Legacy of the Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  "Courtney." Slayde caught up with her in the hallway.

  "Don't even consider asking me to stay behind," she cautioned.

  A twinge of amusement. "I had no intentions of doing that. I was merely going to suggest we leave for London today, rather than wait for morning. I know it's after two, but we could travel five or six hours before darkness falls and, as a result, be that much farther on our way when we stop for the night. We'll stay at an inn in Somerset and be refreshed and ready to begin anew at daybreak. Is that acceptable?"

  "My bag is as good as packed." Courtney turned to go. Abruptly, she realized they had an audience.

  Aurora, Elinore, Rayburn, and Siebert hovered nearby, all of whom, upon hearing Courtney and Slayde, began talking at once, beginning with Rayburn's "Shall I return to my post, sir?", followed by Siebert's "I'll summon Matilda to assist Miss Johnston," which was simultaneous with Elinore's tactful "Courtney, might I be of some assistance?" and Aurora's resounding "Why are you going to London?"

  Slayde stared amazedly at all four of them. "You're awaiting our emergence like a pack of sentries. Did you think I'd done Courtney bodily harm?"

  Characteristically, it was Aurora who answered. "Can you blame us for being worried?" she demanded, planting her hands on her hips. "Slayde, you very nearly assaulted poor Courtney before dragging her from the salon—after having bellowed so loudly upon arriving that you doubtless incited a stampede in the stables. For a man who prides himself on his self-control, you behaved like a wild boar."

  There was a chorus of sharp inhalations as everyone awaited Slayde's response.

  To the amazement of all, he began to chuckle. "You're right, Aurora. Although I find your analogy most unflattering. Still, I do see the similarities, now that you've called them to my attention." Sobering, he shifted his gaze to Rayburn. "Yes. Return to your post. I want to know if Morland so much as blinks in the direction of my estate."

  "Yes, sir." The investigator hurried off.

  "Siebert, Mr. Rayburn will need some means of travel," Slayde prompted. "A carriage perhaps?"

  "Hmm?" The butler was still staring at Slayde as if he were a stranger. "Oh. Mr. Rayburn. Of course, sir." He nodded crisply and complied, although he paused once or twice, glancing over his shoulder as if to confirm that the man who'd just successively shouted and laughed was indeed the earl.

  "Slayde," Elinore inserted, "has something significant happened? Is that why you're leaving for London?"

  "Armon's ship was located," Slayde answered tersely. "Courtney and I are going to London to recover whatever members of her father's crew are aboard." He frowned. "Will you excuse me? I must speak with my guards to prepare them for the possibility that Morland might make an appearance while we're gone." His silver eyes darkened, his gaze hard as steel as it fixed on Aurora. "I want you inside the manor until we return. No strolls, no lighthouse, nothing. Is that thoroughly understood?"

  Seeing the familiar mutinous expression that flashed on her friend's face, Courtney added her voice to Slayde's. "We stirred up a hornet's nest today, Aurora. If Morland is the criminal we suspect he is, my instigation will have rendered him more dangerous than ever. Please, don't argue with Slayde or do anything foolish. Not this time. Your life could be at stake."

  Aurora's anger cooled somewhat. "You're right. Very well, I'll stay snug—and bored—in the manor until your return. Unless," she added hopefully, "you want me to accompany you on your trip?"

  "Absolutely not." Slayde shot that notion down at once. "As it is, I'll have my hands full keeping Courtney out of trouble. At least knowing you're safe will afford me some peace of mind."

  A resigned nod.

  "Go, Slayde," Elinore urged him. "I'll assist Courtney until Matilda appears to take over."

  "Thank you."

  "I wish you luck," she called after him. Brows drawn in concern, she watched his retreat, then took Courtney's hands in hers. "Are you certain this ordeal isn't going to be too painful for you, dear? You have no idea which of your father's crew have survived, nor what kind of condition they'll be in. Moreover, seeing them will doubtless evoke devastating memories."

  "I'm sure you're right," Courtney conceded. "But 'tis something I must do." Her chin set. "Not only do I want to rescue Papa's crew, I intend to search every inch of Armon's ship until I find a clue as to the identity of his accomplice. Surely there must be something: a note, a journal, a letter. I told Lawrence Bencroft I had written proof. Well, by week's end, perhaps that boast will become a reality."

  * * *

  The tiny Somerset village was shrouded in newly settled darkness when the Huntley carriage rolled in. The ride from Pembourne had been quiet, both occupants preoccupied with the anticipation of what lay ahead. During the last few hours of travel, Courtney had dozed, her body protesting the grueling day to which it had been subjected. First Morland, then Slayde, now this.

  Lord, she was tired.

  "I'll have my driver post the horses and find out where the nearest inn is," Slayde announced once they'd come to a halt. "We'll eat, get some rest, then travel all day tomorrow."

  "All right." Courtney stretched, her muscles cramped and achy.

  Frowning, Slayde traced the circles beneath her eyes. "You're exhausted."

  "I have no reason to be. I dozed throughout the entire carriage ride."

  "Exhaustion isn't always cured by sleep, nor caused by lack thereof." Slayde's knuckles brushed her cheek.

  The tenderness in his voice, his touch made Courtney's chest tighten, as did the realization of why Slayde was making this trip—and for whom.

  For the first time since leaving Pembourne, her thoughts returned to the truth she'd been about to share with him when Siebert's knock had intruded, shattering the intimacy of their mood, a mood that had been further eclipsed by Oridge's message, then forgotten during the long, tense carriage ride to Somerset.

  'Twas time to recapture it.

  Pensively, Courtney gazed into Slayde's handsome face. She needed him to understand her true motivation for going to Morland, to realize that what she'd done was inspired by love, not lack of faith. Her faith was unconditional; she knew he'd succeed in bringing Morland, or whoever Armon's accomplice was, to justice.

  For her.

  But the person for whom Courtney was pursuing Morland was Slayde. 'Twas his past she sought to resolve, his future she longed to ensure, his heart she was determined to grant peace.

  And, danger or not, she would.

  Abruptly, her fatigue vanished.

  "What is it?" Slayde was studying her quizzically.

  "Nothing. I'm just glad we're stopping for the night. I want to finish the conversation we were having earlier."

  "So do I." Slayde looked like he wanted to say more, then checked himself. "I'll make the necessary arrangements. I won't be more than a few minutes." He opened the carriage door and swung down. "You rest."

  Rest? Hardly.

  As Slayde headed off, Courtney alit as well, stretching her limbs and wondering how Slayde would react when she told him that barging in on Lawrence Bencroft was but one of the steps she'd taken to silence the echoes of the past.

  Then there was the other step.

  She grinned, savoring the fact that by tomorrow, Cutterton's man would reach London, turn the letter and notes over to the Times and see that they were copied, then reclaimed and returned to Pembourne. Within days, the entire world would be buzzing with the news that the black diamond was no longer in Huntley hands.

  And Slayde's future would be his.

  Shaking out her skirts, Courtney strolled away from the carriage, too restless to remain confined a moment longer. She inhaled deeply, infused with hope and excitement, a prescience that something life-altering was about to occur. The night was misty, a light wind playing through the trees, and she wandered along the roadside, letting the cool air waft across her face and breeze through her hair.

  She never heard her assailant.

  One minute she wa
s meandering about the road, daydreaming, the next, Slayde was shouting her name, the pounding of his footsteps alerting her to the oncoming danger.

  Her head jerked around, a scream freezing on her lips as, out of nowhere, a masked rider bore down on her, the glint of a pistol leaving no doubt as to his intentions. The shot rang out, whizzing past Courtney's face just as a powerful force struck her body, knocking her breath from her lungs as it catapulted her sideways, tumbling her to the cold, hard ground.

  The hoofbeats thundered by and disappeared.

  "Courtney?" Slayde eased away from her, his face stark with fear. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

  She raised her head, numb with shock, and nodded, unsure what had happened, not quite able to catch her breath. She glanced at Slayde, then down at herself, realizing on some obscure level that he had managed to take the brunt of the fall, cushioning her weight with his.

  "Answer me," he commanded, cupping her face, scanning her body for visible signs of blood. "You weren't hit, were you?"

  The bullet. He meant the bullet. Someone had tried to shoot her.

  Tremors of reaction shuddered through her. "No," she managed. She pointed to her chest. "My … breath…"

  "Shhh, I know." Slayde nearly sagged with relief. "'Twas just the fall." Slowly, he rubbed her back. "Relax. Your breathing will return to normal on its own." Another concerned look. "Your ribs—I tried to shield them as best I could."

  "They're … fine." The trembling began to subside as Courtney's breathing evened out. "Slayde … that man tried to kill me." She went ashen even as she said it.

  "Yes." The expression in Slayde's eyes was positively murderous. "He did."

  "Was it Morland?"

  "I don't know. He wore black clothing and a mask that covered his head and face. I couldn't even make out his build—the darkness made it impossible to distinguish." A muscle worked in Slayde's jaw. "But given your excursion to Bencroft's estate this morning…"

  "M'lord! M'lord!" Seaford, the Huntley driver, rushed over. "Are you hurt?"

  Slayde rose, hoisting Courtney to her feet, assessing her carefully. "I don't think so, Seaford." He hooked an arm about Courtney's waist. "But we'd best get Miss Johnston to the inn." For a split second, he averted his head, searching the now-deserted road before them, a lethal look flashing across his face.

  Alongside him, Courtney shifted.

  His head whipped around. "Can you walk?"

  She nodded. "Nothing is broken." An anxious glance at Slayde. "What about you? You fell harder than I did."

  "I'm fine." His tone was harsh, clipped. "Let's go."

  Neither of them spoke until they reached the inn, both still in shock at what had happened. Slayde took two adjoining rooms, then arranged for hot baths to be brought up shortly.

  It seemed like an eternity, but thirty minutes later, Courtney sank gratefully into a steaming tub, letting the warmth soak away her fear and discomfort. She washed herself hastily, eager to banish the memories of what had just occurred, more eager to be finished so she could simply drift, do nothing.

  Think nothing.

  Rinsing her hair, she relaxed, sliding down until her head rested against the side of the tub, shutting her eyes and emptying her mind.

  God, this is heaven, she thought, lulled into a delicious half-sleep. Heaven.

  "You look like a beautiful mermaid." Slayde's deep voice resounded in her ear. "But the water's growing cold. Besides, we've got to get you to bed."

  Courtney blinked, wondering when Slayde had come into the room. She'd certainly never heard him enter, but there he was, crouched beside her, tucking damp strands of hair off her face.

  "I'll sleep here," she mumbled.

  A chuckle. "Not unless you want to shrivel away to nothing." He lifted her from the tub, enfolding her in towels and carrying her to the bed.

  His warmth felt wonderful. Courtney murmured a protest when he placed her on the sheets, then sighed with contentment when he followed her down, enveloping her against his solid strength. Instinctively, she snuggled closer, rubbing her face against what she discovered to be his bare, damp chest. "That's right," she announced, half to herself. "You had a bath, too."

  "Um-hum." The husky sound tickled her ear. "Then I donned my breeches and came in to check on you. I needed to make sure you were all right." He swallowed, hard, his voice growing oddly choked. "Are you hungry?"

  Awareness won out over fatigue, and Courtney's lashes lifted, her eyes luminous with emotion as they gazed into his. "No." She lay a trembling palm against his jaw. "That's twice you've saved my life," she whispered.

  Torment slashed his features. "I didn't think I'd reach you in time." His fingers threaded through her damp, tangled hair. "In that split second when I saw the pistol barrel gleam and you standing in its path, the only thoughts that kept running through my mind were that I couldn't reach you…" He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "And that without you, there's nothing."

  "Slayde." She caressed the warmth of his skin, twined her arms about his neck.

  "Nothing, Courtney." He kissed her, first tenderly, then with an urgency like none he'd ever known. "God help me if I'd lost you. God help me…"

  Fiercely, Courtney returned Slayde's kiss, tears burning behind her eyes as she felt, and shared, his desperation. Their love for each other was a miracle—a miracle that, but for the grace of God and the space of a heartbeat, could have been snatched away.

  Making it all the more precious.

  With shaking hands, Slayde flung Courtney's towels aside, staring worshipfully down at her before lowering his head, his mouth burning kisses down her throat, her neck, the upper swell of her breasts. He shifted, nuzzling her nipple into a damp, hardened peak, then drawing it into his mouth, first slowly, then repeatedly, powerfully, until Courtney was whimpering with need and Slayde's breath was coming in harsh, painful rasps. Still, he didn't stop, moving to her other breast, rendering the same exquisite torture until Courtney was sure she would die.

  "God, I need all of you," he muttered thickly, his fingers gliding down, parting her thighs, finding and penetrating her all at once.

  "Slayde." Courtney sobbed his name, opening to his touch, her hips lifting in silent plea when his finger slid inside her, began an unbearable rhythm of plunge and retreat. "Slayde," she managed, undulating to meet his caresses. "I'm dying."

  "So am I." He rose, cast his breeches to the floor and knelt between her parted thighs, his gaze hot, wild. He needed more.

  Drowning in desire and emotion, Slayde lifted her legs over his shoulders, burying his mouth in her sweetness.

  Courtney unraveled at the first lash of his tongue, the feelings too strong to fight, the climax too essential to delay. She heard herself scream, felt the clawing release erupt inside her, spasm after shuddering spasm gripping her, hurling her into a sensual oblivion too beautiful to experience alone.

  "Slayde," she gasped, tugging at his arms as he raised his head, gazed at her with a wealth of yearning in his eyes. "Please … I need you inside me."

  With a groan of surrender, Slayde complied, fitting his body to hers and burying himself to the hilt in one perfect, inexorable thrust. Her contractions clasped at his length, shattering his control, instantly propelling him over the edge of intoxicating sensation. "Courtney." He pounded into her, his thrusts wild, uncontrollable, his fingers biting into her hips as he worked them to meet the frenzied motion of his. "Courtney." He went rigid, his entire being focused on that highest pinnacle of sensation.

  He toppled over the edge, crushing her against him, pouring into her in bottomless, scalding bursts, seeking her womb in an inherent need to give her everything—his love, his soul.

  His child.

  "Yes." Fervently, Courtney held him, feeling the same reckless need as he, her body opening to receive his seed. She shuddered, her own spasms heightened by the euphoric knowledge that she and Slayde were one, that he was a part of her and she of him.

  Slayde collapsed, t
remors still vibrating through his powerful frame as he blanketed Courtney, dragged air into his lungs. Eyes shut, he savored the lingering filaments of sensation, acutely aware of the warm wetness of his seed, not spilled on the sheets beside him, but buried deep inside Courtney.

  He awaited the onslaught of guilt.

  It never came.

  Worry, however, did—the instant he felt Courtney go limp beneath him.

  Shifting his weight to his elbows, Slayde brushed damp tendrils of hair off her face, panic streaking through him in lightning waves when she remained unmoving, eyes closed. Had he hurt her? She was so slight and delicate and, Lord only knew, there had been nothing delicate about the way he'd just taken her. He'd been a wild man, frenzied with his need to possess her, to reassure himself that she was alive and whole and here in his arms. He'd been lost to his own raw emotions, oblivious to her ribs, her head, her brush with death—the second in a fortnight—everything but the hollow aching in his soul.