Heart of the Diamond Read online

  Now that his torso was clearly visible to her, she better understood her father's distress. At least Dylan was not naked, as she had first believed.

  Her gaze continued upward to his face and she discovered he had been watching her inspection. Heat flamed her cheeks.

  With a wry grin, he raised from his crouch. His muscles were sleek and taut. Nicki's errant gaze dropped to his hips, clad in fawn-colored breeches so snug he might as well have worn nothing at all. The chill of only moments ago fled before the sudden onslaught of liquid warmth. She struggled again to bring her breathing under control.

  Completely at ease, Dylan turned and strode away into the shadows where he paused before an enormous bureau and removed the glass covering from a lamp.

  Guilt struck Nicki hard when she realized she had watched the play of muscles across his . . . posterior . . . with flagrant fascination. She excused her behavior with the thought that she had a deep respect for Greek sculpture and this man was truly a masterpiece.

  A crack of flint against stone caused Nicki to start. Dylan replaced the globe over the flame and the added illumination chased any remaining gloom from the bedchamber.

  An unperturbed Dylan turned to lean a bronze shoulder against the dark cherrywood bureau. He crossed his arms over the wide expanse of his bare, muscled chest.

  “Chester, remind me to install more chairs in my bedchamber. I was unaware of the neighborly custom of visiting a man in the middle of the night. Then again, I have been out of the country for some time. Also make a note that I shall have to hone my climbing skills as well if I am to return the courtesy. It seems one enters a neighbor's house through the window—or through the door brandishing a weapon. The window seems slightly more civilized, though I am not certain yet which is the more dangerous.”

  “As if you were ever civilized, Dylan!” interjected Nicki's father.

  Nicki gaped at her father. Such rude outbursts were uncommon, even for him. “Papa, whatever are you doing here?”

  He sputtered, the skin of his face reddening once again. “Well . . . I . . . the note . . . ”

  “I believe your father is here to protect your virtue, my lady. It seems you have landed in a . . . situation.”

  Her father glanced uncomfortably toward the butler. The tassel of his nightcap dropped over one eye. “It might be best to continue this conversation in private, Dylan.”

  One brief nod from his new master and Chester bowed stiffly and left the room. The door closed with a crisp click.

  Calm as Lucifer himself, Dylan returned his attention to the intruder. “Whether we speak alone or in the presence of an army of servants, the damage is done.”

  Her father looked at her for an instant, then at the gun in his hand. His faced flushed as he stuffed the weapon into the pocket of his brocade jacket. “My daughter's betrothed to another. We'll take our leave now and forget this matter. I don't know what game you're playing, Dylan, but I won't be a part of it.”

  “Oh, I think you will take part, Billington.” Blake Dylan lifted his hand and curled long fingers to survey his nails.

  Nicki could see the ring clearly in the lamp light. It looked like the head of an animal and it had two white jewels for eyes. Diamonds. Chills raced over Nicki's skin.

  “Proper procedures must be followed. I have no desire to face an angry fiancé with pistols at dawn.” Dylan looked up to fasten his compelling gaze on the man before him. “You know what must be done. Perhaps better than I.”

  Nicki looked back and forth from the stone-faced Dylan to her father, who had gone deathly pale and appeared in danger of collapsing.

  “Don't do this, Dylan. She has nothing to do with our troubles.”

  Stiffness claimed the handsome features of Dylan's face. “I beg to differ, sir. She is a threat to my honor.”

  The cold words sliced through the tension in the room. Nicki rubbed her arms. “But, sir, no harm has been done.”

  Both men ignored her as they continued to stare at each other.

  “What think you, Billington? Do you agree no harm can come from this night? Will you try to fob off a ruined girl to uphold a betrothal? I suppose you would if your honor has no importance to you. But I will let it be known that I was willing to take the proper action. Will you do the right thing?”

  Nicki's father hesitated.

  “Yes, devil take it.” He tugged at the collar of his nightshirt, the familiar gesture testimony to the extent of his discomfit.

  “I now understand where your daughter gets her colorful vocabulary. At any rate, the matter is settled. I trust you will see to the other gentleman.”

  Her father nodded. He glared at the frayed Persian carpet, his jaw working spasmodically. Unnerved by her father's demeanor, Nicki returned her attention to the man across the room.

  Silver. His eyes were silver framed with incredibly long, black lashes. Like the eyes in the ring. His gaze flashed to her and Nicki flinched. She stood mesmerized, incapable of movement.

  “Congratulations, my lady.” Blake Dylan smiled, but without warmth—merely a baring of white teeth. “It seems we are engaged.”

  . . .

  After seeing the Langleys to the door, Blake Dylan returned to his bedchamber. Moonlight streamed in the open window and drew him across the room. He pressed his clenched fists against the frame. Then suddenly, with a fierce shove, he slammed the window closed. The glass rattled in the frame. He examined his reflection in the panes of glass, staring at the distorted image of his face. None of the turmoil raging through his soul showed in his features.

  Never reveal your emotions. That was his father's creed. Blake had perfected it.

  When he turned away, his bare shoulder brushed the ragged edges of the torn curtain. He paused to trace the rip with his index finger. Langley's daughter. Who would have thought she'd enter the house through a second-story window?

  He had fallen asleep in the chair while going over the Rosewood accounts as he awaited the arrival of the Langley's daughter. The candle had burned out as he slept, yet the darkness worked as a useful tool. After the tearing sound had awakened him, he found he could watch the girl without allowing her to see him clearly.

  His first day in residence at Rosewood—and already his plans were set in motion. When he arranged for the note to be delivered to Nicole Langley, he half expected her to visit him circumspectly in the daylight hours, despite Teddy's description of his meetings with the girl. The unmarried women of Blake's acquaintance did not visit men in their bedchambers in the middle of the night. Certainly not dressed in trousers. Nicole had surprised him, something that did not happen often.

  The man he had stationed at the Langley mansion had been told to watch for a young lady to leave the house, then deliver the second note to Billington. His success was obvious.

  Carefully laid plans always paid off in the end.

  Before passing a fortnight in England, Blake had become engaged to the woman he sought—the daughter of the man he had hated for years and the one true love of the deceitful Teddy Bartholomew. Too easy.

  Blake conjured up the list of details he had stored away in his mind regarding Billington's oldest daughter—tidbits of information provided by Bartholomew. Headstrong, daring, witty, and mischievous.

  Considering her volatile personality, he had no reason to be surprised at her behavior this evening. A girl who would slip vodka into her stepmother's afternoon tea would dare a great deal.

  Tonight she had come in search of Theodore Bartholomew and wound up his instead. There had to be some justice in that.

  A soft tapping on the door intruded into his reverie. “Enter.”

  Chester hesitated in the doorway. “I noticed the light under the door. You have not yet retired, my lord?”

  “Sleep eludes me.” Blake smiled slightly. “Too much excitement, I suppose.”

  “I must offer my apologies, sir. The duke was quite agitated and I was concerned he might discharge his weapon. I acted wrongly in bringin
g him to you.”

  Blake waved his hand impatiently. “Chester, you have my permission to do whatever necessary to calm any irate fathers waving guns.”

  “The Duke of Billington is normally a reasonable man. It must have been his worry over Lady Nicki that had him so out of sorts.”

  “Odd,” Blake arched a brow. “On the one other occasion I chanced to encounter Billington, he was equally disgruntled. I must bring out the worst in him—wouldn't you say, Chester?”

  The butler's mouth tightened as though he had just bitten into a particularly sour lemon. “I am certain I would not know, my lord.”

  “At any rate, we shall be seeing a good deal of the duke and his daughter.” Catching sight of a shiny object on the faded carpet, Blake bent to retrieve a lady's hairpin. “I have gotten myself engaged, Chester. The Langley girl certainly is attractive.”

  “Congratulations, sir. Lady Nicki was ever a pretty thing and she does have an appealing enthusiasm for life.”

  “Is that what you call it? I was inclined to find her reckless and somewhat foolhardy, but then I have not had the pleasure of her acquaintance for as long as you have. How long have you known Lady Nicole, Chester?”

  In the light of the dip Chester held, his austere features seemed to soften. “Lady Nicki's mother, bless her soul, brought the girl to Rosewood from the time she was a babe. If I may be so presumptuous, my lord, Lady Nicki has an aversion to being referred to as Lady Nicole. When she was but four years old, I thought it unseemly to use the abbreviated version of her name, but the little thing held her breath until she turned blue. It was then the duchess assured me that everyone was to call her Nicki, including the servants.”

  “Interesting. So Lady Nicole came to Rosewood with her mother?”

  Chester continued. “Until she was seven or so. When the young miss was but four or five years, she took it in her head to follow Master Teddy about. Most lads of ten would have sent her packing, but not Master Teddy. He treated Lady Nicki like a sister. When he went to school at Oxford, she was devastated.”

  At the mention of the university, Blake clenched the cool metal hairpin in his hand. “She must have been twelve or thirteen by that time.”

  “Why, yes, I believe she was thirteen. Ah . . . when the young master came home from school, those were joyous times. Wherever the pair of them were, trouble soon appeared. So full of life, those two.”

  Blake scowled, unclenched his fist and turned to place the hairpin on the polished surface of the bureau. “I believe you called it enthusiasm. I should think Lady Nicole well beyond the age of such foolishness. As my wife, she must learn to carry on in a dignified and decorous manner. This sneaking into second-story windows will stop.”

  “As you say, my lord. Forgive my prattling. It must be the lateness of the hour. If you have no further need of my services, I shall retire.”

  “Off to bed with you, Chester. We shall both need our strength for the days ahead.”

  “Of course, my lord. Have a pleasant sleep.” Chester bowed stiffly before he backed from the room and closed the door.

  Blake returned to his vigil at the window, bracing his hands on either side of the glass. How could he sleep now?

  Visions of slim hips and thighs provocatively revealed by those outrageous trousers raced through his mind; as did her hair of palest gold which tumbled in curls to the tantalizing curve at the base of her spine. Once having looked into her eyes a man would never forget their color—like the sea where it fades from the shore, a curious blend of deep blue tinged with green. When those beautiful eyes drew a man in, he would not be satisfied until he had tasted her full mouth with that pouting lower lip, soft and pink, moist where her tongue had touched . . .

  Good God, had it been so long since he had been with a woman? This was Billington's daughter, not a bloody siren.

  Blake pushed himself away from the window, stalked to the bureau, and doused the lamp. He had come here for a purpose and he could not allow an intriguing little firebrand to distract him.

  There would be time to fully savor the sweetness of that adorable mouth at a later date—after he had exacted his revenge.

  . . .

  Nicki squirmed on the bare back of her horse. She had always thought side saddles horrid contraptions, but now realized they had their uses.

  She risked a peek at her father. He rode just ahead, his countenance stiff, annoyance bristling from him. If he had his way, she would most likely be on her feet and tied to his saddle so he could drag her all the way home to Langley Hall.

  When she compared that scenario to her recently accomplished engagement to a man her father labeled a “fiend from hell,” Nicki thought she would prefer being dragged behind her father's horse.

  How could matters have gotten in such a tangle? When the note arrived, she had forced herself to remain calm and not rush immediately to Rosewood. She had set out this evening filled with such high hopes, certain that with Teddy's help she could extricate herself from an intolerable engagement to the odious Duke of Melton. If anyone could assist her out of such an untenable position, it was Teddy.

  Nicki nibbled her lower lip. Now she was free of the Duke, but she had not meant for the engagement to transfer to another. At times, her plans simply failed to go forward as she imagined.

  Still, this disaster could be laid entirely at her father's door if one truly thought it out logically. If he had not burst into the room like a madman, she could have returned to Langley Hall with nothing more than injured dignity. No one would have been the wiser, and Blake Dylan would have failed in whatever cruel scheme he had concocted.

  Much as she hated to admit it, Nicki knew her father's reaction stemmed from his love for her. Of that she had no doubt. She sighed. Her own feelings must be put aside for the moment.

  “Papa, I am sorry. Truly I am.”

  His shoulders stiffened and he drew himself up. “I've warned you about carrying on in such a careless manner, girl. Now look at the pickle you've landed us in. The Duke of Melton is a powerful man. It may not have been the best marriage, but it was a fitting one. He could make trouble for me.”

  Nicki urged Adonis forward until she and her father rode side by side. She stole a quick glance at his face as she attempted to gauge his mood. “You seemed to know that wretched man who has stolen Teddy's inheritance. Surely you can convince him this was an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  “No, Nick. There'll be no reasoning with him. The man hates me. Besides, he went to the trouble to bring this incident about. It doesn't bode well for either of us.”

  “Why would a man who dislikes you purposefully get himself engaged to your daughter? It makes no sense.”

  Her father reached up and batted the tassel of his nightcap aside. “Blake Dylan has never behaved as expected. He must be in England because of his father's death. Now he's got the title, the Earl of Diamond.” Her father shook his head dolefully. “They're known for their coldness. What the devil were you about sneaking into his bedchamber in the middle of the night?”

  So Blake Dylan was an earl. Nicki tightened her hold on the reins, causing Adonis to jerk his head in protest. “I thought I was to meet with Teddy.”

  “Even so, you had no business behaving so recklessly. And just look at you! Dressed like a boy and riding astride. I've raised a hoyden. It's a miracle Dylan went through with his plan. That man's getting more trouble than he knows.”

  She bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. Her father did not understand—would never understand. He would never know how stifled she felt by the ridiculous restrictions she was forced to endure as a woman.

  Most likely he would have preferred that she climb Teddy's trellis in a proper gown. She prided herself on her cleverness in wearing her brother's trousers, as the foresight had most likely saved her from serious injury.

  “There now, don't go sulking on me. Truly, Nick, what am I to do with you? You charge off without a thought to your reputation—or mine, for that
matter. I shudder to think what might've happened if I hadn't shown up when I did.”

  “Heaven forbid that I might have gotten myself engaged or something equally as dreadful!”

  “Nicole Langley, I'll have none of that!” Her father scowled in her direction. “You've put me in a devilish position. Melton was quite taken with the idea of having you for a bride. And what of Mina's Season? Melton agreed to finance your sister's coming out. I'll not be getting tuppence out of Dylan!”

  Chagrin replaced Nicki's ire. She had forgotten about Mina's Season. If she were any sort of sister she would have quietly accepted the marriage to Melton, if only for the financial stability the match meant for her family. Her thoughts flashed to her stepmother.

  Her desire for martyrdom dissipated.

  “I will do my best to make the situation turn around, Papa. Mina will have her Season. I swear it. Even if I have to spend my inheritance from Grandmama to see that she does.”

  Her father reached over and pressed her hand. “That money's to be yours upon your marriage—only yours.”

  “But I would gladly give up every shilling for Mina, Papa.”

  He sighed and ran his finger inside his collar. “You are my oldest, Nick, and my brightest. I know you'll behave as a good daughter should. Besides, marriage isn't so bad, girl. I don't know why you've got such an aversion to it.”

  The full moon ducked behind a cloud and Nicki silently praised its discretion. How could she tell her father that it had been his marital experiences that had soured her forever on the matrimonial state?

  She had been ten years old, one year younger than her brother Shelby was now, when her mother died. Her father had told her and Mina that Marguerite's heart had failed, but Nicki had known the real truth.

  Nicki turned her thoughts to her father's wedding three short months after Mother's death. The woman her father married so swiftly had been the same he kept as his mistress. Angelica Dalton, the youthful widow of a baron from Yorkshire. Beautiful, elegant, charming . . . and Nicki hated her.

  “Nicki? Are you sulking?”

  Hiding the torment carefully from her father—from the world, she lifted her chin. “I am not afraid of marriage and I am not sulking. Do not worry, Papa, I surrender. If I do not marry your Earl of Diamond, it will be through no device of mine. I give you my word.”