Legacy of the Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  "I can tell." Experimentally, she arched, feeling the answering pulse of his body, his rigid length throbbing against her belly in its desperate need to be one with her.

  "Do that again and I'll be inside you in a heartbeat," he rasped, lowering his head to her breast. Slowly, deliberately, he drew her nipple into his mouth, licking maddening circles about the aching tip until Courtney thought she'd die. Abruptly, he gave her what she craved, his lips enveloping the peak, tugging powerfully—once, twice, then in a hard, steady rhythm, punctuating each motion with a lash of his tongue.

  "Oh … God." Courtney bit her lip against the scream threatening to erupt. Lightening shot from her breasts to her loins, her womb clenching as liquid heat pooled between her thighs.

  Wildly aroused by her response, Slayde shifted to her other breast, inflicting the same torture, gently holding her hips to prevent their undulating motion. "Not yet," he answered her unspoken plea. "Not yet." He reached down, slipped his fingers between her thighs—and was nearly undone by the satiny wetness that greeted his touch. "Perfect," he said thickly, his fingers gliding inside, his thumb finding and stroking the tiny bud that begged for his touch. "So … utterly … perfect."

  Courtney sobbed his name, arching against his hand, begging him to stop, each roll of her hips wilder, more abandoned.

  "You're so beautiful." Feeling her inner muscles quiver against his fingertips, Slayde quickened his motions, shuddering as he battled back his own release, which clawed at his loins despite the fact that he had yet to enter her. "So close," he rasped. "You're so close. Let me feel you."

  "No … Slayde, no." Courtney shook her head, her hair a glorious tangle on the pillows. "I … no." Blindly, she reached between them, her fingers finding and surrounding his turgid shaft, caressing skin too achingly sensitized by nerves too raw to breaking.

  "God … Courtney." Slayde went utterly still, gritting his teeth against the feral shout exploding in his chest, flames igniting in his loins. Of its own accord, his body moved against her palm, seeking a more erotic contact, desperate to know the effects of her touch.

  Taking full advantage of the moment, Courtney squirmed away, wriggling down the bed until she could worship him with her mouth, love him in the same magnificent way he had her.

  She'd scarcely begun when Slayde dragged her back up.

  "Stop!" he commanded, lifting her hips and plunging deep, deep inside her. "Courtney…"

  He poured into her even as he roared her name, throwing back his head and succumbing to the shout he'd fought to suppress. Unendurable pleasure screamed along his nerve endings as Courtney convulsed around him, cried out his name, hard spasms of completion overtaking her, clasping at his length and intensifying his climax beyond bearing. He gripped her thighs, opening them wider, lifting her into him to give her every iota of sensation, every drop of his essence.

  Courtney cried out again, clutching Slayde with arms and legs and inner muscles that contracted around him in what had to be the most exquisite of tortures.

  They collapsed in a joined heap, dragging air into their lungs, shuddering with the lingering tremors of their release.

  Minutes drifted by, melded into a blissful stretch of timelessness, a bone-deep contentment—of their bodies, yes, but more profoundly, of their souls.

  An eternity later, Slayde raised his head, kissed Courtney's closed eyelids, her flushed cheeks. "I love you." Tenderly, he framed her face between his palms, brushing her lips with all the soft kisses he'd intended, but which their urgency had earlier precluded.

  Courtney's arms came up to encircle his neck. "Am I still alive?" she murmured.

  A chuckle. "If not, then neither am I. In which case, I don't give a damn. So long as I'm with you, I don't care where I am."

  "Either way, it's heaven." Courtney's lashes lifted and she smiled. "Utter, eternal heaven." She kissed the damp column of Slayde's throat. "I love you, Lord Pembourne."

  Fierce emotion darkened his gaze. "And I adore you, soon-to-be Lady Pembourne."

  That caused a pucker to form between Courtney's brows. "Lady Pembourne—I hadn't considered that. In marrying an earl, I become a countess."

  Slayde rolled them to one side, wrapping his arms securely about his future bride. "Is that approval or disapproval I detect?"

  "Would it matter?"

  "No. You're marrying me anyway."

  She laughed. "Tell me, then: are countesses permitted such abandoned behavior in the bedroom?"

  "Absolutely. 'Tis a requirement of the peerage."

  "I see." Courtney's shoulders were shaking. "And are countesses permitted to ravish their poor, unsuspecting earl husbands repeatedly?"

  "Without so much as a moment's recovery time."

  "Ah. And are countesses—"

  "Yes." Slayde covered her mouth with his, kissing her until her breath was coming in quick, heated pants. "Most definitely—yes."

  "Very well, then," Courtney managed to say, quivering as Slayde hardened inside her. "I suppose I'll adapt."

  * * *

  "Slayde?" Courtney whispered, securely nestled in the warm circle of his arms.

  "Hmm?"

  "Earlier, when you spoke about your confrontation with Morland, the sudden change in your perspective—what caused it?"

  Slayde gathered her closer, gazing across the dimly-lit room. "Several things: you, the new depth of understanding your love has brought me…" A smile. "And a very unusual cup of tea."

  Courtney twisted about, raising up so she could make out Slayde's expression. "You went to see Mr. Scollard."

  "I did indeed."

  "Oh, Slayde." She flung her arms about his neck. "I'm so glad."

  "So am I, actually. He's astounding, your Mr. Scollard. 'Tis as if he can see inside you. Oh, speaking of seeing," Slayde teased, caressing Courtney's cheek, "I evidently both see and hear quite well now. Whatever deficiency I had is gone. According to Mr. Scollard, I've found my way." All teasing vanished, supplanted by an emotion too vast to contain. "Thank God that way led to you."

  Courtney's eyes misted. "'Tis the same for us as it was for Mama and Papa—you, the ship, and I, the light—house. Neither is complete without the other." She brushed her lips to Slayde's, her prayer as reverent as his. "Thank God we both found our course."

  Her choice of analogies reminded Slayde of the fierce commitment he'd sworn to fulfill. "I'm going to make everything right, Courtney," he vowed fervently. "You'll see."

  Puzzled, she searched his face, somehow sensing he referred to more than just the mystery they had yet to resolve. "I know you will." A speculative pause. "Tell me about your visit with Mr. Scollard."

  Damn, but her insight was staggering.

  Warning bells sounded, and Slayde cautioned himself to tread carefully, to refrain from any mention of Arthur Johnston and the possibility that he was alive. "I stopped by on my way to confront Morland. Mr. Scollard was expecting me."

  "Naturally," Courtney murmured.

  "He congratulated me on our forthcoming marriage and on my amazing transformation. Then he made me tea."

  Courtney grinned. "Given your preference for rational explanation, you must have been utterly astounded."

  "At first, yes. But once I stopped grappling with what I couldn't understand and just accepted it, I began enjoying our chat. He commended me on leaving Oridge to oversee you and Aurora, and urged me to go on to Morland, to face my ghosts." Slayde's expression darkened. "He did caution me that after today, I was not to leave you alone, that you would be in danger. When he said those words, I nearly gave up the idea of riding to Newton Abbot and dashed back to Pembourne. But Scollard insisted that, for this one day, you'd be fine without my protection. Now that I consider it, he already knew Morland was innocent. He also knew that I had to recognize it for myself. His exact words when he sent me off were 'So long as you're confronting the duke, the peril will be held at bay.' Naturally, I assumed he meant the peril and Morland were one and the same; that if Morland was a
t home, engaged in a confrontation with me, he couldn't be at Pembourne hurting you. But when I verbalized that thought, Scollard replied, 'Those are your words, not mine.' If that wasn't an allusion to the fact that my suspicions were misdirected, I don't know what was."

  "Yet you didn't realize it then."

  "No," Slayde admitted. "I suppose, as Scollard said, I had to clear my mind of the shadows that obstructed my sight in order to see what was truly there, not what I chose to see."

  "He's a wonderful man, isn't he?"

  "Yes. He's also worried sick about you." Slayde sifted his fingers through Courtney's hair. "So am I. Every reference he made led back to the fact that the danger lies at Pembourne. And not only as far as the traitor we're harboring—although Scollard did sense that bastard's clawing fear—but as far as our main quarry as well. Scollard kept using phrases such as 'outside, heartlessness and obsession haunting your doorstep' and 'ruthlessness hovers at its portals.' Again, given that I believed Morland was the culprit, I assumed those references were to his drunken visit to Pembourne, his intentions to return. But now, with Morland eliminated as a suspect, we have to view Mr. Scollard's insights in a new light."

  Courtney paled. "You believe that whoever's at the helm of these horrible crimes is close by?"

  Slayde studied Courtney's frightened face, torn between his innate compulsion to protect her, which urged him to lie in order to assuage her fears, and his love for her, which commanded that he speak the truth. In the end, there was no choice. "Yes. I do." His thumbs stroked her cheekbones. "But I also believe that scoundrel's downfall is imminent, thanks to the plan you and Aurora conjured up." A sudden memory flashed through Slayde's mind, spawning a glimmer of comprehension. "What's more, Mr. Scollard believes the same."

  "He told you that?"

  "Indirectly. What he said was that wits, not pistols, would be my true weapon." A discerning grin. "What he failed to mention was that the wits involved would be yours."

  * * *

  Over a hundred servants crowded Pembourne's ballroom, the only room large enough to hold so vast a number of people. Most of them shifted nervously, murmuring among themselves about the possible reasons for Lord Pembourne's request that they gather here after breakfast.

  Undetected, Slayde surveyed the room from the hallway. "Do you understand what I expect of you?" he muttered to Cutterton.

  "Of course, sir," Cutterton said quietly. "Mathers and I will support your story. We'll concur that we found the note yesterday, and advised you to take instantaneous action. As for our immediate responsibility, we'll distribute the writing materials and collect the handwriting samples—after we've publicly advised Miss Johnston that her participation in this task is mandatory."

  "Excellent." Slayde shot Cutterton a grateful look. "I know you haven't a clue why I'm doing this. I hope I'll be able to fill you in soon. In the interim, I appreciate your cooperation."

  "That's my job, sir." Cutterton's gaze flickered to the left and he gave a terse nod. "Mathers is here with the paper and writing implements."

  "Good. Then let's proceed." Slayde turned to Courtney, who was standing beside him, her eyes bright with anticipation. "Come, love," he said softly, extending his hand. "We have an announcement to make."

  "Yes, my lord." She placed her hand in his. "Indeed we do."

  A hush fell over the group as their master entered, Miss Johnston by his side.

  Courtney looked from one face to the other, pained by the apprehension she saw reflected there. Many of these people had cared for her, nursed her back to health, and, in the process, become like family to her—especially Siebert and Matilda, who stood near the front, their worried gazes softening with affection as they met hers. For their sakes—for all their sakes—she prayed this nightmare would soon end.

  As Slayde cleared his throat to speak, Courtney's eyes met Aurora's, and she smiled at the vivid excitement revealed in the turquoise depths. Not an ounce of fear, she noted. Not her Aurora. Only joy at Slayde's and her impending marriage, and exhilaration at what Aurora was convinced was the greatest and soon-to-be most successful scheme of all time.

  "First, let me thank you all for taking time away from your duties," Slayde began. His brows drew together as he sought just the right words to convey his announcement. "Many of you have been with my family for years, yet doubtless view me not as a resident of Pembourne, but as an infrequent and short-term visitor. 'Tis no secret why. I've spent little of my life within these walls—especially since my parents were killed a decade ago, after which Pembourne became only a hollow chasm of pain and anguish. Thus, it's been anything but a home—not for me or, I suspect, for many of you." A meaningful glance at Aurora. "Certainly not for my sister, who spends half her life trying to flee from it."

  A few of the servants coughed uneasily.

  "Last month, a young woman came into our lives who, in a very short time, has managed to accomplish what I could not: she's made Pembourne feel like a home and its occupants like a family." His fingers tightened around Courtney's. "We all owe Miss Johnston an incredible debt—most especially, I.

  "In the true spirit of the family she's helped to create, I've summoned you all here this morning to share some wonderful news. Pembourne's transformation, and mine, are destined to endure, thanks to the extraordinary gift Miss Johnston has agreed to bestow upon me—that being her hand in marriage." A murmur went up from the crowd, and Slayde turned to Courtney, his expression tender. "I'm proud to announce that Miss Courtney Johnston will soon become Mrs. Slayde Huntley, the Countess of Pembourne … my wife."

  Unanimous, enthusiastic applause erupted.

  Courtney blinked, staring from one beaming face to the other, tears stinging her eyes at the unexpectedly fervent response. She'd anticipated polite approval, in some cases pleasure, but exuberance such as this? It was humbling.

  "Thank you," she managed, her voice lost in the din. Aurora rushed forward, embracing both her brother and future sister-in-law, her own eyes damp.

  "Why are you crying?" Courtney laughed through her tears. "You already knew."

  "So did you," Aurora retorted. "Yet you're crying."

  "Please wait," Slayde called out loudly, holding up his palm. "Unfortunately, there is another, more sobering matter I need to address before any celebrating takes place."

  The clapping quieted, then ceased, apprehension once again swelling to fill the room.

  "As I just mentioned, Lady Aurora is notorious for her attempts to escape Pembourne."

  "Oh, but Slayde," Aurora inserted on cue, "all that will change now that Courtney's—"

  "Nevertheless," he interrupted, "it's come to my attention that, over the past few days, someone at Pembourne has been assisting her in her attempts to outwit the guards." Slayde clasped his hands behind his back, his bold silver-gray stare sweeping the room. "This is not mere speculation. I have proof of my claim. What I now ask is for the guilty party to step forward and admit what he or she has done. If that party complies, he or she will be firmly dealt with, but not dismissed. Otherwise…" Slayde left the rest of his sentence hanging. Jaw set, he waited.

  Seconds ticked by.

  "No one is willing to claim responsibility for this?" he pressed.

  Silence.

  "Very well, then there is but one other way to achieve my end." Half turning, Slayde gestured for Mathers to enter. "Mr. Mathers will be handing each one of you a blank sheet of paper. Once that's been done, I will read to you the contents of a note left for Aurora by her accomplice at the rear door of the manor. You will pen the sentence precisely as I read it. When each of you has completed that task, you will hand your paper to Cutterton, who will place a number on your page and make a corresponding entry on a list that I alone will keep. After all the pages are collected, I will retire to my study, where I will compare each of your hands with that on the note. When I find a match, I'll have what I need. Are there any questions?"

  One stableboy raised his hand nervously. "Pardon
me, m'lord, but I can't write."

  "Those of you who can't write are excused. Please check with Mr. Cutterton at the door and he will make note of that fact for the list." A muscle flexed in Slayde's jaw. "I strongly suggest the guilty party does not feign the inability to write as a means of evading his task. I have files on every person I hire. I intend to verify who can and cannot read and write." A weighty pause. "In the interim, Mathers, you can begin."

  Twenty minutes later, there were half the number of people in the room as there had been initially, and each of the remaining occupants held a sheet of paper and a quill.

  Cutterton left the doorway and approached Courtney, signaling to Mathers to join them. "Forgive me, Miss Johnston," he said, "but I must ask you to participate as well."

  Courtney's jaw dropped. "I?"

  "Yes." Cutterton turned to Slayde and explained. "I apologize for embarrassing your betrothed, sir. But I must be thorough. And Miss Johnston is Lady Aurora's closest friend, constant companion, and most willing cohort. I'd be remiss if I didn't ask her to take part in this exercise."