Desire Wears Diamonds (35 page)

Tally. Probably not long after she’d first
taken him in.

“What a lovely room!” she exclaimed politely
before taking the seat she was offered.

“It’s a lovely apartment! I have my own
sitting room and what Mr. Clay always called his study, though he
did more smoking and napping in it than paperwork, I can assure
you! Then there are four bedrooms! Four! There’s two through there
and two above via a darling spiral staircase from the study. Can
you imagine it?” She sighed happily as she took a seat on a worn
velvet upholstered chair embroidered with butterflies. “It juts out
a bit and gobbled up some of the garden when Mr. Clay built it but
we had plans for a large family when we first wed and there was no
talking the man out of it!”

Grace bit her lower lip. “You didn’t …have a
large family?”

Mrs. Clay shook her head. “No. We weren’t
fortunate to be blessed with babies of our own, but,” she gestured
around the room to all the pictures, “as you can see, I have no
shortage of family! The Grove blessed me with children, with
friends and guests and most of the staff have been with me forever!
And I have my son, Tally, and fond hopes for his future.”

“He is so clever, Mrs. Clay, and such a kind
boy.”

“And what of you?” Mrs. Clay asked.

“Pardon?”

“It’s not my place to poke about someone
else’s business but—have you family, Mrs. Rutherford? Beyond that
scoundrel who came in and caused such a ruckus, I mean?”

“Oh,” Grace sat up a little straighter. “I
have…That is to say, my father owns a milling concern in a village
in the north. I’m afraid he’s long been disinterested in me and I
suspected it was more thrilling for him to watch Sterling from afar
after he’d flown the nest. I’m told I was a very disappointing
child since my arrival heralded the loss of my poor mother.” Grace
took note of the horrified look of pity on her landlady’s face and
decided that a more cheerful tone was required. “But true happiness
has found him, at last! He is remarried to a very elegant woman who
plays the pianoforte. She was far too accomplished to need…me…so I
came to London to run my brother’s house.”

“How old were you, lamb?”

“Seventeen,” Grace said. “I learned a great
deal from the experience, of course, and—Sterling is…well, you’ve
met my brother.” Grace sighed. “Have I fallen in your estimation,
Mrs. Clay?”

Mrs. Clay stood abruptly and shocked Grace
into mirroring the gesture.
She’s throwing me out! A miller’s
daughter probably isn’t what she had in mind for her beloved giant
and—

For the second time, Mrs. Clay clutched her
in a hug that robbed her of all thought. This. This was a woman who
loved without reserve.

“Poor lamb!” Mrs. Clay sobbed. “Just wanted
a mother’s love, all those years! Dried up old disinterested prune!
I hope that new wife gives him dyspepsia and they both suffer
boils!” Mrs. Clay released her with a shocked gasp. “Not that I
generally curse the worst of them but, well, I speak what I
think!”

Grace struggled not to giggle and failed. “I
do love you, Mrs. Clay, and if I may speak candidly, I can’t see
how a mother could have given me more than you already have. You’ve
been so…warm.”

“Shows what you know!” Mrs. Clay retrieved a
handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “Well, let’s sit then. What a
mess I’ve made of it already!”

“A mess of what?” Grace asked.

Mrs. Clay took a deep breath and plunged
ahead. “I know it’s still the honeymoon and I’ve no right to press!
But I’m worried that if I wait too long, the chance will go. And my
Mr. Clay, God rest his soul, always said that it was better to jump
early than forget to jump at all!”

“Where are we jumping?”

Mrs. Clay folded her hands and straightened
her shoulders. “Here’s the way of it, Mrs. Rutherford. I’m
surprised not to have seen a few friendly faces coming to call on
you, what with Mr. Rutherford’s circle of friends being so
formidable. I’ve not met all the wives but the ones I know well, I
know to expect their calls of welcome and naturally, their
compliments and best wishes on your match.”

Grace nodded. “It was a sudden match and
Michael has said nothing of introductions.”

“Yes! It is still the honeymoon, after all!
But don’t let him be selfish for too long, Mrs. Rutherford. You
deserve to have lovely friends and I’m happy to help with any tea
parties or gatherings you care to host!”

Grace’s confidence faltered. Michael had
many friends. She’d picked up on that much and on their married
status. In the flurry of locked doors and fighting Sterling
followed by the ecstasy of her marriage, she’d missed the step of
social introductions. But there’d not been one note or letter
expressing well wishes or congratulations addressed to him, much
less to her.

Not one.

Perhaps they disapprove of his choice?

“Ah, I’ve worried you!” Mrs. Clay
interrupted her thoughts. “And that wasn’t where I meant to land at
all!”

“Please go on, Mrs. Clay.” Grace focused her
attention back on the visit. “We were jumping?”

“You see, I know that when your friends, old
and new, come to call they might question that you’re…living in an
inn.”

“Oh! Will they?”

“Yes! And I know a young lady likes to be
the mistress of her own house and…I respect that! I don’t have a
say, do I?” Mrs. Clay’s cheeks reddened and her eyes gleamed with
unshed tears. “But we love our Mr. Rutherford, you see. And
Tally—he looks up to him like a father, if the truth be told! So
let me say it in a rush and then I’ll have spoken my piece!”

Grace nodded. “O-of course!”

“Maggie’s happy to move into one of my empty
bedrooms and well, she’s practically mine, too, isn’t she?” Mrs.
Clay folded her hands. “I’m no gypsy fortune teller but I have a
feeling in my bones about that girl and my dear Tally. The age
difference can’t be much and in a few years, it’ll be no gap at
all. She’s an angel, that little bird and so fun! And,” Mrs. Clay
leaned in with a conspiratorially wink, “I think he’s already lost
his heart to her.”

Grace nodded again, unsure of how anyone in
the world ever managed to disagree with such a sweet and urgent
soul. “Miss Beecham is very dear but why would she have to forfeit
her apartment?”

“Because you are a proper married couple! I
want to combine the two apartments to make a proper home for you,
here at the Grove.”

Grace blinked. “It is…already a proper
home.”

“Of course, there’s all the amenities, yes?
It is like having a little manor of your own, if you think of it
properly. A kitchen downstairs with meals served and maids for the
cleaning, laundry and even assistance with errands! Mind, I’m aware
that not all homes include all the comings and goings of an inn and
the problems that might entail.” Mrs. Clay sat back against her
chair’s cushions. “Beyond the semi-private sitting room and dining
room, two rooms are all you have now and, well, our Mr. Rutherford
takes up a bit of space, but if you’ll try, I know you can be happy
here. If we combine the two flats, you’d have four rooms and we can
build to suit. What say you?”

“I say that’s far too generous!” Grace
squeaked then did her best to regain her composure. “You should
know that Michael has never said a word of going elsewhere—and I
don’t care what anyone says, Mrs. Clay. We will live here as long
as you will allow it.”

“Truly?” Mrs. Clay asked, her fingers
pressed against her lips.

“Truly.”

Mrs. Clay lost the battle to hold off her
tears and Grace opened her arms without hesitation to embrace the
dear woman. “There, there! I would never take your Mr. Rutherford
away.”

“Oh, what a relief! You can’t imagine how
worried I’ve been!” Mrs. Clay sighed. “Though I will hit your
brother with a broom if he tries to cross my door again.”

Grace smiled as they found their chairs
again and began to laugh.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Waiting in the dark inside the old church,
St. Martin’s within Ludgate, his nerves were already on edge when a
shadow appeared on the wall inside the nave. He’d lit only a few
candles in the nave to use the light as a visual alarm for his
enemy’s arrival. The narrow building and small space meant there
would be no ambushes. He’d chosen it deliberately as sacred ground
to awe Sterling and keep him off balance. After all, the best place
to meet the Devil was the last place you expected. The famous
church was within sight of St. Paul’s cathedral and enough of a
landmark to ward off any destructive impulses if Porter meant to
try his hand at arson.

Michael hoped it was also sacred enough to
ward off any exotic third parties who might follow him there and
consider duplicating their work at the Thistle to stop the
exchange. Cultures ranged with vast differences but he was gambling
that the beauty of Christopher Wren’s architecture was universal
enough to aid his plans.

Michael stepped out from the concealment of
a prayer alcove only to stop in shock when he recognized the man
who defiantly stood in a battle-ready stance on the worn flagstones
in the aisle.

“Ashe! Get out of here!”

“Is that the extent of your friendly
greeting, old friend?”

“How in god’s name did you discover this
meeting place?” But even as he asked, the answer came to him.
“Never mind. Rowan.”

“In his defense, he didn’t tell me. You
shared the deadline with all of us, remember?” Ashe held his place
in the shadows. “Of all the Jaded, he’s the one we’ve always gone
to for aid. I did press him but he honestly didn’t know where you
meant to meet the Jackal for this travesty.”

Michael sighed. “I told him once this was my
favorite place. I thought he’d guessed…” He shook off his
melancholy and refocused on the dire crisis at hand. “You followed
me.”

“I did.” Ashe shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps not as skillfully as you’d have done it—but obviously I
managed well enough, didn’t I? However did you get them to open it
for you at this hour?”

“Damn it, Ashe. Go! Go before Sterling gets
here!”

“Before he gets here and you give him the
sacred treasure we’ve all risked our lives to keep safe?” Ashe’s
voice tightened into a deadly growl. “You care for your ‘wife’,
Michael, and I am the last man to underestimate the power of a
woman’s hand in a man’s life. But hear me. I can’t stand aside
while you reward that—Jackal! I won’t meekly cower while he dances
off with his prize and my son’s life goes unavenged!”

“Ashe. I understand how you feel but there’s
more at stake than you know. He’s threatened Grace if I don’t give
it to him and even if I don’t trust the Jackal, I can’t risk
her.”

“It’s you who’s not to be trusted, Michael.
We could keep her safe. There’s no need to do this.”

“No. I’ve been through all that. We can’t
live our lives in prison, shut off and under guard. And what about
the people we love beyond whatever walls we construct? Can you
guarantee their safety? Family, friends or anyone foolish enough to
be publicly associated with any of the Jaded? Sooner or later, your
guard would drop and I don’t know if you would want to live with
the consequences, Ashe.”

Ashe took a step to his left, leaning up
against the end of one of the pews keeping his left arm behind his
back. But there was nothing casual or relaxed in the set of his
shoulders and Michael wasn’t fooled.

“Rutherford, his threats are hollow.
Sterling is playing you and so is your Grace. What man threatens
the life of his sister? It’s a ruse and a flimsy one. She’s seduced
you and you’re not thinking straight.”

“I’d say it’s you who’s off. Ashe, it’s gone
too far. The Jackal will be here any minute and I will do what I
must whether you agree or not. You waste your time and mine.”

Ashe raised his left arm and revealed the
loaded pistol in his hand. He pointed it squarely at Michael’s
chest. “No. And don’t ask me to trust you again. I did and there
you stand, a traitor.”

“Are you going to shoot me, Ashe?”

“I might.”

Michael held his breath and weighed out his
options. Unfortunately, allowing Ashe to kill him wasn’t possible.
“Higher.”

“What?”

“Aim higher for my head or draw it to the
right. You’re going to hit me in a lung which is not the quick end
I’d hope for, Ashe. For God sakes! Just three inches right or—“

Ashe’s brow furrowed as his hand unsteadily
and against his better judgment obeyed Rutherford’s surprisingly
calm commands. At the first sign of movement, Michael closed the
gap between them with lightning speed to strike Ashe’s wrist upward
and twist Ashe’s arm so that his friend either dropped the pistol
or allowed his shoulder to become separated from his body.

As expected, Ashe surrendered his hold on
the pistol’s handle.

Michael drove his full weight into Ashe’s
frame and sent them both over the carved pew where Blackwell bore
the brunt of their landing against the unforgiving flagstones. The
air slammed out of his lungs and Ashe soundlessly opened his mouth
in pain but Michael knew that even a semi-conscious Ashe Blackwell
was not good.

“Sorry, friend.” Michael sat up with his
thighs astride Ashe’s chest and punched him in the jaw with brutal
economic force and efficiency. Michael pulled his fist back for a
second strike if needed but Blackwell was no longer moving.

Michael quickly checked Ashe’s pulse to
reassure himself that he hadn’t murdered him and then sighed.

Damn it, Ashe. I hope that didn’t break that
pretty jaw of yours.

He stood to retrieve the pistol and tucked
it into his belt as he heard the doors to the church opening. He
nudged Ashe’s foot with his boot for effect and turned to make the
best of it.

“My goodness! I seem to have missed all the
excitement.” Sterling came down the aisle breathlessly. “Is he
dead?”