Heart of the Diamond

by Carrie Brock

  “I agree with your father. Blake must be the one to tell you.”

  “Men! Must you all be so close-mouthed about things?”

  Teddy released her and stepped back, his face guarded. “It's a delicate matter. It would be inappropriate for me to speak of it.”

  “Nonsense! You have never stood on ceremony with me, Teddy. Why should you begin now?”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a melancholy grin. “Because you became engaged to another.”

  Her heart shrank from the pain in his voice. Teddy was her friend. She hated hurting him, but deep in her soul she knew she could not chose him over Blake. He should quickly learn the love of childhood had not survived to adulthood.

  She loved Blake, perhaps foolishly and hopelessly, but with all her being nonetheless. “I shall add you to my list of those I would convince that Blake is a kind and decent man.”

  “And is Blake on that list as well?”

  Cold wind swept around her body and she wrapped her arms tightly about herself. “As a matter of fact, he is at the top.”

  . . .

  Blake's hands tightened on the rail. The night, black and starless, seemed to have swallowed Nicole and Teddy. The chill of the air did little to cool the red-hot fury that coursed through him. It brought to mind the wispy Grecian gown Nicole wore. She would freeze. That is unless she had someone to warm her. Damn Bartholomew.

  “What brings you out into this ghastly night, nephew?”

  He awaited Sophia's approach before returning to his vigil over the garden. Carefully, he schooled his features into the familiar mask of indifference. “Curiosity draws me outside.”

  She paused at his side and her gaze, so similar to his own, searched the meticulously pruned evergreens amidst the bare branches of other shrubbery. “I wasn't aware you had a taste for gardening.”

  “Not normally. But tonight there is a single rose I have a particular interest in.”

  “Ah. Might we be speaking of a certain wild rose who has cracked the surface of the diamond?”

  He slanted her a wry grin. “Scratched, perhaps. Roses do have thorns, you know. But I would prefer discussing another topic.”

  Sophia turned to rest her lower back against the rail. “I hope your melancholy turn of mind is not due to the contents of the box. I read only the first few letters and believed the contents would please you. Barrett was such an undemonstrative man. The letters proved he was concerned for you.”

  Blake tensed. “The contents of the box are something I shall deal with in my own time, in my own way. You needn't worry about me.”

  “Someone must. I once thought you should have been my son, and Harry should have been Barrett's. Harry would have been much better suited to my brother's coldness.”

  That earned a surprised glance. “Why, Sophia, I am flattered to learn you think so highly of me.”

  “I once did. I am not certain Barrett did not spoil all that was good in you. You remind me of him so strongly at times; then at others, it is like seeing a shadow of Phoenix. I think it is at those times that I care for you most.”

  “You knew my mother well?”

  Sophia's gaze reflected the bright light filtering from the ballroom. She smiled softly. “She was my closest friend. That is how she met Barrett. At first he thought her a horrible nuisance. He was somewhat older and thought me and my friends to be nothing more than silly children.”

  “What was she like? I remember so little of her.”

  “Her parents were quite unusual. They traveled a great deal and settled in London for Phoenix's first Season. She had the most beautiful laughter—like a music box. And she laughed often. How she adored life! Barrett was so serious. When she told me she had decided she would marry him, I could not hide my surprise. How could someone with such joy and vitality wish to spend their life with a person who was their complete opposite? But if Phoenix was anything, it was determined. I watched in amazement as she skillfully drew my brother to her, like a moth to flame. When he was with her, he was a different person. He smiled and joined in any shenanigan she plotted. She made him exquisitely happy.”

  Blake's chest tightened until he thought he could not breathe. “She sang to me. It was like magic.”

  Sophia covered Blake's hand where it clenched the railing. “She was magical, Blake. It was a tragedy to lose her.”

  He stared into the darkness and struggled to remember. “I was so young when she went away. All I have left are feelings—images. Nothing substantial that I can call to mind.”

  “I often thought that Phoenix was like a sprite, flitting this way and that. Perhaps you do not have a solid image because she could not leave one. When I think of Phoenix, I am reminded that when she was in a room, there was not a face that did not smile.”

  Blake dropped his head back to stare into the black sky. “You could almost be describing Nicole.”

  “I suppose I could be. She certainly has that same vibrancy.”

  “She came out here with Teddy, and I followed. He is her friend and I want to think he would never purposefully hurt her, but . . . ”

  “But you are jealous and protective. It is perfectly natural, Blake.”

  He released the rail, turned, and strode toward the glass doors. Sophia caught up to him and placed a restraining hand on his arm. He glanced down at her impatiently. “It is not natural. Those emotions would mean that I care for her. I refuse to allow myself to fall into that trap.”

  “What trap, Blake? Loving someone is not a trap!”

  He turned slightly, just enough to cause her hand to drop from his sleeve. “To me it is. And I will not fall into it again.”

  “But you are marrying her. How can you spend the rest of your life with a woman you refuse to love?”

  “That, Sophia, is none of your business. I think I have bared my soul enough for one night. Good God, enough for the rest of my days. If you should see Nicole, tell her I await her in the drawing room.”

  Sophia nodded wordlessly. He could see he had hurt her with his anger. Well, it served her right—dredging up memories best left in the past, making him want something that could never be his. He turned from her and strode into the brilliant noise of the ballroom.

  . . .

  Nicki found Blake once again lounging against the mantle of the fireplace. But this time a young girl stood at his side, her face turned up to his in blatant adoration.

  Deuce take it.

  She set her jaw in determination and approached the pair. “Wonderful evening, is it not? Have we met? I am Nicki Langley, the earl's fiancée.”

  Lovely cornflower blue eyes widened in a heart shaped face framed by short curls the color of ripe wheat. Nicki disliked the girl immediately. “With so many people here, we have not been formally introduced. I saw you speaking with Cecilia earlier. I am Catherine, her youngest sister.”

  Nicki's sympathy for Cecilia's plight deepened. “Of course. You are to have your coming out this year. My sister, Wilhemina, shall have her first Season as well. Have you met Mina?”

  “No. I don't believe I have.”

  Surveying the room, Nicki nodded in the direction of the door. “There she is now. The dark-haired girl just leaving the room. If you hurry you can catch her up. The two of you should have a great deal to talk about.”

  Catherine followed Nicki's gaze dubiously. “Well . . . I . . . of course. It was a pleasure meeting you both.”

  “Likewise,” said Nicki.

  As the girl struck out in search of “a dark-haired girl," Nicki turned her full attention to the earl. “I cannot leave you alone for a moment!”

  Blake arched one dark brow. “I do not believe I was the one venturing into the garden with Bartholomew.”

  “Oh, that. He had not been able to speak with me and wanted a private word. It was harmless.”

  “As was my discussion of Byron with Miss White.”

  Nicki grimaced. “Byron? 'She Walks in Moonlight' is one of Mina's favorites. I suppos
e it is rather romantic and all.”

  He eyed her strangely. “I suppose it is.”

  “Please tell me you are not jealous of Teddy. I promise you I think of him only as a friend.”

  “I am not jealous by any means. I was merely concerned about appearances. It is not at all the thing for you to go off alone into the darkness without a cloak, and to stay gone for close to half an hour.”

  “You were jealous!” She smiled with pleasure.

  Blake scowled as he turned to set his champagne glass on the mantle with a sharp thunk. “I have not a jealous bone in my body.”

  She cocked her head slightly to survey him. “I suppose you do not. I merely thought that since I intensely disliked Catherine speaking with you, that perhaps you felt the same about another man speaking with me. Foolish of me.”

  “Exactly so. And you need not be jealous of any other woman. I quite have my hands full with you.”

  A shriek from the opposite end of the room interrupted Nicki's next reply. She turned to see Grampa Giles clearing a path through the mob of people with his cane. He swung the stick with such vigor that one lady did not have time to make her escape. She kicked desperately at the offending object, but it appeared to have become quite firmly entrenched in the hem of her gown. The more she struggled, the more agitated Grampa Giles became, and the higher her skirts raised.

  Teddy, standing nearby, hurried forward and knelt at the lady's feet. With deft efficiency, he removed the tip of the cane from the thread at the hem of the gown. He rose, his cheeks flaming. “You should be more careful with that thing, Giles!”

  Grampa ignored him and continued on his way. Obviously, his objective was the draperies. Nicki leaned toward Blake. “Mina said he has caused quite a good deal of trouble. It seems he has not been the same since the Napoleonic wars. He feels it his duty to prod about every room he enters to ensure the enemy is not hiding. He broke several of Angelica's figurines when he thought he had someone cornered under a table. It turned out to be his shadow.”

  “How disappointing.”

  “Yes.” Nicki winced as Grampa moved along the curtains, his cane smacking the wall. He appeared concerned when he realized he had moved behind two wingback chairs. With surprising quickness, he leaped forward and shoved the cane beneath the seat of one of the chairs.

  The lady seated on the chair let out a startled “Oh!” and threw her feet up into the air. The sudden movement and the lady's generous girth caused the chair to tip backwards, pinning Grampa Giles to the curtained window.

  Blake surged forward. Nicki followed close behind. Several people stood about indecisively, but it was Teddy who came forward to attempt to move the chair off Grampa. With the wildly flailing movements of the woman sending the piece of furniture jerking this way and that, he had his hands full.

  “Excuse me. Coming through!” Blake quickly moved opposite Teddy and together they lowered the chair to the floor.

  Grampa lost his footing, and the cane went crashing to the floor. Blake caught his arm and held on until the man had gained his balance. Nicki rushed forward to retrieve the cane. The eagle's head had broken off. She scrambled close to the chair and reached beneath it to retrieve the silver top.

  “This man should be watched more closely, before he harms someone seriously!” Snapped a breathless Teddy.

  Nicki quickly got to her feet and pressed her friend's arm warningly. “It was merely a harmless mishap. All is put to rights now.”

  “Exactly right,” Blake agreed.

  Teddy's face had gone beyond flushed to an alarming red hue. “Giles has become a nuisance. Josey should keep him in his room.”

  Her own cheeks growing warm, Nicki glanced uncomfortably toward Grampa Giles. The old man stood very still, his sharp gaze fastened on Teddy. “You are over excited, Teddy, and I think you should be quiet,” Nicki said firmly.

  “Over excited! The pair of them nearly went through the window!”

  Blake entered the conversation with his normal superciliousness. “But they did not, and I agree with Nicole that it would be wise to shut your mouth.”

  “Please!” Nicki positioned herself firmly between Blake and Teddy. “Grampa, your cane is broken. Will you come with me and we shall see if we can repair it?”

  Head bowed dejectedly, Grampa waved his hand in what Nicki took to be acquiescence. He leaned heavily on Blake's arm as they started through the room. Nicki glared at Teddy as she passed.

  In the hall, Blake nodded toward her father's study. “Is anyone in there?”

  She shook her head and led the way. “Grampa, you and Blake wait in here and I will retrieve one of Em's concoctions to repair your cane.”

  Blake met Nicki's gaze as he helped the frail old man to the couch. “We shall wait for you here, my dear.”

  With a nod, Nicki left the pieces of the broken cane on her father's cluttered desk and hurried off to the kitchen.

  . . .

  Grampa was gone from the couch! Nicki's gaze went from Blake, seated at the desk fiddling with the cane, to survey the dim room. With relief, she saw the old man had replaced his missing walking stick with a fireplace poker and continued his explorations. From the extent of the black marks about the room, he was making splendid progress. Angelica would be livid.

  “I have just the thing, my lord. Em prepared a paste.”

  Blake glanced up and reached for the jar in her hand. “Excellent. The fit is actually quite tight. This should do the trick.”

  She watched his strong hands move with confidence in applying the paste with the wooden spoon Em had left in the jar. The concoction began to run and Blake searched the desk, grabbing a piece of blank foolscap to wipe up the run.

  But Nicki no longer followed his actions.

  Lying open on the desk was her father's journal containing entries relating to the current year's projected profits. To the right of the open book was a note she had written to her father. And beneath that her report for breeding the horses currently in the stables, as well as the new breed of stock she intended on acquiring with the funds from the sale of the youngsters.

  As though she had just entered a horrible dream, Nicki looked at Blake, but he had not noticed the direction of her gaze, so intent was he in twisting the eagle's head atop the wooden stick. Doubt washed over her. Had he been reviewing the paper work? Dear Lord, had she handed him the final information he needed to ruin her father?

  Blake tested the strength of the glue and seemed satisfied. “Your Em is brilliant. All fixed, Grampa.”

  He stood and Nicki stepped back to allow him room to pass. Her arms hung at her sides like twin pillars of stone. She wanted nothing more than to awaken from this nightmare.

  Shifting the cane to his right hand, Blake paused to lift her chin. “Is something the matter?”

  Speechless, she shook her head. Blake continued on, but glanced back at her once more as he carried the cane to Grampa. Nicki wished she could move, speak . . . something. But her heart had shattered into tiny fragments.

  And no amount of Em's glue would put it back together.

  Chapter 17

  . . .

  Nicki entered the breakfast room, relieved to find it deserted at this early hour. Several servants quietly and efficiently filled silver dishes with poached salmon, capers, ham, eggs, and other delicacies. The aroma set her mouth to watering, but she passed by the heavier fare meant for the male guests and instead retrieved a currant roll and a cup of tea laced liberally with sugar.

  The long table had been set with silver and napkins. Nicki took a seat at the farthest end near the window. Solitude.

  Blake had promised to reveal his plan to help her father today. She sipped the hot tea, but the sweetness turned bitter in her mouth as she remembered the scene in her father's library last night. Surely the earl would not agree to help in one emergency while plotting another, but Nicki little understood the emotions that drove the male species.

  Nicki broke off a piece of the roll a
s she waged an internal war against her growing loyalty to Blake. Though her mind stalwartly insisted she must tell her father Blake had been in his study—he had had the opportunity to review the books—her heart argued that she could not be certain Blake had read the pages. He had certainly been intent on Grampa's cane when she entered the room. But what if he had read the journal and her report?

  If Nicki remained silent and another catastrophe occurred, would she not become an accomplice in destroying the business she and her father had poured their life's blood into for the past ten years? She took another sip of tea to dissipate the lump that formed in her throat.

  She could be destroying any chance of a reconciliation between the two men she loved most in the world.

  Nicki quickly set the cup back into the saucer. Tea spilled over the rim of her cup. She buried her face in her hands. Last night, while struggling to fall asleep, she had come to terms with the reality that she had no choices left. Her first loyalty must be to her father.

  Though Blake himself had told her repeatedly she should not trust him, Nicki had discerned what he left unsaid. He wanted her to trust him. No. Not wanted. Needed. Nicki sensed that deep inside Blake longed for one person to put him first, no matter the cost.

  Dear Heaven, how she wanted to be that person. But he had chosen a man she had loved longer to pit her faith against. Surely he could not expect her to turn her back on her own father.

  But he did. She knew that with a certainty. In the path she had chosen, she might well be throwing away any chance of gaining entry to the locked gate of his heart. In his eyes, she would become just another betrayer.

  “Nick! Nick! You've got to hide me.”

  Nicki jerked her head up as Shelby dashed into the room and around the table to drop to the floor behind her chair. “Good Heavens, Shelby! What have you done now?”

  The boy forced himself into a ball, his blue eyes pleading. “Don't look at me! Pretend I'm not here!”

  “Master Shelby!”

  She looked up to see a figure pause in the doorway. From the man's height and clothing, she guessed he was Simms, but his upper body resembled some horrendous fairy tale monster. Bright purple ooze that looked suspiciously like Em's plum sauce covered his head and chest. As she watched, a large dollop dropped from his chin onto his meticulously starched cravat.