Heart of the Diamond (39 page)

He followed the direction of her gaze, his own unreadable. Nicki studied him, hoping to detect any emotion he might unwittingly reveal, but his silver gaze dropped to her face revealing no clues. “Let us get you back into the house.”

“No! I must talk to you, Blake. Teddy, I promise I am perfectly fit. See, I can speak much better. Would you please leave us alone?”

Looking as if he would like nothing more than to argue, Teddy finally gave a loud sigh. “You should be in bed. When I think of what might've happened . . . ”

She reached out to take his free hand. “But it did not, Teddy, thanks to you, my guardian angel.”

“If I were truly your guardian angel, you would've had no reason to be out here endangering your safety in the middle of the night.”

“I can take over from here, Bartholomew.” Blake spoke quietly, but firmly.

Teddy slid backward on the branch. When he reached the overhang, he turned back. “Try to watch out for her a little better in the future, Dylan. This world would be a frightful place without her in it.”

“I intend exactly that.”

Nicki watched as Teddy slipped through her bedroom window, then pulled the glass down to leave several inches of space. Now that she was alone with Blake, she could not recall the words she intended to use.

She had to try. “Blake . . . ”

He leaned close, and his mouth covered hers with such ferocity that Nicki swallowed her words and quickly forgot them. The intensity of his emotions flamed in that kiss. Whether he wittingly revealed them or reacted to them blindly, Nicki did not care. She released her hold on the branch and pressed into his warmth, clutching at his shoulders as she had the tree only moments before. In response, his arms tightened around her and pulled her to him as though he could meld her into a part of himself. A heat flared within her, rising to reveal itself a worthy match for Blake's passion. She exalted in the satiny heat of his mouth, the mingling of their breaths.

He drew back to stare into her face, his breathing harsh. “When I saw you hanging from that branch I thought I had been dealt the killing blow and you were dead. Damn you, I never want to feel like this again! I swore I would never care so much!”

Instead of cringing from his rage, Nicki reached out to touch her palm to the muscle flinching in his jaw. “What I said in the garden earlier today, that I would leave you if you misbehaved . . . It was wrong of me to say it. I love you, Blake Dylan, and I swear to you I will never leave you of my own free will. If you want rid of me, you will have to kill me. I mean that.”

His gaze searched her face, harsh, unbelieving—hopeful. “What do you know of love, little Nicole?”

“I know that you have become a vital part of me. Without you I could not go on. Is that love?”

Blake laughed harshly. “Is it? What do I know of love?”

Nicki pressed her lips to his forehead. “I can teach you what I know. Love is protecting someone at any cost, overlooking their faults, exalting in their strengths. It is joy and laughter, but it is also pain and loss. You know that perhaps better than I.”

His shoulders sagged and he dropped his head onto Nicki's shoulder. “When I saw you hanging there—it turned me cold inside. I thought I had lost the only person I cared about. Again.”

Tears streamed from Nicki's eyes as she wrapped her arms about him and hung on with all her strength.

“But you did not. I am safe and sound.”

His hands tightened on her waist. “She left me. I loved my mother more than anything and she went away.”

“I know,” she whispered, stroking the thickness of his black hair. “Sometimes, no matter how much we care we are unable to hold on.”

“Why did my father not tell me? He should have told me she was ill. At least I would have known it was nothing I did.”

Nicki's heart cried with him. She understood—only too well. He wiped at his face until she captured his hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. “People are all too human, Blake. Because of the depth of our love we can expect too much.”

His tears had gone, and so had the mask he so carefully maintained. Pain radiated from him. “All these years, I thought she left because of me. My father's silence confirmed my belief. He would not speak of her, would not allow her name to be mentioned. Until recently, I thought he was a man of stone, that he cared for no one.”

“But you know differently now?”

He took her hands lightly, staring at their entwined fingers. “My Aunt Sophia gave me a box several days ago that belonged to my father. I remembered it because the only likeness of my mother allowed in the house stood next to this box on my father's dressing table.” He paused, as though remembering. Nicki waited, not wanting to break the slender tie that bound them in this moment. “Inside were letters. On the top were correspondences between my father and a Runner he had used to keep tabs on me in America. It must have been difficult with the war going on, but somehow the mighty Earl of Diamond managed.”

“So now you know how much he loved you.”

“I suppose he must have. I only wish he could have told me.”

Nicki sighed. “The wicked tricks time plays upon us. We think we have so much time, that there will always be another moment. But then the moment is gone and we realize we have not said all we wanted to say.”

“You understand better than I.” Blake sighed. “If only I had known you years ago.”

“But you have me now.”

He traced the bones of her hand gently. “So I do.”

“And you can tell me anything—anything. I want to help.”

Blake took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “The letters beneath told a story I could not have imagined. The pages were worn, as if my father had read them time and again.”

Nicki waited patiently as Blake dropped into silence. His hands holding hers stilled. His fingers were like ice, so she clasped them tighter, willing her warmth to surround him, to offer some comfort as he struggled with his demons. “He must have missed her very much,” she prompted gently.

“She left because she had been diagnosed with a disease of the lungs. My father did not go with her because they felt I should not be left alone. A nurse accompanied her as they sought the healing waters at Bath.” He smiled wistfully, lost in his mind's vision.

“Her letters were filled with hope. She chattered on about me mostly—the plans she had and all she wanted for my future. She insisted that Father pass on every detail of our existence so that she would have some connection to us. The treatments failed and she worsened. The letters after that came from Switzerland, then Italy. My father spared no expense in searching for a cure. Her handwriting became difficult to read and eventually the letters came from the nurse. Still she asked about me. The nurse said her mind had become affected so by the illness that she could remember little, but she continued to ask about me until the very end. Two years after she left us she was gone. The final letter from the nurse said my mother had gone to sleep and never awakened. The next letter was a brief note from an Italian priest who accompanied her body to England.”

Nicki stifled a sob as Blake once again slipped into silence. She bent her head, drawing on some strength from deep within to halt her tears before she spoke. “She acted out of love for you, Blake. You must know she believed she was protecting you.”

“At what cost? Did they think she could disappear from my life one day and I would never notice? Did they honestly believe I would not wonder each and every day of my life what I had done to drive her away? My father should have told me. He should have told me she was dead, damn him!”

Nicki winced as he crushed her hands in his fury, but she did not draw back. “In telling you, he would have had to face his own grief.”

Blake's agonized gaze met hers. “I spent my life watching for her return. Every moment of my existence I tried to make up her loss to my father because it was my fault she had gone. Every rebuff from him I took without complaint because I knew I deserved it.” He paused, then ground out the words through clenched teeth. “Deserved it because it was my fault that we had lost someone so special, so perfect. My fault that we lost the only joy in our lives.”

“But you were a little boy. How could he know how deeply you were affected by her loss?”

Blake pulled his hands free and Nicki felt his effort to regain that control so vitally important to him. He jammed his fingers through his hair, then down to hold his neck.

Leaning his head back, he stared at the sky. “He could have trusted me enough to ask.”

The simple words sliced through her as his anger had not. He might have been speaking to his parents, though they were beyond the agonies and suffering of mortals. Overwhelming frustration swept over her. She believed in God, believed in his warmth and caring. She believed in angels. So why did Blake's parents not send their son some sense of the love that had prompted their actions? Obviously they had loved him. So why had they allowed him to suffer?

Nicki listened to the wind caress the stark limbs of the tree and whisper secrets that only mystical creatures understood. She longed for wisdom beyond herself—some knowledge that would reveal the purpose behind the battles humans waged within themselves and without. With it, perhaps she could ease Blake's pain.

Then, like magic, the answer came to her. The weight of the sudden knowledge descended upon her, weakening in its intensity. Perhaps Blake's parents had sent their son exactly what he needed. Now, when he knew the truth, he had someone who loved him to share the pain. Could she be the comfort they offered their son?

Nicki looked at Blake and saw not only the strong, honorable man she had come to love, but also the tortured little boy who had tried so desperately to make amends for a wrong he had not committed. She also saw a resiliency in Blake. He was a survivor. In learning the truth about his parents, perhaps he had gained some understanding into human nature.

And perhaps what lay between he and her father could be resolved after all.

He dropped his arms, looking at her again, calmer—subdued. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what?” The cool evening breeze touched her tear wet face. She took a corner of her cloak and wiped at the moisture on her cheeks.

“You said you loved me.”

Nicki dropped the fabric and straightened the folds of her cloak. She looked into his eyes. “Of course I meant it. I have loved you for some time.”

“But we have not known each other very long, contrary to the belief of our guests.”

Nicki shook her head. “Our hearts spoke one to the other long before we met.”

He offered a skeptical smile. “That is a romantic notion only you would contrive.”

“Be that as it may, it is what I believe. I am proud and grateful to be the one who will be your wife.”

A guardedness lurked at the outer edges of his newfound peace, and she knew it would take very little for him to welcome its return. “This morning you said you were having pre-nuptial jitters. Have you solved your dilemma?”

Without hesitation, Nicki responded. “I have. I am free to go forward now. And you?”

“I have laid my soul bare enough this night. Suffice it to say that I am honored to be the man who has won your heart. I never thought to be so lucky.”

It is enough for now.
She stood with care, and gained her footing on the limb. “Good night, then.”

He waited for her to cross the branch to the overhang, but she had no thought of falling. At that moment she could have danced on air.

Nicki moved toward her father's study. Her skirts swayed softly, almost in time to the music playing in the ballroom down the hall. Simms stood guard outside the closed study door, his posture ever stiff and unyielding. She risked a glance behind her, certain she would see Blake lounging against a doorframe, watching her as he had all evening. For the moment, the way stood clear.

She moistened her lips as she reached Simms, then paused before him. Before she could speak, he bowed in greeting. “Lady Nicki, can I be of some assistance?”

“Oh . . . goodness,” she murmured, giving the tall man what she hoped was a sympathetic smile. “Simms, I fear your face is darker tonight than it was this morning.” Nicki put her finger to her lips and contemplated his face for a long moment. “One of the seamstresses suggested a poultice of bread dough followed by a vinegar rinse,” she lied.

The butler's only outward reaction was the slightest raising of his dark brows. “I will most certainly attempt that upon retiring for the evening, Lady Nicki.”

She nibbled at her lower lip in frustration. This was the night. All their plans depended upon her getting Simms away from the door to her father's office. “It is a quick procedure. Your color is truly alarming. Have you been perspiring by chance?”

“I most assuredly have not.” The butler drew himself up. “It is a mystery to me why the hue has deepened. Perhaps we should pose the question to Master Shelby.”

“I am certain Em must have dough rising in the kitchen. I will cover for you here.”

Simms glanced at the study door, obviously torn. “I am to ensure no one enters your father's study. If you would be so kind as to watch for me . . . ”

“Of course I will.” Nicki interjected herself between Simms and the door. “You go on and I will be here upon your return.”

Again the man hesitated. “But the ball—you shall be missed.”

She shook her head brusquely. “I need the rest. Please, Simms, do run along. You'll be finished in no time at all and then I can return to the party.”

“Very well. Bread dough and a vinegar rinse? How long should the poultice be left on?”

Nicki thought for a moment. How much time would Shelby need? “A half hour, Simms, and you must recline during the procedure. The yeast in the dough should draw the dye from your skin.”

“I appreciate your kindness, Lady Nicki. I shall return directly.”

As she watched him leave, Nicki experienced the slightest twinge of guilt. But the moment he was out of sight, she rushed to the breakfast room and rapped lightly on the door. It opened a sliver, revealing one bright blue eye.