Darcy Darlington and the Diamond of Desire by Maya Rodale

Darcy darlington and the diamond of desire

Chapter Three ~ In which our heroine and her crush enjoy a midnight excursion.

“As usual, Darcy, I am honored that you should request my assistance in your endeavors,” said the ever-so dashing and handsome Tristan Cole. “However—“

“You are the only one who possesses the requisite strength, intelligence, and skill,” Darcy said, cutting off his objections before he could voice them.

It was the truth. It was also true that she didn’t need his strength, intelligence, and skill, for she was more than adequately equipped with such faculties. She simply desired his company. And really, if one was going to buck convention and become an amateur sleuth, one was certainly going to take advantage of the opportunities it presented. Namely, inviting the gentleman she adored as her escort for an evening of breaking and entering, possible theft, and certain danger.

“Well, yes. Thank you. But Darcy—“ He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her as they walked along the darkened alley on their way to the Evil Lord Hartshorne’s home.

“You’re not scared, are you?” she asked, glancing at him slyly out of the corner of her eye. Some might say she flirted with him. Perhaps. She definitely teased. That was the thing about Tristan—she could say anything to him. Anything except the words I love you.

“If I have any fear, Darcy, it is on your behalf. This is the most ridiculous, cork-brained scheme you have come up with yet.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s true! Now tell me why we are doing this again?”

“I never told you in the first place.” Part of the reason she allowed him to assist her is that he never asked too many questions—because he trusted her, and because he knew she had her reasons. But sometimes, he did like to see what he could get her to confess.

“We’re looking for a diamond necklace. I know that much,” Tristan said, though Darcy could have sworn that she hadn’t mentioned that detail to him. Oh well, she must have for how else would he know?

“But what is so bloody special about it that we have to sneak into the home of the Evil Lord Hartshorne in the middle of the night?” he asked.

There might be nothing at all special about the necklace and its centerpiece, the crowning jewel. Miss Felicia Weatherby said it was known as The Diamond of Desire, and that it made the wearer irresistible to all, particularly the object of one’s affection. This diamond could, supposedly, triumph over unrequited love.

Darcy thought it utter hogwash.

But what if it was true?

She had said no at first. But then Tristan had come to call, as was his habit. However, this time something was different. Usually he mentioned, discretely, the many women in his life. Plural. This time, he spoke of one woman. Singular. Tristan said he might like to court her. Properly.

The minute he left, Darcy wrote to Miss Weatherby, accepting the case. She gave it to John, one of the footmen, to deliver.

And now, here she was, in the middle of the night, planning to break into the residence of the Evil Lord Hartshorne. With Tristan. Anything could happen.

“I guess defending himself against the murder charges must have bankrupted the old man,” Tristan murmured as they approached the house.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, if he has money, he’s spending it on something other than the upkeep of the house.”

Tristan had a point. The remnants of the north tower that had been burned to the ground (with his wife and daughter in it) had not been cleared. Windows were boarded up. Shutters were dangling at odd-ish angles. Any sort of foliage—trees, grass, bushes, vines—grew wildly at their will. One would think the house abandoned—if not for the light burning on the third floor window.

“Let’s go,” Darcy whispered. She took a few steps toward the house.

“Are you mad? Someone is clearly at home, and awake,” Tristan pointed.

“We’ve come all this way. We needn’t go inside. We can scope it out, and take notes for a second expedition.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, but he did not argue.

Darcy led the way. They walked the perimeter of the house, always sure to stay in the shadows. Tristan insisted on going first, with his sword drawn, guiding and guarding the way ahead of them.

He stopped suddenly, and she nearly bumped into him. He gestured to an easily accessible window opened to a dark, and hopefully empty, room.

“Shall we?” Tristan grinned at her in the moonlight.

“I can’t believe you even have to ask,” she whispered back.

Tristan insisted on climbing through the window first, so once inside he could ensure it was safe. Darcy took Tristan’s outstretched hand in her own and allowed him to pull her through the window into the darkened lair.

Perhaps because of the force of his strength, her own clumsiness, or some combination of the two, Darcy pitched forward into the darkness and into Tristan, knocking them both to the ground.

“Oof,” she muttered, and then silently chastised herself. She was lying on top of him, with his arms enclosed instinctively and possessively around her and all she could say is “oof”?

She shut up, and he kept quiet as well. They were both listening for any sound that would indicate someone in the house had noted their fall. Well, perhaps he was listening. Darcy focused more on his warm, strong, and firm chest beneath her, more attuned to his big hands splayed across her lower back holding her to him. If he just turned his head an inch to the right, her mouth would connect with his and then…

He turned his head to the left and whispered, “We should get up.”

There was little light to see by, other than the moon. Her eyes having adjusted, she could see the outline of a long table, flanked by at least a dozen chairs on each side. The dining room.

With great care, Darcy led the way around the table, to the set of wide double doors at the far end of the room. She held her breath as she firmly grasped the doorknob and twisted it to open.

It creaked. Loudly. Echoing throughout what Darcy could now see, thanks to sconces left burning at the far end of an enormous hall.

With Tristan so close behind her that she could feel his warm breath upon her neck, she dared to venture into the great foyer. She quickly counted eight doors leading into other rooms. And that was just the first floor of a four-story mansion. How was she supposed to find one little diamond necklace here?

“We’ll be here all night,” Tristan whispered, obviously thinking the same as she.

The idea of it was not all together unappealing, provided that he stayed with her.

At the far end of the hall, something shifted in the shadows, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps coming toward them.

Both Darcy and Tristan pressed themselves flat against the wall, in the safety of the shadows.

“Who’s there?” a voice called out. Perhaps the butler, more likely a footman. It could also be the voice of the Evil Lord Hartshorne.

Either way, they were not alone.

Would they be caught already? Or could they manage to escape?

To Be Continued…

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