The Black Diamond (43 page)

"
Now
can we go?" Aurora demanded, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Yes,
soleil
, now we can go."

They plunged into the cavern, remaining still only long enough to assess their surroundings. The walls and ceiling were granite, the ground a rutted combination of dirt and stones. The ceiling, not more than five and a half feet high, cleared Aurora's head by a good five inches, but didn't come close to admitting Julian's towering frame. He compensated for that by stooping from the waist, keeping his head straight and his eyes fixed on their intended course.

"It's a natural cave," he announced, holding out the lantern so Aurora could see. "We've got a few feet on either side of us, which is good, but no room above us—or, I should say, above
me
." A frown. "That's going to make it difficult for me to maneuver the lantern and myself at the same time, not to mention consult the sketch. And
that
, unfortunately, means our progress is going to be slow."

"It doesn't have to be." Aurora gripped her husband's arm. "I have nearly half a foot of space over my head. I can move freely—even run, if need be. Give me the sketch and the lantern. Let me lead the way. You've already studied the drawing. If I take a wrong turn, you'll stop me."

"If I can catch you, you mean," Julian retorted dryly. Regarding Aurora's avid expression, he sighed, relenting with more than a touch of uneasiness. "Rory, I'll let you do this under one condition. Promise me you'll control that bloody reckless streak of yours. No running—the ground is rough and uneven, and you could trip and break your neck. No venturing more than a few feet in front of me. Most of all, no exploring unknown sites that pique your interest. Agreed?"

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. "You know me well, don't you, Merlin? All right, agreed. I'll be disgustingly boring and obedient."

"And I'll be right behind you to ensure that you are." He handed her the sketch and lantern. "Remember—go slowly. The ground is broken and embedded with rocks."

"I'm too excited to trip." Despite her quip, Aurora complied, knowing that to do otherwise would be sheer stupidity. Besides, they were so very close to their goal.

Clutching the lantern, she scanned the lower portion of the sketch, then struck off, veering to the left.

Their path wound in serpentine fashion as they walked past numerous passageways that led to parts unknown. Some minutes later, Aurora stopped to consult the drawing. "How much farther do you think we have to go?"

"If our course stays true to scale, we're more than halfway there," Julian supplied from just behind her. "Curve twice more—each time following the passage to the extreme right—then veer sharply left. Walk about ten or twelve feet, I should say. Then stop. The opening on Geoffrey's sketch is somewhere in that vicinity."

Aurora sucked in her breath. "Splendid." She continued as Julian had instructed her, following the precise course the drawing depicted, stepping gingerly over sharp pieces of rock and cracked sections of dirt. She could feel Julian's presence behind her, his excitement as palpable as her own.

"We're here."

Julian's terse words sent shivers down her spine and Aurora halted, holding out the lantern and surveying as much of the nearby area as she could. Below them, the same ragged path. Above them, the same low granite ceiling. And to either side of them…

A harsh gasp escaped Aurora's mouth. "Julian, look."

Even as she spoke, he was easing past her, seizing the lantern, and peering over her head at a spot where the granite wall adjoined the ceiling. A section of stone had been cut away, replaced by what appeared to be a grating of some sort—one that resembled an iron gate. From what Aurora could make out, the gate appeared to be approximately the size of a window, and there was an alcove behind it, although how deeply that alcove was set into the stone, she couldn't tell. What she could tell quite clearly by the light of the lantern was that the gate boasted a thick, hinged, vertical column that spanned its length dead center, and that opposite the hinge on the left and right-hand sides of the gate were carved two deep-slotted keyholes.

One keyhole was adorned with the image of a fox, the other of a falcon.

"This is it!" Aurora exclaimed. "We've found our great-grandfathers' hiding place!"

Exultantly Julian nodded, eyes narrowing as he examined the grating. "Geoffrey and James were ingenious to design this as they did. One alcove, one gate, two means of gaining entry. That way, either of them could get to the treasure if something should happen to the other. Clever as hell." Julian gave the grating a cursory rattle, confirming what they already knew—it was locked. "We don't need to guess how to open it."

"Can you see inside?"

"Only a glint of metal."

"I can't bear the anticipation." Realizing Julian's coat was still wrapped about her shoulders, Aurora dug into the pocket, extracting the keys one by one. "This key is Geoffrey's—it should coincide with the Fox." She pressed the key into Julian's palm.

Rather than inserting the key and opening the lock, Julian merely glanced down at the scrap of metal in his hand, then placed the lantern on a nearby ledge and turned to his wife. "Do you have James's key ready?"

"It's right here—why? You only need one key to get into the alcove."

"True. Nevertheless we're going to do this together." Julian's knuckles brushed her cheek, equal measures of pride and tenderness lacing his tone. "We're partners, my love. Just as our great-grandfathers before us—only, as Mr. Scollard so aptly put, our partnership exceeds friendship. I'll act on Geoffrey's behalf, and you on James's." He wrapped an arm about Aurora's waist, lifting her off the ground until she was at eye level with the keyhole. "Shall we?"

With trembling fingers, Aurora inserted James's key into the slot where the falcon gleamed, watching as Julian glided Geoffrey's key into the notch embellished by a fox.

Simultaneously she and Julian turned—and with two telltale clicks, the locks released.

Both sides of the door swung open.

"Let me do this part," Julian instructed, staying Aurora's immediate motion to reach inside and lowering her to her feet so he could devote his full attention to the matter at hand. "Lord alone knows what might be crawling around in there."

That convinced her.

Still, she stood on tiptoe, eyes straining as Julian reached into the dark recess.

An instant later he tugged out a strongbox, lowering it down far enough so they could both have a full view.

The chest was unadorned but for two gilded images on top—one in the shape of a fox, the other in that of a falcon.

"Oh, God. Julian, this really is happening." Impulsively Aurora reached forward and seized the strongbox, only to discover just how heavy the iron chest was. With great reluctance she forced herself to release it, digging her nails into her palms to curb her impatience. "Open it—quickly."

A corner of Julian's mouth lifted. "Such admirable restraint—caution over craving. I'm proud of you,
soleil
. You've become a true adventurer." He held out the chest, gripping it firmly as he offered it to her. "Go ahead. Reap your reward. I'll hold it, you open it."

"I? Really?"

"You. Really."

Aurora needed no second invitation. She yanked up the strongbox lid, and together she and Julian gazed inside.

Atop the contents was a single slip of paper, its words faint and faded but still discernible:

Whether truth or myth, it is written: 'He with a black heart who touches the jewel will reap eternal wealth, while becoming the carrion upon whom, for all eternity, others will feed'. If neither Geoffrey Bencroft nor I return to complete our mission, 'tis the task of our chosen descendants to do so. For our families, for our King and country, and for whatever forces might possibly exist that are greater yet less palpable than we—I beseech you, restore this gem to its rightful home. Then, for all eternity, peace will abound. James Huntley, 1758.

Sweeping the note from its bed, Aurora and Julian stared into the strongbox.

An enormous black jewel glistened back at them.

"The black diamond." This time Aurora couldn't restrain herself. She reached in, her fingers closing around the stone. Snatching it from the chest, she stared in amazement at the gem's unwieldy size. "Dear Lord—it fills my entire palm. It's immense."

"Yes, it is." Julian transferred the stone to his larger hand, holding it out so they could both admire the smooth, multifaceted surface by lantern light. "We did it, Aurora." Tearing his gaze from the stone, he met his wife's radiant stare, triumphant flames blazing in his topaz eyes. "We bloody well did it." Abruptly he replaced the gem in its iron bed and set the strongbox on the ledge beside the lantern, swinging Aurora into his arms and kissing her fiercely. "Hell and damnation, we did it!"

Elation exploded inside Aurora and she laughed, flinging her arms about her husband's neck. "Yes, we did it! At last—the curse of the black diamond will be ended, along with all the hatred, the fear, the wrongful accusations." Realization sank in, sweeter than all the world's adventures combined, and the thrill of victory lulled into a more wondrous sense of peace. "Just think," she whispered, accosted by a fuller, richer kind of joy. "The past will truly be righted and finally, finally put to rest. And oh, Julian, the future will be ours."

"The future and the world," Julian concurred fervently, his own exhilaration tempered by the same deep-seated happiness reflected in Aurora's eyes. With solemn reverence, he stroked her face, a myriad emotions tightening his. "I love you, Aurora Huntley Bencroft."

"And I you," she breathed. "As of today—as of this very minute—we've truly melded the Huntley and the Bencroft names, not just legally but actually." A poignant pause. "'Tis time for the peace James spoke of—and we shall commemorate it as he and Geoffrey would have wished." She raised her chin a notch, alerting Julian to the magnitude of her declaration. "I am now officially and proudly the Duchess of Morland." Her fingertips caressed her husband's nape. "And you, my darling husband, are truly the Duke of Morland—just as your great-grandfather before you. Chilton and Lawrence might have tainted the title, but they couldn't destroy it. Not when you're here to restore it to all its glorious, unconventional nobility."

A muscle worked in Julian's jaw.

"It's time, Julian," Aurora said with ardent conviction. "Let the anger and resentment go. Geoffrey would have wanted it that way." She never looked away. "So would Hugh."

That dissolved the last of Julian's resistance. Slowly he nodded, framing Aurora's face between his palms and making his own private peace with the past—and himself. "You're right," he acceded quietly, emotion darkening his gaze. "Very well then, the Duke and Duchess of Morland we are. Although I don't think I can ever bring myself to live in that mausoleum."

"You don't have to. I have splendid plans for your great-grandfather's estate. Plans that would make him and James very happy."

Julian looked intrigued. "Care to share those plans with me?"

"Later," she replied mysteriously. "Right now, all I want is to go home. Home—to Merlin Manor, our irreverent staff, and our soft, enticing bed." An impish smile. "Or have you forgotten my vow to best you?"

"To best me
and
to warm me," he reminded her, flashing that wicked grin Aurora loved so much. "The answer is no. I've forgotten neither. In fact, my beautiful wife, I think going home is an excellent idea. After all, before we ride first to Pembourne to flourish this stone before Courtney and Slayde, and then to London to turn it over to the Prince Regent, we owe it to ourselves, to truly celebrate our new titles—and seal our family union—properly."

Aurora's eyes danced. "Need I ask what 'properly' means?"

"No. You needn't."

"Do you think Geoffrey and James would object to our delaying our trip a day or two?"