."

  "Yes. The black diamond."

  "Slayde—" Courtney's voice was soft, her fingers gentle on his face. "You've understood—and eased—my pain. Let me ease yours. Share it with me."

  That familiar wall went up. "That won't be necessary. My parents were killed over a decade ago. I've long since come to grips with the pain."

  "Have you?"

  Their gazes locked—and the wall toppled.

  "My great-grandfather and Geoffrey Bencroft were partners in a joint venture." Slayde was astounded to hear the story emerge from his lips. "Their quest was to locate the world's largest black diamond, stolen centuries earlier from a sacred temple in India and never recovered. Once it was found, their intentions were to deliver the gem to a Russian prince who was offering an outrageous fortune in exchange for the diamond. Dozens of mercenaries had already tried—and failed—to find the stone. My great-grandfather and the late duke were determined to succeed, and they agreed that after they had, they would divide the fortune equally. The only dark cloud threatening their crusade was the mythical curse accompanying the stone, a curse that, according to legend, went '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.'"

  Courtney shivered. "How menacing. Papa never relayed the exact wording of the curse. All he told me was that your great-grandfather supposedly returned to England without the Duke of Morland, but with the stone. And that your family has endured the consequences of the curse ever since."

  "I don't believe in curses," Slayde bit out. "Only in those who perpetuate them, and those who effect them by virtue of their greed."

  "You think whoever killed your parents wanted the diamond for the wealth they'd derive from it?"

  "Of course. 'Twas no secret that the jewel is worth a king's ransom. Nor that my great-grandfather was the last known man to possess it, and that he never delivered it to the Russian prince. The mystery was, where did he hide the stone? That, no one knew. So, for four generations, thieves and barbarians have done all they could—including commit murder—to uncover the whereabouts of the wretched gem."

  "Did your great-grandfather die before he could tell anyone the truth?"

  "Yes. According to my father, he died less than a week after returning to England."

  "How?" Courtney murmured. "How did he die?"

  "He was dashed on the rocks at the foot of Dartmouth Cliffs."

  Courtney tensed, and Slayde anticipated her next question even as she uttered it. "Was he … alone?"

  "If you mean, was he pushed, no one knows. There were no witnesses." Unconsciously, Slayde tightened his arms about Courtney. "Each successive generation of Huntleys has endured bloodshed. We've also enjoyed a sizable, ever-increasing fortune. So, according to those who believe in myths, the curse has come to pass."

  "But two days ago, you turned the black diamond over to that despicable pirate, so the curse should end for you."

  "Should it? Not when the true curse is the hatred spawned generations ago and furthered by the Bencrofts. Trust me, Courtney, that hatred will never end."

  "'He with a black heart…'" she recited thoughtfully. "The Bencrofts think of your great-grandfather as such for deceiving Geoffrey Bencroft and disappearing with the stone."

  "Yes. And they despise us because of it. You see, from the moment the diamond left Geoffrey's hands, the Bencroft fortune began dissipating. Each successive loss they suffered heightened their resentment. And there wasn't a bloody thing we could do to alter that. True, my great-grandfather cheated Geoffrey out of his half of the diamond's worth. But he also never sold the stone or reaped any actual profits, so after his death, we had no tangible fortune to share with the Bencrofts. Further, we couldn't turn the stone over to them even if we'd wished to; we hadn't a clue where it was hidden. Consequently, we had no way of righting his wrong."

  "And they didn't accept that as truth?"

  "Not for a minute. And any hope my family had of appeasing their hatred was quickly snuffed out. Less than a fortnight after my great-grandfather's demise, word reached England that Geoffrey Bencroft had succumbed to a fever and died on his journey home. From that moment on, the Bencrofts' enmity intensified to the point of obsession—violent obsession. Of course, at the heart of that obsession lay Geoffrey's son, Chilton, the new Duke of Morland. New to his title, but not his role," Slayde clarified. "Chilton had been the acting head of his family for years, running the estates and businesses while his father gallivanted about the globe. By the time Geoffrey died, Chilton's reputation amongst members of the ton was notorious. He was ruthless in his dealings—and the Huntleys became his prime target. He used every opportunity to malign our name and thwart our business ventures. It maddened him beyond reason when each attempt not only failed, but resulted in further gains for us and more abject poverty for them.

  "One month before my parents' deaths, Chilton's mind snapped. He and his only son Lawrence—the current Duke of Morland—forced their way into Pembourne and invaded my father's study. Lawrence hung back, enraged but willing—no, more than willing, grateful—to leave the verbal assault to his father, while he himself tossed off a bottle of madeira and paced sullenly about the room. In contrast, Chilton raved like a madman, shouting accusations about how my family had destroyed the Bencrofts and how it was time for him to even the score, to make the Huntleys pay. The servants and I threw them out. But I remember Chilton's expression vividly: there was murder in his eyes."

  "You think he—or they—killed your parents?"

  "Just Chilton," Slayde corrected. "And, yes, I do although the authorities were never able to prove it. As for Lawrence, he's too weak to kill anyone, although Lord knows, the intensity of his hatred is more than sufficient to incite murder. And he's certainly clever enough to manage it—when he's sober. But he isn't strong enough to wield the weapon; he'd sooner hire another to do it for him, someone like the bastard who seized your father's ship. Now that is the type of method Lawrence would employ. In fact, the more I consider it, the more convinced I am that he is the orchestrator of that entire plot. Tomorrow, I intend to learn the truth. And when I do, a segment of justice will have been served. Generations of Bencrofts may have gone unpunished, but the current Duke of Morland will pay—he and his pirate conspirator."

  Slayde felt a tremor run through Courtney's body. Blinking, he jerked back to the present, staring down at her face and seeing tears gather in her eyes.

  "I'm sorry," he murmured, his thumbs capturing the moisture as it trickled down her cheeks. "I don't know what possessed me. The last thing I wanted was to frighten you with my family history."

  "I asked for the details," she managed to choke out. "And you didn't frighten me. At least no more than I already was. All you did was make me aware of the extent of your hardships. Dear God, Slayde, you've endured so much—far more than I." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Yesterday, you said you would undo my loss if y
ou could. Well, right now, all I wish is that I could undo yours."

  The earnest proclamation of empathy was the last reaction Slayde had expected and the most impacting one he'd ever endured. Although he'd never discussed his family history before tonight, he was nonetheless acutely aware of the ugly speculation the Huntley name inspired. In the past, those with whom he associated fell into one of three categories: the few who were blessedly ignorant, the handful who were perversely intrigued, and the predominant group, who were altogether terrified—of the Huntleys and their demonic curse.

  Not so Courtney. Here she was, gazing up at him with a wealth of hurt in her eyes—hurt not for herself, but for him. She wanted to undo his suffering, to eradicate his pain. And why? Simply because she cared.

  Something profound moved in Slayde's chest, soothing his remembered anguish in a rush of warmth. "That's the most selfless offer I've ever received," he heard himself mutter, realizing even as he said it that it was true. "Thank you, sweetheart."