The Black Diamond (32 page)

Although with Aurora both were beyond comprehension.

She'd even made walking into Morland Manor bearable. From this point on, whenever he reflected on the mausoleum in which he'd grown up, the house that until now had signified naught but emptiness and pain, he would envision not the angry battles with his father, but the enthralling moments in Aurora's arms.

Moments during which she'd told him she loved him.

He didn't doubt that it was true. Especially after what had just transpired in this room—not their lovemaking, but the fervent discourse Aurora had delivered just prior to it. The poignant way she'd confronted his self-censure, urging him to accept Hugh's death, to let go of a past he couldn't change—and all because she wanted him to attain a peace that had until now eluded him. Her insight into his thoughts, his motivations, was staggering—even he himself had never realized just how deeply Hugh's death had impacted his outlook, the choices he'd made, the intensity of his commitment to those for whom he felt responsible.

She wanted him safe … no, she'd ordered him to be safe, in the way only Aurora had of doing. And she'd made no effort to conceal why. It was because she loved him, needed him. She'd admitted it without the slightest hesitation, offered him the kind of emotional openness he'd never believed possible.

But then, this was Aurora—utterly and refreshingly forthright, vibrant, impetuous. And so bloody passionate she scalded him down to his soul.

In over his head? Hell, he was drowning.

Julian's hand fell away from Aurora's cheek, his mind racing with the implications of all he'd just contemplated.

It was time to stop running, to stop dismissing his feelings for Aurora as the natural consequence of an ever-burgeoning passion, to stop fearing the ramifications of what already was.

The truth was staring him straight in the face. He'd fallen in love with his wife.

The realization was startling, even though on some peripheral level he'd known it—battled it—for days. He who needed no one, relied upon no one, shared his life with no one, had lost his heart to his bride.

More startling still was the fact that as he now confronted the reality of his feelings, he found himself accepting them with astonishing ease—at least with regard to the relinquishing of his emotional freedom. Probably because when it came to Aurora, what he'd be relinquishing paled in comparison to what he'd be gaining. His breathtaking bride had totally reshaped and redefined his views of passion and marriage, offering him a union that was exquisitely unconventional and far superior to anything he'd ever anticipated, much less witnessed in others. Love with her would doubtless be the same. Having Aurora by his side would renew his excitement, his sense of adventure. For, as they traveled the world together, he'd be seeing it all for the first time—through his bride's exuberant eyes.

Yes, loving Aurora would give him a real reason to sail off on new ventures. But more significant, for the first time in his life it would give him a real reason to come home.

A muscle worked in Julian's jaw. The whole idea of being in love with his wife would be downright captivating were it not for the more sobering aspect, the one Aurora herself had touched on during her impassioned speech—and the one that had compelled him to battle his feelings for her.

Safeguarding lives was something he took very seriously. That task was difficult enough when those involved were emotional strangers. But when they were his brother, and now his wife, it became infinitely more critical, his sense of responsibility intensifying to vast proportions.

He'd been fully aware of all that the day he asked Slayde for Aurora's hand; and he'd accepted his new obligations the day he slipped a wedding ring on her finger. She'd become his that day, and he would protect her life with his own.

Then it had been critical.

Now it was essential.

Because now he was in love with her, transforming his task from a fierce responsibility to an emotional necessity. And
that
rendered him susceptible, vulnerable, giving his enemies—and Aurora's—a sharp edge.

So be it, Julian thought, determination pulsing through his veins. He'd sharpen his wits, heighten his resolve to shield Aurora from harm. And he
would
shield her from harm, come hell or high water. But he wouldn't—
couldn't
—stop loving her. What's more, he didn't want to. Loving her felt more right than all his triumphant adventures combined.

He had to tell her.

Tenderly he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, lowered his mouth to hers. He would awaken her, make love to her, whisper his newly discovered feelings as she shattered in his arms…

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed six.

Julian frowned, jolted back to a less-pleasant but all too crucial reality. The night was upon them. He glanced toward the window, noting that the winter sky was already dark. They'd have to hurry if they wanted to reach Fowey, check out both taverns Stone had mentioned, and still hope to find Barnes. Given the sailor's advanced age, he would probably leave his fellow seamen and go home to bed at a reasonable hour.

Finding him was vital.

Just as vital was getting Aurora in and out of those seedy pubs as quickly as possible. The later the hour became, the greater was their chance of running into trouble.

And of running into Macall.

Soberly Julian gazed down at his wife, Stone's warning resounding through his head.
Remember what I said, Merlin. Macall's after ye—and he's got more ammunition now
. With that, Stone had paused, glanced at Aurora.
Don't let him use it.

Stone didn't know just how accurate an assessment he'd made.

A near-violent surge of protectiveness shot through Julian, followed by a jolt of rage. Let that filthy bastard Macall try to hurt his wife. If he so much as touched her, he'd be dead before he blinked.

Sucking in his breath, Julian shelved his grand emotional proclamation for later, kissing Aurora again, this time purposefully rather than seductively. "Sweetheart, wake up."

She sighed, mumbling something unintelligible as she unconsciously lifted her face to receive his kiss.

"
Soleil
," he breathed into her lips. "It's time. We've got to dress, gulp down a hasty dinner, and ride to Fowey all within the hour."

Aurora's eyes snapped open. "I fell asleep," she announced.

A corner of his mouth lifted. "Yes, I know."

"Ummm, you feel good," Aurora murmured, wrapping her arms about Julian's neck, lifting her lower body to his.

"Do that again and we'll never find Barnes," he warned, fighting the urge to answer her body's invitation with his own.

Aurora stilled, moaning a protest. "What a wretched ultimatum."

"Not an ultimatum,
soleil
." He threaded his fingers through her hair. "Only a delay."

"I hate waiting."

"I know." He chuckled, tracing the curve of her lips. "When it comes to you, so do I."

"Very well. If we must go, we must go." She hesitated, fully awake now. "Julian, will you give some thought to what I said before?"

"Oh, I already have." He withdrew from her reluctantly, kneeling to adjust her disheveled gown. "The whole time you were asleep." He smoothed her skirts back into place. "We'll talk later, after tonight's adventure is over."

"All right." Aurora searched his face as if seeking an answer she sensed hovered just beneath the surface. Her gaze dropped and fell on her rumpled gown, and abruptly her thoughts veered off in another direction. "I can't go out wearing this," she muttered, examining the gown's ripped layers and muddied hem.

"No, you can't." Julian's eyes twinkled as he refastened his breeches—which looked equally as pathetic as his wife's gown. "That's why I woke you. If we hurry, we'll have time for a quick bath and a change of clothes. I'll have Gin arrange for both. All we have to do is slip upstairs to our rooms."

"Rooms?" Aurora tossed back her hair and laughed. "You scarcely let me peek into my new chambers, much less explore them. I hardly know where they are, or what they look like."

"They're pale blue and adjoining mine. That's all you need to know. Trust me, your chambers won't be getting much use." With a wicked grin, Julian unbolted the door. "Shall we?"

"Absolutely." Aurora crossed over, smoothing her palms up her husband's shirtfront. "You look hopelessly disheveled, you know. As if you've been making love all afternoon."

"Do I?" Julian caught her wrist, brought her palm to his lips. "That's because I have. What's more, if I had my way, the afternoon would be stretching into evening, then into night."

"I'll remind you of that later."

"I'm counting on it." His tongue traced a fine line to her thumb.

"Julian—stop," Aurora commanded, shivering. "Or we'll never leave this room, much less travel to Fowey."

"You're right." Sighing, he released her. "Are you ready to go upstairs?"

"Indeed. Maybe if we run fast enough, the servants won't notice our tousled state." Skepticism flashed in her eyes. "Never mind. Knowing your servants, I doubt we'll fool them." Aurora paused, her lips pursed as a sudden thought seemed to intrude. "Julian, that reminds me, I've been doing a bit of thinking of my own. I know this is a most unconventional household. But I am a duchess, and I do require a lady's maid, do I not?"

Julian arched a brow, wondering where this was leading. "Of course."

"And it is proper for me to select this person myself, isn't it?"

"If I remember my protocol correctly, yes, it is."

"Good." She gave him a dazzling smile. "Then I choose Emma."

"Emma?" Whatever he'd expected, it hadn't been this. "Sweetheart, she's barely fifteen. Further, she has absolutely no experience at being a lady's maid."

"True. But youth and inexperience do have their benefits. Emma will be a quick and eager study—not to mention the fact that she'll have no means of comparison and will therefore never know how unorthodox a mistress she truly has."

Julian chuckled. "I can't disagree with that."

"Then it's settled?"

Insight dawned. "How much of your decision is based on the reasons you've just given me and how much is based on the story I told you of how Emma came to be here?"

Aurora regarded him with her perpetual candor. "Equal amounts of both. Further, I can't stop remembering the way Emma looked at me when we met—as if I held all the wonders of the world in my hands. And not because I'm titled or even because I'm married to you—although she stares at you with utter worship in her eyes—but because I'm settled, happy, with a future that I embrace. I understand her better than she thinks. When I was her age my parents were gone, Slayde was constantly abroad, and I was sequestered at Pembourne like some trapped doe. I felt lonely and out of place, and despite the mass of kindly servants around me, I always felt alone, with a less than promising future. I imagine she must feel the same. I think I could help her, offer her a position she'd enjoy and a woman she can talk to."

"I agree." Julian caressed his wife's cheek, moved by her generosity of spirit. "Then Emma it is." His hand curved about her nape and he drew her toward him, lowering his mouth to hers. "Your parents' choice of names for you was most fitting," he murmured into her lips. "As was their reasoning for choosing it. You do fill the world with sunlight. T
hank
you,
soleil
." He enfolded her against him, kissing her more deeply.

"You think Emma will be pleased?" Aurora whispered breathlessly.

"I think she'll be thrilled." With the greatest of efforts, Julian raised his head, enjoying the dazed look in his wife's eyes—and the disappointment on her face. "I also think we'd best leave this room right now, before my resolve completely shatters and I take you right here, right now, and Barnes be damned."