Heart of the Diamond (18 page)

“Very good, my lord.” The man's faded blue gaze glanced swiftly outside to Blake's chaise and the two footmen standing next to it. “I shall have a warm toddy taken out to your men.”

“As you like.” Blake removed his cloak and hat and placed them in Simms' long, slender hands. He tugged his riding gloves off and passed them over as well.

From down the hall drifted the tinny notes of a pianoforte accompanied by feminine and masculine voices raised in song, and interlaced with bursts of laughter. For the briefest instant, Blake thought he heard Nicki's impish giggle. He tensed.

She had every reason to be happy. Teddy had returned.

Simms turned over Blake's accouterments to a young blond man in a blue and silver uniform. “This way, my lord. Everyone is gathered in the music room.”

“So I hear.”

Down the hall they went, beyond the grand staircase, past Billington's library. When Simms took a right, the music immediately became louder. This smaller hall, with no chandelier overhead, lacked the brightness of the main foyer. It was instead lighted by brass wall lanterns with etched glass sconces positioned between each closed door. At the end of the hall Simms paused and opened the last door on the left.

Blake unclenched his fists. He had not realized he was so tense until this moment. He paused in the doorway and his gaze immediately went to the petite golden-haired girl seated at the pianoforte—next to Bartholomew. A primitive urge came over him to storm across the room, shove the popinjay off the bench—and take his place.

Simms cleared his throat.

As the music came to a clattering halt, all eyes in the room turned to the door—all save those he most desired to see. Blake forced unfamiliar emotions down into the dark reaches of his heart where such impulsive feelings belonged.

With a wry smile, he took in Angelica and Billington seated on a red velvet settee facing the pianoforte. Mina, wide-eyed, sat upon a low stool with a golden harp before her of such size that it dwarfed her small frame.

Nicole, still facing the piano keyboard, hands folded primly in her lap, stubbornly refused to turn and meet his gaze. Color stained the side of her face visible to him and he knew his arrival was to blame. The thought irritated him to no end. She had no reason to fear him. Damn Bartholomew and his interference.

Angelica broke the suspension of time and rose from the settee. “Lord Diamond, welcome. We had almost believed you would be kept away from us altogether.”

With a wry smile, Blake stepped into the room. “I would not have missed this evening for the world. I apologize for my absence at dinner, but business matters continue to bedevil me. We are somewhat isolated out here and my retainers in London and America appear fearful that I shall drop off the face of the earth if they are not sending messengers every hour on the hour.”

“We are glad you could tear yourself away.” Angelica smiled politely. “Shall we retire to the sitting room?”

Blake glanced to Nicole and caught her gaze before she could look away. Something—not fear, but confusion, perhaps—darkened her eyes to the color of emeralds against a black velvet cushion. The expression wrenched something deep inside him.

“Nonsense. Continue on with your music. From the hall it sounded most enjoyable.”

Movement at Nicole's side drew Blake's gaze and he saw Teddy lean forward to whisper to Nicole. The anger returned, but he had learned from experience that rage was not the way to deal with an unpleasant situation.

He surveyed the room decorated much the same as the sitting room, but with red and gold as the predominant colors. It was rich, lush, and brightly lit by a chandelier set in the arched ceiling with prisms of light that reflected off the white walls. Candles positioned near the musicians lent them sufficient light to see their music sheets. Obviously, the Langleys had taken all their heirlooms from the homes they had been forced to sell and made Langley Hall elegant, if not simple.

A gilded music stand stood before a delicate stool in the corner. Nearby stood a cabinet much like a wardrobe, but with glass doors. Through those doors Blake could see various instruments resting on pegs set in the velvet covered back—a flute, a miniature lyre, and several polished violins.

Blake moved around the settee where Billington and Angelica had taken their seats again, perched like great tropical birds prepared to take flight. He strolled around the clawfooted table and the lamp with its shimmering crystals on to the cabinet where he flicked the clasp.

“May I?” He looked to Billington, who nodded hesitantly.

Blake reached in and took one of the violins, then took the longer of the bows. The silence in the room made every movement he enacted echo as though he was in an empty cavern.

“I believe you were playing a Mozart concerto when I arrived?” He directed his question at Nicole, whose curiosity had gotten the better of her. He had her attention.

She nodded. “Concerto number three, though not very skillfully, I must admit.”

As he strolled past the blazing fire Blake put the base of the violin beneath his chin and held the bow away from the strings, instead plunking them with his fingers to test the tuning.

“I have always enjoyed music, though I have little time to pursue such a frivolous pastime.”

“But everyone needs some enjoyment, my lord,” Nicole said in a low voice.

Blake smiled and lowered his hand to his side. “So we do.”

He moved near Bartholomew whose flushed face revealed the state of his temper. With a flourish Blake transferred the bow to the strings, causing Teddy to flinch away as though he believed Blake meant to strike him. Not a bad thought. But not at all his style.

Onward he moved around the back of the pianoforte, all the while holding Nicole's gaze with his. Her eyes had become lighter, more the shade of aquamarine. Good. She was intrigued and had forgotten her earlier trepidation. Very good.

He paused near the piano and leaned a hip against it so that he could focus all his attention on Nicole. Then he pulled the bow across the strings and the room filled with the lilting notes of Mozart's concerto.

Surprise flickered in Nicole's gaze and the slight smile that graced her elfin face stiffened. Blake let the music take hold and swell inside him. He had not picked up a violin since his sixteenth birthday when his Aunt Sophia had gifted him with a hand crafted instrument of such beauty and grace—and his father had argued with Sophia and destroyed the violin in a rage. Blake had never gotten another.

Now, as he darted and slid his fingers over the strings and heard the notes flit like magical creatures into the air, Blake realized how much he had missed his music.

Eyes shining, Nicole put her fingers to the ivory keys, then Blake heard Mina join in with the ethereal strains of the harp. On and on they played. Nicole continued to meet his gaze without hesitation.

As the music slowed to a quieter stretch, Blake noticed Nicole's breathlessness, the way her breasts pressed against the fabric of her gown. The grace of her hands on the keys summoned visions of her hands moving up his arms, stroking lightly over his shoulders.

He wondered if she imagined his own hands on her body. Whether she felt the slightest curiosity as to how his fingers would feel sliding up her delicate spine, playing her like the instrument he held in his hands.

Nicole's eyes darkened as though she read his thoughts. A flush the hue of plum blossoms touched her cheeks and her tongue darted over her lips. Staring at her mouth, Blake remembered their earlier kiss. He wanted to taste her sweetness again, to drown in the purity of her.

The muscles of his arms tensed and he missed a note. Nicole's fingers stumbled as well and almost simultaneously they created a horrendous unmelodious clamor.

Nicole burst out laughing and Blake dropped the violin away from his shoulder, a chuckle breaking free from his throat. Applause from Angelica and Billington brought Blake clattering back to earth. Nicole seemed startled as she brushed nervously at the wayward wisp of spun-gold hair at her cheek.

Her pink lips turned up just a little in a self-conscious smile. She was exquisite. Beautiful. And soon she would belong to him.

“That was certainly interesting. You missed your calling, Dylan. But then I suppose being a traveling minstrel would be too tame for you.” Teddy's dry tone caused Blake's pleasure to slip—but only a little.

The smile still on his lips—but forced—Blake met Teddy's hostile gaze. “I have always been fond of the adage that one should never put all one's eggs in the same basket. It has served me well. My activities are diverse and therefore my enemies have to be as imaginative as I in trying to bring me down.”

A scowl marred Teddy's features and a wave of red swept upward from his neck to his forehead. “Of course you would think in a predatory context!”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

Teddy moved to rise, but Nicole's hand placed lightly upon his arm held him in his seat. “I suppose not,” he muttered, covering Nicole's fingers with his own.

The sight caused Blake's blood to speed its journey through his veins. He looked away from the pair to Angelica. “Is there another song you would like to hear? My repertoire is limited, but I shall do my best.”

“You play beautifully, Lord Diamond. Goodness, I cannot think of any songs. Can you, Jonathon?”

Billington looked at Angelica as though she had just asked him if he had been chasing the maid. “Can't say as I can think of any just now. But that was real nice, Diamond. Enjoyed it.”

“How about this one?” Nicole put her fingers to the keys to perform the first few notes of a lively tune many ballrooms played for their country dances.

One of Strauss’ polkas. With a grin in her direction, Blake tucked the violin beneath his chin and counted the beats before touching the bow to the strings.

Teddy sat upright, pasting on a brilliant smile when Nicole would glance his way. Blake understood his irritation—certain it mirrored what he felt just by being in the same room with Bartholomew. Was it because Blake could see that Nicole cared deeply for Teddy? He watched the brightness of laughter touch her face as her hands moved gracefully over the ivory and black keys. The thought that Bartholomew's presence had put the light there ate at him.

This afternoon she had run from his arms and thrown herself with such abandon into Teddy's. Damn it, she was Blake's fiancée. Her first loyalty should be to him. But he had seen today that she may be rightfully his according to the laws of society, but Bartholomew held on to her more tightly with the threads of the past.

Looking into those glorious eyes, Blake vowed those bonds would be severed before long. Nicole Langley would look at no other man with adoration—no man but him. And for that to happen, he had to rid her heart of Teddy Bartholomew. The question left to him now was how—how to win the lovely Nicole.

The question surprised him. Over the past years Blake had found women to be dispensable articles, easily discarded. Perhaps it was because Blake had chosen Nicole as his mate, to bear him children and to keep his house comfortable—that he wanted her to care for him.

Nicole licked her lips, the green of her eyes darkening. Blake imagined his child growing within her and experienced a hunger so deep and so strong that he caught his breath. Desire, hot and liquid, sped to his groin. He knew she would be passionate—she had already proved herself to be more than a little adventurous.

And she would be his. Just a few short weeks, and he would have her in his bed. If not before.

One thing stood in his way.

He had set aside the next day to begin getting Rosewood in order. Now he had one more project to add to his list—to win the affection of the woman he had vowed to marry.

Nicole ran her hands down the keys, leaning in front of Teddy without any shyness or trepidation. Blake saw the man take advantage of her position to lean close to her lovely neck. He knew Teddy's thoughts. And could have killed him for having them.

But could not blame him.

She was a treasure any man would want for his own. But she was Blake's prize, and Teddy tread on dangerous ground. Very dangerous ground.

Blake arose early in the morning to meet his tenants and familiarize himself with the lay of the land. From his previous examination of the estate accounts, it seemed Teddy had handed him quite an albatross.

Already he had spent a small fortune to bring the minute staff current with their wages. Then there were the debts outstanding at the local merchants for supplies used to keep the house in operation over the years, as well as feed for the horses and livestock and numerous other miscellaneous expenses.

He had instructed Chester to hire an adequate staff, since the butler had heretofore been running the entire household with only the assistance of his wife and three daughters.

The dozen or so tenant homes were situated nearby each on a half acre of land. A mile or so from the permanent shanties was the long building that housed the temporary workers who traveled from estate to estate during harvest time. That edifice would be deserted for several more weeks.

At the first of the small stone cottages, a man left the house and approached Blake before he could dismount. Tall, with a lanky frame, the farmer had pale hair springing from beneath a worn straw hat. He looked to be no more than twenty-five.

After pausing before Blake's horse, he reached out to stroke the horse's muzzle while he squinted against the early morning sun reflecting off large puffs of grey clouds.

“Good morning. I'm the new owner of Rosewood. Blake Dylan.”

The man spat, then wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his brown wool coat. “Aye. We ‘eard about ye. Th’ Earl o’ Diamond.”

Blake tensed at the thinly veiled hostility. His horse moved nervously beneath him. He kept his voice level. “Is this your farm?”

“I lives ‘ere, but it's yer farm.”

“I was not certain the tenants had remained after the Bartholomews left. I have been examining the estate books and . . . ”

“We stayed.” The man's hands clenched into fists at his side. “Isn't like we ‘ave any place to be movin’, now is it?”