The Black Diamond (2 page)

Clearing the branches,
Aurora
's grin widened. The rear gates of Pembourne loomed just ahead. Beyond that, she knew, lay the dirt road which led to the village. Thus, the first part of her plan was complete. She gathered up her skirts and sprinted forward.

* * *

Dawlish Tavern, as the pub's chipped sign identified it, was dark and smoky.
Aurora
's eyes watered the instant she entered, and she paused in the doorway, impatiently rubbing them as she tried to see.

Perfect, she thought a moment later. The occupants were definitely what her past governesses would have referred to as riffraff, clusters of ill-kempt men gathered about wooden tables laughing loudly as they tossed off tankards of ale and flung playing cards to the table.

The ideal spot to be ruined.

She didn't have much time. Already it was a quarter hour since she'd struck her deal with a local street urchin, having sent him on his way three pounds richer. First, as expected, he'd snatched up the one-pound note she'd offered in exchange for directions to the village's sole tavern. Then—also as anticipated—he'd pocketed the two additional pound notes, swiftly agreeing to deliver
Aurora
's missive to the Altec estate.

Aurora
wasn't stupid. She was well aware the boy could simply bolt with her money, discarding her message before it had ever reached its destination and rendered its impact. She'd eliminated that possibility with her tantalizing promise of a five-pound note for the lad—
if
he returned to Dawlish Tavern with a written reply.

A chuckle rose in
Aurora
's throat, its sound drowned out by the tavern's raucous laughter. She could envision Lady Altec's face when the old biddy read the scandalous message from "a friend" revealing that Lady Aurora Huntley was consorting with sailors at a common pub. The elderly matron—Devonshire's biggest gossip—would probably jump into her phaeton and race down there posthaste, still clad in her nightrail, just to be an exclusive witness to the juicy scene.

Mentally,
Aurora
gauged her time. It would take the lad a solid half hour to travel to the dowager's estate, a few minutes to await a reply to the supposedly anonymous bearer of the tidings, then another half hour to return. That gave
Aurora
a little over an hour to find the right man to ruin her.

Abruptly she became aware that all activity in the room had stopped, and a dozen and a half pairs of eyes were fixed on her. She glanced down at herself and frowned. Despite her dust-covered gown and worn slippers, she still looked altogether too much like a lady. Well, her actions would soon disprove that notion.

"Wonderful—a full house," she pronounced, her tone shockingly familiar. "May I join you?" She gathered up her skirts and marched boldly over to a table.

The men stared from her to each other and back to her again.

"Lady, ye sure yer in the right place?" a stout, bald fellow inquired over the rim of his mug.

"That depends. If there's good ale and friendly company to be found here, then, yes, I'm in the right place."

More stares. Another gaping silence.

This wouldn't do at all,
Aurora
determined. How could she be ruined if no one would so much as speak to her?

"Would someone care to buy me a drink?" she asked, looking from one bristled face to another. "Never mind," she amended, realizing these men were undoubtedly poor, unable to squander funds on every woman who walked through the door. "I can pay my own way." So saying, she walked up to the counter, extracting a handful of shillings from her pocket and laying them on the counter. "Will this buy me a glass of ale?"

"A glass?" The tavern keeper cocked an amused brow. "Sweetheart, that'll keep your mug full till next week."

"I hope it doesn't take that long,"
Aurora
muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. May I have my drink now?"

"Sure." He filled a tankard and shoved it across the counter. "Let me or one of the girls know when you're ready for more. You've paid for dozens of rounds."

"Girls?" That was a problem
Aurora
hadn't anticipated. She turned, scanning the room again, this time noticing two or three barmaids making their way among the tables, trays in hand, broad smiles on their faces. Scowling, she noted the way the men were laughing and joking with them in a familiar manner they'd definitely not afforded her. A problem indeed. Still, there were only a few women as compared with a roomful of men. Surely one of those men wouldn't mind feigning a night of passion rather than pursuing a real one—especially if it meant earning money rather than parting with it?

That gave her an idea.

"Did you say I've paid for dozens of rounds?" she asked the tavern keeper.

"Um-hum. At least."

"Good. Then distribute them among the men."

Another startled look. "All right. Should I say who they're from?"

"Of course. Say they're a gift from…" A pause. "…The newcomer amongst them."

"Does this newcomer have a name?"

Not one she can provide
,
Aurora
alerted herself silently.
At least not yet. Once these sailors learn I'm a Huntley, they'll run for their lives. And if that should happen before I convince one of them to stage my ruin, all my plans will have been for naught
.

"Rory," she supplied, reverting to the pet name her dearest friend, Mr. Scollard, had bestowed upon her years ago.

"Rory," the tavern keeper repeated. "All right, Rory. I'm George. And I'll fill the men in on your generosity."

"T
hank
you." With a brilliant smile,
Aurora
perched on a nearby stool, openly surveying the pub and its occupants. Sailors and fishermen, she thought with great satisfaction. Just as she'd surmised. Ranging in age from young to old, and in stature from large to scrawny. Which of them would be the one to serve as her necessary cohort?

That spawned another concern.

"George—you do have rooms here, do you not?" she questioned anxiously.

His jaw dropped. "Yeah, I have rooms."

"Good." Sagging with relief, she took two enthusiastic swallows of ale … and shuddered. How could anything so golden and frothy taste so horrid? Steeling herself, she gulped down the remaining brew, suppressing her distaste to appear as nonchalant as possible. She must fit in if she wanted to elicit the assistance of one of these sailors.

"Fill everyone's mug," she heard George call to his barmaids. "Courtesy of…" A broad grin. "…Rory." He gestured toward Aurora, who raised her tankard in tribute.

A chorus of enthusiastic t
hank
s ensued, and
Aurora
congratulated herself on her victory, dutifully guzzling down the second glass of ale George poured her. Actually, she mused, the brew didn't taste quite as bad as she'd originally thought. In fact, with enough patience the flavor rather grew on you.

"I'll have another," she informed George, holding out her mug. Blowing wisps of hair from her face, she shifted on the stool. "Is it warm in here?"

He chuckled, refilling her tankard. "Yeah, and it's gonna get a lot warmer if you don't slow down. Take it easy, Rory—this stuff's strong."

"I loathed the flavor at first," she confessed in a conspiratorial whisper. "But no longer. Now I'm enjoying it thoroughly."

"I can see that." George shook his head and resumed polishing the glasses. "What made you come in here?" he asked offhandedly.

"Oh, dear."
Aurora
rose, clutching her mug. "T
hank
you for reminding me. I have an end to achieve. And very little time to achieve it." Teetering a bit, she made her way over to the table of the nice bald fellow who'd addressed her earlier. He looked like the kindly sort. Perhaps he'd understand her dilemma—and her monetary offer—
and
agree to help her out.

She dropped into a seat beside him.

"'ey,
Jackson
," one of the sailors at the table prompted the bald fellow. "I think our new patron is waitin' for ye."

Jackson
turned toward her and grinned. "Did ye want something … Rory?"

Self-consciously she chewed her lip. How could she blurt out her proposition in front of all these men, without any preliminaries?

She couldn't.

Her gaze fell to the cards in
Jackson
's hands. Whist, she concluded. They were playing whist. Now that was something she could chat about, thus breaking the ice enough for her to ease into her request.

Purposefully she gulped her ale, her stare fixed on
Jackson
's cards. "I have a bit of experience at this, you know," she announced. "Although, if I must be honest, I've only received instruction from one man, and only upon one occasion. However, I enjoyed it immensely and was a quick study. Given time, I'm sure I could be quite proficient."

Jackson
's cards struck the table. "Brazen little thing, aren't ye?" he said, an odd light coming into his eyes. "Well, I've got lots of time. I can teach ye anything ye want to know."

"If ye don't fall asleep first," his whist partner retorted, slapping down his own cards. "If Rory wants instruction,
I'm
the one to give it.
If
'er price ain't too high."

"Price?"
Aurora
questioned, lowering her tankard and wishing the room would stop spinning. "
You'd
be doing the teaching—why would I ask for a fee?" She shook her head to clear it. "Besides, I can't learn tonight. Tonight I need to…"

"Sure ye can!" a stocky man at the next table chimed in, striding over to her. "Yer a woman after me own 'eart, cravin' excitement, not shillings."

"What the hell would she want money for?"
Jackson
mocked. "She's got plenty. She paid for our drinks, didn't she? And 'er gown cost more than this whole bloody pub." He rose as well. "No, ye 'eard 'er, it's experience she's lookin' for." He glared at the others, his fingers closing about
Aurora
's arm. "And it's me she came to. C'mon, sweetheart. Let's go up."

Realization crashed down on
Aurora
with the force of a blow. These men thought she'd been alluding to her sexual proficiency, not her adeptness at whist. They were actually arguing over who was going to take her to bed.

Dear Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

"Please … wait," she began, determined to clarify her intentions
before
Jackson
escorted her up to a liaison that was never going to occur. Yes, she wanted to go upstairs, but not for the purpose he had in mind.

"Mr. Jackson…" She struggled to speak coherently despite the fog shrouding her thoughts. "You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand, all right." He continued to drag her along. "And I'll make ye forget all about that clumsy man who had ye first."

"Let her go,
Jackson
."

The deep baritone permeated
Aurora
's disoriented state, simultaneously stopping
Jackson
dead in his tracks. An instant later a strong arm anchored her waist, dragging her away from
Jackson
and supporting her unsteady weight.

"C'mon, Merlin, don't ye 'ave enough women?"
Jackson
whined. "Leave this morsel for me."