The Black Diamond (19 page)

Another creak—only this time closer—right outside the room.

Someone was definitely out there. The question was, who?

Eyes narrowed, Julian reached his destination, his fingers noiselessly slipping the bolt free, then closing around the handle.

In one lightning motion he yanked open the door, grabbing by the throat the dark figure hunched outside. Without pause he slammed down the barrel of his pistol, striking the intruder's wrist and knocking his weapon to the floor.

A muffled cry escaped the man's lips as Julian dragged him into the room.

"All right, you found me," Julian muttered, shoving his victim against the wall. "Now, who are you and what do you want?"

"M-M-Merlin … it's … me," came the choked reply.

Julian's grip loosened and he angled the man's face toward the sliver of light drifting in from the hallway. "Stone?"

A pained nod.

"Well, what do you know." Julian released him, watching in mild amusement as the stout square-faced man struggled to regain his balance. "That was quite a performance. Very different from your customary arrivals. Since when have you resorted to such dramatic entrances?"

"Christ, Julian, I think ye broke somethin'," Stone wheezed, gingerly turning his head from side to side. "Like my neck."

"If I'd broken your neck, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Julian said with light reassurance. Leaning into the hallway, he retrieved Stone's weapon, then eased the door shut as he handed Stone the pistol, barrel down. "Now, would you care to tell me why you're hovering outside my door, coiled to strike like some deranged murderer? Or, for that matter, why you followed my carriage from Devonshire to Somerset—I am correct in assuming that was you?"

"Ye saw me?"

"No. If I had, I would have asked you these questions then, rather than with my hand at your throat. I simply sensed I was being watched."

"Yeah, right—don't ye always." With an acquiescent nod, Stone tucked away his pistol, glancing past Julian into the quiet darkness of the room. "I had to be sure this was yer room. I thought so, but I didn't want any surprises on the other side of the door. I needed to see ye right away. I went straight to Polperro, but ye weren't there. I tracked ye to Devonshire and followed ye from there. I would've stopped yer carriage, but I didn't know how much ye'd told yer…" A pause. "…wife. I didn't want to say more than I should, so I waited until ye stopped for the night. I've been in that hall for hours, waitin' until I couldn't hear yer voices anymore, so I'd know yer bride was asleep."

"Well, his bride is now awake," Aurora announced, marching across the room in a swirl of bedsheets. "As for how much he's told her, the answer is less than nothing. But all that's about to change." Jaw set, she gazed up at Julian, an expectant look in her eyes. "Julian—pardon me, Merlin—I'd appreciate it if you'd introduce me to your friend."

Chapter 8

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J
ulian's lips twitched. "Very well,
soleil
—as you wish." He made a grand sweep with his arm. "Aurora, meet Stone. Stone, meet my less than traditional bride. And forgive her rather scanty attire," he added, drawing the sheets more firmly about Aurora's shoulders. "We weren't expecting company."

"Mr. Stone," Aurora acknowledged, a thousand questions darting across her face. "Are you and my husband well acquainted?"

Stone's gaping expression was almost comical. "Are we…?" He tossed Julian a helpless look. "I … that is…"

"Stone and I go back many years," Julian supplied. "We're business associates. In fact, he's supplied me with any number of crucial business tidbits, which have aided me in determining my best course of action."

"In other words, he's your informant," Aurora replied calmly. "He warns you when it would be ill advised to turn your back."

This time Julian couldn't stifle his grin. "Something like that."

"I see." Aurora turned back to Stone. "And is this one of those times, Mr. Stone?"

Stone continued to gape.

"You can close your mouth, Stone," Julian suggested. "And feel free to answer Aurora's question. She won't relent until you do."

"Right." Stone complied, dragging a sleeve across his forehead and studying Aurora as if she were a foreign object. "Yeah, this is one of those times." With that he glanced at Julian. "Maybe we should talk alone."

Julian's amusement faded. He knew that particular tone. Stone didn't use it often or without cause. Whatever had prompted this nocturnal visit was serious. "Aurora, give us a minute."

"But…"

"Aurora." His head snapped about and he regarded her with stony resolve. "Go back to bed. Now."

He saw the way his wife's eyes widened at the harshness of his command, and a twinge of regret shot through him. But the twinge vanished in a heartbeat, supplanted by a wealth of pragmatism. There were some boundaries he would not permit to be crossed, not even by his spirited bride. He had in fact anticipated this very quandary, been fully aware that Aurora viewed his existence as a grand ongoing adventure—rife with excitement, lacking in drawbacks. And he'd known it would be up to him to set her straight, not only to preserve his valued independence but to safeguard Aurora's life. There was, as he'd told her, a difference between adventure and danger. The former was an exhilarating gift, the latter a dark reality. The ability to distinguish between the two was crucial.

So was the notion of setting limits to Aurora's place in his life.

"Rory." Julian gripped her shoulders, met her bold turquoise gaze. "I need to speak with Stone—in private."

"Very well." Unexpectedly his wife complied, gathering up the trailing bedsheets that enveloped her and heading off to the bed.

Julian frowned, watching Aurora's retreat and wondering what had caused her sudden—and totally uncharacteristic—acquiescence.

"That's some bride ye have," Stone muttered, following Julian's gaze. "Beautiful as hell, but is she always so … so…"

"Yes," Julian finished abruptly, jerking about to face his friend. "But you didn't come all this way to discuss Aurora. What's the problem?"

"Macall."

"Macall?" Julian sucked in his breath. "What about him?"

"He's here—in England. He knows about ye marriage, and about
who
ye married. He's sworn to exact his long sought-after revenge—only now he means not only to kill ye but to steal the black diamond he's now sure ye have. It's no secret he wants yer blood, Merlin. He has for almost a year. And now that he knows where ye are, he won't rest until he finds ye."

"Dammit." Julian's fist sliced the air. "This is one complication I don't need right now. What the hell brought Macall to England? Last I heard, he was combing Malta for me. I kept my departure from there too quiet for him to have learned I was gone."

"He ran out of money, came to Cornwall lookin' for work. Unfortunately yer wedding announcement ran in every bloody newspaper in England. It didn't take long for him to find out ye'd married a Huntley."

"So naturally he assumes I've got my hands on the black diamond."

"Exactly. He hated ye before. Now? Imaginin' ye've come upon the fortune of a lifetime? He's a madman. Nothing would make him happier than stealin' that stone out from under ye—bringing ye to yer knees, then driving a sword through yer belly as he taunts ye with his stolen prize. He's crazy, Merlin. Ye'd best be careful. Damned careful."

"Indeed." Julian raked a hand through his hair. "Where is he now?"

"Not on my tail, that's for sure. I checked behind me a dozen times. Besides, he might know yer in England, but he doesn't know I am." Stone massaged his neck. "Then again, I haven't got myself written up in all the newspapers."

"Very funny. Where was he when last you heard?"

"In Cornwall. Goin' from pub to pub. Gettin' closer to Polperro. My guess is he's hidin' out near yer manor, waitin' for ye to return."

"Probably." A terse nod. "Now I'll be ready for him."

Once again, Stone's glance slid past Julian. "Ye've given Macall more ammunition than he had before," he muttered, gesturing in the direction of the bed.

"I can handle it." Julian yanked open the door. "T
hank
s for finding me. I'll be in touch."

"Or
I'll
find ye if need be. In the meantime, keep yer eyes open." Stone moved to go.

"Good night, Mr. Stone," Aurora called across the room. "Doubtless we'll meet again."

Stone blinked. "Yeah. Sure. Good night." He slipped out the door and disappeared.

Julian eased the bolt back into place, keenly aware of Aurora's watchful gaze. He didn't need to look to know his wife was steeling herself for either an altercation or an inquisition. Curiously that notion elicited as much excitement as it did stubborn resolve. Odder still that, despite all his planning, he hadn't anticipated quite how difficult it would be for him to establish plausible boundaries for his marriage. He was an extraordinarily thorough man, one who conquered the odds by carefully determining them, then finding a way to stack them in his favor, thus minimizing the risk of failure. He'd done precisely that in procuring Aurora's hand. Oh, he'd known damned well their marriage would pose complications to his way of life. Still, he'd expected to find a tolerable compromise, one that satisfied Aurora's craving for freedom—and his craving for her—without thoroughly upending his existence and endangering her life.

What he hadn't expected was the staggering power of their attraction for each other, the insatiable hunger his wife seemed perpetually to ignite within him. It was damned disconcerting, casting him into uncharted waters in which he had no intention of navigating.

It was time to haul himself ashore.

Squaring his shoulders, Julian turned, crossing over and perching on the edge of the bed—intentionally waiting for Aurora to set the tenor of the conversation.

"Your friend seems a most interesting man," she began, drawing up her knees and propping her chin atop them. "Quick, effectual, and loyal."

"He is."

"You're not going to tell me anything." The blunt assessment was issued as calmly as if she were commenting on the weather.

Julian frowned, taken aback by his wife's unexpectedly calm demeanor. He'd expected anger, defiance, maybe even resentment. But not this tranquil appraisal of the obvious.

What the hell was she up to?

"No, I'm not," he responded, using the same straightforward delivery as she.

"Why not?"

"Because this is one of those situations I alluded to when I warned you there'd be exploits you were prohibited from taking part in. Exploits that involved danger—danger I intend to protect you from."

"On the contrary," Aurora countered, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "When you spoke of the exploits you intended to protect me from, you said I'd be excluded only when leaving me behind would keep me safe. Obviously such is not the case this time. 'Twould be impossible to leave me behind; Mr. Camden wouldn't turn over anything belonging to my great-grandfather to anyone but a Huntley. Further, there's been no real journey involved—we've traveled but one shire away. Yet, although we're still in England you're plainly at risk. Which, as I've learned from my own past experience, puts me at risk, too, simply by virtue of the fact that I share your name as well as your proximity to the danger. Thus, this is nothing like the situations you described when you offered for me. Therefore, you have no choice but to keep your promise to protect me by telling me what—or who—is threatening us. Because in this instance, whether you like the idea or not, the status of your future directly affects mine."

For a long moment Julian simply stared. Then he began to laugh.

"Is that your way of saying you still refuse to tell me anything?" Aurora demanded.

"No. This is my way of saying your logic is infallible. In fact, had Napoleon been lucky enough to have had you for an advisor, I shudder to think what England's fate might have been."

Aurora's whole face lit up and she leaned forward, excitement dancing in her eyes. "I'm bursting with curiosity. Who is Macall? Why is he after you? Why is he so hell-bent on exacting vengeance?"

Julian's laughter intensified. "Eavesdropping, were we?"

"I'm quite good at it."

"You're quite good at many things."

"Yes I know."

Abruptly Julian's laughter vanished. The flush on Aurora's cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes—damn. There was that bloody uncontrollable urge to drag her to the sheets and make love to her again.

Aurora perceived the direction his thoughts had taken. He saw the realization on her face, heard it in the slight catching of her breath. Teasingly, she leaned closer, giving him a siren's smile. "Soon," she promised, echoing the vow he'd made earlier. "First, tell me about Macall."

"Blackmail,
soleil?"

"Incentive, Merlin."

"Fair enough." Julian captured her fingers in his, sobering as he contemplated what he was about to say. "Gerald Macall and his brother Brady were lowlife privateers. They made their money stealing goods and smuggling them to whoever paid the most."

"Were?" Aurora asked, brows raised.

"Yes. Brady is dead. I killed him."

"Why?"

"Ten months ago the two of them seized a painting—one that would have brought them a huge sum. I intercepted it and returned it to its rightful owner. The Macalls came after me. Brady drew his sword, tried to run me through. My pistol was quicker and far more lethal. The bullet pierced his heart, killed him instantly. Gerald swore then and there that I'd never live out my days—he'd see to that. Evidently he's chosen now to realize his threats."

"To whom did the painting belong?"

"To a very gracious Italian count who, unfortunately, had become a touch feebleminded in his old age. Unbeknownst to him, his butler was a disreputable cur who stole the painting—never thinking the count would notice its disappearance—and sold it to privateers for a handsome sum. The count turned out to be less feeble than his unsavory butler had thought. He not only figured out that his painting had been stolen, he also deduced the identity of the thief. His butler was thrown in prison and a huge reward was offered by the count for the painting's return. It evidently had sentimental as well as material value—his deceased wife had presented it to him upon the birth of their first grandchild. It was the pride of his collection, not to mention being worth a small fortune. The Macalls were hired by some dishonest bastard here in England; I have no idea who. From what I later learned, he promised to double the reward if they found the painting and brought it to him, rather than returning it to the count. Whether he intended to do that or whether he was just falsely enticing two greedy scoundrels is something we'll never know."