Heart of the Diamond (12 page)

All she could picture was Blake.

Where was the vision of her friend since childhood?

She concentrated more intensely. Ah, there he was. The full mouth with that ever-ready smile, the dimple in his left cheek, his face flushed, as though he had just come in from the cold, eyes of bright, sparkling amber, hair the color of ripened wheat in the fields . . . 

Nicki opened her eyes. There had never been and would never be anyone for her but Teddy. She had made a vow to him years ago and she could not break it. For a brief interlude she had been taken in by a handsome blackguard, but no more. Was her love truly so weak that she could set it aside so easily? No. Her love was strong. It was her spirit that had wavered. But no more.

She would marry no one but Teddy.

Nicki went to the door and listened carefully before easing it open just a crack. The house was quiet—everyone abed. She crept down the hall past several closed doors leading to empty chambers, and finally came to Shelby's bedchamber. Carefully, she eased the door open and stepped inside.

A smile tugged at her lips at the sight that greeted her. She tiptoed toward the bed where the covers were propped into a tent-like formation. A light glowed from inside.

“You are going to fall asleep one night and burn all of us alive, young man!”

The light was instantly extinguished, throwing the room into pitch-blackness. Nicki stubbed her little toe on the heavy bedpost. “Blast it, Shelby! Light the lamp before I fall and break my neck!”

“Nick? I thought you were Mother. Just a minute . . . ”

Nicki bent and inventoried her foot for any broken bones as Shelby rustled through the darkness. Brief moments passed before he lit the bedside lamp.

She rose with what she hoped was a threatening expression. “Whatever are you doing under there?”

After brief hesitation, he pulled a wooden box from inside the tented blankets. “It's an invention I'm working on.”

The box seemed harmless enough. “I am sorry, dearest, but the box was invented long ago.”

“This isn't just a box, Nick. It's a device . . . to catch burglars.”

She stepped closer to the bed then bent to study the item more closely. “Is there a small constable inside?”

“It isn't funny, Nick!”

Nicki stifled a giggle. “Obviously not. I apologize for my lack of proper admiration. Tell me how it works.”

Shelby's gaze searched her face for further signs of heckling. Satisfied, he turned the box around to reveal several buttons, knobs, and thin pieces of wire. “See this here—you turn this knob and attach the wire to a window, or door, or desk drawer, whatever you're . . . guarding. Once the wire's attached, push this round button here and the device is set. If anyone tries to break in, the wire pulls a lever inside the machine, which rings a bell.”

“How terrifying for a person. It might just give them a heart attack, then you would catch them for sure.”

“Nick!”

She schooled her features into appropriate solemnity. “Pray continue.”

“While the bell sounds the alarm, the burglar might still get away—so this trap door opens here and a spray of black ink shoots out. I figure it would travel four or five feet. The intruder's covered. Even if he gets away, he'd be easy to track down because he'd be dripping a trail of ink.”

Nicki looked from the machine to her brother in astonishment. “That is very clever, Shelby. You thought of this all by yourself?”

He nodded shyly. His hand touched the box with unmistakable pride. “I took some books from Papa's library, but most of it I did on my own.”

“Well, I am impressed, but I do wish you would find a safer way to work on your project. It is dangerous to have a lamp in bed with you. Promise me you will be careful.”

“’Course I will. I wouldn't want to damage my invention.”

She ruffled his dark hair. “I have come to ask a favor, Shelby. You do not have to do it, but it is important to me.”

“What is it?” He set aside the box and looked up at her with interest.

Nicki ran her fingers along the face of the note before handing it to Shelby. “I want you to take this to the earl at once. I realize it is late and very dark outside. If you are afraid, you do not have to go.”

He took the note. “What does it say? Can't it wait ’til tomorrow?”

“I want the earl to have time to think about what is in the message. Will you do it?”

“’Course I will. I like Blake. When you marry him, I hope you'll let me come visit you.”

Nicki blinked rapidly to banish the moisture from her eyes. “Please be careful, Shelby. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“What's in the note, Nick?”

She shook her head and tousled his hair once again. “Never you mind, just see that the earl gets it. Do not worry, Shelby, I have taken care of everything.”

Shelby climbed from the bed, still fully clothed. Nicki could see the questions in his blue eyes, but she could not bring herself to speak for fear of bursting into tears. She turned and fled the room.

Blake bent over the account ledgers for Rosewood. Impatiently, he scratched out several figures he had noted in his own journal after realizing he had entered them twice. He massaged his forehead with one hand as he once again attempted to find the place he had left off.

He reached for one of two messages delivered by a footman from Diamond Hall that morning. The name Harrison Ransom, Viscount Merchant, was scrawled in black ink across the face of the white missive. Such a dignified title for the petulant boy he remembered following him about on his visits home from school.

Harry. Aunt Sophia, as his father's closest living relative after himself, must have held high hopes for her son at her brother's death. According to a clause in Barrett Dylan's will, if Blake had remained in America, Harry would have become the next Earl of Diamond. Now Harry was welcoming him home, offering his assistance, as well as that of his mother.

The footman, sleeping off his exhausting journey in a soft bed, awaited Blake's response before returning to London. The man would just have to enjoy the hospitality of the country for a while longer until Blake could pen the appropriate reply.

Blake rubbed his forehead again, as though the motion would still the thoughts racing about inside his mind.

Why in the devil had he come back? America was his home now. And as the second message proved, he had much business to take care of there as well. His solicitor in Boston was already hounding him to return as soon as possible.

Blake had turned his back on his heritage years ago when his father banished him from England. But there remained this burning need to return—to finish all that had been left incomplete with his abrupt departure. Some matters would be left incomplete forever, for his father had died two months before. Others required his personal attention.

And the Duke of Billington fell into that category. Blake's hatred had centralized upon him. Over the years he had carefully thought out each move, then acted with cool precision. Bit by bit, he had stripped Billington of his wealth, just as Blake's had been taken from him—at Billington's insistence.

Last, but certainly not least, there was Theodore Bartholomew. Dear Teddy. Friend, betrayer. Thus far the revenge he enacted against Teddy had been too easy. Weaknesses were there to be exploited and Teddy had more than his fair share.

Blake's enmity toward three men—his father, Jonathon Langley, and Teddy Bartholomew—had burned through him. His desires over the past years had focused on destroying Billington and Teddy, and somehow making his father regret turning away from him. But his father, always one to have the last word, did so yet again with his death.

Such was life.

By his return, Blake had claimed his birthright, taken possession of Teddy's house, and arranged to become engaged to Billington's daughter—and the girl Teddy claimed to love. Now Nicole would be his wife.

Her inheritance would become his and those two men who needed money so desperately would not be able to lay a hand on one pound.

The final revenge. Then he would at last find peace.

The vast emptiness inside of him yawned like an icy cavern, testimony to the lonely existence he had made for himself. Somehow, the fleeting moments in Nicole's company had brought a temporary warmth back into the cold chasms of his soul. Blake faced that fact with no small degree of unease. He had chosen his path and followed it with a surety that came easily to him.

Originally, his plan had been to entrap Nicole into marriage, to get an heir out of her, and to leave her to a comfortable life. That was more than she could hope for by marrying Teddy, or some man her father made a contract with.

Now he wondered what it would be like to please her, to see those aquamarine eyes sparkle with warmth—a warmth directed at him alone. He wondered what it would be like to be the man he saw reflected in her heart.

Had he traveled too far along the path of revenge and hatred to turn back? Could Nicole thaw the ice that encased his heart?

No. He could not allow that to happen. He
had
come too far.

“Sir, you have a caller,” Chester announced from the open doorway.

Blake stood, blaming the sudden increase in his heart rate on the butler's sudden appearance. “Very well, Chester, show her in.”

The tall, slender butler drew himself up slightly. His hands unconsciously tightened the belt of his red brocade dressing gown around the slightest paunch at his waist. “Your visitor is not a
her
, my lord. It is young Master Shelby of Langley Hall.”

Blake's gaze shot to the clock over the mantel. “One would assume a lad his age should be abed at this hour.”

“One also assumes most young ladies to be abed as well, my lord. Perhaps he shares his sister's penchant for late night conversation.”

One corner of the earl's mouth twitched at the butler's sour comment. “Bring the boy in, Chester, before he goes to sleep in the hall. You may return to bed. I shall see the boy out.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Chester left, surrounded by injured dignity. Moments later Shelby peered around the door. He seemed about to flee as he caught sight of the earl.

“Come in, Shelby. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Shelby swallowed and inched inside the room. “Nick—she asked me to bring you this.”

Blake came forward and closed the door softly before taking the folded page. The fragrance of roses wafted upward and he had the insane urge to lift the letter to his nose. Instead he turned the note over. His gaze snapped to Shelby's crimson face.

“Interesting. The seal seems to have been broken.”

Shelby refused to look at the page. “I might've dropped it, I suppose.”

“That must be what happened. I have the utmost confidence that you would never read a letter addressed to another.”

The boy bit his lower lip. Blake saw Nicki in the gesture. “I suppose you'd be angry if I was to say that maybe I did . . . ”

Blake thoughtfully tapped his chin with the missive and Shelby stared at the paper in horror. “No, not angry. If you were inclined to behave in such a manner, you most likely would have good reason.”

“Oh, yes, sir! The very best reason. It's . . . it's Nick . . . ”

Blake tensed. “She is well?”

“She isn't sick—she just isn't herself. When she gave me the note, her voice was shivery, like she was cold, and her eyes were watery. It isn't like Nick. She isn't a goose—if you take my meaning.”

“So you were worried by Nicole's demeanor?”

Shelby nodded, heartfelt concern for his sister obvious in his blue eyes. “She says ‘Shelby take this straight away to the earl.’ Nick would never ask me to go out after my bedtime, unless something was wrong.”

“Are you planning on arriving at your point any time soon?”

“Well, she was acting so queer I decided to have a look at the note.”

Blake nodded. “So you did.”

Shelby raised his chin slightly. “And it was a good thing! Nick's got some notion in her head and it'll take no end of arguing to make her change her mind.”

“That sounds dire indeed. Sit there by the fire whilst I have a look at this for myself.”

The boy did as instructed, though he sat on the edge of the settee as though poised for immediate flight. “Nick doesn't mean it. She likes you. I know she does.”

A sense of foreboding overwhelmed Blake at the boy's desperate words. “Sit still and let me read this in peace.”

Blake moved behind the enormous claw footed desk and sat down. The leather of the tall-backed chair had grown cool, though he had only just left it, and he attributed his sudden chill to that fact. Without further ceremony, he unfolded the page.

He read the note once, then a second time. The woman was completely insane.

“Please don't be mad at her, sir. Nick isn't like most girls.”

“I am finding that out for myself, thank you.”

Shelby left the warmth of the fire, his small face set into lines of concern. “Maybe Mina would make a better countess. Trouble seems to follow Nick wherever she goes. Mina, she's a lady and all, but—please—don't let Nick chase you off.”

Blake carefully folded the note and tucked it inside the open journal before snapping the book shut. “We had best get you home before I have your father pounding on my door. I am beginning to understand the man's erratic personality the more I get to know his children.”

“You won't pay any mind to Nick's letter, will you?”

He grasped Shelby's arm and pulled the boy along with him to the hall, where he paused to throw a multi-layered cape over his own shoulders and assisted the boy on with his blue surcoat.

“I have not yet decided what to do about your sister. I am used to gathering all facts at my disposal before making a decision.”

At that, Shelby's face brightened. “That's good, especially when dealing with Nick.”

Noting the absence of a horse in the yard, Blake turned toward the stables. He hoped he could maintain his principles where Nicole Langley was concerned. If he began acting on impulse, he might just end up strangling the girl.