“I don’t believe in curses. Neither do you. You told me so yourself.”
“I said I didn’t believe the black diamond was cursed,” he corrected. “Unfortunately, the search for it is. And my family is right in the middle of that search.”
“The search is over.”
“No. It’s not.”
“As far as the Huntleys are concerned, it is. You delivered the diamond to Armon.”
“No, I didn’t.”
A shocked silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock.
“What did you say?” Courtney asked at last.
Slayde sat up, torn between emotion and pragmatism, protection and candor. “We need to talk.”
“Evidently we do.” Courtney pushed herself to a sitting position, tugging up her gown in awkward, self-conscious motions.
“Let me.” Slayde readjusted her clothing, wishing he could recall his frank outburst. Damn. He never involved anyone in his decisions, never divulged his thoughts or his actions, least of all now, when there was so much at stake. Why the hell had he suddenly become unable to keep his mouth shut? Was he losing his heart and his mind?
“I can’t reach the buttons. If you would just fasten them, I’ll manage the rest.” Courtney’s head was bowed, her voice muffled as she struggled with the back of the gown.
Studying the lustrous crown of red-gold hair, Slayde experienced a wave of shame and regret. He was responsible for Courtney’s self-censure, her humiliation. He’d acted selfishly, incited by his unprecedented, burgeoning feelings—something he’d had no right to do. For although she obliterated his control, his reason, his sanity, he’d taken advantage of her, knowing there could be no future between them, knowing he’d cause her naught but pain. And now, what in God’s name could he say to ease the confusion and self-doubt she was feeling?
Ease them? Hell, he was about to intensify them.
“Courtney.” He hooked his forefinger beneath her chin. “Before I delve into what I suspect will be a very complicated explanation, it’s important to me that you know I meant every word I said a few minutes ago. You’re beautiful. And I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
“I believe you.” Courtney raised her head, and Slayde was startled to see none of the shame and remorse he’d expected. To the contrary, the sea-green eyes that searched his face were soft, not with contrition, but with concern. “You needn’t convince me. Nor console me. I don’t regret a moment of what just happened—almost happened,” she amended. “What I do regret is your reasons for pulling away.”
“You don’t know what those reasons are.”
“Perhaps not. But I suspect they stem from your notion of protection. Protection and self-protection.”
Her assessment diverted Slayde from the disclosure he was about to make. “Self-protection?”
“Of course.” Courtney sighed. “You’re even more accomplished at that than you are at protecting others. The latter you’re aware of; the former, you’re not.”
Her depth of insight was staggering, and—if the constriction in his gut was any indication—accurate. “Tell me, since I’m unaware of it: what is it I’m protecting myself from?”
“Hurt. Allowing someone into your life, your heart. Allowing that someone to penetrate thirty-one years of solitude—solitude reinforced by the pain of your parents’ deaths.” She lay her palm against his jaw. “I don’t blame you, Slayde. ’Tis far easier, far safer, to remain detached.”
“Safer, yes,” he said with an ironic shake of his head. “Easier? Not since I met you.”
A tremulous smile. “I feel it, too, you know.”
“I know you do. And, self-protection notwithstanding, it can’t happen. We can’t happen.” Slayde wrenched away, stalking the length of the bedchamber, halting at the window.
“Where is the diamond, Slayde?”
“I haven’t a clue.” He grasped the curtain, crushing the fine material in his fist. “I’ve never laid eyes on it.”
Another heartbeat of silence.
“Then what did you give Armon?”
“A fake. A damned good one, created by the best and most discreet jeweler in England.”