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Guillford's next words dashed that filament of hope.
"Lost in thought? Well, consider this: I don't trust you, Aurora. You're too damned resourceful. Thus, I won't be leaving you alone for too long—only long enough for me to tr
avel to Falmouth and dispatch a missive to your husband. During that time, you'll be bound and gagged. When I return, I'll remove your bonds and—perhaps—give you a bit of food and water. I'd prefer to keep you alive and well until I get word from your husband, which should occur tonight."
Aurora paused. "How will Julian know where to contact you?"
"He won't. Nor will he ever know my identity, not if he hopes to live. My anonymous missive will advise him of my terms—specifically, to turn over the black diamond in exchange for your life. It will also instruct him when and where he's to leave the stone and, of course, collect you—a well-chosen location, incidentally, that's several shires away from here. As for how my missive will reach him, I've hired a most eager and discreet messenger who will track your Julian down and await his reply, then ride directly to Falmouth to convey that response to me."
"So you'll be returning to Falmouth after dark?"
"Yes. And once again, you'll be bound and gagged in your little cove. If things go as I expect, Julian's message will be an agreement to my terms. After all, what choice does he have? He certainly won't sacrifice your life, not even for the black diamond."
"But my life is already sacrificed, is it not? It was the minute I learned who my abductor was."
"Sadly enough, that's true. Julian will deliver the stone, but he won't be receiving his bride in return."
Aurora swallowed. "How do you plan to kill me?"
"That, my dear, depends on you. As I said, I don't trust you. On the other hand, I'm not an excessively violent man. So if you behave during my two trips to Falmouth, if you attempt nothing foolish, I'll go the merciful route and simply leave you to your fate."
"Which means flinging me, bound and gagged, in an isolated cove where I'll either suffocate or starve. How generous."
"'Tis far more pleasant than the alternative, I assure you," Guillford said in a steely tone. "Because if you're difficult, if you make any stupid efforts to escape—including now—then I'll be forced to toss you over the edge of the cliff, to be dashed on the rocks below." He leaned forward, fingered one disheveled red-gold tress. "Which would be a terrible waste for one as beautiful as you."
"Don't touch me," Aurora said quietly, yanking away her hair and walking forward.
He followed close behind, his sardonic chuckle chilling her blood. "How principled you've suddenly become. And at such an odd time. We're discussing your death and you're worrying about your virtue. Curious indeed. Well, fear not. While the thought of having you is tempting, I'm far more interested in your money than I am in your body—beautiful or not. Just remember what I said. How you die is up to you."
Again Aurora paused, this time pivoting to face her adversary. "I could refuse to cooperate. After all, you've just told me I'm to die no matter what. Why should I not just remain here, insist you shoot me where I stand?"
"Because my bullet would only inflict great pain rather than death," Guillford returned, his mouth thinning with anger. "I'd make sure of that. In fact, I'd make sure you were fully conscious and alert when you plunged over the edge of the cliff. Tell me, Aurora, are you that brave?" He strode forward, gripping her face and forcing it around and down, until her gaze swept the ragged coastline. "Are you?"
Peering downward, Aurora felt bile rise in her throat. The entire section of cliffs upon which they stood jutted out over the water, angled into a drop that meant instant death. Far below, the currents rushed wildly about, crashing into jagged boulders, lapping against towering columns of stone that loomed on every side, menacing in their domination.
God help her, she was too afraid to die this way.
Raising her head, Aurora stared off into the distance, spying the faraway peaks defining the western tip of Cornwall. Land's End, she mused vaguely, glimmers of Mr. Scollard's legends filtering through her mind.
Oh, Mr. Scollard, how I need you now, she reflected wistfully, realizing for the first time that she might never see her old friend again. I need your wisdom. I need your faith. And dear God, I need Julian.
In that instant, her gaze was captured by a faint object situated on a tiny island just off the coast of Land's End. A lighthouse.
Graceful, tall, the stone structure brushed the newly lit skies with its presence, beckoning whoever craved its presence.
And oh, how Aurora craved.
Was it just her imagination or did the building much resemble her beloved Windmouth Lighthouse?
As if in answer, a tiny light flashed in the lighthouse tower. Just once—so fleeting one would hardly notice. Then it vanished.
Mr. Scollard, is that you? Aurora begged silently. Are you telling me all hope is not lost?
Another glimmer of light, fleeting—perfect. Aurora had her answer.
Giving unspoken thanks, she regathered her strength, called upon her faltering reserves. So long as she was surrounded by her friend, his renewing faith, there was still hope a miracle might occur.
"Have you contemplated the scenery long enough?" Guillford demanded, his fingers digging into her cheeks. "Or do you require a closer view?"
