The Black Diamond (5 page)

Julian stared at the key as if it were a loathsome insect. "Fine. Leave it on the table."

"You're not obligated to fulfill your father's request," Camden reminded him, placing the key on the small end table beside him.

"'Request'?" Julian tossed off his brandy. "That wasn't a request, Henry, it was blackmail."

"Then why are you complying? Certainly not to unearth the stone—you've always expressed utter disdain for the diamond and all who seek it."

"I'm complying for Hugh. I'm complying because everything my father enumerated in that clause is true—about my priorities, about the ramifications of my being the last living Bencroft, about the debt I owe my ancestors." A bitter laugh. "My father might have been a coldhearted bastard but he wasn't stupid. He knew precisely where to find my Achilles' heel. And find it he did." Julian frowned, glancing restlessly about. "Clearly I'll need access to this mausoleum in order to amass his papers. Therefore, we'll have to defer our discussion about selling it—for a few months—until I've fulfilled the terms of my father's so-called legacy."

"You're confident you'll find the stone."

"I don't fail."

"Dozens of others have."

"I'm not others."

The elderly solicitor's lips twitched. "I would agree. In fact, when I compare my understanding of you with the stories passed down to me about your great-grandfather, I'd venture to say the two of you are a great deal alike. According to my family's reports, Geoffrey Bencroft was quite a colorful character."

"So I've heard."

"He never could resist a challenge. Can you?"

Julian arched a sardonic brow. "Evidently not."

"That's precisely what I wanted to hear—more than enough to ensure a decision I made long years ago." So saying, Camden extracted another sealed document from his portfolio, together with a small ornate chest—plainly the cause for the portfolio's weighted bulk—and a corresponding key.

"What is that?" Julian asked, his curiosity instantly roused.

"A strongbox. One whose contents have until now remained a mystery, even to me."

"I don't understand."

"You will." Camden tore open the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper. "This document, witnessed by my father, was carefully locked in our office safe, together with the strongbox, sixty years ago. In order to properly carry out the terms specified herein, I was verbally apprised of what they were, although the document itself has remained unopened until this very day. Once I've read it to you, you'll understand why that is."

"I'm thoroughly intrigued," Julian murmured, his expression intent. "What does this mysterious document say?"

"It reads as follows. 'If you're hearing these words, then George Camden—or whichever of his descendants is currently handling the Bencroft legal matters—has deemed you worthy. I granted the Camdens the right to make this determination because I trust them, and because I realize I will no longer be alive to personally select the right man to inherit my most valuable asset: my heritage. My only son, Chilton, is thoroughly unacceptable. He has no heart, no insight, and no exceptional talents other than ruthlessness. If this document is being read aloud, then my prayers have been answered and the Bencrofts can at long last boast a duke whose adventurous spirit and unwavering commitment—albeit to rules of his own making—match my own. But spirit and commitment are not enough. You must also possess instinct and cunning, both of which are as inborn as spirit. Therefore, I put to you this test. Before you lies a chest whose contents are known only to me. They are the link to your past—worthless to most, not so to one such as yourself. Camden will give you the key. 'Tis your task to open the box. Do so and the gates to your ancestry will open. Fail and they'll remain closed, lying in wait for an adventurer and a duke yet to be'." Camden paused. "The document is signed Geoffrey Bencroft, 6th August, 1758."

"Fascinating." With each passing moment Julian had grown more absorbed. Now, he leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the chest. "Why would opening the box prove difficult?"

"Perhaps because there's no visible keyhole." Camden offered Julian both the box and the requisite key. "I studied the chest throughout my entire carriage ride to Morland. If there's a slot to be found, I certainly can't see it."

"Which leaves one of two possibilities. Either whoever crafted the chest chose to keep the slot concealed or the chest must be opened by some means other than a key." Julian examined the heavy box, exploring the domed lid, flat base, and gold plating that embellished the front and sides. "Iron," he deduced, rapping his knuckles along the surface. "Many layers thick." He glanced at the key, eyes narrowed in thought. "The key and the chest match perfectly, right down to their gilded trim. I doubt anyone would go to the trouble of constructing the two together just to render the key useless, especially since, according to my great-grandfather, the contents of this box would be valueless to most. So I'll abandon my latter theory in favor of the former, and assume the key does in fact open the chest. Now for the key. It's short and its notches are slender. The only way it could penetrate the box is if the spot concealing the keyhole were constructed of a thinner iron than that which comprises the remainder of the chest. And since I can't find any discernable thinning of the metal…" He frowned, running his fingers around the edges of the ornate trim.

"Yes?"
Camden
prompted.

"Then the means by which to open this chest is hidden beneath this decorative plate somewhere, doubtless under a particularly thick section that could hide the thinner iron beneath it." Again Julian assessed the box, his gaze lingering over each segment of trim. "Look at this," he noted aloud. "There are four engraved knobs, one on each corner of the chest. The lower two are definitely more substantial than the uppers. Let's try those." So saying, he gripped first the left then the right knob, exerting gentle pressure on each.

The left knob yielded no results.

The right one, however, seemed to give the tiniest bit, easing ever so slightly to one side.

It was enough to convince Julian he'd found what he sought.

Intensifying the pressure, he urged the knob over, sliding it away until the spot it had concealed was visible.

A slim keyhole met his gaze.

"Splendid," Camden breathed, shaking his head in wonder.

"Not yet," Julian corrected. "Not until we're sure of our success." He fitted the key into its slot and turned, waiting until he heard a click. Then he attempted to lift the strongbox lid.

It rose without protest.

"Now we're sure," Julian proclaimed, anticipation swelling inside him like a great untamed wave.

Abruptly Camden came to his feet.

"Henry?" Julian's head shot up. "Where are you going?"

"Home. Geoffrey's instructions were that the recipient of this box review the contents privately." Another amazed shake of the head. "You are astounding, Julian. Everything your great-grandfather hoped for and more."

Julian stood, his stare still fixed on the strongbox. "I'll contact you soon."

"No hurry." Camden gathered up the portfolio, keeping his gaze carefully averted from the strongbox. "I'll show myself out. Good luck, Julian."

Alone in the library, Julian locked the door, then returned to his seat … and the chest.

There were two items within: a gleaming dagger that boasted an ornately carved handle with the likeness of a fox upon it, and an old worn journal. With but a cursory glance at the dagger, Julian took up the journal and began to read.

An hour later, he lowered the book to the table, his mind racing with all he'd just learned. With newfound respect, he picked up the dagger, examining it at close range, marveling at what it represented.

The implications were staggering.

And they involved more than just the Bencrofts.

Leaning his head back against the sofa, Julian considered his options.

The solution came to him in a stunning jolt. And a slow smile spread across his face.

* * *

"Was that Lord Guillford who just left?" Aurora asked as Courtney entered the bedchamber.

Her friend nodded, her face clouded with worry. "Yes."

"Need I ask why he'd come to Pembourne?"

"No."

"Did he say anything … unexpected?"

Courtney met the question head-on. "Only that you'd shocked and shamed him, and that it was probably best you remained unmarried—to anyone—given the circumstances."

"In other words, I've not only been labeled a harlot, but an unfeeling bitch who would blatantly scorn her own brother." With a frustrated sigh, Aurora rose from her rocking chair, wishing she could undo every moment since she'd left Pembourne last night. "Courtney, what can I say to make this easier for Slayde? How can I make him believe I hadn't an inkling the man I asked to ruin me was a Bencroft?"

"He does believe you," Courtney replied. "As for making it easier, I doubt that's possible. He was worried sick when he realized you were gone, especially after the guards found your tracks in the snow and realized you weren't taking an innocent stroll to the lighthouse to see Mr. Scollard, but were headed for the village. Then, reaching the village, running into Lady Altec, who delightedly informed him you were at Dawlish's—that gave Slayde an inkling of your motives."

"He must have been furious."

"Let's just say this is one confrontation I'm glad I missed. From what I could pry out of Slayde when he came home, I'd say he was totally overwrought by the time he burst into your arranged tête-à-tête. And then to find you with Julian Bencroft…" Courtney rolled her eyes. "Suffice it to say that this one, my impulsive friend, is not going to vanish overnight. You know how Slayde views the Bencrofts."

"The same way I do—as the enemy. Hell and damnation," Aurora exploded, "why couldn't that man in the tavern have been anyone but
him?"

"I can't answer that. But, according to what you've told me, Lawrence Bencroft's son was as surprised to learn your identity as you were to learn his."

"He was. You should have seen the mortified look on his face when he spoke my name. He uttered it as one would a vicious oath."

Courtney crossed over to the window, glancing shrewdly at her friend as she passed. "You sound disappointed about his reaction. What's more, you look disappointed." Pausing, Courtney turned, leaning back against the sill and folding her arms across her chest as she faced
Aurora
. "Would you care to tell me about Morland's new duke? I presume you did have a chance to exchange a few words before Lady Altec's arrival inspired you to fling yourself into his arms. Which reminds me, how is it that you heard the dowager's approaching footsteps but not Slayde's? I should think your brother's strides would be louder and far more familiar."

Aurora
flushed.

"I repeat," Courtney said, "would you care to describe Julian Bencroft for me?"

"All right, yes, he's handsome,"
Aurora
snapped. "And charming and exciting and worldly. He's also Lawrence Bencroft's son."

"And the embrace Slayde interrupted? Was that as staged as you professed?" Courtney waved away
Aurora
's stammering protest. "
Aurora
, this is me you're talking to. I
know
what a dreadful liar you are. Please—the truth."

Aurora
stared at the carpet. "I feel so guilty, especially given how upset Slayde is. But, no, the kiss wasn't entirely feigned. Perhaps it wasn't feigned at all, now that I consider it. But at the time—I didn't think. I just acted. I don't know when the performance ended and the pleasure began. All I know is that I felt as if I were drowning and I had no desire to swim. I never imagined…" She broke off.