Diamonds and Dreams (62 page)

Since her debut novel was published,
bestselling author Rebecca Paisley has become known for creating
her very own unique brand of magic on the page.

She decided early in her career to write the
sort of books she wanted to read. Her determination earned her a
slot on the
Publishers Weekly
bestseller list and the
Romance Writer's of America Honor Roll. She's been a RITA finalist,
won the
Romantic Times’
“Lifetime Achievement Award” and
“Career Achievement Award,” a Reviewers’ Choice Award for
“Historical Romance Fantasy” and a “Best Love and Laughter”
Award.

Rebecca currently lives in North Carolina
with her menagerie of beloved pets, still believes in magic, and
still relies on the “pixie voices in her head” to inspire her as
she works on a brand new book.

Visit Rebecca’s website
http://www.rebeccapaisley.net

Join Rebecca on Facebook
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The Barefoot Bride

Diamonds and Dreams

Coming Soon

Midnight and Magnolias

Rainbows and Rapture

Moonlight and Magic

Sneak Peek

Saxon’s life was like a fairy tale, complete
with wicked witch. But, unlike a fairy tale, he saw no happy ending
in sight.

He yearned to throw his snifter of brandy at
the portrait of the witch, his grandmother, that hung on the
opposite wall of the sumptuous drawing room. But such an outburst
would only please the woman. Instead, he twirled the stem of his
glass and smiled the lazy, mocking grin he knew infuriated her.

Araminta bristled at both his smile and the
expression in his sapphire eyes. Her twig fingers whitened around
the knob of her ebony cane. “Well? What do you think about my
decision, Saxon?”

Again, Saxon tamped down the wish to pitch
his glass at the huge portrait of her. If her news didn’t involve
his sister, Desdemona, he’d relish telling her exactly what he
thought of it. After all, his favorite diversion in life, second
only to enjoying a beautiful woman in his bed, was unseating
Araminta from her golden throne. But the future of his delicate
sister was at stake in Araminta’s newest scheme, and so he let her
question go unanswered. He did, however, obtain a small measure of
satisfaction in knowing his silence would irritate her.

And she
was
annoyed, both by his
silence and by the telltale red mark she suddenly noticed near his
throat. “If you think your shirt collar covers that lip rouge on
your neck, you are wretchedly mistaken. Which, woman—”

“Woman?” He fingered the remnants of passion
on his neck. “I got tired of women, Grandmother. Now I’m running
around with vampires. It’s much more exciting.”

She sighed and stalked to the liquor
cabinet, her black gown trailing behind her like a scary shadow.
When she’d poured herself a generous amount of sherry, she held her
glass up. “Here’s to the end of your incessant womanizing. Here’s
to the end of your tarnishing the Blackwell name. Here’s to the
future Mrs. Saxon Blackwell.”

Saxon ran his fingers through his raven hair
and concentrated on holding back his fury. The muscles in his tall,
lean frame swelled with the effort.

Araminta cackled with delight at the
evidence of his anger. “Well, which lady will it be?”

“You mean I actually have a choice?”

She frowned. “I do not appreciate your
sarcasm.”

“None intended. Are you really giving me
permission to choose my own bride?”

“As long as you choose one soon, yes.”

He immediately decided it would take him at
least forever to find the right bride, since no such woman existed.
Yes, forever was soon enough for him. “I’m young and have plenty of
time.” Looking at his grandmother’s portrait again, he decided
smashing a glass against it wouldn’t suffice. It would look better
set afire.

“Unfortunately for you, Saxon, I do not have
the same amount of time. You know my heart is weak. I could die any
day. And if I do—”

“Your heart, Grandmother? It’s always been
my belief that you don’t possess one.”

Her brow lifted. “If you are finished
taunting me, may I—”

“Continue? Oh, by all means. Let’s see…you
were regaling—I mean explaining to me the details of your will,
were you not?”

“You will not be making light of the
situation if I die before your wedding. In that event, Desdemona
and
my fortune will go to my distant cousin in England. You
know very well that pitiful sister of yours will never marry, so
the responsibility of providing an heir to the Blackwell fortune is
yours. It’s time you face up to that obligation, and my new will
forces you to do just that.”

She made her way to the door, her long chin
sticking out far ahead of her face. “I will leave you to deliberate
in solitude. No doubt you wish to figure out how you will contest
my will. But I warn you now, Saxon. It, like my decision, is
ironclad, and I’ve a bevy of attorneys.”

“I know. Here and in England. Here, there,
everywhere, a veritable pack of lawyers, all snapping at each other
for the privilege of doing your bidding.”

“And I’ve had employed them for years. Do
not forget that. Ever.”

He didn’t miss her arrogant demeanor, and
glared at her. Contesting the will was exactly what he’d been
planning to do. But her group of counselors was like an unseen
army. Saxon wasn’t even sure where they all were or which aspects
of Blackwell Enterprises they oversaw.

And she never enlightened him.

His gaze fell to the onyx brooch at her
wrinkled throat. It looked like a Cyclops’s eye. Sometimes he
thought that ugly piece of jewelry was connected to Araminta’s
brain. It seemed to tell her everything she needed to know. Even
now it was transmitting his thoughts to her: that was apparent in
the way she smiled before she left the room.

He snuffed out the memories her malevolent
sneer brought to him and walked to the window, snatching at the
tassel of the heavy damask draperies.

“Araminta Blackwell,” he whispered. “A true
witch if there ever was one. I don’t know how, and I don’t know
where, but I swear I will find a magic more powerful than
yours.”

* * *

Saxon stared at the crystal chandelier above
the dining table without really seeing it. Several weeks had passed
since Araminta had demanded he marry, and he hadn’t thought of a
single way to postpone it, much less get out of it.

Until now. Until Araminta herself had given
him the means. But he couldn’t let her see how excited he was about
her idea. He knew her so well. If she saw his elation, she’d change
her mind.

“Saxon! Did you hear what I said?” The bones
in Araminta’s hand fairly clanked together as she rang the
breakfast bell.

He hoped the reflection of the chandelier
disguised the twinkle of delight in his eyes. “Uh, yes.
Grandmother,” he mumbled. “You want me to go to North Carolina and
investigate the possibility of buying land there.” He picked up a
knife and let it dangle between his fingers, allowing his action to
further demonstrate his seeming indifference.

“Pine trees, Saxon.” Araminta scowled and
banged her cane into the thick rug. “How many times did you mention
the pine forests in North Carolina after the war ended? You were
utterly fascinated with them. Your stories of them came back to me
last night. You do know what pine trees mean, do you not?”

“They meant shade when I was traveling
through them with my regiment.”

Araminta sighed, the air rattling in her
throat. “Pine trees are green gold mines. They mean turpentine! The
nation is in dire need of it now. You will go to North Carolina and
make a detailed report for me. I want to know everything there is
to know about turpentine production.”

Another thrill whipped up in him. He was
actually going to escape Araminta for a while, and time in North
Carolina meant a temporary respite from the problem of marriage
too! “Very well. I’ll go,” he said with feigned resentment. He let
his head hang over the top of his chair as if completely
annoyed.

“Why don’t you look up your acquaintance
down there?” Araminta smiled smugly at her bread. “There’s no sense
in paying for lodging when you can stay with him for nothing.”

Saxon gave a slight nod. He’d already
planned to find Heath Mansfield.

“I still do not understand why you consider
a
Southerner
a friend,” Araminta continued. “As a Union
soldier, it was your job to get rid of as many of those backward
creatures as possible.”

Saxon lifted his head from the back of his
chair. “Whether you approve or not, Heath
is
my friend and,
as such, I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to share with me
whatever knowledge of turpentine he has. At the very least, he can
put me in contact with experts. So instead of wishing for the
demise of that
backward creature,
I suggest you—”

“I care nothing for your suggestion, that
man, or your friendship. However, perhaps it is good you didn’t
kill him after all. He will undoubtedly be useful to me.”

Saxon laid his knife aside before it could
find its way into her chest. “I’ll see him and get myself invited
to stay with him. Heaven forbid I spend any more money than is
necessary.”

Araminta smoothed back her wiry white hair.
“You will leave as soon as I make the arrangements. And Saxon?”

“Yes?” he answered, watching the gleam eye
of her brooch.

“You will marry as soon as you return.”

* * *

The day of his departure arrived, but not
soon enough to suit Saxon. Grabbing his saddlebag, he left his
bedroom and proceeded quickly down the dark hallway that led to the
staircase. But as he passed his sister’s bedroom, his pace slowed.
With a heavy sigh, he dropped his bag and looked into the room.

Desdemona sat near the window, sunshine
flickering through her long ebony hair. As he watched her, the
years fell away, and he saw her as a little girl. He could still
hear the sweet sound of her voice, could still recall her bright,
happy smile. But most of all, he remembered the warmth of her tiny
hand when she used to touch his cheek.

But her voice had been silent for years. Her
soft, full lips never smiled, never opened for anything but the
meager amount of food she ate. And her slender hand was always
cold. Saxon was sure only a miracle could remove her from her
remote world and return her to earth.

Sighing again, he knelt beside her.
“Desdemona, I’m leaving today on a journey to a state called North
Carolina. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but when I come back
I’ll bring a gift for you. Something from North Carolina that will
help you to understand where I’ve been.”

Her amethyst gaze remained directed at some
imaginary vision on the floor.

He took her cold hand and placed it on his
warm cheek. “Remember when you used to touch me like this,
Desdemona? Remember how it was your favorite thing to do when you
wanted your own way? And remember how it always got you your way,
no matter how badly I wanted to refuse you?”

The familiar sadness welled up within him
when she did not respond. “You might not remember, Desdemona, but
as long as I do, you will still be that same happy girl.”

He twined his strong fingers through her
fragile ones and pressed her hand to his mouth before he stood.
After one last look at her lovely face, one last touch of her silky
hair, and one last, long sigh, he turned and left.

* * *

He sailed south aboard one of the Blackwell
steamboats. When the vessel reached the port of Wilmington, North
Carolina, he mounted his horse, Hagen, and headed toward Moore
County, where Heath lived.

The ride from the coast took three days, but
now, as he rode through the majestic forest and breathed deeply of
the cool, pine-scented air, his saddle-weary body relaxed. The
place was as beautiful as he remembered it when he’d ridden through
with General Kilpatrick during the war. Staring down at all the
white sand, he wondered once again how it got there, miles away
from the seashore. He had no answer, but he didn’t mind. Part of
the charm of this area was its mystery.

He stopped Hagen, and reached up to pull a
pine cone from a low branch, grinning over the favor Araminta had
unwittingly done him. Allergic to joy, she’d break out in hives if
she could see how happy he was at this moment.

Of course, there was no way she’d let a
lucrative business like turpentine production slip through her
fingers. Though he’d pretended ignorance the day she brought up the
subject, he knew very well it could mean another fortune. He had no
doubt Araminta would buy acres of land here. Hell, he wouldn’t put
it past her to try and buy the whole damn state. And she’d send him
here to check on things often. He’d never leave the social whirl of
Boston forever—he relished the fast-paced life he led there. But
returning to North Carolina for short periods wouldn’t be
distasteful in the least. Especially when it meant leaving the wife
he’d already decided to detest.

It wasn’t hard to find Heath Mansfield.
Everyone knew him, and Saxon was given directions to Carthage, the
largest community in Moore County. He left Hagen in front of the
brick courthouse located in the town’s center and quickly found the
carriage factory where Heath worked.

Their reunion left the townspeople to wonder
about their sanity. They shouted, hugged, playfully knocked each
other around, and then shouted, hugged, and playfully knocked each
other around again. Their display of excitement went on for so
long, Heath’s boss finally got tired of waiting for his employee to
return to work and gave him the rest of the day off. Heath showed
Saxon around town, and later the two visited with Heath’s
parents.