Chapter 1
Devonshire, England
May 1817
It was the third ransom note in as many days, the fifth in a week, but only the second that rang true.
Pembourne:
The exchange will be made tonight. Eleven p.m. Ten miles due south of Dartmouth—in the open waters of the English Channel. Take a small, unarmed boat. Come alone, accompanied only by the diamond. Heed these instructions or your sister will die.
Shoving the terse message back into his coat pocket, Slayde Huntley, the ninth Earl of Pembourne, gripped the wheel of his fishing vessel with one hand, simultaneously tilting his timepiece toward the dim light of the lantern. By his calculations, he’d traveled more than nine of those ten miles. He steeled himself for the confrontation ahead, maneuvering the boat deeper into the fog-shrouded waters of the channel, waters far too choppy for a boat this size.
He should have brought the brig. Every instinct in his body cried out that not only was this craft unsuited for rough seas, its very construction left him utterly vulnerable to the enemy. But the kidnapper’s message had been precise. And, instincts or not, Slayde dared not disobey for fear of jeopardizing his sister’s life.
Aurora.
The thought of her being held by some filthy pirate made Slayde’s skin crawl. For the umpteenth time, he berated himself for falling short in his responsibilities, for allowing this unprecedented atrocity to occur. In the decade since he’d become Aurora’s guardian, he’d successfully isolated her from the world and, despite his own frequent and prolonged absences, ensured her safety by hiring an army of servants whose fundamental roles were to keep Aurora occupied and Pembourne safeguarded against intruders. Events had proven the latter easier to accomplish than the former. Still—as the accountings he received each time he returned bore out—seldom did Aurora manage to venture beyond her revered lighthouse without being spotted and restored to Pembourne. So how in the hell had this happened?
Vehemently, Slayde shoved aside his frustration and his guilt. In a crisis such as this, there was room for neither. Interrogation and self-censure would come later. Now, they would only serve to dilute his mental reserves, thus lessening his chances of accomplishing what he’d sailed out here to do: deliver the ransom and recover his sister.
Ransom—the detestable black diamond whose legend had dug its talons into his past and refused to let go, whose curse haunted the Huntleys like some lethal specter, a specter whose presence did nothing to dissuade hundreds of privateers from stalking the coveted gem.
Pondering the glittering black stone now wedged inside his Hessian boot, Slayde’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. What made him think the claims in this ransom note were not mere fabrications invented strictly to procure the jewel? What if, like most of its predecessors, this message were a hoax? What if this pirate didn’t have Aurora at all?
Again, Slayde abandoned his line of thinking, refusing to contemplate the idea of returning home without his sister. There had been three generations of blood spilled already. Aurora would not fall victim to the greed and hatred spawned by that loathsome jewel. He wouldn’t allow it. Come hell or high water, he would find her.
The sound of an approaching vessel breaking the waves made Slayde’s muscles go taut. Eyes narrowed, he searched the murky waters, seeking the outline of a ship.
At last it came.
Steadying his craft, Slayde waited while the ship drew closer.
As anticipated, it was a brigantine, moderate sized, but well manned and, doubtless, well armed. The whole situation was almost comical, he thought, his mouth twisting bitterly. Here he was, miles from shore, alone and unprotected in a meager fishing craft, being challenged by a hostile vessel ten times his boat’s size that was now closing in, primed and ready to blast him out of the water in a heartbeat.
And there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do to save himself.
Except surrender the gem and pray Aurora was on that ship, unharmed.
“Pembourne—I see you followed instructions. Hopefully, all of them.” The kidnapper’s raspy voice cut the fog as his ship drew directly alongside Slayde’s. “Did you bring the black diamond?”
Slayde tilted back his head, wishing the mist would lift so he could make out the bastard’s features. “I have it.”
“Good. If that’s true, you’ll remain alive. I’ll send my first mate down to fetch it.”
There was a whooshing noise, followed by the slap of a rope ladder as its bottom rungs struck the deck of Slayde’s boat.
“Where’s Aurora?” Slayde demanded, his fingers inching toward his waistcoat pocket—and the pistol he’d concealed there.
“Halt!” the kidnapper’s order rang out. “Touch that weapon and you’ll die where you stand.”
An electrified silence. Slowly, Slayde’s hand retraced its path to his side.
The harsh voice commended: “A wise decision, Pembourne. As for your sister, she’s being brought topside. Ah, here she is now.”
As he spoke, two men dragged a struggling woman onto the main deck. She was of slight build. Her arms were tied behind her, and a strip of cloth covered her eyes.
It could be Aurora—but was it?
Slayde squinted, intent on discerning the woman’s identity. He had little time to do so, for she was shoved unceremoniously into a sack, bound within its confines, and tossed over the shoulder of the first mate.
“Wait,” Slayde said as the man began his descent down the ladder’s rungs.
The first mate paused.
Addressing the shadowy form on the deck above, Slayde inquired icily, “What proof do I have that the person in that sack is my sister?”