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Chapter 1
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Devonshire, England January 1818
"I will not marry him!"
Lady Aurora Huntley nearly toppled the study chair, leaping to her feet as if she'd been singed. With a look of utter incredulity, she stared across the desk at her brother, her chest tight with unspeakable fury. "My God, Slayde, have you lost your mind?"
"No." The Earl of Pembourne unfolded from his chair, his silver-gray eyes narrowed in warning. "I assure you, Aurora, I am quite sane. You, on the other hand, are bordering on irrational. Now, sit down."
"Irrational?" Aurora ignored the command, tilting back her head to gaze up at her tall, formidable brother. "You've just announced to me, as casually as one would announce the time of day, that in a matter of weeks you'll be marrying me off to an affable but uninspiring man who is no more than a chance acquaintance and for whom I feel nothing, and you find my anger irrational?"
"The Viscount Guillford is a fine man," Slayde refuted, hands clasped behind his back as if prepared to do battle. "He's honest and principled—I've done business with him for years and know that firsthand. He's also financially secure, well respected, even tempered, and generous, not to mention nice-looking and charming, as is evidenced by the number of women reputedly vying for his affections—and his name."
"I'm not most women."
A muscle flexed in Slayde's jaw. "I'm only too well aware of that. Nonetheless, the viscount is everything I just described and more. He's also—for some very fortunate and equally baffling reason—thoroughly smitten with you, even after a mere four or five meetings. In fact, according to him, he fell under your spell on his first visit to Pembourne. That was the time I was unavoidably detained for our business meeting and, to quote Guillford, you entertained him with your delightful company until I arrived."
"Entertained him? We chatted about White's and the finer points of whist. He made a gracious attempt to teach me to play. You were a quarter hour late. The moment you walked into the sitting room, I excused myself and left. That was the extent of the 'entertainment' I provided."
"Well, you must have made quite an impression. The viscount found you refreshing and lovely. Further, he's one of a select and rapidly diminishing few who remain unperturbed by the Huntley curse and by the scandal surrounding our age-old feud with the Bencrofts. When you consider the events of the past fortnight, that last factor could be the most significant of all Guillford's attributes. So, contrary to your protests, you are indeed going to marry him."
"But, Slayde…"
"No." Adamantly, Slayde sliced the air with his palm, silencing Aurora's oncoming plea. "My decision is final. The arrangements are under way. The subject is closed."
Aurora sucked in her breath, taken aback by the unyielding fervor of Slayde's decree. It had been months—last spring to be exact—since she'd seen that rigid, uncompromising expression on his face, felt that impenetrable wall of reserve loom up between them.
She'd thought the old Slayde gone forever—together with his obsessive hatred for the Bencrofts. That Slayde had vanished last May when he'd met and subsequently married Courtney Johnston who, with her quiet spirit and unwavering love, had permeated Slayde's heart, granting him peace with the past and hope for the future.
Until now, when all the wonder Courtney had effected was in danger of being shattered—and by the very man Slayde so loathed.
Lawrence Bencroft, the Duke of Morland.
Fury swelled inside Aurora as she contemplated the hell Morland had resurrected with his bloody investigation, his false accusations. Damn him for stirring up doubts that had, at long last, begun to subside. Damn him for casting aspersion on the Huntleys, then dying before he could be disproved.
Most of all, damn that bloody black diamond. Damn it and its heinous curse. For three generations it had haunted her family. Would they never escape its lethal grasp?
With a hard swallow, Aurora struggled to compose herself. "Slayde," she tried, reminding herself yet again that her brother's irrationality was founded in fear, not domination or cruelty. "I realize that the ton's focus has returned to the diamond with a vengeance since Morland's accusations and now his death. But…"
"The ton?" A predatory look flashed in Slayde's eyes. "Cease this nonsensical attempt to placate me, Aurora. You know bloody well I don't give a damn about the fashionable world or their gossip. What I do give a damn about are the three attempted burglaries, half-dozen extortion letters, and equally as many threats that have besieged Pembourne over the past ten days. Evidently Morland's sudden demise, on the heels of commencing an investigation that—according to his very public announcement—would prove I was harboring the black diamond, has once again convinced numerous privateers and scoundrels, prompting them to act. Clearly they intend to ransack my home, threaten and browbeat me into producing the stone—a stone I've never seen and haven't the slightest clue where to find."
"But how can anyone invade Pembourne? You have guards posted everywhere."
Slayde scowled. "That offers reassurances, not guarantees. Aurora, I'm your guardian. I'm also your brother. That means I'm not only responsible for your safety, I'm committed to ensuring it. I won't see you harmed or vulnerable to attack."
"I'll take my chances."
"I won't." Slayde's tone was as uncompromising as his words. "I intend to see you safely wed, severed from the Huntley name for good."
Wincing, Aurora tried another tactic. "How does Courtney feel about your insistence that I marry the viscount?"
One dark brow rose. "I think you know the answer to that."
