By Desire Bound Read online

  And he had to live with that. Darcie's dream. Darde's will. Darcie's desire. And he had no choice but to use her.

  He swirled the light around the grotto. "Sidhu said we were unconscious for a day and a night."

  "That's what he said."

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  "Dawn approaches, sahib, "he said, as he knelt to re­plenish the fire.

  "Good. There's just enough time. Get up, Darcie. We're going down to the grotto."

  She got slowly to her feet. He still didn't believe her. He picked up a lantern, grasped her arm and propelled her back into the tunnel.

  "What a pleasure to be able to see such treacherous footings."

  She wrenched her arm away. "And who got you safely through?"

  "Who had her own agenda?" "We are both still in danger," she said grittily. "So you say. It occurs to me, Miss Darcie, that yours is the only story we know. For example, / don't know that it was Lavinia or Roger who imprisoned me. I don't even know that you were married to Roger. I only have your word for it—watch the drop—" as she almost stepped over it and into oblivion, "and we know how good you are at spinning tales."

  "I see," she said angrily. "We're going to backtrack over everything that's happened, and then we're going to call me a liar."

  "How about a fabricator of truth?" "How nice you can see that—now." "I think I was in the dark about a lot of things, Dar­cie."

  "It's a bargain you'll regret."

  "Or you will."

  They were at the steps then, and he flashed the lan­tern downward. "You first, Scheherazade. I can't wait to hear what tale you'll tell."

  "I'm not going to say a word. You didn't see the thing. You can't know. You made a devil's bargain with an ap­parition from hell."

  "Or maybe, Scheherazade, that was you."

  She descended the steps furiously, aware that he thought her perfectly capable of sending him over the edge, and he followed her, holding the lantern low to light the way.

  And then to the right, and into the anteroom, through the stone columns and into the grotto. And nowhere was there any overwhelming sense of lurking doom.

  Nor was there that blessed light to warm and welcome them. The grotto was cold and soulless. A pagan altar, eons old.

  He stepped up to it, holding the lantern over the ledge. There was nothing to indicate that balanced there had been two mythic diamonds. Only the scorch mark, round, deep, black as a hole.

  "He couldn't remove The Eye of the God, " Con said, examining the ledge. "There are chisel marks in the stone. He tried to prise it up, and he couldn't move it. Not all the powers of Samael could move it. And yet you were able to pick it up without resistance, without any invocation."

  He turned to look at her, an odd look, an assessing look. He hardly wanted to think about it—about her, the Darcie of the dark, the Darcie of the lies, the Darcie of his dreams.

  None of that mattered now because, in spite of his plans and regardless of her schemes, they had been de­liberately brought to this place, and she had been given the benediction of The Eye of God.

  And he had to live with that. Darcie's dream. Darde's will. Darcie's desire. And he had no choice but to use her.

  He swirled the light around the grotto. "Sidhu said we were unconscious for a day and a night."

  "That's what he said."

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  "What did it look like?"

  They were in the right place for ghost stories, she thought. And he would say she was weaving still another tale because it was so unbelievable.

  "He looked like a corpse," she told him, shuddering as she remembered the horrific way it formed from the fog. "He looked like a corpse; bony, gray, burning eyes, wearing a long robe like a monk." "Yes."

  He knew this. She saw by his face, by his all-seeing, knowledgeable eyes. He knew all about this, and the unspeakable evil encased in that stone. "We have to recover that diamond." "We?" Now she wanted no part of it. She wanted her share of The Eye of God—no more, no less. He could pursue his demons on his own.

  "We," he said furiously. "We have to stop him." "Stop . . . ?"

  "Lazarin. That's what he called himself, yes?" His eyes hardened. "He has to be stopped, and we have to reclaim the diamond."

  "Oh no. Not me. I'll just take my little piece of The Eye of God, and go back where I came from."

  He ignored her. "We'll be able to move faster this time. We can do more this time. And we'll have to leave soon—he's already had too much of a start."

  "Con—you're not listening," she said desperately. "You don't even know where it's gone."

  "No—you're the one who doesn't hear. We have to do this." He swiped the lantern over the ledge once more but he saw nothing more. "You know, if I had some dynamite, I would blast this place to kingdom come."

  He took her arm, and pushed her toward the ante­room. "You don't understand. You have to do this be-

  cause you've been anointed, Darcie. You are the one sanctified by The Eye of God."

  "She is blessed."

  "So I perceived," Sidhu said. "All is in readiness for departure."

  "This place must be destroyed."

  "It will be my holy duty to do this for the chowkidar sahib."

  "I will be a watchman no more."

  "It will be as you wish. Fate has been kind that you could watch over this place even as you were blind." Sidhu bowed. "We must go now."

  Con had stamped out the fire, packed the lanterns and removed all traces of their presence there. It only remained to move the stone over the portal to the cata­comb of his rebirth, and then they would be ready to make the ascent from the Valley.

  They started out in the late morning.

  Sidhu shimmied up the rope first.

  Darcie watched how he did it, digging his feet into crevices in the wall, scaling his way up hand over hand, cleft by cleft.

  / can't do that. I could barely get down.

  "I'll go next," Con said, shielding his eyes so he could watch Sidhu's agile body. "And then Sidhu and I will pull you up. I'm going to tie the rope around your waist now, you'll wear the gloves, and you just let us do the work. It will be faster that way."

  She didn't think so; she was terrified already of the idea of swinging on the rope with only his ability to tie a knot to protect her. It was a solid knot, though, thick, tight and seemingly secure. She would hold the rope,

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  she would try to get a foothold now and again, and she would be up at the ridge before she knew it.

  She watched him doubtfully as he grasped the rope and began to climb. Simple as that, when you could see. You could see everything for a thousand miles, even your destiny.

  He disappeared from view, and a moment later, he tugged the rope, the signal that he was about to pull. She grasped it just at face level and girded herself as she felt herself being lifted off the ground. Like a circus performer, up up up, into the rafters.

  She closed her eyes; she couldn't look. To the Top of the World, like an angel. In the dark, like a man who couldn't see . . .

  She reached for an outcropping of rock as she neared the top, and braced her leg against it. She reached for Con, as he lay on the edge of the cliff above her, ex­tending his hands to her.

  She looked into his dark unfathomable seeing eyes and wondered if he would grasp her hands and then just let her go. She saw herself falling down the valley wall, a conspirator who knew too much, and had to be subdued. She closed her eyes as he took her hands, pulled her up, and swung her onto the ridge.

  They stood there, buffeted by the raw mountain wind, at the Top of the World, silhouetted against the sun.

  "You don't understand, Darcie," he murmured. "bu have all the protection, all the power. You are the one." "I don't want to
be any one. I want to go home." "You said it yourself. Until this thing is done, we can't go home."

  "No—I said until we claimed The Eye of God ..." "You claimed it."

  And she carried it still. And she felt the weight of the burden of it.

  "We're not selling it, are we? You won't cleave it. What good is it?"

  "The good is that we have it, and Lazarin does not And Lavinia—" he paused, thinking about it a moment; his family hadn't entered anywhere into his calculations to this point, except for the tantalizing feeling that he was missing something about Lavinia.

  But his family had nothing to do with their pursuit of the black diamond. And there was no time to con­sider anything else.

  "At this point," he said, "Lavinia doesn't count."

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  Sixteen

  They returned to the houseboat on the Nagin Lake in Srinagar. They came out of the cold harsh mountains from the Top of the World and into the warmth of a hill country spring, where the servants questioned noth­ing and always were waiting.

  "They could be waiting for you in Srinagar," Darcie protested. "They could have followed us this far. They could have followed us to the valley."

  She didn't know why she felt so frenzied and unsure. But she really did. It was because she was no longer in command. It was because Con had taken control of ev­erything. Con with his eyes, with his memories, with his past. He was treading on solid ground now; he would make no missteps the way she had while she fought every inch of the way to come this far.

  And now she felt as if she had toppled off a mountain.

  She didn't like it. She hated it.

  "They caught me in Srinagar all those years ago," Con said casually, as he divested himself of his sheep­skins, his aba, and his boots.

  It was a revelation that unnerved her.

  "Then why are we here?"

  "Because we have lodgings, we need some time, and we have a friend."

  He rang for the khansamer'who appeared as silently as air. "Have a bath drawn, will you?" he ordered in Hindi, and translated for her. "And dinner at eight, please."

  Dinner. What a lovely word. Not beans, or skewered meat that was raw inside. Real dinner. With Con. Who could see to cut his meat and eat his dessert.

  This was a whole different Con. He would never hold onto her again. Never be dependent. Never turn to her in the dark...

  She shook herself.

  She should know better than this. She was a gambler, and one thing always held true: sometimes the rules of the game changed. And sometimes the stakes. And if everything went to hell, you bluffed your way through.

  But what did you do when all the boundaries got

  turned inside out?

  You make new ones, she thought. And you don't let him overrun them and take control.

  She felt him looking at her, as she paced the large front room of the houseboat, and she wondered what he saw under the tunic and cloak and the headdress, and under the henna dye.

  She felt uncomfortable suddenly; Con Pengellis knew her too well—in the dark. You couldn't hide from a man when you were naked in the dark.

  In the dark, there were no barriers, and no bound­aries.

  And she saw he remembered that too. "Lavinia will not rest until she finds you," she said to distract him—no, distract herself. "Wouldn't this be the logical place for her to start?"

  He looked so different without his headdress and his paint. Astonishingly different with his eyes. The light in them changed the whole aspect of his face. Made him look hawk-eyed, sharp-sighted, vigilant, keen.

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  "Maybe. Probably." His gaze swept her, head to toe, missing nothing.

  For the first time, she felt the edginess of their en­forced togetherness. This was not the same as her taking charge, directing the quest, and fueling it with her hun­ger and her greed.

  In the blink of an eye, everything had passed out of her hands and into his.

  At the mercy of Samael.

  It was now his jewel. His dream. His quest.

  She turned her back on him and stalked to the win­dow. It was just coming on twilight, the orange sun sink­ing into the horizon and reflecting off of the lapping river.

  This was a place people came to find calm. To escape the heat.

  But the heat was building up behind her, seeping into her pores, stroking her skin.

  She whirled to face him. And wished she hadn't. Those eyes grazed her eyes, her mouth, her breasts.

  "How can you be so calm?" she demanded.

  Those eyes devoured her; those eyes could see.

  "I can't worry about Lavinia now," he said. "They will not find the grotto. Sidhu will attend to that. They will never have the diamond; it's in your possession now—"

  "I hate this," she said fiercely. "I don't want to do this."

  "But you've done it, Darcie. You spun your tales, you saved a sinner, and you vanquished a villain. What did you expect?"

  "Stop talking like that!"

  "Why is that, Scheherazade?"

  "It's too mixed up. I don't understand it, and I don't understand you."

  He smiled faintly, devastating now that he could see. She could barely stand to look at him. Only in the dark.

  God, she couldn 't deal with this, she couldn 't. Or maybe it was the repercussions of the unbelievable things she had seen.

  "The only way Lavinia can get to me now is if you were the one giving her the lead," he said, his tone gentle, his expression hard.

  She felt like slapping him. "Oh! It's just inconceivable

  you could think that." "Anything is possible."

  Anything. Like Roger might not be dead. And that she was his enemy and no one else. And a white diamond balanced the evil in the world, and Lazarin existed.

  "But," he said, "that's not important now—" "No," she interrupted snidely. "You're going to have us chasing a corpse."

  "We must recover the black diamond." There was no brooking that tone of voice.

  "You must. You can. We're going around in circles." "Because you're tired; you need a bath. And dinner." "And sanity," she said stonily. "And rest."

  "Unless Lavinia kills us first."

  Lavinia—what about Lavinia kept bothering him? The murderous Lavinia avid for a child—why did it sound so

  familiar?

  "Darcie . . ." he said warningly.

  "Con—" she said, imitating his tone.

  "Sahib ..." The khansamer at the parlor door.

  "He says the bath is ready. Go, Darcie. Relax. I'll watch out for Lavinia."

  The bastard. "This is not a game."

  "I never thought it was. You'll give me the two pouches, Darcie. They should never be out of either of our hands from now on."

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  "And how do I know you won't sneak away with The Eye of God?' Oh, she liked saying that; she liked turning the tables on those knowing eyes.

  "The stone wouldn't let me."

  "Dear God, don't start that."

  He held out his hand. "I won't even pursue that. Go to your bath, Darcie. The stone will be here when you get back."

  Darcie . . .

  Darcie, Darcie, Darcie . . .

  What to make of Darcie . . . the Darcie of his dreams?

  He knew her intimately and he knew her not at all. He knew the heat of her body, her sinuous curves, the shape of her breasts, her hot greedy mouth ... and the reality of her was nothing like what he knew of her at all.

  She was tall and slender and strong as tempered steel. And the thick silky hair in which he'd dug his hands was as glistening black as a raven's wing.

  But it was her eyes that were utterly unexpected: they flashed bolt-blue in her heart-shaped face, smudgy, ex­pressive, derisive, a mirror of her soul. And that mouth— when he looked at that m
outh he dreamt of kisses and lies and the succulent moments when it had fully encom­passed him.

  It was a mouth made for kissing and tasting and pas­sion, wide and full and endlessly fascinating.

  Darcie's mouth. Telling tales, weaving lies, enchanting the stone. . .

  Maybe she was an enchantress. He was already under her spell. And now, she was possessed of the white diamond; all she'd had to do was take it—and he would never know if it would have come to him.

  What had he done?

  Tempted fate. Played with destiny. Provoked the gods.

  Made his life's work a mythical white diamond—and got Darcie Boulton instead.

  And he didn 't know—he still didn 't know where she fit in the story. But he knew where he was going to keep her: in his bed, under his body, and—-for as long as it took—by his side.

  She had no clothes. She was immersed in the bath before it occurred to her: everything had been sacrificed for their journey to India. Clothes. Toiletries except a comb and a bar of soap. Maybe if she wished on that blasted diamond, it would provide those things for her. Nothing seemed real. The whole adventure from En­gland to the desert seemed like a dream. She couldn't believe now, in retrospect, she had done the things she'd done, and with Con's blindness as an impediment.

  But they'd done it—they'd recovered the diamond— and he'd known all along that it would have a mystical claim on whoever found it.

  She didn't want any part of it. There had to have been something in that grotto that precipitated that nightmare. Entities didn't disappear in a fog; phantasms weren't born out of smoke. It was a magician's trick, engineered somehow by Con, and probably all in aid of keeping The Eye of God for himself.

  What if his blindness had been a ruse?

  A wave of heat washed her body. All the things she'd done—in the dark . . .

  What was illusion—what was real?

  The Eye of God was real. Disappointing, but real. And when they got it back to civilization, where it could be properly cleaved and polished, it would provide her with riches for a lifetime.

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