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"She fought your decision."
"Like a tigress."
Despite her careening emotions, Aurora smiled. "Thank God."
"Don't bother. 'Tis a waste of time. You won't win this battle—not even with Courtney's help."
A knowing look. "Why not? She's not only my closest friend, she's your wife—and your greatest weakness. I have yet to see you refuse her anything."
"There's a first time for everything." Slayde inhaled sharply. "In any case, Courtney is not the issue here. You are."
"I beg to differ with you. Courtney is the issue here. As is your unborn child. How are you going to protect them from the curse?"
Pain flashed in Slayde's eyes. "With my life. I have no other means. I can't protect them, as I can you, by severing their ties to me. 'Tis too late for that. Courtney and I are bound in the most fundamental way possible—my babe is growing inside her. I cannot offer her freedom, a new life, even if I chose to. But with you—I can." Slowly he walked around his desk to face his sister. "There's no point in arguing, Aurora. I've already accepted Guillford's offer. You'll be married in a month." He paused, studying Aurora's clenched fists from beneath hooded lids. "I realize you're furious at me right now. I hope someday you'll understand. But whether or not you do, you're marrying Guillford. So I suggest you accustom yourself to the idea." Slayde's expression softened. "He adores you. He told me himself that he wants to give you the world. As for you, I know you enjoy his company. I've seen you smile, even laugh, in his presence."
"I behave similarly in the presence of Courtney's pup, Tyrant."
Another scowl. "You'll learn to love him."
Vehemently, Aurora shook her head. "No, Slayde, I won't."
She turned and marched out of the study.
* * *
"I spent all last night pleading your case."
Courtney Huntley, the very lovely, very pregnant Countess of Pembourne, sighed, shadows of fatigue etched beneath her sea green eyes. "He's adamant that this union take place."
"The whole idea is ludicrous." Aurora paced the length of her friend's bed
chamber, her red-gold hair whipping about her shoulders. "Slayde of all people should realize that marriage must be founded on love, not reason. After all, that's why you two wed. My brother is so in love with you he can scarcely see straight. How can he want less for me?"
"He doesn't want less for you," Courtney defended at once. "I promise you, Aurora, if there were someone special in your life, someone you cared for, Slayde would refuse Lord Guillford's offer in a heartbeat."
"But since there isn't, I'm being forced to wed the most acceptable substitute?"
Courtney sighed. "I can't argue that Slayde's plan is a dreadful mistake. All I can do is explain that his worry for your welfare is eclipsing his reason. I've never seen him so distraught, not even when we first met. Since Morland died and speculation over the black diamond's whereabouts has escalated into a host of threats, it's as if he's been reliving years past. He's no more rational about me than he is about you. I'm not even permitted to stroll the gardens alone. Either he or one of the guards is perpetually glued to my side."
"Well, perhaps you're willing to accept it. I'm not."
A flicker of humor. "Willing? No. Resigned is a better choice of words." Tenderly, Courtney smoothed her palm over her swollen abdomen. "I'm a bit more unwieldy than I was a few months past—or hadn't you noticed? I suspect I wouldn't prove much of an adversary to the guards if I tried to outrun them."
Aurora didn't return her smile. "I can't marry Lord Guillford, Courtney," she whispered, coming to a halt. "I just can't."
Their gazes met.
"I'll talk to Slayde again," Courtney vowed. "Tonight. I'll think of something—Lord knows what, but I'll fight this betrothal with every emotional weapon I possess."
With a worried nod, Aurora looked away, contemplating her options.
Customarily Courtney's assurances would have been more than enough. But not this time.
Slayde had been too vehement, too single-minded, and there was too much at stake.
She'd have to ensure his cooperation on her own.
* * *
