Desire Wears Diamonds (27 page)

“And why am I not simply stealing my bride
away on the first boat to the Continent?” Michael asked.

“You don’t think I’ve resources enough to
follow your movements or track the ports? You don’t think I’m a
petty villain and wicked enough to strike out with vicious and wild
abandon if I think you’re trying to cross me? By all means, take
her and run.” Sterling leaned forward, his palms splayed against
the desk’s blotter. “And when you’re gone, who will look out for
your friends? Can you protect them all, Michael? Can you be
everywhere at once? Care to gamble on whose throat I’ll have slit
or what building I might pay an arsonist to light?”

“I never thought I could hate you more than
I already did.”

“Noted. You’re a soldier. I am betting that
you would prefer to fight the battle you can see and the enemy you
know than risk some unknown war where the front lines are invisible
and more innocent lives are exposed.” He gave Michael a smug smile.
“Or am I wrong?”

“No.”

“The diamond by midnight on Sunday next,
Rutherford.”

Michael nodded.

Sterling shook his head. “I need to hear you
say it.”

“You’ll have it by midnight on Sunday next,
Sterling, but not a moment sooner. And if you interfere before then
or harm any of mine, then our agreement is forfeit.”

Sterling clapped his hands together and
smiled. “Agreed! Well, you must be off then! Enjoy
your…reprieve.”

Rutherford bowed quickly and retreated,
remaining silent only with an act of iron will. He had the physical
advantage, there was no denying it. But snapping the man’s neck and
getting arrested for murder wasn’t how he intended to spend the
remainder of his wedding day. He had seven days to find an answer
before Sterling’s threats would turn to deadly action.

And Grace was waiting for him.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The carriage arrived at the east side of the
inn and Grace sat for a few extra moments to gather her courage.
The last time she’d entered the Grove, she’d been a warmly welcomed
caller but this time scandal had brought her to his doorstep. She
dreaded the withdrawal of Mrs. Clay’s kindness and the disapproving
looks she would have to endure.

“I’ve your things delivered and their man’s
to take ‘em up,” the driver explained as he opened the carriage
door. “Seems all set then, madam.”

“
Madam.” Not a ‘Miss’ anymore…

Grace nodded and alighted, then had an
anxious moment. “Your payment? I…”

“Ah, no! Don’t trouble yerself! Your husband
paid for everything and generously at that!” The driver touched his
hat. “Though I meant to say that it’s always good luck to deliver a
bride to her happy home. I wish you joy, Mrs. Rutherford.”

Your husband.
She smiled even as her
eyes filled with tears. “You are the first to do so. Thank
you.”

He climbed back up and drove off and Grace
accepted that there was nothing to do but face the day. She went up
the steps into the Grove, veil in hand, and walked into the small
foyer only to find Mrs. Clay, her son and a few others in aprons
and caps all awaiting her in an impromptu receiving line. The small
staff had put matching flowers in their hair and caps and Tally was
shyly holding a large bouquet of spring blooms.

Mrs. Clay bustled forward, the flower sprig
in her own hair threatening to fall off her head at the speed of
her approach. Without a word of warning, she swept Grace up into
her arms and pressed her against her ample bosom. “There you are! A
bride! Right here in the Grove and—what a blessing!”

“O-oh!” Grace answered shock making her eyes
widen but the warmth of the landlady’s hold was like a balm to her
soul and Grace’s hands reached up of their own accord to return a
gentle echo of the embrace. “You are…too kind.”

Mrs. Clay let go. “But I’m crushing you!
What a bother!” The woman laughed as she wiped her hands down the
front of her apron. “Welcome to the Grove, Mrs. Rutherford!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Clay. Thank you to—all of
you. This is so much more than I expected,” she said. “Or
deserve.”

“Nonsense! This is only the beginning and I
don’t mind saying, I’ve quite a lovely supper planned and Mrs.
Watson outdid herself with a wedding cake to make angels applaud.
She’s a dear friend and owns the fancy bakery nearby.” Mrs. Clay
beamed as she spoke. “Come, let me introduce everyone so that when
you the ring the bell, there is no chance of a stranger coming to
your aid.”

Grace nodded, unable to answer for the raw
emotions crowding her heart.

The landlady gave staff members’s name and
added a complimentary quip or detail that made them all blush and
smile at Grace. It was clear that Mrs. Clay mothered them all and
that not a person in her employ didn’t bask in it. It was a blur
for Grace and while she recognized the tall blonde boy as Tally
from her last visit when he handed over the bouquet, the rest would
have to be repeated later. At the moment, it was all too much to
take in.

“But, where is Mr. Rutherford?”

“He is—coming just behind in a separate
carriage. My brother wished to share a toast with him but I was
anxious…to be away and, I hope that doesn’t sound terrible.” Grace
bit her lower lip.

“Not at all! Let’s get you upstairs and
settled. Jack, take up her things right away.” Jack jumped to his
duties with Tally behind him carrying two hatboxes and Mrs. Clay
waved off the others. “Back to it, my dears. I’ll lead Mrs.
Rutherford up myself and then come down and lend a hand with the
pies.”

The maids and men dutifully scattered and
Mrs. Clay led her up the stairs to the private first floor sitting
room to linger while her trunks and boxes were tucked inside the
room. The men retreated and Mrs. Clay waited at the doorway. “Here
you are. Dear?”

Grace sat down on the chair by the unlit
fireplace unsure of what to say.

Mrs. Clay’s smile wavered and her brow
furrowed with concern. “Are you all right? Is it nerves? Are
you…why when I married Mr. Clay, God rest his soul; I hid in a
wardrobe for hours! I was quite scared thanks to my mother’s poorly
worded advice about the wedding night and I was nearly prepared to
spend the rest of my days in there with the coats and an old wool
nightgown. Just me and the moths!”

Grace smiled since it was impossible not to.
“Was Mr. Clay furious?”

“
My
Mr. Clay?! Never!” Mrs. Clay took
the seat across from her as she laughed. “He pulled up a chair and
sat near the door, talked about his dreams for the inn and spun
such tales! I still think of the wonderful stories he told me that
night…”

“I take it that you came out?” Grace asked
softly.

“I did and never regretted it, I can tell
you that!” Mrs. Clay sighed. “What pleasure that man gave me over
the years!”

Grace gasped then gave in to her better
humor. “Honestly, I wasn’t—I’m not nervous.” Even as she said the
words, she realized they were far from the truth. She’d been
dreading so much of the day, it had never occurred to her to dread
the night. She’d expected things to unravel long before then…

But it was Mr. Rutherford, after all; Mr.
Rutherford whose kisses invoked a fire in her that she’d never
known and separated her from reason with a single touch; Mr.
Rutherford who was kind and who had liberated her from her
brother’s prison.

Grace kept hold of her veil. “I want to wait
for Mr. Rutherford.”

“Oh! Of course!” Mrs. Clay stood up, and
cheerfully retreated. “I’ll leave you to it and if you need a
thing, pull the bell.”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Clay.”

The quiet of the room enveloped her as the
landlady’s footsteps faded. To pass the time, she mentally
inventoried what she’d carried from the house including a slightly
uncomfortable sixpence the maid had put in her shoe for luck. The
coin didn’t feel particularly felicitous as it slid back and forth
under the arch of her foot as she nervously shifted her ankle back
and forth.

Who ever thought of a lucky coin? Other than
the poor soul who might think any found wealth—even a penny—could
change your fate? My sixpence could just as readily be cursed…

A story about a cursed piece of eight
unwound slowly in her head though she shied away from drawing in
obvious pirates and decided that the poor soul whose fate could be
changed should be a self-righteous man with more money than heart.
He would be cruel and greedy and find it in the mud a few feet away
from some orphan child, its eyes sunken and little hands like a
bird’s claws. He would pick it up, flash the gold at the waif and
pocket it with a smile—and unknowingly unleash a torrent of evil
retribution on his own head that would make the plagues of Egypt
look like a—

“Grace.”

She jumped up with a startled cry as Mr.
Rutherford spoke. She hadn’t heard his footsteps but there he was,
solid and substantial in his wedding finery standing a few feet
away. “Mr. Rutherford!”

“Michael.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s a small thing, I know and selfish to
ask, but if you would use my Christian name; if I could hear you
say my name…”

“Michael.” Grace put her fingertips to her
lips. The name was hardly foreign but on her tongue it was as sweet
and strange as any exotic spice.

He glanced over at his apartment’s open
door, ajar a few inches. “You didn’t go in.”

“I didn’t know if you’d want me to. I
thought I would give you the chance to choose.”

“I thought I already had,” Michael gestured
back toward the pair of chairs near the fireplace. “Sit with me,
then. Talk to me, Grace.”

She sat back down and he joined her. Grace
marveled that they were in the exact same position from her last
visit to the Grove and at almost the same time of day—but nothing
was the same. “Why aren’t you furious? Sterling…bullied us both but
it was my fault that you were in such a terrible position. You
wanted to return to the house and I…I was the one who was weak
and…” Grace’s breath caught in her throat. “I wasn’t thinking past
the moment and I’ve robbed you of your life, Mr. Rutherford. How
can you not be angry with me?”

“Michael,” he supplied.

“If you aren’t angry, I am.” Grace sighed.
“And you will be…

“I will?” He sat up a little straighter, a
man bracing himself for the worst and Grace plunged ahead.

“I know I said once that I wished I was
strong enough to refuse you…”

“And then you said I make you weak,” he
countered gently.

“I am
not
weak! And I am not some
piece of chattel to be wed against my will! A lifetime of
subjecting myself to my father’s will and then my brother’s and—I
won’t mince about and lose myself! Not even to you!”

“You mean especially to me?”

“I mean, not even to you, a man I have come
to—care for deeply and so quickly it robs me of logic.” Grace
pressed a hand against her pounding heart. “It terrifies me how
appealing you are, Mr. Rutherford! How—distracting! But I am not
fit to be a wife, Mr. Rutherford! And if either you or my brother
had bothered to ask, I’d have told you so and spared you the
heartache! I’m—scattered and…”

“And you have plans,” he finished for
her.

“Didn’t you?” she asked then winced at the
harsh sound of the question in her ears.

He looked at her calmly, a man weathering
the storm. “A few.” He put his hands on his knees. “I’m not going
to hold you against your will, Grace. I don’t have any intentions
of robbing you of your self-determination and you must know how
much I admire your spirit. Then again, I should confess that if
your brother hadn’t demanded that I marry you—I might have resorted
to kidnapping to get you out of his hands.”

She gasped, heat flooding her cheeks. “How
dramatic!”

He smiled. “It never fails to amaze me the
things that delight you, Grace.”

Tantalizing pleasure curled around her at
his response and then something in her clamored in alarm. Because
he wouldn’t want to keep her once he knew the truth…and he deserved
to know everything.

“I’m no wife,” she said again, standing
abruptly.

He stood more slowly, holding up his hands
defensively as if he feared she was about to flee. “Because of your
plans?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m…” She looked up into
Michael Rutherford’s grey-blue eyes and then it all tumbled out in
a desperate scattered rambling confession. “I’m a writer! I know
it’s a bit beyond the pale—I’ve never told anyone! Never. Not that
anyone ever asked. But it’s scandalous, isn’t it? Because I
published
them! I…crossed some invisible line and if
Sterling ever found out—not that it matters anymore if I’m out of
his care. I always thought to go on my own steam. I have saved over
three hundred pounds, you see, and—I can make my own way!”

“Grace—“

“What a terrible wife I’d make you! You see,
I’m writing all the time. Well, whenever I can…but it’s not a
secret I could keep from a husband. You’d have found out eventually
and I don’t think I could compound my sins by ever lying to you. I
don’t cook, I clean well enough but beyond running a very small
house and planting ornamental gardens, I’m hardly the wife you
deserve, sir.”

“Grace—“ he tried again but she couldn’t
bear to hear him end it.

She bolted for the doorway to his apartment
to grab her smallest valise, the one that held her papers and her
life savings sewn into the lining. Grace seized the handle and
stood only to freeze on the threshold.

She dropped the suitcase, her hands
numb.

Michael came up slowly, unsure of what held
her so still.

Grace began to walk, like a person
sleepwalking toward the rough stone fireplace and Michael’s gaze
narrowed to study his room with new eyes. And then spotted the
penny novels.