Heart of the Diamond (2 page)

Dylan shrugged his broad shoulders. He continued as though unaware of her distress. “So you see, this is
my
room, not Teddy's.”

She shook her head in denial. Impossible. Teddy could not have lost Rosewood.

“It was
I
who sent you the message.”

“You . . .!” Nicki's breath left her in a rush, cutting off her words.

She could not seem to draw air into her lungs. Why would this man Dylan send her a note leading her to believe Teddy had come back to Rosewood? She pressed her fingers to her temples and struggled for breath.

Teddy is still in America? Impossible. She had risked everything—pinned all her hopes on believing Teddy had most opportunely returned to England to save her.

The room dipped alarmingly. Her knees threatened to buckle as she fought to remain upright. The air grew too heavy to breathe.

“There now, do not go fainting on me.”

Dylan's warm, strong arms slipped about her rib cage as he eased Nicki to the carpet. She closed her eyes. Her head rested against his chest as she concentrated on breathing.

“Things cannot be bad as all that.” His deep voice rumbled against the back of her head, compounding her dizziness.

For several seconds, her mind continued to spin. Gradually, the whirling subsided. Never having experienced such an occurrence before, Nicki waited for whatever would happen next.

“Are you conscious?”

Nicki thought she detected a note of concern in Dylan's voice. She kept her eyes closed as she weighed her options. Blast it all. What should she do now? He thought she had fainted. It served him right. But she knew when she awakened the difficulties would remain and she would have done nothing more than make a cake of herself before a perfect stranger. This stranger had apparently set out to purposefully deceive her. Why? She must learn the truth.

Nicki twisted slightly within Dylan's secure hold and reached around to push herself away—only to touch warm, smooth . . . bare skin.

Merciful heaven, she was being embraced by a naked man!

She froze. The heat from his body infiltrated her fingertips. It intensified, projecting tiny pinpricks along her palm. Nicki snatched her hand away. Slowly, she raised her gaze to his face. In the dimness she could vaguely make out high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Brandy scented breath whispered across her cheeks, caressing—not entirely unpleasant. Nicki tensed and searched for something intelligent to say.

The note.

At that moment, a muffled knock sounded from across the room. After an agitated rattling of the doorknob, the door flew open. Nicki opened her mouth to scream, but Dylan tightened his hold about her middle, nearly cutting off her air. She managed only a pitiful squeak.

With growing horror, Nicki stared as the door rebounded off the wall. A harried gentleman in robe and slippers entered the bedchamber bearing a dip. The flame danced wildly in its brass holder. Nicki suddenly recognized the Bartholomew's butler, Chester. Close on his heels came a man of medium height brandishing a pistol.

Her mouth dropped open.

The man's pants were pushed into his riding boots and an evening jacket had been hastily thrown over his nightshirt. He looked very much like his sleep had been interrupted by an emergency.

Chester cleared his throat. “My lord, the Duke of Billington—”

“Papa!” Nicki gasped.

Her father pushed forward, the tassel of his nightcap flying out to smack the butler across the mouth. “Unhand my daughter, you fiend from hell!”

Nicki's gaze snapped to the man at her side. Fiend from hell?

The moon chose that opportune moment to appear and, combined with Chester's rushlight, shone across a face seemingly chiseled from granite. Dylan's pale eyes were locked on her father. The skin on Nicki's arms dimpled. If this man's eyes had been weapons, Jonathon Langley would have perished on the spot.

“Ah . . . Billington. We've been expecting you. Lovely night, is it not?”

“Get your hands off my daughter before I put a lead ball in you!”

“It would please me to no end to get my hands off your daughter, but she has just experienced a shock. If I release her, she might collapse and suffer an injury.”

Her father's blue eyes bulged and his normally healthy complexion took on an alarming purple hue. Nicki's concern deepened. She could not recall ever seeing him in such a temper—and if anyone had, it would have been her.

“Devil take you, what did you do to Nicki? Your fight is with me!”

“I have no wish to fight with you or your daughter, Billington. She came here believing she would find Theodore Bartholomew—and found me instead.”

Though Dylan's speech remained almost bored, Nicki felt tension in the taut muscles of his powerful arms she now clutched. Heat scalded her cheeks. She jerked her hands away and clasped them together at her throat.

She looked up to see her father's gaze fastened on her. His expression softened when he made eye contact. This was the father she knew.

“If you'd come to me before charging out of the house, I could've explained Ted hadn't returned.”

Tears welled up before Nicki could stay them. She used her elbow to push herself more firmly from the man holding her. This time he did not restrain her.

Why was this happening? She had only wanted to speak to Teddy. Nicki rose and moved to stand several feet away from Dylan. Feeling suddenly chilled, she crossed her arms over her chest.

Curious, she glanced at the man to find him still hunkered down with his elbows resting on his knees. His loosely clasped hands dangled between muscular thighs clothed in light-colored fabric. Nicki thought she saw the wink of a gem on a ring he wore on his index finger. She raised her gaze.

Now that his torso was clearly visible to her, she better understood her father's distress. At least Dylan was not naked, as she had first believed.

Her gaze continued upward to his face and she discovered he had been watching her inspection. Heat flamed her cheeks.

With a wry grin, he raised from his crouch. His muscles were sleek and taut. Nicki's errant gaze dropped to his hips, clad in fawn-colored breeches so snug he might as well have worn nothing at all. The chill of only moments ago fled before the sudden onslaught of liquid warmth. She struggled again to bring her breathing under control.

Completely at ease, Dylan turned and strode away into the shadows where he paused before an enormous bureau and removed the glass covering from a lamp.

Guilt struck Nicki hard when she realized she had watched the play of muscles across his . . . posterior . . . with flagrant fascination. She excused her behavior with the thought that she had a deep respect for Greek sculpture and this man was truly a masterpiece.

A crack of flint against stone caused Nicki to start. Dylan replaced the globe over the flame and the added illumination chased any remaining gloom from the bedchamber.

An unperturbed Dylan turned to lean a bronze shoulder against the dark cherrywood bureau. He crossed his arms over the wide expanse of his bare, muscled chest.

“Chester, remind me to install more chairs in my bedchamber. I was unaware of the neighborly custom of visiting a man in the middle of the night. Then again, I have been out of the country for some time. Also make a note that I shall have to hone my climbing skills as well if I am to return the courtesy. It seems one enters a neighbor's house through the window—or through the door brandishing a weapon. The window seems slightly more civilized, though I am not certain yet which is the more dangerous.”

“As if you were ever civilized, Dylan!” interjected Nicki's father.

Nicki gaped at her father. Such rude outbursts were uncommon, even for him. “Papa, whatever are you doing here?”

He sputtered, the skin of his face reddening once again. “Well . . . I . . . the note . . . ”

“I believe your father is here to protect your virtue, my lady. It seems you have landed in a . . . situation.”

Her father glanced uncomfortably toward the butler. The tassel of his nightcap dropped over one eye. “It might be best to continue this conversation in private, Dylan.”

One brief nod from his new master and Chester bowed stiffly and left the room. The door closed with a crisp click.

Calm as Lucifer himself, Dylan returned his attention to the intruder. “Whether we speak alone or in the presence of an army of servants, the damage is done.”

Her father looked at her for an instant, then at the gun in his hand. His faced flushed as he stuffed the weapon into the pocket of his brocade jacket. “My daughter's betrothed to another. We'll take our leave now and forget this matter. I don't know what game you're playing, Dylan, but I won't be a part of it.”

“Oh, I think you will take part, Billington.” Blake Dylan lifted his hand and curled long fingers to survey his nails.

Nicki could see the ring clearly in the lamp light. It looked like the head of an animal and it had two white jewels for eyes. Diamonds. Chills raced over Nicki's skin.

“Proper procedures must be followed. I have no desire to face an angry fiancé with pistols at dawn.” Dylan looked up to fasten his compelling gaze on the man before him. “You know what must be done. Perhaps better than I.”

Nicki looked back and forth from the stone-faced Dylan to her father, who had gone deathly pale and appeared in danger of collapsing. 

“Don't do this, Dylan. She has nothing to do with our troubles.”

Stiffness claimed the handsome features of Dylan's face. “I beg to differ, sir. She is a threat to my honor.”

The cold words sliced through the tension in the room. Nicki rubbed her arms. “But, sir, no harm has been done.”

Both men ignored her as they continued to stare at each other.

“What think you, Billington? Do you agree no harm can come from this night? Will you try to fob off a ruined girl to uphold a betrothal? I suppose you would if your honor has no importance to you. But I will let it be known that I was willing to take the proper action. Will you do the right thing?”

Nicki's father hesitated.

“Yes, devil take it.” He tugged at the collar of his nightshirt, the familiar gesture testimony to the extent of his discomfit.

“I now understand where your daughter gets her colorful vocabulary. At any rate, the matter is settled. I trust you will see to the other gentleman.”

Her father nodded. He glared at the frayed Persian carpet, his jaw working spasmodically. Unnerved by her father's demeanor, Nicki returned her attention to the man across the room.

Silver. His eyes were silver framed with incredibly long, black lashes. Like the eyes in the ring. His gaze flashed to her and Nicki flinched. She stood mesmerized, incapable of movement.

“Congratulations, my lady.” Blake Dylan smiled, but without warmth—merely a baring of white teeth. “It seems we are engaged.”

After seeing the Langleys to the door, Blake Dylan returned to his bedchamber. Moonlight streamed in the open window and drew him across the room. He pressed his clenched fists against the frame. Then suddenly, with a fierce shove, he slammed the window closed. The glass rattled in the frame. He examined his reflection in the panes of glass, staring at the distorted image of his face. None of the turmoil raging through his soul showed in his features.

Never reveal your emotions. That was his father's creed. Blake had perfected it.

When he turned away, his bare shoulder brushed the ragged edges of the torn curtain. He paused to trace the rip with his index finger. Langley's daughter. Who would have thought she'd enter the house through a second-story window?

He had fallen asleep in the chair while going over the Rosewood accounts as he awaited the arrival of the Langley's daughter. The candle had burned out as he slept, yet the darkness worked as a useful tool. After the tearing sound had awakened him, he found he could watch the girl without allowing her to see him clearly.

His first day in residence at Rosewood—and already his plans were set in motion. When he arranged for the note to be delivered to Nicole Langley, he half expected her to visit him circumspectly in the daylight hours, despite Teddy's description of his meetings with the girl. The unmarried women of Blake's acquaintance did not visit men in their bedchambers in the middle of the night. Certainly not dressed in trousers. Nicole had surprised him, something that did not happen often.

The man he had stationed at the Langley mansion had been told to watch for a young lady to leave the house, then deliver the second note to Billington. His success was obvious.

Carefully laid plans always paid off in the end.

Before passing a fortnight in England, Blake had become engaged to the woman he sought—the daughter of the man he had hated for years and the one true love of the deceitful Teddy Bartholomew. Too easy.

Blake conjured up the list of details he had stored away in his mind regarding Billington's oldest daughter—tidbits of information provided by Bartholomew. Headstrong, daring, witty, and mischievous.

Considering her volatile personality, he had no reason to be surprised at her behavior this evening. A girl who would slip vodka into her stepmother's afternoon tea would dare a great deal.

Tonight she had come in search of Theodore Bartholomew and wound up his instead. There had to be some justice in that.

A soft tapping on the door intruded into his reverie. “Enter.”

Chester hesitated in the doorway. “I noticed the light under the door. You have not yet retired, my lord?”

“Sleep eludes me.” Blake smiled slightly. “Too much excitement, I suppose.”

“I must offer my apologies, sir. The duke was quite agitated and I was concerned he might discharge his weapon. I acted wrongly in bringing him to you.”

Blake waved his hand impatiently. “Chester, you have my permission to do whatever necessary to calm any irate fathers waving guns.”

“The Duke of Billington is normally a reasonable man. It must have been his worry over Lady Nicki that had him so out of sorts.”

“Odd,” Blake arched a brow. “On the one other occasion I chanced to encounter Billington, he was equally disgruntled. I must bring out the worst in him—wouldn't you say, Chester?”