The Black Diamond (Black Diamond 2)

Aurora shuddered, repeating the heinous phrase she'd committed to memory only too long ago. "'He with a black heart who touches the jewel will reap eternal wealth, while becoming the carrion upon whom, for all eternity, others will feed'." She swallowed hard. "Is James warning us that the curse is real?"

Julian glanced at his wife, clearly aware of her rising apprehension. "I doubt it," he said, his voice deep, reassuring. "More likely he's warning us that others believe it is; that so long as the diamond remains unrestored, England is in danger. Remember, Rory, James had no idea of the dark events and scandal that would follow his death. He was worrying about his country, not his family."

"You're right." Aurora folded her hands in her lap, firmly mastering her trepidation. "I'm sorry; I become a bit irrational when it comes to that stone."

"I understand." Julian scowled. "The true bafflement here still remains. Not for a minute do I believe James went to all this trouble merely to warn us. His entire plan—his and Geoffrey's—all their precisely placed clues were designed to lead us to the diamond. Well, the underscored words we just read pertain only to the curse, not to its resolution. We still don't know where to look for the stone itself." Restlessly Julian skimmed the book, flipping through its yellowed pages.

The volume fell open to the inside cover—and the inscription that was scrawled upon it. "Aurora—look."

Aurora responded to the urgency in her husband's tone, peering eagerly over his shoulder.

Geoffrey, the inscription read, Like the falcons depicted within, you are far greater than you appear—a rock of strength, a giant among men. As it is with the merlin and the kestrel, chart your path, then soar to the highest peak and the key to all life's treasures will be yours. Your friend, James.

"So, James gave this book to Geoffrey as a gift," Aurora murmured, rereading her great-grandfather's words.

"Ostensibly."

Her head came up. "What do you mean, ostensibly?"

"I mean that James was the renowned breeder of falcons, not Geoffrey. 'Tis his library that's crammed full of books on birds of prey. Geoffrey has nary a one—except this."

"I see where your thoughts are headed." Aurora nodded vigorously. "If someone—the wrong someone—ever came upon this text and questioned its unlikely appearance at Morland, that someone had only to open the book and see the personal inscription, at which point he'd presume it was a gift and dismiss any reservations he might have." A puzzled frown as she reread the inscription. "I wonder why James chose these specific words. They must mean something."

"To begin with, they mention every one of the clues that led us to James's strongbox: 'Key', 'chart', 'giant', referring to the giants from your Tamar legend. Clearly James is ensuring we've amassed all the necessary pieces—which we have."

"But pieces to what? To take us where? Back to the Tamar?"

Julian frowned. "I think not. Still, I don't know—yet. We'll have to reread everything we just uncovered, then study the entire book line by line, see what other specific references James left for us. Remember, thus far we've read only the page we found in his strongbox, two additional pages, and an inscription. Until we have more information I can't readily guess the right course to take to lead us to the diamond."

"Hell and damnation!" Aurora exploded, jumping to her feet. "We can't have come this far only to be thwarted."

"We aren't thwarted." Julian rose, placing the book on an end table. Reaching for Aurora, he captured her shoulders, rubbing them gently. "Rory, you wanted to be an adventurer. In order to do so, you must exercise a modicum of patience. No one, no matter how brilliant, unravels an entire mystery all at once. Puzzles—especially complex ones like this—take time to solve. I think we've done one hell of a job, given that we've only been working at it a few paltry days."

Aurora sighed, relaxing under her husband's massaging hands. "I suppose you're right. My head aches from thinking, and from the frenzied pace."

"Of course it does." His thumbs shifted, caressed the sides of her neck. "Ofttimes, you know, 'tis necessary to put some distance between yourself and your adventure. That distance affords you objectivity, perspective, all of which are essential to come to the right solution—and all of which are shattered when you're too close to a subject. Trust me—I've been involved in this type of work a lot longer than you have." He stroked her nape in slow, soothing caresses. "Remember the painting I told you about, the one I found in France? Well, as I said, I had to squelch my urgency, await the right moment to act—else all would have been lost. We have the same plight here. Not only with regard to our actions, but with regard to our thoughts. We've been consumed with this mystery for a fortnight, not to mention that its essence has dominated our lives forever." Julian paused, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "What we need now is an effective diversion."

"Really?" Aurora's lips curved. "Have you one in mind?"

"Um-hum. It's perfect: exciting, inspiring, all-encompassing—it will command every drop of our energy, both mental and physical."

"It sounds fascinating … and taxing. What is it?"

A wicked grin was her response, and Julian released her only long enough to cross over and lock the library door. "The one you promised me on our carriage ride to Morland—or did you think I'd forgotten?"

Obviously he hadn't.

Neither, for that matter, had Aurora's body. It clamored to life along with Julian's pointed reminder. "No. I didn't think you'd forgotten." She gazed up at her husband, sobering as he returned to her side, wrapped his arms around her. "I just wasn't certain you'd want to indulge in that particular diversion here."

"I want to indulge in that particular diversion with you anywhere," Julian breathed, kissing her throat, her neck. "Libraries included."

"I wasn't referring to the library. I was referring to Morland." Aurora's eyes slid shut and she had to struggle to retain her thoughts, much less give voice to them. "Your memories of this manor are not very pleasant."

"True." Julian unfastened her gown, tugging it down along with her chemise. "Then, it's up to us to make new ones that are pleasant—no, not pleasant—spectacular." His lips found the hollow between her breasts, dipped lower. "Is that all right?"

With a moan Aurora gave in, grasping Julian's arms, arching to bring him closer. "Yes."

"Good." He bent to taste her breasts, drawing each tight aching nipple into his mouth, tugging until Aurora had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. "Don't cry out," her husband warned in a husky whisper. "We wouldn't want to bring Thayer running. I don't think he's equipped to handle what he'd find if he broke down that door." With that, Julian lowered his head, resumed his torture.