Desire Wears Diamonds (17 page)

“Oh!” Grace pressed a hand to her throat.
“Your powers for clairvoyance fail you, sir.”

“Then I…apologize,” he spoke softly. “I’m
trying to imagine what else would bring you to the Grove. Does
Sterling know you’re here?”

“No! I came,” she began but then hesitated.
“I came because…it’s a tangle, isn’t it?”

“Just start with one end of the string and
let’s see where it goes.”

Grace steadied herself and decided that
where logic failed, the heart would have to lead. “We
were
interrupted this morning, but you were about to tell me what is it
between you and my brother.”

“Was I?”

“Mr. Rutherford,” Grace tapped her foot
impatiently. “If you are trying to be evasive, it isn’t working. If
you know what it is that is pushing my brother to act so
erratically, out with it.”

“Here we are!” Mrs. Clay sang out, a large
tray of baked goods and a teapot and cups providing an excuse for
the intrusion. “As promised, lemon biscuits! And I added a few
things to make more of an occasion of it, if no one objects to jam
tarts and apple twists. I took the liberty of bringing cider as
well.”

Michael had to swallow relief at the timely
interruption. He’d hoped to never have this conversation with Grace
and felt like an idiot for not anticipating her questions. If small
talk terrified him, lying had even less appeal. Especially to
her…

“Thank you, Mrs. Clay. How kind of you,” he
said, standing to take the tray from her. “It’s a feast.”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Clay demurred,
relinquishing her burden. “I didn’t want Miss Porter to think
poorly of the Grove or our care for my fav—“

“Thank you, Mrs. Clay,” he repeated quickly,
cutting her off as kindly as he could. He gave her an apologetic
look that he hoped would soften the blow. “I’ll—serve Miss Porter
and see to things.”

To his relief, Mrs. Clay’s surprise faded to
understanding, although he would have gladly forgone the knowing
wink she gave him as she retreated for the stairs. “Anything else,
simply ring the bell, Mr. Rutherford.”

As if that didn’t look completely awkward,
damn it!

“She likes you very much, doesn’t she?”
Grace noted with a sage smile.

“Yes.” He set the tray down on a side table
near the chairs. “Biscuit?”

Grace crossed her arms. “You’re a lucky man
to have such a sweet landlady and—“

“Please,” he said, his throat closing a bit
around the word. “It’s…” He sank back down into his chair, aware
that a gentleman did not just flop down while a lady stood
presently, but helpless to stop the impulse. He was a man on the
brink of defeat. “Do you remember how enthralled you were with the
idea of appearing mysterious, Miss Porter?”

She nodded, retaking her own seat, instantly
dismissing the breech of etiquette. “I still am.”

“Well, I have always guarded the—details of
my life. It is a habit curried over time and I cannot lie. The mere
idea that you are here, that you might know how significant the
Grove is, that this is—if not by blood, then by accident and
choice, that this is my family and my home; it sets me back on my
heels, Miss Porter.”

“Why?” she whispered earnestly.

“You are sure that Sterling does not know
you’re here?” he asked.

She shook her head firmly. “I gave no
indication of where I was going when I left the house. But,” she
tipped her head to one side as if to make a good study of him. “If
you don’t finish telling me why you are so disheartened to have the
great secret of lemon-biscuit-wielding-landladies revealed, I might
panic and strike you with that tray, Mr. Rutherford.”

“I count myself warned, Miss Porter,” he
said, fighting the urge to laugh. “Let me clarify. It’s
disheartening to have anything of my life so easily discovered
after—I thought myself very secure from casual scrutiny. No.”
Michael stopped himself. “It’s more than that. I enjoyed the
illusion of being an enigma.”

She smiled back at him. “What person
doesn’t?”

“You’ll keep my secrets then? As I’ve kept
yours?”

She held out her hand solemnly. “I am not
sure what critical knowledge I’ve uncovered, Mr. Rutherford, but I
swear that whatever passes between us will forever remain a
confidence.”

He took her hand and savored the odd ritual.
“As I am still at a loss about the events on Oxford Street, we are
in agreement. Whatever passes between us will forever remain—in the
strictest confidence.”

She wore gloves while his hands were bare,
but the elegant blades of her fingers and the sweet warmth of her
touch began to ensnare his imagination and distract him from vows
and promises.

“We are conspirators, Mr. Rutherford.”

This time there was no stopping the laughter
she provoked and he gave in to it—and to the ridiculous illogical
reality that Grace Porter was perched across from him in the Grove
holding his hand and keeping his secrets.

“Conspirators,” he repeated when he could,
reluctantly releasing his hold on her hand. “God help us.”

“Mr. Rutherford,” she said, straightening in
her chair and then taking a lemon biscuit. “Tell me.”

“Tell you?”

“What is it between you and Sterling?” she
asked.

“Michael let out a long slow exhale before
he answered her. “We met in Bengal. It wasn’t the best
of…circumstances. I meant what I said before. I think I am a ghost
from his past that he would rather not encounter but also one he’s
been looking for, if that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t.” She took a small bite from the
biscuit. “Should I worry more, Mr. Rutherford? Is there something
sinister in all of this?”

Lie. The truth gains you nothing, costs you
her trust and puts you on the wrong side of the Jackal’s sights.
All the ground I’ve gained to get within striking distance of this
man, all that we’ve lost, all the blood that’s been spilt… Lie,
Rutherford.

“Nothing sinister.”

She looked into his eyes and Michael forced
himself not to hold his breath until her shoulders finally relaxed
and a small measure of relief flooded her countenance. “I should
have known,” she said with a sigh. “Sterling can be a
bit…passionate and unpredictable. With all his posturing and
the—strange turns of our recent outings, he seems to have pinned
some great hope on you, sir, and I wished to state plainly that I
wish nothing to do with it.”

“Great hope? What great hope?”

She dropped her gaze to the half-eaten
biscuit in her hand. “If it is his matchmaking you fear, I thought
I would reassure you, Mr. Rutherford. I’ve set all that nonsense
aside years ago when it was…made clear that I was not destined for
marriage.”

“Why in god’s name not?” he blurted out.

“Pardon?” Grace blinked in surprise, looking
up and nearly dropping her biscuit in the bargain.

“I meant to say, I don’t understand what was
made clear. You are young enough to marry and ridiculously…”

“I am ridiculous?” she asked.

“No! Not ridiculous! It’s not my place to—“
Michael pressed his lips together, his brow furrowing. “It’s not my
place to tell you how lovely you are. Hell, I’m sure there are a
thousand social rules forbidding a man to start spouting off about
how you look like a hint of heaven in this wretched world, Miss
Porter, and how impossible that should be!”

“Oh!” Grace’s surprise made her even more
fetching as she innocently pressed her palm against her beating
heart, inadvertently drawing his eyes to the lush firm curves of
her body. “I’m—I’ve never had anyone say I was lovely.”

“I don’t believe that.”

She straightened in her chair, a sparkling
anger making her blue eyes snap with her displeasure. “I’m sure it
isn’t your intention to call me a liar, Mr. Rutherford!”

Michael bit the inside of his mouth to keep
from smiling. He solemnly shook his head. “How many times can a man
apologize for his lack of social graces?”

She pressed her lips together then lost the
battle to smile at his odd question. “Seven.”

“How many have I wasted so far?”

“I forgot to count.”

“Then you must start at one,” Michael said
calmly, his confidence irrationally surging in her presence. “When
I apologize, of course.” The banter between them was intoxicating
and he wasn’t sure how a man ever navigated with any wisdom when a
woman like Grace Porter was in his presence. She was mercurial but
at the same time, always Grace.

“Didn’t you just apologize?”

“No,” he stated before retrieving a lemon
biscuit. “I merely inquired as to how many times I might.”

“True. But I should let you know that if you
also apologize for telling me that I am lovely, I will be crushed,
Mr. Rutherford.”

“Your feelings are entirely safe on that
account, Miss Porter. For I never said it.”

“Didn’t you?!” she asked with a breathless
squeak that was extremely endearing and made Michael wish for
everything he couldn’t have.

“I said it wasn’t
my place
to say it
and then…I may have mentioned a rule about…angels on earth…”
Michael sighed. “You are too clever for me, Miss Porter. I don’t
think I can keep up for fear of using up all my apologies in one
sitting and then where will I be?”

She tipped her head to one side, a gesture
he was becoming all too familiar with and Michael braced himself
for the study. “As I’ve never gotten compliments,” she paused,
arching her eyebrows as if playfully waiting for his protest, then
continued, “I cannot in good faith abandon the hint of one without
a fight.”

“It’s not appropriate for me to pay you one,
Miss Porter.”

“True.” Grace switched sides as if another
angle would gain her a better advantage. “But if you could…”

“Then I would,” he conceded. “I would say
something unpracticed and rustic and you would have a new reason
for being angry. And then I would quickly remind you that I’d saved
your life to try to keep you from clouting me with that tray.”

She sat back in her chair, a very sweet and
impertinent grin on her lips. “Then I am satisfied.”

God, I think I actually sailed through that!
Hell, even Ashe couldn’t have—

“And what of you, Mr. Rutherford? Are you
sure it wasn’t matchmaking you feared?” she asked.

“
I
am no suitor, Miss Porter, and
would never presume—I never meant to encroach or disturb. I’m sure
Sterling has no such designs and I should wish that you didn’t feel
the pressure of some giant fool holding your elbow and steering you
to a course you didn’t desire.”

“You are not a giant fool!”

“I am a giant,” he said, purposefully making
her smile. “I’ll concede that point but no other.”

“I don’t expect you to steer me at all! I
believe we’ve already established that I am a force to be reckoned
with, Mr. Rutherford.”

“You are terrifying.”

She clapped her hands, eyes bright with a
fierce joy that made his chest ache. “I find I love being a terror,
Mr. Rutherford!”

He finished his biscuit to avoid looking at
her and began to pour the tea. “Power can be intoxicating.”

“I shall strive not to become a bully, Mr.
Rutherford, especially to you.” She took the cup from his hand.
Grace sipped her tea, then wrinkled her nose. “Oh! I think in her
haste, Mrs. Clay may have...”

Michael quickly took a taste from his own
cup and immediately grasped the problem. Hot water was good but
without tea leaves in the lid’s basket, it definitely lacked
flavor. “Let’s not mention it to her. She’d be mortified.”

“Of course,” Grace agreed quickly. “We are
conspirators, remember? Here, pour the hot water back into the pot
and I’ll use my napkin to dry out the cups. Then we can say we
never got to the tea and she will be relieved if she spots her
mistake later.”

“You’ve a gift for deception, Miss Porter.”
The heat that had been curling inside of him chilled. He was so
blind when it came to her, so enthralled. She could easily have
come at Sterling’s bidding and in all their charming banter, how
much had he given away?

She shrugged with a gentle laugh. “It is a
survival skill, Mr. Rutherford, but a talent I hope I apply only
for good.”

“Was there—anything else? Any other reason
you had for coming here that you’ve yet to say?” Michael asked.

“I…” Grace blinked in surprise as she
finished drying the cups. “No. I suppose not.”

He stood abruptly, wincing at his own
rudeness. “You’ve risked too much of your reputation by coming
here, Miss Porter. I shouldn’t keep you.”

“If I—“ she started to speak and then
stopped herself, standing as well and straightening her skirts.
“Yes, I should be getting back before I am missed.”

“I’ll walk you down to—“

“No,” she interrupted him gently but firmly.
“If it’s my reputation you wish to protect, then escorting me out
to demonstrate that I was here, alone, in your company, would not
be the most gallant gesture.”

“Oh,” Michael said, yielding to her better
understanding of the subtle twists in social rules. “There is a
separate entrance at this side of the building. If you’d prefer not
to walk past the dining room again…at the bottom of the stairs just
turn left.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rutherford.” Grace made her
way to the top of the stairs and had taken two steps down before
she hesitated. “My brother was right on one count.”

“Which one?” Michael gripped the banister to
hold himself in place.

She looked up at him from the steps and
Michael’s heart skipped a beat at the fetching image she presented.
“The dress you bought me
is
the finest thing I am likely to
ever possess and I…I wish I were strong enough to refuse it, but I
find that I am a very ordinary person and very weak when it comes
to you, Mr. Rutherford.”

“What?” Confusion numbed him.
I make her
weak?