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nd usurp the black diamond. I should have learned by now that to accomplish something of that magnitude, I can rely upon only one person—myself."
Aurora's hands were trembling violently in her lap, her worst suspicions confirmed. "The Macalls," she breathed. "Gerald and Brady Macall worked for you. You were the person who paid them ten months ago, sent them to Paris to abscond with that painting."
The viscount's brows were arched in surprise. "My, my. Your husband certainly has filled you in on a great deal of his colorful life, hasn't he? Now, that surprises me. From what I understand, the infamous Merlin is ever the loner, discussing no details of his adventures with anyone—or at least such was the case until now." A malevolent smile. "Excellent. He's even more smitten with you than I realized. That should bode well for my plan."
"You paid Gerald Macall to kill Julian," Aurora bit out, her insides churning with rage. "You're the reason that filthy pirate held a sword to my husband's throat and drew his blood."
"I wish I could take full credit for Macall's fervent resolve. But I can't. Macall wanted your husband dead as badly as I did—more so, from a personal perspective. He was avenging the loss of his brother, while I was avenging the less intimate but far more significant losses of my money, my future, and my reputation. Nevertheless Macall was a poor choice for me to have made. He's reckless and irrational. 'Tis just as well that you killed him; it forced me to do what I should have from the start: emerge from the shadows, take control, and wrest from Bencroft what I want—what's owed me."
"You're more insane than Macall."
"Am I?" Guillford swerved the carriage along the curves of the darkened road. "Tell me that when I've acquired all I seek. Which brings me to the answer to your original question: why have I kidnapped you? The answer is twofold. First, to procure vengeance—I want Julian Bencroft to suffer for what he did to me. And as you appear to be his first and only weakness, my holding your life in my hands—deciding whether to prolong it or dash it—will take care of that part quite nicely. And second, to acquire the splendid ransom I shall attain in exchange for agreeing to spare you—the one and only black diamond."
But you won't spare me, Aurora refuted silently. I know too much; letting me live would be ensuring your own downfall. Moreover, if I realize that, Julian will realize it, too.
Which means he'll be frantic to get to me, she reflected with a mixture of relief and terror. Knowing him, he's probably on his way right now—his wound be damned.
Fighting the urge to look back over her shoulder, Aurora asked Guillford, "May I know where you're taking me?"
"Certainly." Guillford pointed toward the west. "We'll ride beyond Falmouth until the roads become too steep for my phaeton. At which point, we'll abandon the carriage and take the remaining distance to the black-scarred cliffs by foot."
"We're going to the Lizard Peninsula?" Aurora gasped, real fear knotting her gut. "But that's…"
"That's … what?" Guillford taunted, clearly enjoying the fact that he'd unnerved her. "Hours away? Reachable only by traveling wretched excuses for roadways in the dead of night? Or were you about to say that the black cliffs are the steepest and most terrifying in all of Cornwall?"
"I was only surprised by the distance you intended to travel." Aurora forced her voice to remain calm, reflecting none of the dread that knotted her gut. "Especially by night. As for the roads, I've never traveled them, nor have I ever seen the cliffs. I know only that they're miles away. So I couldn't say whether they're terrifying or not."
"I keep forgetting how sheltered Slayde's kept you all these years, sequestered away at Pembourne like some fairy-tale princess. Well, my dear, before dawn you'll be getting a firsthand look at a savage section of the Cornish coast that's caused more death and destruction than I can recount."
"It sounds fascinating." Aurora looked away, Mr. Scollard's legends about the black cliffs running rampant through her mind: seamen flung overboard during brutal winter storms only to be engulfed by waves or dashed in the rocky coves; ships swallowed up by the mist or capsized by untamed currents; entire crews dragged under, never to be seen again.
She tried to push the dark stories from her mind, to focus on Mr. Scollard's more fanciful tales of the region—tales of mermaids and treasures, exciting rescues and booty. But somehow she couldn't—not this time. This time, all she could feel was a horrible sense of foreboding.
"Incidentally," Guillford added, urging the horses around a particularly sharp curve. "As I said, soon after we reach the peninsula, we'll be abandoning the carriage and traveling by foot—a perilous walk, to say the least. Between that and the formidable drive we're now undertaking, I'd abandon any thoughts of rescue. Your husband might be determined, but he's also wounded. Even if he's already realized that you're missing and somehow managed to come after us, he won't last beyond the first mile." A quick glance behind them. "I see no one now. But even if I'm wrong, even if Bencroft is following covertly in our wake, his pursuit will soon be ended. The two of you came to Fowey by boat. That means he'll have to pursue us by foot, since he doesn't dare take the time to seek out a horse or carriage. Given the fact that he can scarcely lift his head, how long do you think it will take him to pass out from exertion and loss of blood?"
Aurora kept her head averted, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the viscount's words … not only their truth, but the image they evoked: Julian unconscious, lying in the road, bleeding and alone.
Instinctively her hand closed around the scrap of gold encircling her finger, deriving inexplicable comfort from touching the cool surface of the ring that proclaimed her Julian's wife.
Besieged by worry, she prayed.
* * *
Dawn's first rays were slicing the horizon as Lord Guillford propelled Aurora up the rough path leading through the black cliffs. It had been miles since he'd dragged her from the phaeton, urged her along at gunpoint. Her body ached with exhaustion, her head pounded with worry over Julian's fate—and her own. Yet she forced herself to push onward, praying for a miracle.
Thus far, none had arrived.
She paused, tearing her skirts free of a protruding rock—the dozenth in as many steps. Her slippers were worn, her gown shredded, and Guillford and his pistol were mere inches behind her.
"How much farther must we go?" she panted, blowing damp strands of hair off her face.
"Until I say otherwise," Guillford returned icily, jabbing the pistol against her back.
Aurora glanced back over her right shoulder to assess Guillford's condition—intentionally avoiding the dramatic coastal view to her left by doing so. If she allowed herself to explore that angle, to gaze downward at the jutting rocks and swirling waters below, she'd be sick.
"Don't build any false hopes that I'm going to collapse with fatigue." With a hard motion, the viscount yanked at his cravat, loosening the still meticulously tied knot. "I devised this plan weeks ago in the event Macall failed me. Therefore, I've already walked this entire path—not only to test my endurance but to locate the perfect cove to act as your temporary home. Both efforts proved successful. Now, move."
A twinge of hope—the first in seven hours—flickered in Aurora's heart as she continued on her way, teetering a bit as she ascended one of the cliff's ragged precipices. She wasn't surprised by the viscount's thoroughness; he was an exacting man by nature, most assuredly when his entire future was at stake. But now she knew something she hadn't before: he didn't intend to kill her immediately. Instead he meant to leave her here, presumably while he returned to Fowey, notified Julian of her plight, and bartered for her life. And while the thought of being abandoned here was frightening, it was infinitely more appealing than the alternative. Plus it might buy her some time, give her a fighting chance to escape.
