The Black Diamond (31 page)

"Stop." Julian chuckled, pressing his forefinger to her lips. "You're impossible. Fine. Come with me."

"I'm right beside you." Aurora glanced innocently at Gin as she passed. "Is something wrong?"

"Hmm?" The valet shook his head, his mouth snapping shut. "No, ma'am. Everything's right—and gettin' righter by the minute. In fact, I think this job's about to become so interestin', I might just have to stay sober to enjoy it."

* * *

"What's your news, Stone?" Julian stalked into the sitting room, Aurora by his side, shutting the door in their wake. "You remember my wife," he added, touching Aurora's elbow.

Stone's pupils dilated, but he merely nodded. "Yeah, good to see ye, Lady … Lady…"

"…Aurora," she supplied. Her lips twitched. "Or Mrs. Merlin will do. Whichever you feel more comfortable using."

"Oh…" He swallowed. "I guess I'll think about it and—"

"Stone." Julian recalled his colleague's attention to where it belonged. "Have you seen Macall? Is that why you're here?"

"Yeah, that's why I'm here, and no, I haven't seen him—not firsthand. I can't take the chance he'll recognize me. But I've got my ear to the ground. And from what I'm hearing, he's in a bad way, Merlin—drunk at night, roughin' people up in the streets, yellin' about how he's gonna make you pay. He disappears for hours at a time each day, probably combin' the streets lookin' for ye. And now that yer home…"

"We're going to have to finish this, Macall and I," Julian pronounced in a steely voice. "Unfortunately his timing is rotten. But that can't be helped. If he's determined to come after me now, so be it. I'm ready; I have been since you told me he was in England."

"You haven't spotted him yet, have you?"

"No. But someone's been following me these past few days. My guess is, it's Macall."

"There's somethin' else you should know. Macall's got himself a new sword, a rare bronze one he stole in Malta. I hear the sword's hilt is covered with jewels, and its blade is deadly enough to slash a man in two. Word is he's saved it especially for you, brandishes it every day and claims he's gonna drive it straight through your heart, then step over your dead body and make off with the black diamond."

"My, my. The scoundrel is obsessed, isn't he?" Julian leaned against the wall, looking thoroughly unconcerned.

Aurora felt her insides knot.

"Anything else?" Julian inquired.

"Not until Macall stops waitin' and does somethin'. And if he does, I think ye'll know about it before I do."

"I think you're right. Well, enough about Macall. I have another matter to discuss with you. What do you know of an old sailor, one who's retired from the sea and now spends his time reminiscing at a local pub?"

Stone blinked. "Hell, Merlin, that could describe thirty men."

"No. It couldn't. When I say
old
, I mean
extremely
old, not fifty or sixty. More like eighty, even a few years past, but with a quick mind and a great memory—one that's filled with stories of the sea."

"That old, huh?" A thoughtful frown. "Now that ye mention it, there was this fellow—I think his name's Barnes. He was in a couple of the pubs I checked out in Fowey—the Brine and the Cove—drinkin' and chortlin' about his days at sea. I didn't give him a second thought, not until ye just said what you did. To tell ye the truth, I was too busy findin' out if anyone had seen Macall to pay attention to much else. But this Barnes fellow was real old, like the age ye're describin'. And real friendly to everyone, like he's a regular customer there." Stone frowned. "I don't think he's trouble, if that's why yer lookin' for him."

"It's not." Julian straightened, his gaze fixed on Stone's face. "Describe him."

"Like I said, I wasn't watchin' him too close. Let's see. Gray hair—what was left of it anyway. Stooped shoulders—hell, he was old as the hills. Whiskers. A scratchy voice. That's all I remember."

"It's enough." Julian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Fowey—one port west of here. That would explain why I've never met him. I know the two pubs you're referring to, although I've never frequented either one. The Brine is on the wharf, and the Cove is about a mile farther along the riverbank."

"Yeah. And
ye
might not go in 'em, but Macall does—him
and
his sword. He's been in each of those places three or four times, gettin' drunk and askin' about ye. So stay the hell away from there, Merlin. Ye'd be lookin' for trouble."

"No, I'll be looking for Barnes. Macall's the one who's looking for trouble." Julian glanced over at Aurora who had gone sheet white, and scowled. "You'll have to excuse us, Stone," he said abruptly. "My wife looks tired from our journey. I think I'll escort her upstairs. Besides, our business is concluded—for now."

"Sure." Stone appeared distinctly unconvinced, but said nothing further. "I'll be on my way. No need for Daniels to show me out." He hesitated, glancing quickly at Aurora. "Remember what I said, Merlin. Macall's after ye—and he's got more ammunition now. Don't let him use it." With that, Stone took his leave.

"Aurora?" Julian walked over, tipped up her chin. "Are you all right?"

"I thought I'd be fine," she managed. "But the idea of that animal hurting you…" She inhaled sharply. "Am I the ammunition Stone was referring to?"

"That's immaterial. None of this should worry you. I'll be fine, and so will you. I'll see to it."

"You're a man, Julian, not a god. How can you be so sure?"

"Because I am." A corner of his mouth lifted. "What do you mean, I'm not a god? I thought you'd likened me to a pagan god."

"Damn you, Julian." Aurora's hand balled into a fist, struck her husband's shoulder. "Stop being so glib, so arrogant. We're talking about your life, not a game."

"I know." Julian sobered, bringing Aurora's fist to his lips. "I've been trying to tell you that from the onset. You weren't listening."

"It didn't seem real."

"So we are." His breath brushed her knuckles. "But it is. Still, there's no need to dwell on the unlikely. I've survived for years. I intend to keep doing so. As for you, you need never worry. I vowed to keep you safe—and I shall."

"Who are you reassuring, me or yourself?" Aurora demanded, an emotional dam bursting inside her. "You've made that same vow repeatedly since the day you asked for my hand—almost as if you need to convince yourself of its validity. Why? I never doubted your word, nor have you ever fallen short in your efforts to keep me safe. Or is it not me you're thinking of, not my situation that's prompting your self-doubt? Is it someone else, someone you believe you failed adequately to protect? If so, I can only assume that someone is Hugh." Aurora felt Julian tense, but she pressed on nonetheless, her fingers caressing his clenched jaw. "Julian, you
didn't
forsake your brother. You
did
keep him safe, in all the ways you conceivably could. You offered him the shelter of your friendship, your respect, and your decency—in a family where only greed and self-serving hatred existed. You'd have gladly offered him your life if it was within your power to do so. But it wasn't. Some forces are simply too great to surmount even for an infallible protector such as yourself. Frailty of the body is one of those forces, tragically, the one that determined Hugh's fate. He was sick, Julian, too sick and weak to persevere. That was an indisputable fact, one that was not within your power to change. So you must stop blaming yourself. Whatever and whoever is in your power to safeguard, you do—me, your servants, the treasures you've recovered, and the victims you've saved. And, yes, Hugh, as well—his principles, his compassion, his spirit. True, there will always be some objectives too great to realize, even for you, some elements of fate that are out of your hands. But Julian, that doesn't make you weak, it makes you human."

A muscle worked at Julian's throat.

"As for you," Aurora continued, "
your
future,
your
fate—I won't let you walk into danger as if your life doesn't matter. It does—to me." To her astonishment, hot tears sprang to her eyes, trickled down her cheeks. "Julian, I love you." She swallowed. "And I need you."

"I need you, too—now." Emotion flickered wildly in Julian's eyes, turned his voice to gravel. Abruptly he turned, kicking the door shut and throwing the bolt before sweeping Aurora into his arms, carrying her to the sofa.

"This is not the kind of need I meant," Aurora protested, shaking her head.

"I know." Julian grasped handfuls of her gown, dragging them up in hard, purposeful motions. "But this is the kind I can silence along with all your fears, your doubts, your worries. This is the way I can combat your pain, fill all your emptiness."

"And yours?" Aurora asked softly, searching his face.

"Yes," he admitted hoarsely. "And mine." He lowered her to the cushions, crumpling her gown about her waist, his fingers lingering briefly on her naked thighs before shifting to tear at the buttons of his breeches. "Don't turn me away."

"I couldn't," Aurora whispered, her heart in her eyes.

Julian drew a harsh breath—then expelled it. "I don't think I can wait."

"Then don't." She opened her arms to him.

He made love to her like a wild man, driving himself into her with a hammering need and a frenzied hunger he could neither curb nor fathom. He shouted her name when he climaxed, flooding her with his seed even as he absorbed her exquisite spasms of completion.

Afterward he lay on her, in her, more overcome by what had just happened than he'd been by all his enemies combined. The melding of their passion with the emotional words that had preceded it was more than he could bear.

He took slow, steadying breaths, his heart racing—and not only from the unimaginable intensity of his climax.

Long minutes passed.

Aurora's slow, even breathing told Julian she was asleep. Slowly he eased himself to his elbows, gazing into her beautiful face, her damp lashes fanning her cheeks like spikes of red-gold flame.

God help him, he was in over his head.

What had begun as an exciting adventure—passion and purpose necessitating an enticing, crucial union—had in a matter of days escalated into something much greater, something he'd never fathomed in his wildest dreams.

His wife was in love with him.

Just reflecting on Aurora's declaration made Julian's chest tighten, made a shambles of all the ludicrous denials he'd silently issued with regard to his own detachment. It was absurd to pretend nothing was changed, that Aurora's profession—while heartfelt and moving—altered nothing, deepened nothing, ignited nothing.

He'd be a liar and a fool.

Slowly Julian's hand came up, his knuckles caressing the smooth contour of his wife's cheek. The truth was, he wanted those words—and the emotion that spawned them. He relished the fact that Aurora had given him her heart, reveled in hearing her speak the words aloud. Even his body reacted fiercely, erupting more powerfully each time she gave voice to her feelings.

So much for his rationalization that the dynamic sexual pull between them was rooted in something purely physical—that Aurora's fiery spirit and beauty alone were responsible for arousing this unprecedented and insatiable craving inside him.

Clearly it was much more.

Sexual desire, no matter how intense, couldn't explain the tenderness he felt as he watched her discover the world, taste her first adventure, her first triumph, her first passion. Nor could it explain his own growing need to share her life and to have her share his, to keep her beside him every second—including instances when he'd never before allowed his domain to be invaded, much less invited someone to invade it: meetings with Stone, expeditions to uncover his prizes, gleanings into his past.

Lord help him, he'd even discussed Hugh with her, something he'd never felt compelled to do with anyone, partly because it hurt too bloody much and partly because he'd never found anyone to whom he wanted to divulge something so personal. Physical intimacy was one thing, emotional intimacy another.