The Black Diamond

  "Thank you." With a brilliant smile, Aurora perched on a nearby stool, openly surveying the pub and its occupants. Sailors and fishermen, she thought with great satisfaction. Just as she'd surmised. Ranging in age from young to old, and in stature from large to scrawny. Which of them would be the one to serve as her necessary cohort?

  That spawned another concern.

  "George—you do have rooms here, do you not?" she questioned anxiously.

  His jaw dropped. "Yeah, I have rooms."

  "Good." Sagging with relief, she took two enthusiastic swallows of ale … and shuddered. How could anything so golden and frothy taste so horrid? Steeling herself, she gulped down the remaining brew, suppressing her distaste to appear as nonchalant as possible. She must fit in if she wanted to elicit the assistance of one of these sailors.

  "Fill everyone's mug," she heard George call to his barmaids. "Courtesy of…" A broad grin. "…Rory." He gestured toward Aurora, who raised her tankard in tribute.

  A chorus of enthusiastic thanks ensued, and Aurora congratulated herself on her victory, dutifully guzzling down the second glass of ale George poured her. Actually, she mused, the brew didn't taste quite as bad as she'd originally thought. In fact, with enough patience the flavor rather grew on you.

  "I'll have another," she informed George, holding out her mug. Blowing wisps of hair from her face, she shifted on the stool. "Is it warm in here?"

  He chuckled, refilling her tankard. "Yeah, and it's gonna get a lot warmer if you don't slow down. Take it easy, Rory—this stuff's strong."

  "I loathed the flavor at first," she confessed in a conspiratorial whisper. "But no longer. Now I'm enjoying it thoroughly."

  "I can see that." George shook his head and resumed polishing the glasses. "What made you come in here?" he asked offhandedly.

  "Oh, dear." Aurora rose, clutching her mug. "Thank you for reminding me. I have an end to achieve. And very little time to achieve it." Teetering a bit, she made her way over to the table of the nice bald fellow who'd addressed her earlier. He looked like the kindly sort. Perhaps he'd understand her dilemma—and her monetary offer—and agree to help her out.

  She dropped into a seat beside him.

  "'ey, Jackson," one of the sailors at the table prompted the bald fellow. "I think our new patron is waitin' for ye."

  Jackson turned toward her and grinned. "Did ye want something … Rory?"

  Self-consciously she chewed her lip. How could she blurt out her proposition in front of all these men, without any preliminaries?

  She couldn't.

  Her gaze fell to the cards in Jackson's hands. Whist, she concluded. They were playing whist. Now that was something she could chat about, thus breaking the ice enough for her to ease into her request.

  Purposefully she gulped her ale, her stare fixed on Jackson's cards. "I have a bit of experience at this, you know," she announced. "Although, if I must be honest, I've only received instruction from one man, and only upon one occasion. However, I enjoyed it immensely and was a quick study. Given time, I'm sure I could be quite proficient."

  Jackson's cards struck the table. "Brazen little thing, aren't ye?" he said, an odd light coming into his eyes. "Well, I've got lots of time. I can teach ye anything ye want to know."

  "If ye don't fall asleep first," his whist partner retorted, slapping down his own cards. "If Rory wants instruction, I'm the one to give it. If 'er price ain't too high."

  "Price?" Aurora questioned, lowering her tankard and wishing the room would stop spinning. "You'd be doing the teaching—why would I ask for a fee?" She shook her head to clear it. "Besides, I can't learn tonight. Tonight I need to…"

  "Sure ye can!" a stocky man at the next table chimed in, striding over to her. "Yer a woman after me own 'eart, cravin' excitement, not shillings."

  "What the hell would she want money for?" Jackson mocked. "She's got plenty. She paid for our drinks, didn't she? And 'er gown cost more than this whole bloody pub." He rose as well. "No, ye 'eard 'er, it's experience she's lookin' for." He glared at the others, his fingers closing about Aurora's arm. "And it's me she came to. C'mon, sweetheart. Let's go up."

  Realization crashed down on Aurora with the force of a blow. These men thought she'd been alluding to her sexual proficiency, not her adeptness at whist. They were actually arguing over who was going to take her to bed.

  Dear Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

  "Please … wait," she began, determined to clarify her intentions before Jackson escorted her up to a liaison that was never going to occur. Yes, she wanted to go upstairs, but not for the purpose he had in mind.

  "Mr. Jackson…" She struggled to speak coherently despite the fog shrouding her thoughts. "You don't understand."

  "Oh, I understand, all right." He continued to drag her along. "And I'll make ye forget all about that clumsy man who had ye first."

  "Let her go, Jackson."

  The deep baritone permeated Aurora's disoriented state, simultaneously stopping Jackson dead in his tracks. An instant later a strong arm anchored her waist, dragging her away from Jackson and supporting her unsteady weight.

  "C'mon, Merlin, don't ye 'ave enough women?" Jackson whined. "Leave this morsel for me."

  "This 'morsel' isn't ready for the teaching you have in mind," the baritone shot back.

  "She's sure as hell not ready for you."

  "No, she's not. But at least I have the good sense to know it." He shifted, hauling Aurora against his side and heading away from the table.

  "Merlin?" Aurora twisted about to assess her rescuer and ask about his unusual name. She was confronted by a broad chest and towering height, which she followed upward to hard masculine features set off by probing eyes the color of topaz, blazing through her like twin bolts of lightning.

  Her own twisting motion spawned a surge of dizziness—one that made her stomach lurch with alarming intensity. "I don't feel very well."

  "I'm sure you don't." Abandoning all attempts at subtlety, the man named Merlin swung her off her feet and into his arms. "Three rounds of ale—drunk in rapid succession—would make me a bit light-headed, and I suspect I'm a far more seasoned drinker than you are." His forward motion ceased, and Aurora squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to stop the ceiling from shifting.

  "George, which room's empty?" Merlin's voice rumbled against her ear.

  "Take number four—second down on your left," the tavern keeper responded.

  "Thanks. Send up coffee. A lot of it."

  He was moving again, ascending a staircase, Aurora's unsettled stomach informed her.

  Good-natured teasing followed in their wake. "'ey, Merlin, let us know 'ow she is!"

  "Yeah, and if she's as quick a study as she claims, we'll all 'elp teach 'er!"

  The man carrying her swore quietly under his breath, shoving open a door and striding inside.

  Aurora winced as the door slammed shut behind them. "Too loud," she muttered.

  "Get used to it. Everything is going to sound loud until that coffee does its job. Do you need a chamber pot?"

  "No. I'm never sick."

  "Really? And how often are you foxed?" With that he deposited her on the bed.

  "Never. I…" Startled, Aurora looked about, her retort dying on her lips as the significance of what she'd inadvertently accomplished registered in her cloudy mind. A room. Complete with a bed. And a man—one who seemed rational enough to listen rather than to immediately ravage her.

  Instantly her stomach calmed.

  "Perfect," she declared, congratulating herself for achieving precisely what she'd intended, when a moment earlier it had seemed as if her entire plan was about to explode in her face.

  How much time did she have?

  Squinting, she tried to focus on the clock on the mantel. "What time is it?"

  "Half after ten. What the hell do you mean, 'perfect'? Perfect for what? What did you think you were doing down there just now?"

  She sighed, lifting the cool pil
low and pressing her cheek against it to still the throbbing in her head. "Staging my own ruin. At least what others would assume to be my ruin. Although, had you not come along, I fear my downfall would have been fact rather than fabrication. For which I'm extraordinarily grateful." She massaged her temples. "The situation was looking quite grim. Now, thanks to your intervention my scheme will succeed. Any moment now."

  Aurora watched as Merlin pulled a chair alongside the bed and straddled it. He was sinfully handsome, she noted. That was an indisputable fact—foxed though she might be. True, his good looks weren't the classic kind Lord Guillford had, nor even the chiseled kind Slayde boasted. Rather, Merlin was handsome in a darkly alluring way that hinted at danger, open seas, freedom, and adventure—the kind of life she yearned for and couldn't begin to fathom. His powerful build, clad in an open-necked shirt and breeches, defied convention; his black hair, rumpled and longer than fashion dictated, swept his forehead in harsh, rebellious lines. His eyes, those fiery chips of topaz, were turbulent, alive, exciting. He looked like a pagan god-wicked, seductive—ideal for convincing the ton that she was in fact a fallen woman.

  "Merlin," she murmured. "How unusual. Is it your given name or your surname?"

  "Neither. 'Tis an acquired name."

  "Ah. Then you're as brilliant as Arthur's advisor?"

  "No. I'm as formidable as a falcon."

  "The merlin?" Aurora inclined her head, puzzled. "But he's one of the smallest falcons. And 'small' is hardly a term I'd use to describe you."

  "Agreed. But the merlin is also swift, unerring, and deceptively nonthreatening. All of which describe me perfectly." With that, Merlin leaned forward. "You said you were staging your own ruin. Or what others would assume to be your ruin. Why? Or should I say, for whom?"

  "For the benefit of a kind, charming, and incredibly conventional man," she supplied. "However, that needn't concern you. All you need to do is sit there. Well, perhaps not just sit there." Frowning, Aurora tossed masses of tumbled hair from her face. "I suppose the two of us should look a bit more compromising than two friends sharing coffee. Perhaps an embrace? Not until the dowager arrives, of course. Until then we can just chat. In any case, I'll pay you handsomely for what will amount to no more than an hour's work…"

  One dark brow rose. "Pay me? For staging your ruin?"

  "Exactly."

  "How much?"

  Aurora propped herself on one elbow, groping in her pocket. "A hundred pounds."

  "A hundred pounds?" he repeated.

  She heard the incredulous note in his voice and interpreted it as scoffing. Swiftly she reacted, reaching out and gripping his wrist to stay his flight. "Please don't go. I originally intended to offer two hundred pounds. But the remaining funds were in my brother's study. And I couldn't snatch them without being spied." She searched Merlin's face. "I'll owe you the other hundred pounds. I'm honest; I promise you that. We'll arrange a time and place to meet, at which time I'll pay you the rest. Only please—don't leave."

  His gaze fell to her fingers, although he made no move to pry them from his wrist. "Two hundred pounds—a lavish sum. Tell me, Rory, who is this man for whom you want to be ruined?"

  "My prospective husband. You see, I'm being forced to marry him. The only way I can free myself from the betrothal is to compromise myself."

  Merlin's lips twitched. "I take it your conventional groom-to-be expects an untouched bride?"

  "Absolutely."

  "And I also assume that to complete this facade you've arranged for us to be discovered?" He awaited Aurora's nod. "By whom? Your father or the bridegroom himself?"

  "Neither. By the biggest gossip in Devonshire. In fact…"

  Aurora was interrupted by a knock.

  "Is that she?" Merlin inquired, calmly remaining in his seat.

  "No. 'Tis too soon."

  "Then it's probably our coffee." He rose. "I'll get it. You're in no shape to stand up, much less walk." He crossed over and opened the door.

  "Your refreshment," one of the barmaids announced, smiling at Merlin as she carried in a tray, placed it on the table. Seeing Aurora, she reached into her bodice and extracted a folded sheet. "There's an urchin downstairs who insists I give this message to the red-haired lady in the fancy gown. I assume he means you. If so, he says you owe him five pounds."

  Unsteadily Aurora reached for the folded sheet. Smoothing it out, she forced her attention on the words.

  Dear 'friend', it read. Thank you for the tidbit. I'll look into it at once. Lady Altec.

  "Splendid!" Aurora nearly toppled from the bed. Resettling herself, she dug in her pocket and extracted two five-pound notes. "I'm grateful to you—and the lad. Please see that he gets one of these. The other is yours."

  "Thank you." The barmaid's words were for Aurora, but her gaze was on Merlin. "Will there be anything else?"

  "Not tonight, Bess," he replied.

  "If you should think of something…"

  "I'll summon you at once," he assured her, holding open the door. "But for now, good night."

  "Good night." With another wistful look, she was gone.

  The instant the door closed behind her, Merlin turned back to Aurora. "Does the arrival of that note mean the 'biggest gossip in Devonshire' is on her way?"

  A nod.

  "Then the coffee can wait. First, we'd best discuss that compromising position you mentioned." He walked over, bypassing the chair and sinking down on the bed beside her.

  A quiver—was it of warning or excitement?—ran up Aurora's spine. "Very well."

  He leaned closer, studying her features as one would assess a fine painting prior to purchasing it. "You're a very beautiful woman."

  How did one respond to so blatant a compliment? Aurora mused. Especially when one's dealings with men were as limited—as nonexistent—as hers?

  Her silence spawned a flicker of curiosity in Merlin's eyes, tiny golden flames against burnished topaz. "Let me ask you something, Rory. Do you understand what was going to happen after Jackson whisked you upstairs?"

  "What he intended to happen," Aurora corrected. "And of course I do. I might be foxed, but I'm not stupid."

  Merlin's lips twitched. "I didn't mean to suggest that you were. I was merely trying to assess the degree of your naïveté."

  "I'm not naive."

  "No? Then how did you plan to extricate yourself from Jackson's intentions?"

  A twinkle. "I'm a very resourceful woman, foxed or not. I'm also an expert at eluding those I choose to elude. Should Mr. Jackson have managed to drag me upstairs, and should he have been unwilling to listen to reason, I would have found the means to escape. I always do."

  One dark brow shot up. "How intriguing. Are you often in situations where you need to elude men?"

  "Constantly. Other than now."

  "Why not now?"

  She gave him a beatific smile. "Because I never attempt to elude my allies."

  An answering smile tugged at his lips. "How do you know I'm an ally? What if my motives are as untrustworthy as Jackson's? What if I decide to take advantage of your offer and our privacy by making your ruin an actuality rather than a performance?"

  "You won't."

  "What makes you so certain?"

  "The fact that you want my two hundred pounds."

  Merlin threw back his head and laughed. "Touché. It's rare that I'm bested, especially by a woman who's beside me in bed and too deep in her cups to walk away."

  "Should I be flattered?"

  Abruptly his laughter faded, supplanted by a quiet intensity that seemed to permeate the room. "I don't know," he replied, his gaze delving deep into hers. "You tell me." Even as he spoke, he shook his head, supplying the answer to his own question. "No. You shouldn't be. In fact, I'm beginning to think I'm the one who should be flattered. This arrangement of ours grows more appealing by the minute."

  Heated silence.

  "I think the effects of the ale are wearing off," Aurora noted aloud.

&n
bsp; Merlin's knuckles grazed her cheek. "Good."

  With a shiver of anticipation, Aurora realized she was in over her head. Merlin's presence was too overpowering, the atmosphere about them too intimate. She felt vulnerable in a way she hadn't until now—not even when Jackson was dragging her upstairs. And she hadn't a clue how to extricate herself, not when Merlin's warm fingers were drifting over her face.

  "I didn't see you in the tavern prior to your rescuing me," she murmured.

  "I was in the rear watching your performance." He traced the bridge of her nose. "It was fascinating."