Desire Wears Diamonds (12 page)

Michael had worn one of his better coats and
a complimentary gray muslin waistcoat that Mrs. Clay had assured
him was extremely flattering, but one look at his host and he knew
he was underdressed for the occasion.

The man’s a popinjay! Ashe would have a
thing to say about his overdone cravat and then ask me why I
haven’t shoved this crystal glass down his throat. Damn it! I’m
getting nowhere and Grace…

Grace was far more distracting than he’d
accounted for. It was the current fashion to display a woman’s bare
shoulders and throat in the evening and Michael was confident he’d
seen his share of necks—but this was apparently different. Why, he
wasn’t sure, but the sight of the naked curve of her shoulders and
the elegant lines of her collarbone and the barest glimpse of the
rise of her breasts was driving him mad. Instead of tracking
Sterling’s every word or studying the man for any sign of
treachery, he kept glancing at Grace Porter and wondering how he
could politely beg her to put on a shawl.

Or ask her why she wasn’t talking.

She was far too quiet. Sterling barely had
time to draw breath, much less eat, in between his speeches and if
Grace even looked as if she might have something to say, her
brother cut her off.

“Of course, Grace has no opinion on the
matter,” Sterling said in between bites of veal. “She knows as much
of pirates as a sparrow does of parsnips.”

Michael should have left it. After all,
letting Sterling blather on was the wiser course if he wanted to
learn anything of the man’s mind. But wisdom slipped from his grasp
as he noticed the color in her cheeks darkening at her brother’s
dismissive comment.

“Is that certain, Miss Porter?” Michael
asked her directly. “I don’t think an opinion requires direct
experience, don’t you agree?”

She beamed at him. “If it did, I should
think that most of the House of Lords would be mute. Or most men
for that matter!”

“Grace!” Sterling dropped his fork. “What a
thing to say!”

The joy in her eyes dimmed and Grace bit her
lower lip. “A poor jest. I apologize.”

“Not a poor jest,” Michael set his glass
down as carefully as he could. “And why apologize for being clever?
A smart man I know once told me that intelligence was never
offensive where ignorance always is.” He looked directly at
Sterling and decided he’d had enough of polite games. “Pity that so
few who are stupid ever think to make amends for the pain they
inflict on others.”

Sterling’s gaze narrowed and Michael looked
at him openly defiant. “A pity.”

“But I’m a plain spoken man, as you know,”
Michael said calmly. “Pirates or parsnips, it’s all the same to
me.”

“Is it?” Sterling asked. “Tell me, Mr.
Rutherford, what work do you do? What is your profession now?”

At last. Here we are.

“As I was seventeen years a soldier, I apply
what talents I can as a consultant to businesses and individuals
for their security. I’m told I have a good eye for spotting
potential weaknesses and averting crime.”

“Interesting,” Sterling said. “But looking
at you, I’d say to avert a crime all you would have to do is be
present. I can’t think of a burglar anywhere stupid enough to try
to walk around a guard of your stature.”

“I’m not a guard and if it were that simple,
I’d be happily unemployed.”

“And where do you reside, Mr. Rutherford?”
Sterling went on amiably. “Does your business provide a good
living?”

“I do well enough,” Michael answered,
caution flaring at the sickening idea of Sterling Porter strolling
into the Grove uninvited. “Not as well as you, if the home you have
here is any sign of your fortunes.”

It was an easy bit of false flattery and he
was rewarded with a strange flash of emotion in Sterling’s eyes.
Either it was triumph or suspicion, but before Michael could weigh
it out, Sterling reached for the decanter to refill his glass.

“I have just had a grand idea, Mr.
Rutherford.” Sterling grinned as if they were the best of friends.
“One that Grace is sure to approve.”

Grace looked up in surprise. “Would I?”

“Grace is often confined to the house and
has few chances for social events. There’s a ball coming up in less
than a fortnight in early June hosted by a friend of ours, a Mr.
Rand Bascombe. Why don’t you join us? He is an acquaintance through
associates at the Company.” Red wine sloshed over the edge of
Sterling’s glass unheeded, a crimson stain spreading out on the
white linen tablecloth. “Rand is back from a miserable expedition
to India that reaped nothing but death. Bad luck with fevers
through his party and apparently, an inability to look at a compass
to keep from going in circles.”

Michael kept his expression neutral. “All
that and he’s still in the mood for a party?”

Sterling laughed. “His new wife may have
tipped the scales. Apparently she’s so thrilled to have her husband
back she’s willing to overlook the circumstances—and why not?”
Sterling smiled, a wicked icy show of teeth. “I warned him it was a
stupid idea to stomp about over there. But then, you must know.
That region is no place for little men or small dreams.”

“No.”

“Do you know Mr. Bascombe, sir?” Sterling
asked.

Michael shook his head. “By reputation
only.” What Michael did know was from the squat villain’s
involvement in the East India’s first clumsy attempts to flush out
the Jaded and from his assault on Lady Winters. Bascombe was a
toady of a man and Galen Hawke loathed him so much he’d once said
that if Rand Bascombe were on fire, he wouldn’t hesitate to add
kindling.
If I’m not careful, I’ll have to worry about holding
Galen back if he catches Bascombe’s scent…or this could become a
real brawl.

Sterling held up his wine. “I’d love to
introduce you to him.”

“I see.” Except he didn’t. He didn’t see how
walking into Sterling’s larger circle of acquaintances in the East
India Trading Company would be courageous or suicidal.
Probably
a bit of both.
“I don’t think his wife would thank you for an
extra guest considering the circumstances.”

“There isn’t a hostess in London who
complains when a bachelor is added to her party.” Sterling took
another healthy swallow from his glass. “Isn’t that true, Grace?
Wouldn’t you enjoy it if Mr. Rutherford accompanied you to a ball?
Shall I include you in the evening, dear sister?”

To her credit, Grace Porter looked as
shocked and unsure of the notion as Michael felt; but there was
something in the turn of the conversation that didn’t sit well with
him. Sterling was charmingly bullying her into attending Bascombe’s
or into submitting to Michael’s company. Either way, Michael was
off balance.

Grace blinked and then finally cleared her
throat. “Pardon?”

“I’m not the best choice of escort for a
formal party and I think your sister is struggling to
diplomatically say as much.” Michael let out a slow careful breath.
“Grace is too kind to admit her aversion to the notion.”

Sterling laughed. “If she’s hesitant, I
don’t think you’re the source of her fears. Is he?”

“No.” Grace pushed the pastry on her plate
from one side to the other, a woman struggling to appear
disinterested in the topic at hand. “He would be an excellent
choice of escort to any occasion. And it’s not fear. I can think of
eight things far more terrifying than a ball!” She looked up
directly at Michael. “Be at ease, Mr. Rutherford. I am
never
included on my brother’s outings and he’s teasing you with the
threat of waltzing. You are safe, sir. Now, please, Sterling, I beg
you! Leave the subject!”

“It’s true,” Sterling sighed. “You are safe.
She doesn’t even own a ball gown.”

A man would have to be blind not to see the
stinging agony of Sterling’s insult as it flashed in her blue eyes
before she busied with refilling her water glass. The pain in
Michael’s ribs failed to compare with the knife-like blow to his
midsection at the sight of Grace Porter’s struggle not to cry at
the dinner table. Michael’s hands fisted on his lap under the
tablecloth in frustration.
Just when I think I cannot dislike
you more Sterling Porter…

“Well!” Sterling went on with friendly smile
that didn’t quite warm his eyes, “All your country fears are laid
to rest as Mr. Rutherford has spared me the cost of getting you
one, Grace! Now I really am in his debt.”

To control his emotions, Michael did his
best not to look at Grace. “I look forward to meeting your friend
Mr. Bascombe and hearing about his adventures. But I won’t consider
attending without her.”

Sterling smiled. “What a delightful
surprise!”

Grace put her fingertips over her lips.
“M-Mr. Rutherford! I can’t—“

“There! It is a nice change for you, Grace.
Not that you’ll be taking any turns on the floor—“

“And I’ll dance with her.” Michael spoke
without thinking. “That is, if the lady will allow it.”

Grace’s mouth fell open and Michael had to
swallow hard to ignore the fiery impulse to cheer in triumph. It
was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever said but in that moment,
Michael Rutherford didn’t care. All he cared about was that Grace
Porter was not going to be left behind. And that when Grace
Porter’s eyes shone, it made his chest ache to say something
comforting and kind to her or more—to reach for her, to touch her,
to draw her against him and shield her from the sharp edges of the
world.

“Of course, she’ll allow it,” Sterling
answered for her. “Just mind you wear good shoes and watch your
toes.”

“It will be a night to remember,” Michael
said and then impulsively decided to test the waters. “Bascombe and
I can compare notes about Bengal and perhaps I can help him see
where he went wrong. I could improve his chances if he intends
another attempt.”

The effect on Sterling Porter was immediate.
His good humor evaporated and his expression became haughty with
fury. “There is nothing there for him to find!” Uncertainty crept
into his eyes and he stood abruptly. “I think that’s enough for one
night. I hate to cut things short but my head is raging.”

“I don’t understand.” Grace stood, forcing
Michael to follow suit. “Sterling. Are you sure? I set out the port
and cigars if you—“

“Our delightful evening is at an end.”
Sterling stepped back. “I can walk you out, Mr. Rutherford.”

Michael nodded then gave Grace an apologetic
look. “It was lovely, Miss Porter. I enjoyed the parsnips
and
the pirates and look forward to seeing you at the
dance.”

She radiated happiness and curtsied
gracefully. “Thank you.”

He bowed and followed Sterling out and down
the stairs. As the man lumbered with his fury down the steps,
Michael eyed the center of his back and contemplated the irony of
being within inches of the Jaded’s enemy.

One little push and we could save ourselves
the trouble…

He didn’t know why Sterling would bring
Bascombe into things and if they were rivals for the same treasure,
then why in god’s name would Sterling risk another player on the
field? What was his game?

By the time they’d safely reached the ground
floor foyer, it was a relief to have the temptation gone. Sterling
in his haste had forgotten to signal the footman so they were alone
to retrieve Michael’s coat and hat. Normally, Michael would have
readily taken care of the matter himself as he always did but the
awkward frustration on Sterling’s face was priceless.

The dinner. The crystal. That horrible jelly
molded entrée… There should be a man here to fuss over my departure
and hand me my hat and it’s killing him that there isn’t.

Michael deliberately folded his hands in
front of him and waited on the last step, instinctively adding to
his superior height to give him a better advantage.

“Bascombe…” Sterling stopped. “I should
apologize. Bascombe has long been a thorn in my side. I’m a
practical man where Bascombe’s a dreamer. He is convinced there is
a great treasure yet to be discovered in India, a forgotten
treasure room.”

“Treasure rooms are rarely forgotten.”

“Yes. Exactly.” One of the lamps were lit
but the shadows were distorted by an arrangement of flowers on the
table next to it and Sterling’s face looked mottled by the play of
light and dark across his features. “Tradition and superstition
would hold back a starving populace for only so long once a ruler
fell. You see, I heard stories of a small raj in the jungles of
India who was quite mad. In fact, he eventually became so insane
that he insisted on marrying a statue of a local goddess. Can you
imagine it? Five wives and forty concubines and he replaces them
all with a life size stone carving with painted lips and arms like
an octopus.”

“Did he really?” Michael asked, genuinely
intrigued. He’d heard rumors of the raj’s madness or how things had
come to a head but this—this was a confirmation he’d never have
guessed at. “What sacrilege!” he whispered.

“Sacrilege,” Sterling echoed. “And beyond.
They say it was the wedding night that did it. The groom wished to
take things literally and his people decided they’d had enough. The
palace forces were drawn away with a revolt in the village and then
a second band of rebels stormed the palace with torches and
machetes, setting off stolen explosives and destroying much of the
building.”

And set the Jaded free in the process when
the south wall blew out and exposed us to fresh air for the first
time in months…

“A good precaution to draw the guards away,”
Michael said. “But I doubt they would have stopped them if he’d
violated their goddess.”

“The villagers didn’t ask where they stood
on the matter. The road to the palace was paved with the blood and
body parts of the raj’s soldiers, his servants, his wives and
children.”