Diamonds and Dreams (58 page)

I imagine he plied you with honeyed words,
didn’t he? Jillian had guessed. He told you how incredibly
beautiful you are, and made you believe that everything about you
is exactly what he wants in a woman.

“Yes,” Goldie whimpered. “Yes, he did all
those things.”

Trust me, Goldie. Trust me.

She heard his voice. It came from the air.
From nowhere.

I love you, poppet.

“Saber,” she moaned, her fist at her mouth,
her body quaking as her agony pounded through her. “Lies. So many
lies. You must have laughed at me...just like all the others. I
thought—I thought you were different. You made me believe. For the
first time—I trusted—I loved—Saber, I loved you.”

Broken. Her trust in the man she loved. Her
heart.

All her diamond dreams.

She’d been allowed to touch them. Hold them
for a time before they were snatched from her. But everything was
gone now. Over.

Just like always.

When Saber arrived at the doorway of the
parlor, he knew he was witnessing his own nightmare. Goldie’s pad
of paper lay ruffled on the floor. Goldie herself was gone.

And Jillian was sitting on a velvet settee,
her brow raised high, a smug grin tugging at the corners of her red
mouth.

“She left,” Jillian purred, smoothing a
slender finger across the top of one of the pale breasts straining
from within the tight confines of her scarlet gown. “I doubt
seriously that you will ever see her again.”

Saber stopped breathing. He was numb with
rage, regret, and an all-consuming fear that Jillian spoke the
truth.

“You belong to
me
, Marion,” Jillian
continued, licking her lips. “You have for almost four years, and
you always will.”

Saber heard the roar of his pumping blood in
his ears. He clenched his jaw, his fists. His entire body went
rigid. “You sicken me, Jillian.” Fury turned his voice into a low
and frightening growl.

Apprehension writhed through her like a
slithering snake. “You don’t love her, Marion. You’re merely
intrigued by how
different
she is. That will pass. She is
only the second woman you have looked at since Angelica’s death,
but remember, Marion, it was into
my
arms you fled after
that tragedy. It was
my
attention you sought, and
my
loving ways that helped you to mend. You will come to your senses
and realize that I am the only woman who could ever be the Duchess
of Ravenhurst. I am gentlebred. I am a true lady, my darling
diamond duke.”

“You were but a willing body. Someone into
whom I could pump my frustration and rage. You were a temporary and
physical remedy, Jillian. And if you were really gentle-bred...if
you were a true lady, you never would have done what you did
tonight. You are no lady, Jillian. You are little more than a
fortune-hunting doxy. A bitch who will spread her legs for any man
wealthy enough to satisfy your boundless greed.”

Molten rage sluiced through her. “If I
cannot have you, no other woman will either. I swear to destroy any
future relationship you might ever hope to have with anyone
else.”

Saber drew himself up to his full height.
“There will never be anyone else for me but Goldie. And you,
Jillian Sommerset, are not fit to utter her name. God willing, I’ll
find her tonight and mend what damage you have done. And if I am
successful, you will never have the opportunity to hurt her again.
I am going to use every possible means at my disposal to make
certain that you are immediately and permanently banned from
society. You will never be welcome among the nobility again. And
don’t doubt for a moment that I cannot do it, for you know full
well that I can.”

His sharp gaze crucified her to her seat.
She couldn’t move. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, horror stealing
her voice.

“Consider it already done.”

* * *

Goldie pounded on the front door, but
Bennett failed to open it. Confused, yet desperate, she raced to
the back, finding the kitchen door wide open. Taking not a second
to ponder the oddity of that, she flew upstairs to her bedroom and
ripped off her gown and underthings. She found her old brown frock
wadded up in the back of her closet and hastily put it on. After
slipping into her old slippers, she dragged out her tattered bag
from beneath the bed, stuffing her dictionary and spare dress into
it. For a brief moment, she wondered where her Aunt Delia’s diaries
were before remembering Saber had taken them.

“To learn more about bein’ a duke,” she
choked, feeling a fresh wave of mortification break over her.
Staggering into the corner, she retrieved her claymore. As she
passed the dressing table, the rich gleam of the gold brush caught
her eye. Her broken heart couldn’t bear the memories the sight of
it brought, but recollections, like a raging river, flooded through
her nevertheless.

“The dandelion stew,” she murmured, pain
weaving through every part of her. “The bread. The maze. Eyes like
dancin’ coins, and freckles painted on by cherubs. The first kiss.
The softness in your eyes. The—”

A torrent of tears escaped her. “Lies! All
lies!” Sagging against the table, she willed the veil of memories
to lift and disappear, but knew in her soul they never would. Like
phantoms, they’d haunt her forever.

With what strength she could find, she
swayed toward the door, the heavy claymore slowing her
considerably. “Itchie Bon!” she called to her dog. “Itchie Bon!”
When he didn’t respond, she realized he and Margaret had taken
advantage of the open kitchen door. She prayed she’d find her dog
somewhere outside.

A sudden noise in the hallway startled her.
Believing it to be Bennett or Fern, she rushed toward the staircase
before either of them could see and try to stop her. Just as she
reached for the banister, a foul odor caught her attention. A
putrid mixture of stale sweat, urine, and something rotten, it made
her gag. Foreboding skated down her spine; instinct shouted that
she wasn’t alone.

Someone was watching her.

Her skin grew clammy, her mouth went dry.
Slowly, she turned, her eyes wide, her lungs burning for the breath
of air she couldn’t draw.

“Ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya ain’t,
chickabiddy,” Diggory Ferris declared as he stepped out of the
black shadows of the corridor. “I been waitin’ fer ya, an’ I don’t
like ter be kept waitin’. Jest fer that, yer goin’ ter suffer a
while afore ya die.”

At the sight of the glittering dagger in the
man’s hand, Goldie screamed so loud, she felt the sound rattle her
own bones. Her bag and sword dropped from her hands, both plunging
down the staircase.

The man stepped closer to her. So close she
could see the dirt-filled pockmarks on his greasy face and the red
streaks in his small, lashless eyes.

She watched in stunned terror as he raised
his blade to her throat, and knew then that not only had all her
dreams come to end, but her life had also.

* * *

Saber nearly tore the coach door off, trying
to get it open as the conveyance came to a rattling halt in front
of the house. He bolted out and flew up the steps. The door was
locked, and Bennett did not respond. His hands shaking, he fumbled
with a ring of keys, infuriated when he couldn’t find the one that
would open the door.

“Dammit, Bennett, open the door!
Bennett—”

Another shout cut him off.
Goldie!
Her screaming turned his blood to gel and his mind into a seething
mass of fear and horror.

Adrenaline spinning through him, he took a
step away from the threshold. Drawing up his leg, he kicked the
door with every shred of might his body possessed. He heard the
crack of splitting wood, but the door remained shut. Taking a deep,
shuddering breath, he braced himself and rammed his shoulder into
the door.

It cracked loudly, then gave way with a
splintering crash. He dashed madly inside, utter panic whipping
through him when he saw Goldie at the top of the staircase. A
brawny man had her crushed in his arms, restraining her with a
knife poised at her slender throat.

Saber,
Goldie tried to say, her voice
subdued by her riotous terror.

Her plea remained soundless, but it fairly
thundered in his heart. Fury such as he’d never before known
slammed into him when he saw the barbarian drag her into the dark
hallway. He charged up the stairs, slowing only to snatch Goldie’s
claymore from a step. When he reached the upper landing, Goldie and
her captor were nowhere to be seen. His fist wrapped tightly around
the hilt of the great sword, he moved cautiously, silently through
the dim corridor, every fiber in his body straining to hear the
smallest of noises.

As he passed his own bedroom, he saw a
silver stream of moonlight on the dark blue carpet. A shadow
slithered across the pale pool of light. The point of the claymore
leading his way, he stepped into the room, every nerve in his body
pulsing with apprehension.

The door suddenly banged shut behind him.
Spinning, he heard Goldie’s choking sob and a low, guttural laugh.
His stomach knotted, immense waves of panic passed over him. The
man who held Goldie captive was now pressing the tip of his dagger
into the soft swell of her left breast. Her neck was bleeding. The
crimson smear on her pale flesh almost sent Saber to his knees.

“Ya shouldn’t orter ’ave come up ‘ere, guv,”
Diggory sneered, giving his blade a slight twist when Goldie tried
to move. “Tender’earted bloke that I am, I was goin’ ter stick ’er
away from where ya could see. Now yer goin’ ter ’ave to watch.”

Saber held the claymore steady. “How much do
you want for her life?” he demanded, sweat pouring from his brow.
“Whatever your price, I’ll pay it.”

Diggory snickered, his smile revealing
blackened teeth. “So yer another flamin’ nob, eh? Be ya richer’n
the one wot ’ired me ter do this job? ’E’s some sorter nobleman, ’e
is. Makes me call ’im ‘milord.’ Wears a ruby at ’is throat wot’s
almost as big as me bleedin’ fist.”

A ruby. A ruby. Angelica’s engagement
ring. Her ruby ring.
Saber’s mind whirled with sudden
comprehension. “Dane Hutchins is not a nobleman! He works for me. I
am Marion Tremayne, Duke of Ravenhurst. Let the girl go, and I’ll
give you—”

“Ya thinks me balmy?” Diggory blasted. “I’m
Diggory Ferris, an’ there ain’t nobody ’ere in London-town wot can
outwit me! Ya ain’t no duke! The bluebloods ain’t in this part o’
town!”

Saber sucked in a ragged breath when the
ruffian pushed the knife further into Goldie’s chest. Horror
permeated every inch of his rigid body when he saw a spot of blood
seep through her dress. Her pain-filled groan tore at his very
soul. “Dammit, I am who I say!”

Diggory spat a long stream of spittle on the
floor. “Prove it then, guv. Show me the kind o’ wealth wot only a
bleedin’ duke would ‘ave. Iffen it strikes me fancy, I’ll give ya
the girl.”

Saber knew the man called Diggory was lying.
He knew the bastard would kill them, steal everything of value from
the house, and then collect whatever payment Hutchins had promised
him. Desperate for some sort of scheme, he watched Diggory
intensely, taking note of the light in the man’s eyes. Saber
recognized it immediately. It was greed. If he could play on it, he
might just stand a chance of saving Goldie.

That in mind, he strode to his dresser, his
eyes never leaving Diggory’s. His hand folded around the top of a
large wooden box. With a jerk of his wrist, he threw it to the
floor. It crashed at Diggory’s feet, scattering its contents in
wild disarray.

Diggory’s eyes widened at the sight at his
boots. In the wan moonlight, gold, silver, and diamonds glittered.
He saw pearls. Emeralds. He’d never laid eyes on such an awesome
fortune. “Gorblimey, ya weren’t lyin’, ya weren’t,” he whispered in
amazement.

“There’s more.” Saber tossed a huge wad of
bills atop the shining heap of jewelry. He watched the man tremble,
knowing that greed would keep the bastard mesmerized for a long
moment.

A moment. It would be all he had to save
Goldie’s life.

He took full advantage of those precious
seconds and lunged toward her. Grabbing her arm, he tore her out of
Diggory’s clutches and threw her well away. As his left hand
released her, his right hand tightened around the hilt of the
claymore. Then he drew the great sword up with one swift, powerful
motion.

Diggory never understood what happened when
the blade impaled his heart. He made no sound at all, only fell,
his body twitching for a few moments before it became still.

Huddled on the floor by the bed, Goldie
stared at her captor’s corpse, unable to take her horrified gaze
away from it. Revulsion crawled through her.

“Goldie.”

She looked up. “You’re the duke,” she
whispered raggedly. “Marion Tremayne.”

He took a step toward her.

“Don’t,” she murmured, her tears dripping to
the carpet. “Don’t come near me.”

He stopped. “You’re hurt,” he said, his
voice breaking. “Your cheek and breast... Goldie, you’re
bleeding.”

“I’m not hurt.”

“Let me—”

“No.” Clutching the bedpost, she pulled
herself up. Part of her yearned to be in his arms, where she would
be safe and warm. She longed to hear him tell her sweet things, and
wished she could see that special softness in his eyes just one
more time.

But another part of her ached, the part his
betrayal had wounded and made bleed... She swayed with grief and
pain. “Now,” she began, trying in vain to moisten her dry lips, “I
understand. It’s—It’s all so clear. You...would have been ashamed
to be seen with me. That’s why—That’s why you never wanted to take
me anywhere. That’s why you kept me hidden away in this house. It’s
why you made me stay in the coach.”