by Andrea Kane
* * *
"Now, what questions can I answer for you?" Guillford inquired, steering the phaeton along the winding road, the pistol close by his side, lest Aurora make any attempt to escape.
Aurora studied his profile, wondering if he were totally composed or thoroughly insane. "I have dozens of questions. Beginning with: What do you want? Why are you kidnapping me? How do you know of Macall? Where are you taking me?" She drew a breath. "Shall I continue?"
Guillford looked distinctly amused. "That won't be necessary. I must admit, Aurora, you intrigue me. Had we wed, I believe you would have kept me thoroughly entertained. Taming you, however, that would have been a far more difficult task. Still, it might have been worth it. Your fire in my bed, your wealth in my keeping—perhaps I should have overlooked your indiscretion with Julian Bencroft and married you, tainted or not. The ton might have frowned, but only for a time. Eventually they would have forgotten the circumstances surrounding our marriage. Then I could have had it all."
"That doesn't answer my questions," Aurora retorted, ignoring his absurd fantasy. "Other than perhaps, the 'why'. Is it all for money?"
"Isn't everything? 'Tis either money or passion. And if you ask me, the former is far more valuable than the latter—and much harder to attain. But then, some men are fortunate enough to have both. Men like Julian Bencroft. Julian Bencroft and your brother, Slayde."
"Slayde?" Aurora started. "Where does Slayde fit into all this?"
"He's a Huntley. A wealthy, successful—damned lucky Huntley. That's how he fits into all this."
"You do business with him."
A harsh chuckle. "No, in this case, he does business with me. Or rather, for me. I reap a profit, he loses an investment. It works out quite nicely."
"I don't understand."
"Then let me explain. Did Slayde mention that splendid stallion I brought to his attention at our meeting the other day? 'Twas the reason I was at Pembourne—that, and to assess what I could learn about the whereabouts of that bloody black diamond."
The whereabouts of the black diamond? Aurora's head began swimming as she assimilated the viscount's words, more questions forming, tumbling over each other to be heard. But she stifled them, sensing that the only way to acquire her answers was to let the viscount maneuver their conversation in whatever direction he chose—beginning with the thoroughbred he planned to buy. "If I remember correctly, Slayde said you were interested in purchasing the stallion but couldn't, given that your assets were tied up elsewhere," she replied. "So he agreed to put up the money, then collect whatever profits were necessary to earn back his investment. After which you'd split all future profits equally."
"Ah, but the real truth is that your brother's investment will in fact become my profit the instant he places that draft in my hand."
"You're saying you have no intention of purchasing the horse."
"Quick as ever, my dear. And quite right. I plan to purchase nothing other than the cooperation of a greedy stable owner, whose allegiance costs but a few wretched pounds. My instructions to him will be as follows: should the Earl of Pembourne appear at his stables asking to have a look at our joint venture, show it to him—making sure he has no reason to doubt that the incomparable stallion does indeed belong to the two of us."
"What of the supposed winnings the stallion will earn?"
"Oh, the spirited fellow needs a breaking-in period, followed by weeks of training. He won't be ready to race for well over a month, which is more than enough time to keep your brother in the dark. After all, you and I both know Slayde is glued to his wife's side until the birth of their babe. By the time your brother becomes even mildly curious about the status of our investment, I'll have acquired a king's ransom from which I can easily pay him back—thanks to you."
Thanks to me? Aurora mused silently. That certainly reeks of blackmail. She inclined her head, studying the shadowed lines of Guillford's profile, the rigid set of his jaw. Careful, she cautioned herself. Follow his lead. 'Tis the only way to learn all I can. "So in effect, you're planning to steal Slayde's money—at least temporarily. Why? What is it you plan to do with it?"
"Extricate myself from debt."
Aurora's jaw dropped. "Debt? With your wealth?"
"My onetime wealth," Guillford corrected bitterly. "I'd hoped that between Camden's soliciting skills and Slayde's ready money, I could repay my creditors and regain a portion of my depleted fortune—the sum total of which is virtually impossible to recoup without benefit of the black diamond, thanks to Julian Bencroft."
"So that's why you were with Mr. Camden when we visited him," Aurora murmured. "You were seeking his help to…" She broke off, her chin coming up as the final part of Guillford's statement sank in. "Julian? Where does Julian fit into all this?"
"Your husband has undone every bloody thing I've attempted, from seizing that painting out from under me to snatching away my sole chance of acquiring the black diamond—you."
Aurora sucked in her breath, unable to restrain herself any longer. "That's the third time you've made reference to the black diamond. First you said that discovering its whereabouts was one of your reasons for coming to Pembourne the other day. Then you said you needed it to recoup your fortune. And now you've implied that I would have been your link to the stone. Am I to conclude I've just stumbled upon the true reason you asked for my hand—because you believed Lawrence Bencroft's ludicrous claim that the Huntleys truly did possess the black diamond? Is that why you were so devastated when my indiscretion made it impossible for you to wed me?"
"Of course. But don't make me sound such a cad. 'Tis also the reason why your beloved Julian compromised you to the point where you had no choice but to marry him." Guillford shot her a sidelong glance, his eyes glittering as he perceived her disbelief. "Come now, Aurora. Don't let whatever feelings you have for your husband blind you to the truth. Your Julian knew just what he was doing when he took you to bed in that seedy pub. Just as he knew what he was doing when he publicly retracted his father's claim—which he did only after Lawrence's death when the inebriated fool could no longer defend himself—and only after securing your hand in marriage. That put a quick end to the widespread search that had recommenced as a result of Lawrence's accusation. And it ensured that the black diamond remained right where Julian wanted it: with his prospective bride, whose assets have now become his. The question is, where is the stone now? Did the wretched mercenary stash it at his manor in Polperro? Or did the two of you hide it somewhere, bury it away so as to safeguard it from scoundrels such as myself?"
Pieces were falling into place like rapid cannon fire. "When Julian and I left Pembourne for Morland—you were the one following us," Aurora realized aloud. "You thought we were en route to the black diamond, to either conceal or unearth it."
"So your husband did sense my presence. I was afraid of that when I saw him head for Morland Manor rather than continuing your journey to wherever the diamond is hidden."
"We weren't going…" Aurora stopped herself. There was no point in trying to convince the man; he was clinging too tightly to his groundless obsession. Besides, another implication spawned by his earlier statement was plaguing her too fiercely to ignore any longer. "A painting…" she muttered. "You said Julian seized a painting out from under you. What painting?"
"An incredibly valuable one. One that would have reversed my run of bad luck, restored my former way of life—my wealth, my stature. Why, I could have sold that treasure for ten times what I paid those two small-minded privateers to uncover it. Stupid fools. They uncovered the painting, all right—just as planned. But before they could transport it home and deliver it into my eager hands, the ever-scrupulous Merlin swooped down, confiscated the painting—to return it to its rightful owner, of course—and killed one of my men in the process. Damn Julian Bencroft. Damn those stupid fools for not being able to outwit him. And damn me for making the same mistake twice, hiring the surviving dolt yet again—this time to kill Bencroft a
nd usurp the black diamond. I should have learned by now that to accomplish something of that magnitude, I can rely upon only one person—myself."
Aurora's hands were trembling violently in her lap, her worst suspicions confirmed. "The Macalls," she breathed. "Gerald and Brady Macall worked for you. You were the person who paid them ten months ago, sent them to Paris to abscond with that painting."
The viscount's brows were arched in surprise. "My, my. Your husband certainly has filled you in on a great deal of his colorful life, hasn't he? Now, that surprises me. From what I understand, the infamous Merlin is ever the loner, discussing no details of his adventures with anyone—or at least such was the case until now." A malevolent smile. "Excellent. He's even more smitten with you than I realized. That should bode well for my plan."
"You paid Gerald Macall to kill Julian," Aurora bit out, her insides churning with rage. "You're the reason that filthy pirate held a sword to my husband's throat and drew his blood."
"I wish I could take full credit for Macall's fervent resolve. But I can't. Macall wanted your husband dead as badly as I did—more so, from a personal perspective. He was avenging the loss of his brother, while I was avenging the less intimate but far more significant losses of my money, my future, and my reputation. Nevertheless Macall was a poor choice for me to have made. He's reckless and irrational. 'Tis just as well that you killed him; it forced me to do what I should have from the start: emerge from the shadows, take control, and wrest from Bencroft what I want—what's owed me."
"You're more insane than Macall."
"Am I?" Guillford swerved the carriage along the curves of the darkened road. "Tell me that when I've acquired all I seek. Which brings me to the answer to your original question: why have I kidnapped you? The answer is twofold. First, to procure vengeance—I want Julian Bencroft to suffer for what he did to me. And as you appear to be his first and only weakness, my holding your life in my hands—deciding whether to prolong it or dash it—will take care of that part quite nicely. And second, to acquire the splendid ransom I shall attain in exchange for agreeing to spare you—the one and only black diamond."
But you won't spare me, Aurora refuted silently. I know too much; letting me live would be ensuring your own downfall. Moreover, if I realize that, Julian will realize it, too.
Which means he'll be frantic to get to me, she reflected with a mixture of relief and terror. Knowing him, he's probably on his way right now—his wound be damned.
Fighting the urge to look back over her shoulder, Aurora asked Guillford, "May I know where you're taking me?"
"Certainly." Guillford pointed toward the west. "We'll ride beyond Falmouth until the roads become too steep for my phaeton. At which point, we'll abandon the carriage and take the remaining distance to the black-scarred cliffs by foot."
"We're going to the Lizard Peninsula?" Aurora gasped, real fear knotting her gut. "But that's…"
"That's … what?" Guillford taunted, clearly enjoying the fact that he'd unnerved her. "Hours away? Reachable only by traveling wretched excuses for roadways in the dead of night? Or were you about to say that the black cliffs are the steepest and most terrifying in all of Cornwall?"
"I was only surprised by the distance you intended to travel." Aurora forced her voice to remain calm, reflecting none of the dread that knotted her gut. "Especially by night. As for the roads, I've never traveled them, nor have I ever seen the cliffs. I know only that they're miles away. So I couldn't say whether they're terrifying or not."
"I keep forgetting how sheltered Slayde's kept you all these years, sequestered away at Pembourne like some fairy-tale princess. Well, my dear, before dawn you'll be getting a firsthand look at a savage section of the Cornish coast that's caused more death and destruction than I can recount."
"It sounds fascinating." Aurora looked away, Mr. Scollard's legends about the black cliffs running rampant through her mind: seamen flung overboard during brutal winter storms only to be engulfed by waves or dashed in the rocky coves; ships swallowed up by the mist or capsized by untamed currents; entire crews dragged under, never to be seen again.
She tried to push the dark stories from her mind, to focus on Mr. Scollard's more fanciful tales of the region—tales of mermaids and treasures, exciting rescues and booty. But somehow she couldn't—not this time. This time, all she could feel was a horrible sense of foreboding.
"Incidentally," Guillford added, urging the horses around a particularly sharp curve. "As I said, soon after we reach the peninsula, we'll be abandoning the carriage and traveling by foot—a perilous walk, to say the least. Between that and the formidable drive we're now undertaking, I'd abandon any thoughts of rescue. Your husband might be determined, but he's also wounded. Even if he's already realized that you're missing and somehow managed to come after us, he won't last beyond the first mile." A quick glance behind them. "I see no one now. But even if I'm wrong, even if Bencroft is following covertly in our wake, his pursuit will soon be ended. The two of you came to Fowey by boat. That means he'll have to pursue us by foot, since he doesn't dare take the time to seek out a horse or carriage. Given the fact that he can scarcely lift his head, how long do you think it will take him to pass out from exertion and loss of blood?"
Aurora kept her head averted, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the viscount's words … not only their truth, but the image they evoked: Julian unconscious, lying in the road, bleeding and alone.
Instinctively her hand closed around the scrap of gold encircling her finger, deriving inexplicable comfort from touching the cool surface of the ring that proclaimed her Julian's wife.
Besieged by worry, she prayed.
* * *
Dawn's first rays were slicing the horizon as Lord Guillford propelled Aurora up the rough path leading through the black cliffs. It had been miles since he'd dragged her from the phaeton, urged her along at gunpoint. Her body ached with exhaustion, her head pounded with worry over Julian's fate—and her own. Yet she forced herself to push onward, praying for a miracle.
Thus far, none had arrived.
She paused, tearing her skirts free of a protruding rock—the dozenth in as many steps. Her slippers were worn, her gown shredded, and Guillford and his pistol were mere inches behind her.
"How much farther must we go?" she panted, blowing damp strands of hair off her face.
"Until I say otherwise," Guillford returned icily, jabbing the pistol against her back.
Aurora glanced back over her right shoulder to assess Guillford's condition—intentionally avoiding the dramatic coastal view to her left by doing so. If she allowed herself to explore that angle, to gaze downward at the jutting rocks and swirling waters below, she'd be sick.
"Don't build any false hopes that I'm going to collapse with fatigue." With a hard motion, the viscount yanked at his cravat, loosening the still meticulously tied knot. "I devised this plan weeks ago in the event Macall failed me. Therefore, I've already walked this entire path—not only to test my endurance but to locate the perfect cove to act as your temporary home. Both efforts proved successful. Now, move."
A twinge of hope—the first in seven hours—flickered in Aurora's heart as she continued on her way, teetering a bit as she ascended one of the cliff's ragged precipices. She wasn't surprised by the viscount's thoroughness; he was an exacting man by nature, most assuredly when his entire future was at stake. But now she knew something she hadn't before: he didn't intend to kill her immediately. Instead he meant to leave her here, presumably while he returned to Fowey, notified Julian of her plight, and bartered for her life. And while the thought of being abandoned here was frightening, it was infinitely more appealing than the alternative. Plus it might buy her some time, give her a fighting chance to escape.
Guillford's next words dashed that filament of hope.
"Lost in thought? Well, consider this: I don't trust you, Aurora. You're too damned resourceful. Thus, I won't be leaving you alone for too long—only long enough for me to tr
avel to Falmouth and dispatch a missive to your husband. During that time, you'll be bound and gagged. When I return, I'll remove your bonds and—perhaps—give you a bit of food and water. I'd prefer to keep you alive and well until I get word from your husband, which should occur tonight."
Aurora paused. "How will Julian know where to contact you?"
"He won't. Nor will he ever know my identity, not if he hopes to live. My anonymous missive will advise him of my terms—specifically, to turn over the black diamond in exchange for your life. It will also instruct him when and where he's to leave the stone and, of course, collect you—a well-chosen location, incidentally, that's several shires away from here. As for how my missive will reach him, I've hired a most eager and discreet messenger who will track your Julian down and await his reply, then ride directly to Falmouth to convey that response to me."
"So you'll be returning to Falmouth after dark?"
"Yes. And once again, you'll be bound and gagged in your little cove. If things go as I expect, Julian's message will be an agreement to my terms. After all, what choice does he have? He certainly won't sacrifice your life, not even for the black diamond."
