Desire Wears Diamonds (11 page)

He shook his head. “I want to talk to you
about this upcoming dinner.”

“Of course. It was very generous of you
to—“

“You’ll wear your best gown and you’ll make
an effort to limit your comments to the most innocuous and
inoffensive topics allowed.” Her brother pulled his pipe from a
carved wooden box on the desktop and began to light it. “I want you
to be as agreeable and appealing as humanly possible.”

Grace blinked a few times, unwilling to
trust her ears. “My best gown? Is Mr. Rutherford…is he truly a good
friend then that you’re so anxious to—“

“What he is to me is none of your concern,”
Sterling said firmly. The match in his fingers flared as it caught,
creating a fleeting distortion of his features in its light.
“You’ll be on your best behavior, Grace, and strive not to
disappoint or embarrass me.”

She nodded. “I always do. But
appealing?
I’m not sure I understand what you’re
asking.”

He rolled his eyes. “What did I ever do to
deserve you?”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from
giving him a witty answer and instead held her place and her
tongue.

Sterling cleared his throat and tried again.
“This evening is very important to me. For once, do as you are
told. Behave.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t keep you from your duties any
longer.” He said dismissively and then leaned back in his chair,
drawing on his pipe.

She stood slowly. “I’ve spoken to Mrs.
Dorsett about the menu and amended it for presentation and for
economy. I’ve arranged to have two extra servants to make things
run more smoothly and to allow for a good impression.” She let out
a slow breath to steady her nerves. “Rather than just behaving like
a lady, I hope my brother is wise enough to allow me to act like
one and organize the social details as I see fit.”

His gaze narrowed but he finally nodded. “By
all means.”

She left at his concession, turning on her
heels and departing with as much dignity as she could muster. Her
confusion about Mr. Rutherford’s return was coalescing into a
strange storm but there was no remedy for it.

Sterling’s reversal toward Mr. Rutherford
was hard to explain. She wanted to believe it was a genuine
invitation based on gratitude for his heroic actions or even an
open interest in rekindling a friendship. But something wasn’t
right.

Agreeable and appealing? Is he playing
matchmaker? Is that even possible after years of echoing my
father’s sentiments on my utter unsuitability?

No answers came to her. Her own physical
reaction to Mr. Rutherford and weakness for his compliments only
muddied her internal debate. She’d wear her best gown on Sunday and
make an effort to stay quiet. She’d do her best to appease her
brother and keep Mr. Rutherford’s respect. But one thing was
certain.

She’d be prepared for the worst and have her
savings pinned inside her clothes in case she needed to make a run
for it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Michael, Galen and Ashe all stared at the
odd shaped stone on the table between them. The size of a walnut,
it was a pale red thing, almost pink in cast, and Michael tipped
his head to one side to see if another angle would help improve its
appearance. “Seriously? This is it?”

Galen leaned back. “The jeweler said it
appeared to be a dyed stone. Wasn’t that the whole point of the
quest? To find a gem that might be disguised to mask its true
nature?”

“Is it a diamond then?” Ashe asked. “Is it
the
diamond?”

“Darius will be back from his honeymoon in a
week.” Galen said. “I’d say he probably knows some kind of test
to—“

The impact of one of the fireplace andirons
crashing down on top of the stone sent Ashe wheeling backwards from
his chair onto the floor and Galen leapt up to avoid the worst of
the corresponding mess.

“Rutherford! What the hell!?”

“What? I’m done wasting time and I don’t
have a week to wait.” Michael lifted the ornate and heavy tool and
shrugged at the sight of a pulverized pile of pink glass-like
crystals. “I’d say it’s definitely not a diamond.”

The door to the library crashed open as
Godwin came through with two younger footmen on his heels, all of
them armed with medieval weapons they’d grabbed from a suit of
armor in the hallway. “Sir! Are you…all right?”

Michael guiltily hid the andiron behind his
back. “Sorry, Godwin.”

“An experiment gone wrong,” Ashe chuckled as
he stood up, brushing off his pants. “No harm done.”

The footmen retreated as Godwin entered the
fray, his brow furrowed with disapproval. “The table might disagree
with your assessment, Mr. Blackwell!”

Galen took one slow step away from Michael,
clearly trying not to smile as he subtly indicated who the culprit
might be. “Rutherford was just demonstrating his knowledge of
gems.”

Ashe mirrored Lord Winter’s guilty move away
from Michael, enjoying the mirth of the moment and deliberately put
his hands behind his back like a contrite schoolboy. “Mr.
Rutherford is
very
enthusiastic about gem quality.”

Michael shot them both a dark look of his
own that promised retribution, but for now, it was Godwin he
addressed. “I will see the table repaired or replaced, Mr. Godwin
and naturally, it won’t happen again.”

“See that it does not!” Mr. Godwin said,
finally setting aside his mace. “I will advise Mrs. Clark the cause
of the mess so that there are no misunderstandings below stairs and
ask that
all of you
refrain from murdering any more of the
furniture.”

“Yes, sir.” All three men answered dutifully
and then miraculously managed to keep themselves from laughing
until the butler had retreated.

“God! That’s a story to tell!” Ashe sat back
down in his chair, with a wry grin. “I swear I thought he was going
to send us all to bed without supper!”

“Enjoy your fun, Blackwell, but when Mrs.
Clark has a word with your wife, I doubt I’ll be invited back,”
Michael said as he replaced the andiron.

Ashe laughed. “As if you would care! You
blanche white every time you get within a hundred yards of feminine
company!”

“Enough!” Michael crossed his arms. “Since
we’ve established that that wasn’t the diamond in question, let’s
shift back to the obvious question.”

“All right,” Galen straightened his
shoulders and gave Blackwell a quelling look. They all respected
Michael’s dislike of society and shy nature but Galen knew him
better and suspected that Ashe had hit a nerve. “We’ve done with
the opening entertainment. Let’s hear it.”

“Yes,” Ashe said as he retook his seat. “Is
the obvious question something along the lines of what are we going
to do now that we’re out of ideas about this blasted diamond?”

“No.” Galen stood and went to the sideboard
to pour himself a cup of tea. “The diamond is probably under our
noses, much like a certain villain was. No, the real question is
why do you not have a week to wait, Rutherford?”

Michael held his breath as the last of
Ashe’s playful demeanor evaporated instantly. Ashe leaned forward
on the cushions. “Something has happened with the Jackal.”

“Not yet.” Michael held up his hands
defensively. “And I am
not
out of ideas.”

“I’ll cling to the promise of that
‘yet’.”

“Stop nagging the man!” Galen said over his
shoulder. “I mentioned it only because I wanted to be sure that all
was well. Rutherford has already earned our trust so stop hovering
like a rag lady over a rubbish bin.”

Ashe waved him off. “What is
yet
to
happen within the week?”

Michael sighed. “My first face to face
meeting with the Jackal if you must know.”

“Hell! That’s something, isn’t it?” A new
quiet seized the room and the spring light through the windows that
moments before had seemed bright, now felt devoid of warmth.

Michael nodded. “It is.”

Galen set his tea down. “It’s faster than I
imagined it.”

“It’s faster than I’d planned,” Michael
conceded. “But it’s also not what you’re imagining, your lordship.
No pistols at dawn.”

Galen made a face. “I hate it when you
address me like that, but you’re doing it like a master tactician
to distract me. It won’t work, friend. You may as well tell us all
of it.”

“It’s a dinner. I’m invited to a meal at his
home.”

“You’ll not eat a bite without tasting your
death if he’s still got any more poisoners in his employ!” Ashe
barked. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“I’m too large for him to carry my body from
his house undetected and you can dance at his hanging, gentlemen.”
Michael moved to pour himself a stiff drink. “I’m safe enough.”

“Would you like one of us to stand by?”
Galen offered. “I could even acquire an invitation to join
you.”

“No,” Michael said. “It’s exactly what I
wish to avoid. It’s not an ambush. It’s a first foray into finding
out where we stand.”

“I hate this,” Ashe growled. “If it isn’t an
ambush, it should be.”

Michael ignored him and stepped back to take
his leave. “If you find the “diamond in disguise”, please send word
to me right away. Otherwise, I’ll leave you gentlemen in
peace.”

“In peace? Are you serious?” Ashe closed his
eyes and stretched out his legs, a grown man’s imitation of a pout.
“I need a stiff drink. And I’d be peaceful if I had an end to this
interminable waiting and—“

“He’s gone, Blackwell.” Galen picked up his
cup and returned to his chair.

“What?” Ashe sat up in astonishment. “I
didn’t hear the door!”

“It’s Rutherford. When do you ever hear the
door when it’s Rutherford?” Galen smiled as he shook his head in
admiration. “The size of an elephant and the grace of a housecat.
It’s terrifying, really.”

Ashe lowered his face into his hands, his
façade of control giving way. “Terrifying,” he echoed softly and
then went on in a tight whisper, “God, what isn’t? Welcome to my
world. Kill him, Rutherford, and let me sleep at night. Kill the
bastard.”

Galen said nothing, politely averting his
gaze to look out the window on a beautiful spring day that
reflected nothing of his friend’s despair. Ashe’s young American
wife was upstairs still confined to her bed for weeks yet to await
the birth of their child. He needn’t ask to know that her health
was still precarious. All the Jaded knew it. The Jackal had tried
to poison Blackwell and his beloved bride had suffered in his place
and nearly died. Now, she was expecting a baby in late July and
where the most robust woman could be lost, his defiant Caroline was
treading on unsteady feet. Ashe’s fear was palpable, and every man
understood him. The risk of losing the women they worshipped to a
horrible end in childbirth—it was not to be imagined, much less
endured.

But Ashe was staring into that dark
unforgiving precipice and Galen’s throat closed at the cruel
threat. It was a phantom that Ashe couldn’t name or fight.

But the Jackal…

Blackwell had seized on the notion of this
enemy and Galen suspected that it was easier to hate and empower
the Jackal like an evil talisman that if destroyed, could guarantee
the safety of his Caroline—yes, that belief was easier to hold to
than to yield to blind Providence without complaint and trust that
an invisible god would bring her through it.

He didn’t judge Ashe for it. Ashe was the
quickest to laugh and the first to urge the Jaded to enjoy whatever
life was left to them. He’d overheard Darius Thorne defending him
once, when Rowan had disapproved of his rakish ways. Darius had
said, “Ashe is open hearted, West. Watch him and you’ll see. He
doesn’t give his loyalty or his love in measured amounts.”

So, Galen guessed the man didn’t hate in
half measures either.

“Rutherford has it in hand,” Galen said
carefully. “And if you doubt it, just remember the fate of that
stone and be grateful your name isn’t Sterling Porter.”



Michael accepted the cut crystal glass
filled with wine from Sterling’s hand and waited for his host to
fill his own from the same decanter before he risked a small taste.
Despite all his bravado, he had no wish to die in a useless
demonstration before he’d achieved any of his goals for the
night.

The Sunday evening dinner was unfolding
slowly as Michael waited warily for Sterling to make his move,
doing his best to test for weaknesses without any direct
confrontations as the genteel presence of Grace Porter in an off
the shoulder evening gown with a spray of orange lilies in her hair
held him in check.

As far as Michael was concerned, it was
exhausting.

He’d braced for a barrage of personal
questions that had yet to come. So far, not one breath of India,
not one hint of their shared past or the threats to the Jaded’s
future… Instead, Sterling Porter had dominated all conversation to
the turn of the seasons and to regale them with colorful stories of
the East India Trading Company’s efforts to curb piracy and secure
more Asian trade routes.

Sterling wore a red silk brocade vest with
silver buttons and Michael began to wonder what kind of man he was
really facing. Porter was younger than he’d imagined, in his
late-thirties, with fair coloring like his sister. Where Grace
evoked an ivory cameo with her long classical features, Sterling
looked far more earthly with dark shadows under his eyes. He was
lanky and slight, a touch too pale even by English standards which
hinted that his health was not necessarily good. But his expression
betrayed a feral intelligence and a keen wit.

The Jackal was a man, but what sort of man,
Michael still didn’t know. A petty bureaucrat? A clerk with
aspirations? Middle class, yes. But it was clear that Sterling
Porter believed he was meant for better things. All the reports of
his runners bore out in the man’s every gesture and word.
Ambitious prick, aren’t you?