It was as natural as it was overpowering, their hearts and bodies hurtling to life, clamoring simultaneously for more. The kiss sizzled, burned, exploded, and preliminaries were cast aside, unwanted, intolerable.
With an inarticulate sound of joy, Courtney flung herself into the embrace, opening to Slayde’s penetration, rising onto her toes to give him better access.
Ardently, Slayde seized what she offered, frantic to hold her, to taste her, to absorb the miraculous balm she provided, to fill the unknown void within him that seemed suddenly endless, unendurable. “Courtney.” His fingers clenched in her hair, handfuls of rich, cool silk, his tongue possessing her mouth, melding with hers. He felt a shiver run through her, her arms entwining more tightly about his neck, deepening a kiss that was already out of control.
Control be damned.
Slayde pulled Courtney against him, his lips leaving hers to blaze a heated trail down her neck, her throat, the upper swell of her breasts. He could still remember the way her naked skin had felt against his palm, her nipple hardening, her breast swelling to his caress. God he’d driven himself half crazy remembering, fervently wishing he’d never touched her, more fervently wishing he’d never stopped.
“Oh, Slayde.” His name was a breath of a whisper, vibrating against his lips as they traced her bodice. “That feels so…”
“I know.” His mouth returned to hers, devouring her with an urgency that precluded all else. With shaking hands, he unbuttoned her gown, finding the smooth skin of her back and shuddering at the unbearable agony of desire spawned by even the simplest, most innocent contact.
Unthinking, uncaring, Slayde swept Courtney to the bed, followed her down, desire coursing through him in wide, hot rivers of need. “I want you,” he rasped against her mouth. “God, Courtney, I’ve never wanted like this.”
If she answered, he didn’t hear. Having slipped her gown from her shoulders, he tugged down her chemise, nearly insane with the need to see her, taste her, touch her again. He could scarcely breathe past the pounding in his chest, a pounding that intensified at his first glimpse of her utterly flawless beauty. For an endless moment, he just stared, transfixed by the soft, delicate mounds, the pale pink nipples that were hardening beneath his gaze.
“Slayde?”
Somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind he heard her. “What?” He virtually tore his gaze away, forced himself to meet her shy, uncertain look.
“Am I all right?” she whispered.
“All right?” He could scarcely speak. “You’re…” How in God’s name could he find the right words when they had yet to be invented? “You’re a miracle.”
Courtney’s eyes filled with tears. “So are you.”
A stab of guilt lanced Slayde’s heart. “No, sweetheart, I’m not.” He lowered his head, kissed the hollow between her breasts, steeling himself to stop at that. “I’m anything but a miracle.”
“You saved my life,” she whispered, her fingers sifting through his hair. “And awakened feelings inside me I never knew existed. If that’s not a miracle, what is?”
Her poignant declaration gave Slayde the strength he’d lacked.
Slowly, he raised up, met her misty gaze. “I’m a Huntley, sweetheart. That’s a curse, not a miracle.”
“I don’t believe in curses. Neither do you. You told me so yourself.”
“I said I didn’t believe the black diamond was cursed,” he corrected. “Unfortunately, the search for it is. And my family is right in the middle of that search.”
“The search is over.”
“No. It’s not.”
“As far as the Huntleys are concerned, it is. You delivered the diamond to Armon.”
“No, I didn’t.”
A shocked silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock.
“What did you say?” Courtney asked at last.
Slayde sat up, torn between emotion and pragmatism, protection and candor. “We need to talk.”
“Evidently we do.” Courtney pushed herself to a sitting position, tugging up her gown in awkward, self-conscious motions.
“Let me.” Slayde readjusted her clothing, wishing he could recall his frank outburst. Damn. He never involved anyone in his decisions, never divulged his thoughts or his actions, least of all now, when there was so much at stake. Why the hell had he suddenly become unable to keep his mouth shut? Was he losing his heart and his mind?
“I can’t reach the buttons. If you would just fasten them, I’ll manage the rest.” Courtney’s head was bowed, her voice muffled as she struggled with the back of the gown.
Studying the lustrous crown of red-gold hair, Slayde experienced a wave of shame and regret. He was responsible for Courtney’s self-censure, her humiliation. He’d acted selfishly, incited by his unprecedented, burgeoning feelings—something he’d had no right to do. For although she obliterated his control, his reason, his sanity, he’d taken advantage of her, knowing there could be no future between them, knowing he’d cause her naught but pain. And now, what in God’s name could he say to ease the confusion and self-doubt she was feeling?
Ease them? Hell, he was about to intensify them.
“Courtney.” He hooked his forefinger beneath her chin. “Before I delve into what I suspect will be a very complicated explanation, it’s important to me that you know I meant every word I said a few minutes ago. You’re beautiful. And I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
“I believe you.” Courtney raised her head, and Slayde was startled to see none of the shame and remorse he’d expected. To the contrary, the sea-green eyes that searched his face were soft, not with contrition, but with concern. “You needn’t convince me. Nor console me. I don’t regret a moment of what just happened—almost happened,” she amended. “What I do regret is your reasons for pulling away.”
“You don’t know what those reasons are.”
“Perhaps not. But I suspect they stem from your notion of protection. Protection and self-protection.”
Her assessment diverted Slayde from the disclosure he was about to make. “Self-protection?”
“Of course.” Courtney sighed. “You’re even more accomplished at that than you are at protecting others. The latter you’re aware of; the former, you’re not.”
Her depth of insight was staggering, and—if the constriction in his gut was any indication—accurate. “Tell me, since I’m unaware of it: what is it I’m protecting myself from?”
“Hurt. Allowing someone into your life, your heart. Allowing that someone to penetrate thirty-one years of solitude—solitude reinforced by the pain of your parents’ deaths.” She lay her palm against his jaw. “I don’t blame you, Slayde. ’Tis far easier, far safer, to remain detached.”
“Safer, yes,” he said with an ironic shake of his head. “Easier? Not since I met you.”
A tremulous smile. “I feel it, too, you know.”
“I know you do. And, self-protection notwithstanding, it can’t happen. We can’t happen.” Slayde wrenched away, stalking the length of the bedchamber, halting at the window.
“Where is the diamond, Slayde?”
“I haven’t a clue.” He grasped the curtain, crushing the fine material in his fist. “I’ve never laid eyes on it.”
Another heartbeat of silence.
“Then what did you give Armon?”
“A fake. A damned good one, created by the best and most discreet jeweler in England.”
Slayde heard Courtney’s sharp intake of breath. “I don’t understand. How could a jeweler craft a replica of something no living soul has seen? What did he model it after? And how could he make it authentic enough to fool a discerning eye?”
“A never-before-seen gem is far and away the easiest one to duplicate. After all, there’s no one to contradict the authenticity of its form. Its worth? Ah, that’s another thing entirely. So, in answer to your last question, my copy wouldn’t fool a discerning eye. Fortunately, Armon didn’t possess that eye; nor, for that
matter, does the man he worked for—unless he happens to be an authority on jewels. More likely, only the expert who eventually purchases the stone will be proficient enough to discern the truth.” Slayde stared, unseeing, across Pembourne’s lawns. “I was in an unthinkable quandary. So far as I knew, Aurora had been kidnapped. The bastard who had her was demanding something the whereabouts of which I knew nothing. My only choice was to convince him I could produce the stone in exchange for Aurora’s life. Oh, I suppose I could have ransacked the caves of Cornwall, praying I’d stumble upon the diamond. But, given that generations of men have done so and failed, the odds and the timing were against me. I had mere days to come up with an alternative. So I did. I sought out a brilliant jeweler who happens also to be a colleague—a trusted one. He fashioned a makeshift diamond for me. It was easy enough. After all, we weren’t concerned about the accuracy of each and every facet; as I said, no one alive today has ever seen this gem, and descriptions of it are as legendary as they are varied. In terms of color, onyx made a fine substitute. The damned fake was so good, I myself half believed it was genuine.”
“Why did you lead everyone, including Aurora and me, to believe you’d conveyed the actual diamond to Armon?”
Slayde’s lips thinned into a determined line. “That protective instinct you just referred to. Aurora is terrified of the curse. If you recall, she believes it to be fact. I had no intention of destroying her peace of mind with the truth. And you? You have the same active mind as Aurora. Had I told you the truth, you would have immediately begun contemplating the possible ramifications: would Armon discover the switch? If so, would he retaliate? And how? No, Courtney,” Slayde gave an adamant shake of his head. “You needed no further worries to hinder your healing process.” A pause. “Moreover, I’m not in the habit of confiding in others.”
“I realize that,” Courtney replied softly. “And I’m grateful you decided to make an exception. You have my word: I will never breach your trust.” A hard lump formed in his throat.
“I know that.”
“Then why, Slayde? Why can’t we happen?” He released the curtain still clenched in his fist, watching it unfold and float back into place. “I made a vow to myself the day my parents died,” he revealed, his voice low and rough. “I vowed never to permit another soul to be hurt by that bloody curse.”
“What has that to do with—” Courtney inhaled sharply. “You’re afraid that if you let me become part of your life, I, too, will be endangered?”
“Precisely. ’Tis only a matter of time before my hoax is discovered. Then, we’ll be right back where we started, with every fortune-seeking vulture on earth pursuing the black diamond—and the Huntleys.”
“But how could they possibly reach—much less hurt—me? You keep Pembourne guarded like a fortress.”
“And living within the walls of a fortress would please you?”
“I’m doing so now.”
“You’re injured and weak now. Moreover, Aurora needs you. None of those situations is permanent. When they change, you’ll be able to leave Pembourne, unafraid and unconnected to the Huntleys.”
“Slayde…” He heard the rustle of her gown as she rose and came to stand beside him. “I can never be unconnected to the Huntleys. Not after all that’s happened.” She touched his sleeve. “Physical joinings are not the only type that bind people together. In fact, I suspect they pale in comparison to other, more profound types of joinings, such as those of the mind, the heart—”
“Stop.” Slayde caught her elbows, dragging her close enough to see the torment in his eyes. “Don’t you understand what I’m telling you? I intend the Huntley name to die with me. There will be no wife, no children, no legacy to keep the curse alive. There will be only generations of greedy men, casting themselves into a living hell as they ransack the globe for the diamond, breeding others to do the same. But there will be no more Huntley prey upon which to feed.”
Courtney gasped as she realized the implication of Slayde’s assertion. “You’d do that to yourself? Live and die alone just to protect those who might not seek such protection if they were asked?”
“Yes.”
“What about Aurora? She’s a Huntley. And, as you just said, you can’t chain her within Pembourne’s walls forever.”
“I don’t intend to. My goal for Aurora is to see her safely wed—to a man who will give her his name and his protection—after which she’ll cease to be a Huntley.”
“So that’s what you meant when you said Aurora’s need for me is temporary.”
Slayde nodded tersely. “Soon Aurora will leave Pembourne, move on to her own life—one of security and freedom. And wealth. In addition to whatever affluence her future husband can and will provide, she’ll also inherit the entire Huntley estate.”
“After you die,” Courtney qualified.
“After I die,” he repeated.
“Damn you.” Golden sparks ignited Courtney’s eyes. “How can you speak of your life as if it were nothing more than an extraneous but necessary evil, a mere steppingstone for others? You’re a wonderful man. You will not condemn yourself to a lifetime of loneliness just to stave off a tragedy that might never occur.” She raised her chin a notch. “I won’t let you.”
“You won’t let—” Slayde broke off, staring in astonishment. Whatever reaction he’d expected, it hadn’t been this. Actually, now that he considered it, the reaction he’d expected, knowing how tender-hearted Courtney was, was aching compassion followed by saddened acceptance. Or, given the intensity of their recent physical encounter, maybe even disenchantment that he’d allowed things between them to progress so far when there was virtually no hope for a future.
Instead, she was renouncing his decision and vowing to resurrect his life, intent on saving him from himself.
His autonomous heart yielded a bit more. And his precarious resolve intensified.
“Thank you,” he murmured solemnly, brushing his knuckles across Courtney’s cheek. “I’m humbled. No one has ever…” He cleared his throat. “I’m also adamant about my vow. Now more than ever.” He silenced her protest by pressing a gentle forefinger to her lips. “Don’t. I won’t change my mind. And I assure you, not even your will is strong enough to bend mine.” With an excruciating effort, he released her and walked away. “I’ll be leaving Pembourne first thing in the morning.”
“Tomorrow?” Courtney sounded shaken, whether from his pronouncement or their discussion, Slayde wasn’t certain. “But Mr. Oridge is here,” she added.
“I realize that, but ’tis you he needs to speak with, not I.”
“In other words, you’re running away.”
Slayde pivoted, his eyes narrowing on her face. “No. I’m riding to Morland. Or at least to the outskirts of the estate where my investigator is posted. I want to ascertain if he’s learned anything of interest. If Morland has made any unexpected trips, met with anyone of import or means, I’ll ride back into the village, seek out Morland’s banker and solicitor, and exert more pressure—I hope enough to unnerve one of them into divulging even the smallest of incriminating details. As for Oridge, I’ll return in ample time to meet with him before sending him off in one of my ships to pursue the Fortune.”
“I see.” Courtney’s tone told him she still believed he was running away.
Hell, she was right. He was.
“Slayde?”
“What?” He watched her cross towards him, and he battled the urge to drag her into his arms, vows be damned.
“The duke might be dangerous,” she murmured, laying her palm against his jaw. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
Tension crackled between them.
Abruptly, Courtney rose on her toes, wrapped her arms about Slayde’s neck, and tugged his mouth down to hers.
He made a rough sound deep in his throat, pulling her to him and burying his lips in hers for one long, unendurable—and final—moment.
At last he broke away, feeling a tangible empti
ness as their bodies separated, fervently wishing he were anything but a Huntley. God, he didn’t want to let her go. All he wanted was to lose himself inside the gift she offered.
But he couldn’t. He cared too damned much, more than he himself had realized until this very moment.
With a muttered oath, he turned on his heel, leaving the embrace, the bedchamber, and Courtney behind.
Because he had to.
Chapter 9
AURORA SCOOTED UP THE path leading to the manor, glancing at the position of the sun. It couldn’t be much past seven, she decided. It had been dark when she’d left for the lighthouse at half after five. But now the household was up and about, and she was eager to return in time for Courtney’s meeting with Mr. Oridge and for Elinore’s impending visit.
The drive came into view, and Aurora halted, startled to see Slayde’s phaeton, ready to go, and her brother, who was in the process of climbing into the front seat and taking up the reins.
“Slayde?” She called his name, taking the remaining distance between them at a dead run.
Slayde’s head snapped about, and he scowled, looking as cantankerous as his guards did after one of her escapes. “What is it, Aurora?”
“Where on earth are you going? Isn’t Mr. Oridge speaking with Courtney this morning?”
“To Newton Abbot. And yes. Now, does that satisfactorily answer your questions?”
She blinked, taking in the deep circles under his eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t slept a wink. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Slayde snapped, fingers tightening about the reins. “I’m just eager to be on my way. And, lest you forget, I’m not required to give you a schedule of my comings and goings. If I recall correctly, ’tis the other way around—not that you adhere to that principle. Good day.”
With a slap of the reins, he was gone.
Aurora stood, gaping after him, wondering what had inspired his black mood. Had he and Courtney argued? ’Twas possible, especially if he’d given Courtney an especially bad time of it during his lecture about her attempted walk to the lighthouse. Or was it something else, something to do with the mystery?