by Andrea Kane
Keeping up with this woman, much less staying one step ahead of her, was going to be the challenge of a lifetime. "No," Julian replied. "I'm not intimidated—not by this curse or any other. Why? Because I don't believe in curses, only in people who perpetuate them."
"You sound just like Slayde."
"Then your brother is a wise and sensible man." Julian paused. "I presume you do believe in the curse?"
"Absolutely. Just because we don't see things doesn't mean they don't exist. Mr. Scollard taught me that. In this case, I think the tragedies that have befallen our families speak for themselves. The curse is real." A mutinous spark lit her eyes. "And don't try to dissuade me. Slayde's attempted it. So has Courtney. I'm unyielding in my conviction."
"That doesn't surprise me." Julian grinned. "You're unyielding about everything. Tell me, did your parents name you Aurora because like the dawn you're relentless until you've awakened everyone to your presence?"
To Julian's surprise, a wave of sadness crossed Aurora's face. "Actually, that's one memory I do have of my parents," she murmured with none of Julian's reticence to discuss that which was close in heart. "I must have been about four years old. I remember asking Mama why she chose to name me Aurora. She said that she and Papa decided on that name because the day I was born the sun rose in their hearts, and because I filled every subsequent day of their lives with sunlight."
Julian framed Aurora's face between his palms. "That's lovely," he said gently. "And accurate. You are like sunlight, a brilliant source of warmth and joy. Forgive me for extinguishing your light, soleil—even for a moment."
She gave him a small smile. "You're forgiven."
That fleeting glimpse of the vulnerability which hovered just beneath Aurora's fiery exterior elicited a rush of guilt—and a tremendous sense of responsibility—within Julian. In sharp contrast to his reckless existence and despite her own adventurous spirit, Aurora was naive and protected, cushioned by her brother's imposed isolation. True, as a Huntley she was susceptible to danger—accentuated danger thanks to Lawrence's unfounded accusations that the black diamond was secreted at Pembourne. That susceptibility, however, would vanish when she relinquished her family name and took on Julian's. The question was, vanish in exchange for what? Aurora hadn't any idea what lay ahead as his wife, the transformation he was proposing along with marriage—a transformation that extended far beyond the imminent quest for the black diamond, traversed the entirety of his life, Merlin's life.
Julian frowned. He had to think beyond the immediate crusade, consider the future that would follow. Aurora wanted no part of refuge and seclusion, and he wasn't fool enough to believe she'd remain home while he ventured forth to take on the world. No, his prospective bride would doubtless expect to be right at his side, brimming with enthusiasm as they sailed away to embrace whatever challenges lay ahead. And her expectations would be justified. After all, hadn't he just offered her passion, freedom, adventure? Indeed he had. And he could offer her all of them in abundance. The problem was that along with freedom and adventure came perils. Had Aurora any idea what those perils might be, how many powerful enemies could be acquired in this type of work?
How many he himself had already acquired?
No. She hadn't. And it was up to him to apprise her.
"Aurora," he said abruptly. "Before we continue, you need to understand a few things, not only about the black diamond, but about me."
"Very well." She settled herself, folding her hands in her lap. "I'm listening."
"I'll begin with the stone. There are dangers associated with hunting it down, just as there were when our great-grandfathers went after it. Why else do you think Geoffrey, after two decades of serving the King, suddenly made provisions with his solicitor to keep the Fox's journal and dagger, something he hadn't done prior to any of his previous missions? He obviously realized the dangers were far greater than usual, that there were hordes of bloodthirsty privateers out there who would gladly slit his throat to gain possession of the jewel."
"I surmised as much," Aurora put in as calmly as if she were discussing a change in the weather.
"Aurora." Julian's palms dropped to her shoulders, gripped them tightly. "I vowed to your brother mere minutes ago that I would make certain you remained safe. I mean to keep that vow. But I need your cooperation. This isn't a game. Privateers don't adhere to rules, nor do they operate by a code of honor. If you and I strike an agreement, it will be I—not you—who incur the risks. Is that clear?"
Exhilaration splashed across Aurora's face. "That's why you're so adamant about this marriage taking place. You not only believe that by joining forces we can expedite the search for the black diamond, you believe my help is required to unearth it. What is it I must do? Where is it we must travel to gather our clues? India? Tibet? China?"
This was worse than Julian had feared. "Did you hear a word I just said?" he demanded.
"I heard you." She sat forward eagerly. "Tell me where we must voyage to ensure that it is we and not those odious privateers of whom you spoke who find the stone."
"If I'm right—nowhere."
Her shoulders slumped. "Nowhere?"
"Other than Pembourne and Morland Manor," Julian amended, finding it difficult not to smile at her crestfallen expression. "Consider the facts. Our great-grandfathers were partners. Mine left the legacy of the Fox to his first deserving heir. It stands to reason that the Falcon might very well have done the same. 'Tis up to us to find that legacy, in whatever form James left it. By reading Geoffrey's journal, I peeled back one layer of the past. 'Tis time we peeled back the second: namely, learning more about James. The logical place to do that is right here at Pembourne. Your great-grandfather's past might not be as concisely arranged as Geoffrey's, but he's bound to have left clues. Clues which when added to those we already possess, together with those I have yet to uncover at Morland, will shed light on the Fox and the Falcon—their lives, their treasures … and most of all, the place in which they concealed those treasures. A place that can only be uncovered by the Huntleys and the Bencrofts when working together—as partners."
"You believe the black diamond is hidden in one of our homes?"
"No. I believe your great-grandfather returned to England and secreted the stone in the customary hiding spot he and Geoffrey used to conceal their wares prior to delivering them to King George. 'Twas the only way James could be certain that should anything happen to him, Geoffrey would know just where to go to retrieve the stone and fulfill the mission. However, I also believe the clues leading to that location are in not one, but both our homes. And that with a direct and concentrated effort, we can amass them, find that hiding place … and consequently, the black diamond."
"Which is right here in England." Aurora gave a resigned sigh. "Your theory makes sense. If all the clues are hidden at Pembourne and Morland, 'twould explain why none of the privateers who have combed the globe in search of the stone was successful in finding it." A quizzical look. "But if we're not going abroad, what new dangers would be threatening us?"
"To begin with, you'd no longer be within your brother's fortress, protected by his guards," Julian pointed out. "You'd be coming and going with your husband, placing your life, your well-being, in his hands—my hands." Julian's thumb caressed her cheek. "And that, soleil, requires trust."
Aurora never averted her gaze. "I realize that."
"Trust," he added meaningfully, "is a gift that must be earned over time—which we don't have."
"I disagree. Not about the fact that we haven't the luxury of time, but about the fact that time is a requirement for trust. Trust comes from within and is ofttimes instinctive rather than earned. I trusted you without even knowing your name, from the moment you scooped me up in Dawlish's and rescued me from my own stupidity. I trusted you then. I trust you now."
"I'm humbled." Julian felt oddly moved by the heartfelt candor of her words. "Further, I promise to do everything in my power to live up to that trust. Incl
uding being honest with you, even if it means your refusing my proposal."
"Which brings us to whatever it is you were alluding to when you said there were a few things I needed to understand about you."
"Exactly." Julian drew a slow, contemplative breath. "The search for the black diamond notwithstanding, do you realize what I do? Who I am? Are you truly aware of the kind of life I lead?"
"By experience, no. By definition, yes. You're a mercenary, a man who seeks wealth and excitement by traveling the world, taking on ventures that yield huge monetary rewards and equally huge doses of exhilaration and triumph."
A corner of Julian's mouth lifted. "Accurate enough. But you failed to mention the darker aspects: the dangers, the risks, the consequences of restoring one man's possession by wresting it from another. In short, I've learned to sleep lightly, with one eye open, and never to be caught with my back turned. If I did, let's just say there are many who for various reasons and in various parts of the world would be delighted to plunge a knife into it."
Aurora's brows drew together, not so much with worry as with speculation. "In other words, you have quite a few enemies."
"Enough."
"Can you tell me about them? Or about your exploits, for that matter?"
"Perhaps someday," Julian hedged. "For now, you need only know the facts. My life is turbulent. Turbulent and dangerous."
"I suspected as much."
"You're not intimidated?"
A smile curved Aurora's lips. "Why should I be? You vowed to Slayde that you'd keep me safe."
"So I did." Julian was claimed by an odd surge of relief—one that had nothing to do with his determination to find the black diamond. "And so I shall." His gaze fell to her lips, sparking a nearly uncontrollable urge to drag her into his arms, rekindle the fire they'd ignited last night. "Once we've restored the black diamond, you're welcome to stay behind, forego the rigors of my existence," he offered, knowing damned well he didn't mean a word of it. The more intimate aspects of this marriage, the erotic fantasy of Aurora as his wife, necessitated having her with him—under him, surrounding him—every possible moment.
Evidently Aurora sensed the direction his thoughts had taken, because her awareness of him seemed to intensify, her breath coming a bit faster, her lips parting beneath his heated gaze. "Stay behind?" she managed.
"Um-hum." Giving in to his craving to touch her more fully, Julian slid his hand beneath her hair, caressing her nape in slow, heated strokes. "I own a great deal of property, including a manor in Cornwall that overlooks the water." He angled her head, pressed his lips to the pulse at her throat, fully aware he was using seduction to influence her decision and feeling not a shred of guilt for doing so. "When I'm in England, I spend most of my time there. I think you'd like it. You could make it your home during my absence." His mouth slid around, tasted the delicate line of her jaw. "I employ a small staff of servants there. They could look after you while I'm abroad. I'd be away several months at a time…"
"No." Aurora was trembling but her words were utterly coherent, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "I've had more than enough tranquility and confinement to last a lifetime. If we marry, I want to accompany you on your adventures."
"I think that could be arranged," Julian murmured, teasing the corner of her mouth with his. "Most of the time," he clarified, his hands gripping her shoulders, urging her closer. "If there's excessive risk involved, I reserve the right to insist that you stay in England, safe."
"So long as that isn't too often," she qualified breathlessly. "I'm not afraid of risk."
"Only curses," he modified in a husky whisper.
"Only curses."
"Agreed, then. On most excursions you'll accompany me."
"After all, you did promise me passion." Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes drowsy with awakening sensation. "And passion, as I understand it, requires proximity, does it not?"
"Indeed it does. Close proximity." Aroused beyond bearing, Julian stood, dragging Aurora to her feet and into his arms. "I think we've negotiated enough, don't you, soleil?"
"Oh, definitely." Unashamedly Aurora reached up, twined her arms about Julian's neck. "From the tenor of our conversation, I was beginning to fear you wanted strictly a marriage of convenience."
"You have no worries on that score." His fingers slid down the length of her arms to her shoulders, threaded through her hair. "No worries at all."
With that his mouth seized hers, capturing it for a scorching, melding, bottomless kiss that eclipsed the memory of last night beneath its molten flames.
Blood pounded through Julian's head, hammered at his loins, as the same dark wave that had claimed him at Dawlish's engulfed him, dragging him into a hot sea of sensation. Aurora's taste was heaven, her scent and feel more intoxicating than brandy—even through the confines of their clothes. He couldn't get enough of her, parting her lips, possessing her with deep, hungry strokes of his tongue. He hauled her closer, lifted her into him.
And felt the exhilaration of her response.
With an inarticulate sound of pleasure, Aurora threw herself into the kiss, holding him fiercely, meeting the tantalizing strokes of his tongue with her own.
The fire blazed higher.
Anchoring her with one arm, Julian's other hand slid around to cup her breast, his thumb finding her already hardened nipple and rubbing it—back and forth, back and forth—groaning aloud at the sheer agonizing pleasure, drinking in Aurora's tiny whimpers of arousal. He tore his mouth from hers, lowering his head to capture the hardened peak between his lips, tugging at the wet silk until Aurora cried out, clutched his shirtfront in tight, shivering fists.
He was actually on the verge of lowering her to the oriental rug when the grandfather clock in the hall began to chime, penetrating Julian's passion-dazed mind and reminding him of where they were, how brief a time remained before Slayde returned.
With a herculean effort, he raised his head, staring into Aurora's astonished turquoise eyes as he slowly lowered her to her feet. "Are you all right?"
A quavering nod. "I think so."
"Then you're faring better than I." Dragging air into his lungs, Julian tried to remember when he'd ever felt so disoriented, so out of control … so frustrated. "I'm half-tempted to whisk you off to Gretna Green right now and damn the formalities to hell."
"I'm half-tempted to let you," Aurora returned candidly, adjusting her bodice with unsteady fingers.
Julian watched her, wanting nothing more than to tear the gown from her body and bury himself inside her. "Aurora—marry me."
She tilted her head back, an impish grin curving her lips. "You're a very convincing man, Your Grace. Further, if what just happened wasn't an acceptance of your marriage proposal, I don't know what would be."
"What just happened was only the beginning." He framed her hot cheeks between his palms, raised her gaze to meet his. "Remember one thing, Aurora. I want that stone. But I also want you."
Her fingertips traced his lower lip. "How fortunate. Soon you'll have both."
"Is that a yes?"
"That's a yes."
"I'll get a special license." He drew her fingers into his mouth one by one, nibbling lightly. "How much time do you need?"
"How much do you intend to provide?"
"A fortnight. No more. Less if possible."
"I think a fortnight would be ideal. It would give me enough time to prepare and Courtney enough time to convince my brother he's doing the right thing by handing me over to you."
Julian chuckled. "I presume the latter will take a full two weeks."
"Maybe not. Slayde must already be amenable to the idea or he wouldn't have allowed us this time alone. But even if he doesn't require much convincing…" She broke off, a wistful look crossing her face.
"What is it?"
"Would you think I were foolish if I told you I'd always dreamed of a church wedding? Not a big church—heaven knows, the Huntleys haven't enough friends to fill even
a small one, given how isolated I've been and how terrified people are of us. But a church nonetheless, one that makes me feel like a real bride, dressed in a traditional wedding dress of silver and white, and a lace veil topped by a coronet of wildflowers." She gave a rueful sigh. "I suppose the whole notion is absurd given the scandal I caused yesterday. We should simply have the clergyman conduct a simple, expedient ceremony and have done with it. 'Tis just something I always dreamed of."
"Then consider your dream a reality." Rather than amusement Julian felt strangely touched by the details of her dream.
"You don't mind?"
"On the contrary, I can hardly wait to see what a vision my traditional bride will be."
"The bridegroom will have to be a vision as well," she reminded him.
A twinkle. "Am I to understand my betrothed finds me lacking in physical appeal?"
