Heart of the Diamond (52 page)

Nicki met Angelica's tear-filled green eyes—green like her own can be at times. “Thank you . . . Mother.”

A soft gasp passed Angelica's lips before she bit it back. She carefully tucked the handkerchief in her sleeve. “I love you, my Nicole. I always have.”

“I know. I am so very lucky.”

“Excuse me, Your Grace?”

Angelica turned to the door, where Nicki saw Lucy. The maid beamed. Nicki was certain she had never seen Lucy's face lit up so. “What is it, dear?” The control had returned to Angelica's voice.

“I've a message from Simms. His Lordship, the Earl of Diamond is below stairs.” Lucy paused dramatically. “He's asking as to Lady Nicole—Nicki's—welfare.”

He had come! Nicki cut off a squeal of joy. “Blake is here? And Papa?”

Lucy nodded. Her chestnut curls bobbed wildly.

Securing the train of her gown over her arm, Nicki headed for the door. Angelica's voice brought her up short.

“Lucy, inform the earl that Lady Nicole is quite recovered from her ordeal and will look forward to seeing him at the wedding ceremony—within the hour.”

As the maid dashed off to deliver the message, Nicki stared at Angelica, aghast. “I must see him!”

“And you will—at the church like a proper bride.” Angelica came forward to take Nicki's hand. “Think, dear. He has spent a good part of the day chasing you across the countryside—only to have you rescue yourself. He needs time to bathe and dress for the wedding.”

“Besides,” Mina interjected, “It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding gown before the ceremony takes place.”

Nicki fought the disappointment. To have him so near and then send him away seemed such a waste. But she knew that within the hour she would be standing next to Blake before the minister exchanging vows.

Within the hour.

Blake rested one hip against the edge of the parish minister's immaculate desk. He looked from Charles, leaning a broad shoulder casually against the window frame, to Carlton and Percy seated before him. All were dressed in suits of somber browns and blacks with starched white cravats. They had abandoned their fashionable brilliant hues. For him. His friends. They had traversed with him through the hardest times in his life. It was only fitting that they stand at his side at the happiest time.

His groomsmen. His wedding.

Incredible.

Charles pushed himself away from the casement and came to sit on the corner of the desk opposite Blake. A white toothed grin spread across his tanned face. “That sling is quite dashing, Blake. What d'you think Carl? Perc? Will it be all the rage for wedding attire this Season?”

With delicately exaggerated movements, Percy took a pinch of snuff before lifting his monocle from the chain at his neck to survey Blake's appearance. “Most certainly. Elegance, with a hint of danger. The ladies will swoon with rapture.”

“I wish only to impress one lady,” Blake returned, glancing at the makeshift cloth of black satin wrapped around his forearm. He reached up to his neck and adjusted the knotted ends.

Damned uncomfortable contraption. His shoulder scarcely hurt any longer, and the sling was there only as a concession to Aunt Sophia. Tonight, when he made love to his new wife, he would do so with no restrictions—no inhibitions.

Carlton got to his feet with fluid grace. He stepped up next to Blake and carefully straightened the knot of the fabric so that the ends did not chafe the back of his neck. His dark eyes met Blake's gaze. “I hate to bring up a dismal subject on such a joyous occasion, but what do you plan to do with Ted?”

“He is locked in the storage room at the inn, guarded by some new friends I came across today. By now, they should have received a cryptic note containing a penciled heart, delivered with a handsome stallion the future Countess of Diamond stole from them.”

“Odd goings on.” Charles met Blake's gaze with a wry quirk of his lips.

“My first inclination is to let the bastard rot,” Blake replied without the slightest remorse.

“I've done a little brainstorming with your Aunt Sophia,” Charles offered as his blue eyes sparkled with mirth. “She knows of a particularly interesting debutante with a sizeable dowry who would jump at the chance of having a husband like Bartholomew. It is an offer Teddy will not refuse. I guarantee it.”

Blake experienced a quick shiver of uneasiness. “It's a great deal to ask, Charles. Maybe he should belong to the authorities? He's a problem gambler. And I cannot believe Aunt Sophia would agree to recommend him to one of her friends as husband material.”

Charles shrugged, putting on an innocent mien. “Who said anything about a friend? This debutante is almost six feet tall and must weigh at the least twelve stone.”

The fact that Sophia and Charles had undertaken the task of ridding Blake of Teddy startled Blake—and pleased him. Family took care of family, through good and bad. “And do you plan to stand guard?”

“No. She'll keep the dandy in line, have no worry. I plan on continuing my adventures in the sea of the remaining debutantes. In Paris, that is.”

Carlton chuckled. “The same old Charles. No ring will ever land on that finger.”

A timid knock on the door drew Blake's attention. The door opened and the minister's wife peeked around the heavy wood. A multitude of grey sausage curls covered her tiny head, and bright blue eyes shone from behind wire-rimmed spectacles. “Your bride is about to enter, my lord. Please follow me.”

Blake felt the muscles of his face begin to slip into the familiar emotionless mask. He smiled instead. “Thank you, Mrs. Peabody. Lead the way.”

Nicki's father stood against the wall, stiff and uncomfortable in his new ebony jacket. He looked as though he was about to be shot by executioners. With a catch in her throat, Nicki hurried forward into his arms. Held tightly within those familiar arms, she felt like the little girl he had picked up from a fall and dusted off. She stepped back and met his gaze. His blue eyes sparkled with moisture.

With a sniff, Nicki swallowed her tears. “Your cravat is drifting again, Papa. Here, let me fix it.” She carefully adjusted the snowy white folds. When she paused to review her handiwork, the stubborn thing returned to its original position threatening the yellow rose pinned to his lapel. She smiled. “There. Perfect.”

The music became louder, more dramatic in tone. It was time. She met her father's gaze once again. This time her smile trembled. “He is truly wonderful, is he not?”

Her father's chest swelled with emotion. “A damned fine man, girl. I'm proud to welcome him into the family.”

Nicki nodded resolutely and turned toward the entry to the congregation hall. Two footmen, each positioned before one of the double doors, swung them wide with a flourish. The breath caught in her chest at the sight of the church filled to bursting with people. She had come to this church for most of her life, thinking it a grand old place for such a small shire. But today it must be as beautiful as Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel.

A hush fell over the crowd. As Nicki tucked her hand inside the crook of her father's arm, her gaze moved along the edges of the flower bedecked pews to the altar.

There stood Pastor Peabody, and next to him—dwarfing him—stood the Earl of Diamond. He looked so handsome and dignified. How had he ever come to love a troublesome scapegrace like her? She tightened her hold on her father's arm. He covered her fingers with his own.

A runner of burgundy velvet spread before her. Nicki took the first step. She looked out over the sea of smiling faces, but they all blurred. Another step. Intermingled scents of hot house flowers, perfumes, and colognes blended and transported her back in time to the gardens of Rosewood. Enchantment. And Blake's eyes held the promise of a lifetime of such magic.

The music softened as she reached the first pew. Her father kissed her cheek and placed her hand in Blake's. She felt a jolt of alarm as she noted the sling he wore, then Nicki met the strong silver gaze and stepped away from her father to stand at the side of her husband-to-be.

Joy, anticipation, trepidation—but above all an overwhelming sense of rightness swelled inside her.

Blake gave her a crooked grin. “Good of you to make it, my dear.”

She maintained the dignity called for in such a situation and faced Pastor Peabody. “I warned you once of my resourcefulness.”

“So you did.” His deep voice vibrated with laughter.

Now, as she looked at him, the depth of her emotions filled her voice with tears.

“I never settle for second best.”

Pastor Peabody cleared his throat. Nicki felt heat rise in her cheeks, but Blake merely smiled. The chubby minister began the service. The words droned on, and all the while Nicki was intensely aware of the man at her side.

Tenderly, Blake slipped the Diamond signet ring from her thumb, then replaced it on the third finger of her left hand. Nicki closed her hand over the ring that had already given her so much strength and hope, then raised her gaze to his.

“May this be the symbol of the peace between our families once and for all. On my honor.” His deep voice trembled with emotion.

When Blake lifted her chin and kissed her, the world became right and perfect.

“I love you, Nicole Dylan.”

Tears came again, but were brought on by a joy she had never dreamed of. “The most wonderful thing is that I believe you truly mean it.”

Blake cupped her face with both his hands, and his eyes glistened with moisture. “You are most firmly entrenched in the heart of this Diamond.”

His lips covered hers, warm, smooth, sparking an answer of passion and promise.

"From the moment I first saw
Gone With The Wind,
I knew I wanted to write historical romance. Not just write it, but do it so well that I could transport readers into another world for a time, sweep them up in romance and adventure, and leave them sighing when they complete that last sentence. I look for that spark between the hero and heroine in books I read and those I write—the battle of wills between two people who belong together, but face challenges within and beyond their control to reach their happy ending. That’s what I love about romance."

A legal assistant in Oregon, Carrie Brock started her writing career after her husband asked a friendly author at a book signing for her card. Shortly after, Brock joined the Romance Writers of America organization and began developing her craft. She hasn't stopped writing since.