Heart of the Diamond (32 page)

Careful not to make a sound, she released the catch and retrieved the instrument and bow Blake had chosen to play. In the bottom of the cabinet she found a velvet lined box with indentations molded to fit the violin. She tucked the pieces into their molds, closed the lid, and fastened the catch before leaving the room.

Nicki paused in the hall and once again listened to make certain no one was awake. Then she bolted for the front door, the violin case clutched to her chest.

The chill air of the night crept up her nightrail, encasing her unprotected legs. Without stockings, the boots offered little protection from the cold. The folds of her cloak hid her undergarment splendidly and provided some warmth.

The night surrounded her in dense blackness.

Dressed as she was, she dared not take the extra time to walk to Rosewood, but Nicki hated to bring a horse out into such a dark night. She debated on the wisdom of her mission during the trek to the stables.

Her thoughts returned to the events of the day and she mulled over them carefully. She grinned wryly in the darkness. Mina would be proud that Nicki was taking the time to consider an action.

No matter. Nicki remained steadfastly certain this was the only way. That she was unable to sleep proved she must solve this problem before she could be at peace.

Apollo craned his sleek, graceful neck over the stall door to nicker softly as Nicki closed the stable door behind her. “So you are having a sleepless night as well? Then I shall allow you to accompany me on my excursion.”

Nicki bridled the horse and led him out the back of the stables into the fields, just as she had done for as long as she could recall. She clutched the box in her arms as she urged Apollo across the fields to the north pasture, over the low fence, then through the forest to Rosewood—and Blake.

Smoke from one of the few cigars Blake allowed himself swirled before him, then dissipated in the slight breeze. The surrounding bushes rustled softly. Blake leaned back against the wrought iron garden bench as he attempted to clear his thoughts, but the contents of his father's box continued to haunt his mind.

Little had surprised him over the past few years. He had believed himself well accustomed to disappointment and human weakness. Somehow, he had thought himself nearly divested of that particular flaw. He had grown strong through adversity, never getting close enough to another human to disappoint them. He found it safer to take what he wanted and walk away.

His father had kept abreast of his activities in America. The discovery should not have surprised him, but it did. At the top of the box had been more than a dozen brief notes from a detective agency apprising Barrett Dylan of his son's well being. Blake got the impression his father had instructed the agency to notify him immediately if Blake ran into financial difficulty. A jolt of bittersweet pain swept through him.

Barrett had cared. And he had known of his son's success. If only Blake could somehow know whether his father had felt pride at those accomplishments—or disappointment because Blake had not needed him.

Folded carefully beneath the detective's missives had been fragile pages with well-worn creases that wove an unhappy tale. The events those letters told of pierced him to his very soul. They turned his parents from invincible, fairy tale characters to flesh and blood human beings with hearts that could be broken and bodies that could be shattered.

A rustle at the edge of the garden brought Blake abruptly back from his musings. He stiffened and waited for the sound to reappear. A deer, he thought.

Several more soft rustlings, then a resounding crack not six feet from him allayed that thought. His heart tightened convulsively as he caught sight of pale hair tumbled in disarray.

Nicole. Through the darkness he could barely make out her face as she glanced up at his bedroom window.

“And I thought we would have no moon tonight.”

Nicole cut off a squeal of alarm and spun to face him. “Blake? Whatever are you doing out here?”

He refrained from smiling, though the sight of her encouraged such an action. “Heavy thoughts do not bode well for sleep. I assume you, too, must be plagued with some weighty problem.”

She nodded and drew closer. Blake spied the flash of a white nightrail as she walked toward him. He shook his head in amazement. Hopeless. Nicole sat on her knees on the iron bench so she could face him. He noted that the front of her cloak stuck out at an odd angle, as though she held something in her arms. Her eyes were large on her pale face.

“I do indeed have a problem.”

“So you waited until all were abed and came to me.”

Her teeth worried her lower lip. “Actually, no. You are the person I came to, but it was not because I could not sleep. Well, I suppose part of why I am here is because Aunt Josey was snoring. But you seem to be the person I look to first when I am troubled.”

Blake digested this tangle of words as he flicked the excess ashes off the end of his cheroot. “Would you like me to smack her with a pillow?”

She drew back slightly. “What did you say?”

“You said you came to me with a problem and your aunt was snoring. I assume that is your problem. I am not familiar with the correct procedure, but I am certain a good, sound whack with a pillow should do the trick.”

“I certainly do not want you to whack my aunt with a pillow!”

“Well, you obviously could not take care of the problem or you would not be here. I think it ungrateful of you to take offense at my suggestion.”

Nicole shook her head in exasperation. “You have the unattractive habit of flustering me and then making jest of me! Aunt Josey's snoring awakened me and I could not get her to be silent so I got up and tripped over my boots. It was then I realized I should come here since I was awake. Now do you see?”

“The way becomes clearer. I admit I am relieved I do not have to accost your aunt. I am already unpopular with most of the members of your family. I should dislike alienating yet another.”

She grinned. “Shelby likes you very much.”

“Ah, the innocence of children.”

“Aunt Josey thinks you a fine catch.”

He shook his head sadly. “The eccentricity of the elderly.”

“And I think you are wonderful.”

“I have not yet discovered the exact nature of your malady.”

Nicole leaned forward and rearranged her bundle so she could take his hand. “Today, when I thought you might have had something to do with harming the horses, it nearly broke my heart. I was wrong to doubt you, even for that briefest of moments.”

Blake tossed his cheroot into the darkness and pressed his newly freed hand over Nicole's. His fingers traced the bandages tenderly. “You were right not to trust me. If you begin to believe in me, it can only lead to your disillusionment.”

“I will take that chance. Neither you nor anyone else will change my mind.”

He looked into the wide-eyed innocence of her face and realized she had no inkling of how very wrong she was. “You came here for my assistance. It is very late, too late for you to be gadding about.”

“Papa plans to leave at once to personally deliver the news about the horses to the buyers. Oh, Blake, is there not something we can do? If he does not come through on the obligations for those horses, his reputation will be ruined. Papa will never tell them that he was the victim of a cruel deed. The buyers are certain to believe we have weak horses. The word will spread that our horses are sickly. No one wants to buy an animal that might die or become ill.”

Blake released her hand to reach up and wipe her tears. “Your father is a man full grown, Nicole. He will do what he must.”

She drew back from his touch, her frustration crackling in the air between them. “No! This is not his fault. Our horses are the finest in all of England! But if he goes through with his plan, we will not be able to sell another horse. We shall be ruined.”

“We? You are to be my wife in a week's time. Your father's business is his own.”

Nicole sat up straighter, her tears stilled. “Then you refuse to offer any suggestions?”

“Nicole . . . ”

“If you refuse to help him, it is the same as if you had performed the deed yourself. You will benefit from another's heinous actions by doing nothing. He shall be ruined. But then that was your intent all along, was it not?”

Blake froze. Her gaze held his and her mouth tightened until he knew she must have been gritting her teeth. The enormity of what he was about to say stunned him, but he knew he could not deny her. “Very well. Give me a little time. Delay your father's departure as long as you can.”

Her face transformed, and Blake could not hold back a smile at her joy.

“Thank you,” she murmured, suddenly pensive.

“What troubles you now?”

Nicki withdrew a narrow wooden box from beneath her cloak. “I meant to give you this before begging you for favors.”

Blake received the box, then rested it on his thighs and flipped the clasp. For the second time tonight, he opened Pandora's box. In more ways than one.

When he saw the contents, a strange constraint grasped his chest. The violin. “This is much too valuable.”

He could not bring himself to look into her eyes. In fact, he seemed to have something in his eye that burned. Blake rubbed at the offending irritation until the sensation subsided.

“It is a shame for an instrument to lie idle and silent when it belongs in the hands of one who can fill the world with its beautiful music.” Her words whispered around him, weaving a web of silken pleasure.

“Thank you, Nicole.”

He set the box aside, reached for her hand, and brought her chilled fingers to his lips. Tenderly, one by one, he kissed her fingertips. He met her gaze, startled to find tears shimmering once again.

She threw herself into his arms and planted a kiss on his cheek. With her added weight pushing him back, the bench tipped dangerously, forcing Blake to grab hold of Nicole and lean sharply forward to right them.

From where she had come to rest with her arms about his neck, her back against his thighs, Nicole gazed up at him.

“I did not give you the gift to bribe you. It is not payment enough for what you have agreed to do. And you need not thank me. The look on your face is thanks enough.”

He bent to brush her lips with his mouth. The gesture released a hot coil of desire in the pit of his stomach. “Are you some magical creature that I can deny you nothing?”

“No. I am only a woman, soon to be your wife. I will make this up to you. I will make you happy, Blake. I swear it.”

Blake tightened his arms about her convulsively and kissed her again. Her lips parted beneath his mouth and he drew the sweetness of her breath into his lungs, as though the purity of her could somehow cleanse his soul. Slowly, careful not to frighten her, he slipped one hand inside her cloak. The heat of her skin burned into his hand through the thin linen of her nightrail. Blake traced each rib along underside of her breast. He felt the subtle trembling of her body beneath his touch.

Like the perfection of a violin in his hands, Nicole moaned softly against his mouth. The sound filled his mind with the most lyrical music he had ever heard. It reminded him of her innocence. He broke off the kiss, instead pressing his lips to her forehead.

The harsh beat of his heart, the tightness in his groin, demanded that he carry her inside to finish this once and for all—to take what would be his in a few short days, thus binding her to him forever.

His mind took control and Blake slid his hand around to her back to clutch her against his chest. She snuggled closer. So sweet. So trusting. He buried his face in the silk of her hair.

The scent of wild roses surrounded him, filled his head. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the memories away. Nicole was different from his mother. If he let her, she would love him and she would stay to teach him to love her. He reached his hand into the tangled thickness of her pale hair and cupped the back of her head in his hand. So fragile, yet beneath the surface lay strength and tenderness and passion.

The blackness of his heart cried that she was Langley's daughter.

But further inside, deep beneath that darkness, a faint light flickered to life.

Nicki craned her neck slightly to see around the broad shoulder of Percival—or Carlton—she could not tell the difference between them. Across the sitting room, Blake leaned against the fireplace mantle with a glass in one hand, his other hand on his hip. He nodded as he listened intently to the short, balding gentleman at his side. Nicki thought how dangerously handsome he looked in his evening clothes.

The dark of his tan against his white cravat and his raven hair swept back from his forehead with the slightest wave, somewhat longer than the style seemed to warrant . . . He was a magnificent predatory cat amongst London's finest kittens.

She chewed her lower lip in frustration. Angelica had skillfully arranged their day so they had passed only the briefest greeting before they were whisked off to separate entertainments. Somehow they had managed to be seated at opposite ends of the dinner table. Nicki desperately needed to speak with him, and she did not relish sneaking out of the house again. There were just too many eyes that might not be sleeping when they should be.

“And I was just saying how I had suddenly sprouted horns and accidentally gored my dancing partner.”

Nicki watched Blake greet a silver-haired man who joined in the conversation. “Of course, how nice for you,” she murmured.

Low laughter startled Nicki into looking up into the face of . . . Percival. This twin was Percival. She recalled that he dressed more outrageously than his brother. “Blake is a lucky man.”

She flushed. “I fear I am a bit distracted. Please forgive my rudeness.”

He grinned charmingly. “I and my bruised pride forgive you. I am happy for Blake. He's had a hard time of it and he deserves someone like you.”

“Like me? If he needed someone to strain his patience to the limits, then he has found her.”

“I can tell by the way you look at him that you care for him.”