Desire Wears Diamonds (14 page)

Ashe waited for revelations to come, but
there was no flash of insight. Just a wary sense of caution that he
didn’t want to be the man who pushed Michael Rutherford too far on
a topic that clearly made him furious.

I’ll ask Caroline what she thinks when I get
home. She has such a unique way of looking at the world—perhaps to
her the answer will be ‘obvious’.

The introduction of his wife into his
thoughts proved a complete distraction and a flood of familiar
anxiety crept into his chest. He returned to the dais. “How much
longer?”

“I am nearly done, Mr. Blackwell,” Mr.
Antonelli replied. “We will have the first pieces done in two or
three days and can complete the order by the end of the week.”

“Is anything amiss?” Michael asked.

“No. Not at all.” Ashe picked a small
invisible piece of lint off of Michael’s sleeve. “I wanted to make
sure you were bearing up.”

“It’s a fitting, Ashe. I’ll survive.”
Michael shrugged carefully back into his coat, clenching his jaw to
keep from betraying how much the movement pained him. “Although, I
have my doubts about escaping unscathed for the next favor I must
ask of you.”

Ashe smiled. “I’d leap in with a quick
speech about how I can’t imagine anything worse for you than this,
but from the terror in your eyes, I’m curious to hear what you’re
dreading asking me.”

Michael crossed his arms slowly, a man
bracing for battle. “We need to make one more stop after this and—I
need you to help me. However, if you make one single sly comment,”
Michael took a deep breath before continuing, “I’ll grind a very
different lesson into your skull and we’ll call it even.”

Ashe nodded solemnly, the mischief in his
eyes impossible to hide. “You’re on.”



Mrs. Dorsett walked into the sitting room
and carelessly set a large box on the table. “This came for you.”
She turned and left the room without waiting for Grace’s reply,
forcing a small sigh out of her mistress.

What did I ever do to deserve you, Mrs.
Dorsett?

Curiosity overcame her frustration at the
woman’s lack of manners and she approached the box with the
anticipation of a child at Christmas. She retrieved a small,
attached card from the top and read the note.

For Miss G. Porter—

Because.

M. Rutherford.

“Because? Only because?” she asked. “What an
odd thing to say!”

Grace untied the ribbon and lifted off the
lid only to drop it on the floor from nerveless fingers as pure
shock overtook her. It was a gown out of a dream and for reasons
she couldn’t fathom, it was lying in a box with her name on it,
apparently sent from a man who should know nothing of her
dreams.

But there it was—a silk ball gown the color
of sky blue with delicate glass beadwork that made it shimmer as if
the fabric were covered in diamonds. Her fingers trembled as she
reached out to lift it free from the box, her eyes misting with
unshed tears at the weight and beauty of it. Silver braid at the
neckline and sleeves were the only other adornment and she gasped
at the perfection of the design.

“It must have cost a fortune!” she whispered
as she carefully folded the dress to replace it.

Sterling came into the room without
preamble. “Mrs. Dorsett said you’d gotten a rather mysterious
box.”

“I did but I don’t think I can accept it.
It’s from Mr. Rutherford.” She lifted the gown up for him to see.
“It’s far too fine and expensive!”

Sterling shook his head slowly. “It’s
perfect. You’ll wear it to Bascombe’s.”

“I can’t!” Grace dropped the dress again.
“Mr. Rutherford is in no position to be buying me dresses and I
can’t believe you don’t see that!”

Sterling walked over to retrieve the card
that had come with it, reading it quickly. He tossed the card back
onto the table. “I see that the dress is lovely. That the man
clearly means to ensure that your bully of a brother doesn’t bring
you in a burlap bag after I made a point of letting him know you
didn’t have anything to wear.
And
I see that our soldier is
doing very well in this world, no matter how he wishes to portray
himself as a humble commoner.”

Grace held her breath. “Sterling. We can
afford to politely decline this extravagant gift. Mrs. Ambley’s
shop has several good dresses. Our finances are—”

“About to improve.” Sterling said firmly. “I
consider this a small advance on the good fortune about to come our
way!”

“Good fortune? In what guise?”

“That’s none of your concern, but Rutherford
is important to me, Grace. See that you make the most of this.”

“I don’t understand. You’ve always made it
clear that I’m not made for the marriage markets and I’ve accepted
it. What am I making the most of? You insist he comes to dinner and
then you practically toss him out the door. One moment you’re
barely civil to him and the next you’re encouraging me to—“

“God, woman! Why do you look so
worried?”

“You. I don’t recognize you. Not since Mr.
Rutherford’s arrival.”

Sterling ground his teeth together and she
saw the danger signs too late as his temper flared. He took a step
toward her and caught hold of her upper arms to give her a firm
shake. “We have business, Mr. Rutherford and I. I don’t have to
explain my every action to you. I don’t have to tell you anything.
It has nothing to do with you except that our dear Mr. Rutherford
seems to enjoy your presence and if he is entranced by your charms,
then he is less likely to cause me trouble.”

“What trouble—”

He shoved her away from him, his expression
one of disgust. “This is your chance, Grace. This is your one
chance to repay me for everything that I’ve done for you. For the
life I’ve given you, for the house I’ve provided and the care. The
clothes on your back and every scrap on your plate has been at
offered at my expense these last few years.”

She rubbed her arms, wincing at the bruises
blooming there. But she nodded, as if it made perfect sense that he
was angry; as if everything he’d said made sense.

Sterling looked at her suddenly contrite.
“I’m sorry. If you knew—you would beg to help me in my cause.
Please, Grace. Just be a good girl and help your brother. All you
have to do is smile sweetly at the man. Can you do that for
me?”

She nodded, studying the carpet at her feet
to ward off tears.

He touched her elbow gently. “I am not
asking you to do anything inappropriate or unseemly. Write him a
thank you note for the dress and invite him to the horse fair on
Wednesday morning.”

“Of course.”
I’ll write and tell him
you’re insane.

“Show me the note before you send it,
sister.”

Grace’s eyes widened in horror at the
sensation that Sterling had overheard her thoughts, but she did her
best to recover her composure before she lifted her chin.
“Naturally.”

He left the room as abruptly as he’d entered
it and Grace’s knees gave out. She slid down to sit on the floor,
waiting until the pounding in her chest subsided to a gallop. It
was a tangle that time wasn’t resolving. One of the ball gown’s
sleeves trailed over the table’s edge and glittered in the light.
Grace stared at it, the perfect dress from a wonderful man.
I
should be giddy with joy that this is happening. I have met a man
and even if it is only a polite illusion, he is being kind.

Whatever trouble is coming, I’ll have to
discover a way to shield Mr. Rutherford as he protected me and keep
Sterling at bay.

CHAPTER TEN

Michael leaned against a wrought-iron
railing beneath the shadows of an oak tree, hidden from the night
watchmen. He had Grace’s invitation burning in his pocket and
despite the simple words, a hundred readings had only added to the
mystery.

The street lamps were making a valiant
effort to cut through the darkness but the fog defeated them
easily. Michael shifted his stance subtly to assist the circulation
in his legs. It was an old trick that allowed him to stay in one
position for long periods without losing sensation in his
extremities. He’d seen a soldier cut down when he couldn’t move
quickly enough after sitting too still in a covered position for
several hours. It was a lesson he’d never forgotten but one that
he’d applied with his own lethality.

It was an old assassin’s trick.

He was drawn back to Porter’s house on Baker
Street, a moth to the flame. He told himself that it was a good
thing to keep an eye on his enemy but it was Grace he couldn’t stop
thinking about. The note had been in her hand, the neat and metered
art of a woman’s handwriting. He’d studied it for its beauty alone
for a long time, mesmerized by the notion that he had something
tangible that was unique to her. He liked the tightness of her
letters and the flourish of her loops and embellishments.

Except that the note itself reflected almost
nothing of the woman he’d met.

It was a gracious expression of thanks for
the dress he’d bought her and then an unexpected invitation to
accompany her and Sterling to a horse fair. Every word was polite
and precise.

Not Grace.

He dictated it and stood over her while she
wrote it.

I would stake my life on it.

Michael let out a long slow breath, quietly
sorting out the emotions that assaulted his senses. It was a small
matter; a handwritten invitation. Sterling’s involvement would be a
natural thing and the bile that rose in Michael’s throat was an
overreaction at best. It would be a minor irritation if it were
only a brother’s dictation of an innocuous message.

But it was the Jackal, standing over
Grace.

Michael closed his eyes to try to push the
image away. After all, he had no right to feel possessive or even
protective. But he did. He felt immensely protective. It was in his
nature and he’d long ago accepted it. When the Jaded had met in
that dungeon, it was Michael who had vowed to get them through it
but also to protect them for the rest of their days. He felt he
owed them no less. After all, when it came to India, Michael was
the closest to the ideal villain that the natives wished to destroy
and when the raj had taken them, a part of Michael would always
believe that he was the prime target of the madman’s sweep.

And so he’d shadowed them all, appointing
himself as an unofficial guardian of sorts and doing his best to
keep them from harm when enemies began to emerge from the shadows.
Every turn in the game had frustrated him more until Michael knew
the danger wasn’t in losing the battle, but losing himself along
the way.

And now there was Grace.

Grace who didn’t believe that her brother
was cruel; Grace who was kept to the house and ran secret errands;
Grace who bullied him into carriages and was so unaware of her own
bewitching beauty and charm that it warmed his blood and robbed him
of his intellect.

Buying the dress had felt like an act of
defiance. He’d nearly convinced himself that the impulse was purely
a jab at Sterling’s pride and nothing more. Michael had clung to
that conviction to brave Ashe’s sly looks and insinuating comments
as he stood in the dressmaker’s and made his choice. It was a robin
egg blue that reminded him of Spring—and Grace Porter’s eyes.

Michael shifted his weight again and gained
a better view of one of the last lit windows in an otherwise dark
house. From the lace curtains and a hanging nosegay of dried
flowers below the eaves, he suspected it was Grace’s room.

What is she doing up there so late at night
when everyone else has long since retired to bed?

Another light appeared briefly in a window
on the second floor. The unsteady path of it betrayed that it was a
handheld lantern before he detected Sterling’s silhouette in the
frame.

Old instincts set off a familiar patter in
his head.

Light’s good even if the fog doesn’t give
much beyond the street corner. Steady enough. Wind’s calm. Adjust
for the angle of the window and the curtains. One shot. Not at the
shadow but at the figure casting the shadow. One could even risk
drawing him in with a noise to get him to step up to the glass and
draw the drapery back a little further. He would press his forehead
against the cool surface to gain a better view…

One shot through the eye and done.

Not that Michael had a rifle with him. And
certainly not the Sharps rifle he’d bonded with in frightening
speed. Old habits simply died harder than expected.

Damn it.

He raked a hand through his hair, cursing
the common thug that still thought in terms of murder. The Jaded
were relying on that very thug for justice and to bring an end to
the tangle that threatened their fragile peace.

His humanity was something he’d fought so
hard to regain and where the others had hated the black of that
dungeon, Michael had embraced it for the restoration and salvation
that suffering offered him. For a few weeks and months after their
escape, he’d hoped to be a man transformed who could bury the
demons of his past. But with the first strike against the Jaded,
Michael’s dreams had died.

Without a second’s hesitation, he’d resumed
the mantle of a warrior and accepted his fate. He’d known for a
long time that if a confrontation were to come, it would be his
duty to shield the others from the worst. Once the men began
succumbing to the natural allure of the fairer sex and finding
their wives, Michael had become even more resolute.

There would be no salvation for Michael
Rutherford.

The light extinguished on the second floor
and Grace’s window was once again the only sign of life in the
house, a faint beacon that drew him away from the grim twist of his
thoughts.

Whatever kept her up, he hoped it was
pleasant. Tomorrow, he would see her at the horse fair and attempt
to better understand Sterling’s game.