Desire Wears Diamonds (19 page)

“On our first furlough, some older men,
friends I’d made in the company took me to a whore house. It was to
be great fun and I was…looking forward to…”

“Your first time?” Ashe supplied
quietly.

Michael crossed his arms defensively, but
kept pacing determined to get through the tale and get on with his
life. “My first time.”

“What young man doesn’t?” Ashe said. “I’d
normally insert a deliciously ribald tale about my own first
encounter but I’d rather urge you to share yours.”

“It was a disaster!” Michael bit off the
last word. “Satisfied, Blackwell? We were sat upon a couch and
instructed to select a partner and when I stood to go off with the
brunette who’d caught my eye, she had a screeching fit! She—“

This time Ashe’s demeanor was as solemn as a
priest’s as he patiently gave Michael the quiet he needed to get
through his story.

“She said she wasn’t about to have some
giant bull of a man rearrange her innards and threaten her life.
She didn’t want to be split wide and bleed to death for the sake of
a shagging. She begged for one of the other girls to take her place
and when she looked at me—her eyes were wild with fear and dread. A
practiced whore and she burst into tears at the threat of bedding
me, Ashe.” He shuddered. “I’ll never forget it.”

“God! What a mess!”

“The madam pushed another girl toward me,
but I…left quickly and I never went back.” Michael stopped pacing
and turned to face his friend. “I’m not stupid. The others were
always making crude jokes in the bath houses about how I’d be
better suited to fucking horses or how any woman game enough to
take me on had probably warmed up by riding a few fence posts.
Clever, right?”

“How old were you?”

Michael shrugged. “Barely seventeen.”

Ashe ran one hand through his golden hair
and then stood. “Rutherford, do you trust me?”

Michael nodded. “Yes.”

“In my notorious past, I became quite the
expert on women and their pleasure, along with my own, of course.
So, do you trust me on this subject above all others?” Ashe
asked.

“Yes,” Michael whispered.

“Your experience was unfortunate; that whore
was imbalanced and,” Ashe took a deep breath before continuing,
“your friends in the military were idiots. Combined with your shy
nature and avoidance of the matter, I can see how it has caused you
to suffer from terrible misinformation and endure a lifetime of
deprivation that I can’t even begin to fathom.”

“I hardly think I’ve—”

Ashe cut him off with a firm wave of his
hand. “I will speak plainly. No doubt you are overtly blessed with
a decidedly “large gift” to any woman lucky enough to ensnare you
but let me assure you, it’s not a cause for shame. I can refer you
to any number of London whore houses in which they will likely have
a celebration at the sight of you and you’ll have dozens of lovely
ladies clawing each other for a chance at you and a turn in your
bed.”

“That cannot be—”

“And not just whores, Rutherford, in case
that mind of yours is ready to misunderstand me.
All
women
are grateful for a well-applied and good-sized cock and while a
virgin may take a few moments to get over her shock, that’s where
it’s a gentleman’s duty to ensure that he applies finesse and care
to ease her anxiety. Anyone worth their salt knows that a woman’s
pleasure should be any lover’s prime goal, since our own climaxes
are so easy to come by.” Ashe was warm to the subject now. “You
should think of yourself as the envy of most men, Michael, and
quite the object of desire for the weaker sex.”

Michael had to blink in shock for a moment.
“You
did
say you were going to speak plainly.”

“There are no ladies present and after all
the pain you’ve gone through, I owe you no less than the
unvarnished truth. Look,” Ashe straightened his shoulders, a man
leaning into the task. “D has a rough translation of “The Perfumed
Garden” and a few other exotic books and I’ll ask him to loan them
to you. If you don’t believe me, perhaps an ancient text extolling
the virtues of a cock that is three and a half hand-breadths in
length and as shockingly wide will change your mind.” Ashe went
back to the side table and refilled their brandies. “They say it
the measure of a meritorious man and the ecstasy such a man invokes
in the woman he loves is as close as a human can come to paradise
on earth.”

“My god! Truly?”

Ashe turned back around and delivered the
glass to Michael’s hand. “Your soldier friends were jealous and
took malicious fun in knocking you about, Rutherford. I imagine
they all had thumb-size pricks and the intelligence of hedgehogs,
stupid bastards!”

Michael took the drink but didn’t sample it.
“You’re sure?”

“Of this and almost nothing else!” Ashe
admitted with a smile. “Feel better, my meritorious friend? We’ll
put this Jackal business behind us and then you can set about to
see for yourself how very wise and surprisingly insightful I
am!”

Michael set his drink down, untouched. He
had no desire to arrive at the ball with alcohol on his breath. Bad
enough that he was now running late, but—Ashe’s revelations made
all of it worthwhile. Even if the man exaggerated his case, a faint
glimmer of hope had come alive inside of him.

Perhaps not a freak, after all! Years lost
to that one night’s lingering effects and the hateful banter of men
I barely knew… I was a fool.

“That may be, but I hope you’ll keep my
confidences, Blackwell.”

“Your secrets are safe with me. This
entertaining and informative conversation never happened.” Ashe
bowed his head. “Although, if I’m on my deathbed, it may make for a
diverting laugh...”

“God help me,” Michael sighed.

“Never invoke God when the Devil makes a
better advisor,” Ashe teased, moving to make his departure.

Michael couldn’t help himself from laughing.
Blackwell could charm hornets into thinking they were songbirds
without even trying. “Go.”

“I’ll leave you to your evening and await a
full accounting.” Ashe opened the apartment door, adding, “You’re
sure you don’t wish me to come along to—“

“Go! Enough!” Michael pushed his friend out
and shut the door firmly behind him. Revelations or no about the
nature of things between the sexes, he knew he was a man about to
dance on a knife’s edge. He would honor his commitment to the Jaded
and ultimately see their enemy destroyed but more and more, he
wanted to do all that he could to keep Grace from harm.

The worst lay ahead and his instincts were
telling him that he would not only have the Jackal to fend off
before long…but the Jaded as well.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Stop fidgeting,” Sterling chided her under
his breath as he helped her climb down from the carriage. Grace
cautiously alighted, mindful of her glittering gown’s hem and the
damp ground, ignoring her brother’s scowls. She’d spent a sleepless
night and then a long frenetic day in nervous anticipation of the
evening’s event and frankly, didn’t trust herself not to trip on
the steps or disintegrate into hysterics at the first mishap. Grace
wasn’t sure how any woman recovered from the fiery discovery of a
particular man’s kisses—and the certain knowledge that when it came
to that man, she had no restraint or inhibitions whatsoever.

She’d told him he made her weak but she’d
spent hours reliving his touch and the strength of her reaction had
been so potent and empowering; Grace was convinced no opiate could
have held more appeal.

Even so, she would betray nothing of herself
to Sterling, fearful that whatever his intentions, he would think
to misuse her passion for Mr. Rutherford.
He’s misused me enough
in whatever game he’s trying to play.

No, I shall enjoy tonight and be a proper
lady—and reassure Mr. Rutherford and myself that I am capable of
self-control.

She took her brother’s arm as they followed
several guests through the large open door into Mr. Rand Bascombe’s
grand London home. The house was finer than Grace had expected with
ornately styled wrought-iron banisters setting off the main
staircase centered in the foyer. It led up to the first floor
landing where the reception line was greeting guests before they
entered the salon.

She searched the guests on the stairs as
they handed over their wraps and coats, wondering if Mr. Rutherford
was already among them. She silently recited again the temperate
greeting she’d been practicing for him.

‘
Good evening, Mr. Rutherford. How
different you appear than when I saw you last at the horse fair!’
There! That will serve to remind him of our conspiracy and impress
him with my composure and indifference to—

“Grace?” Sterling squeezed her elbow. “Did
you not hear what Lady Pringley said to you?”

“What?” Grace abruptly came round, blushing
at her lapse of attention. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Your Ladyship! Was it
a compliment or a question?”

Sterling’s eyes flashed with suppressed fury
before Lady Pringley replied, “What a cheeky thing, you are! It was
neither.”

“Her Ladyship was commenting that she had
never seen you before and asked for your name,” Sterling supplied,
openly displeased.

“Grace Porter, Your Ladyship,” Grace
offered, adding a wobbly curtsey for good measure. “I
was…distracted at the sights and guests’ finery. It is my first
ball and I meant no offense.”

“May I present myself? I am Sterling Porter.
A close associate of Mr. Bascombe’s and assistant to Lord Waverly’s
man at the—“

“No,” the older woman said with a sniff,
cutting him off with disinterest as she turned back to address
Grace directly. “Despite the fact that you are clearly too old to
play the debutante, I hope you enjoy your evening, Miss Porter. I
suspect your foray into society and our midst will be brief in
light of your manners, but what a pretty thing you are! I have
always been a great follower of fashion and had intended to
compliment your gown.”

“Th-thank you?” Grace wasn’t sure whether to
cry or laugh.

“You are most welcome,” Lady Pringley
pronounced before turning on her slippered heels and sailing up the
grand staircase to cut to the head of the queue of guests and make
her way inside the salon doors.

Grace smiled. “I nearly enjoyed that.”

Sterling leaned in, his voice as cold as the
hiss of a snake against the shell of her ear. “Goddamn it, Grace,
that is precisely the sort of behavior you will forfeit instantly!
Pay attention and keep your mouth shut for the remainder of the
night or I will drag you out of here!”

She gripped her fan so tightly her knuckles
turned white. Grace knew his anger was fueled by Lady Pringley’s
dismissal but she had no intention of giving him an excuse to ruin
the evening; or denying herself the sight of Mr. Michael Rutherford
in evening clothes. “As you wish.”

She dutifully took his arm again and allowed
him to escort her up the staircase toward their host and
hostess.

“Ah, here is our host,

“Porter!” Mr. Rand Bascombe exclaimed. “I
don’t remember seeing your name on the guest list.”

Grace nearly gasped at the icy loathing in
the man’s face and began to wonder if a retreat at Lady Pringley’s
insults might have been the wiser course.
What in the world are
we doing here, Sterling?

Sterling smiled unfazed. “I was sure your
invitation was quite deliberate. What is the saying? Keep your
friends close and your enemies closer?”

Rand smiled in return, without a trace of
warmth. “Ah, yes! So right! How useful it is to be able to point
you out to a few of our mutual acquaintances to make sure they have
a face to go with the name. For I can assure you, you have been
quite the subject of so many of my recent conversations.”

“How appropriate,” Sterling countered
easily. “But let us talk later when you can tear yourself away from
your wife’s party. May I present my younger sister, Grace
Porter?”

Rand gave her a cursory look but held out
his hand as etiquette required. “A pleasure.”

She took his hand and curtsied. “What a
lovely home you have.”
A safe enough comment, let’s
hope.

“Yes.” He turned to his wife and
relinquished Grace’s fingers. “May I introduce you to Mrs.
Bascombe? Miss Grace Porter, my love.”

“Porter?” Mrs. Bascombe’s eyebrows arched
and her look of assessment was far more thorough and judging than
her husband’s as she possessively seized Rand’s arm. She was a
handsome woman in her mid-forties, a well-preserved beauty though
the effect was spoiled by her haughty expression. A tiara of small
diamonds and seed pearls set off her dark hair and reminded Grace
of a glittering spider on top of her head. “Ah, yes! My husband
speaks so often of your brother, I couldn’t resist meeting the
infamous Sterling Porter but his sister as well? What an unexpected
surprise!”

“Really?” Grace blurted out then pressed her
lips together tightly. “I’ll have to ask him how he earned his
infamy when we get home.”

Sterling cleared his throat. “Yes, later.
Come, Grace. You don’t want to miss the start of the dancing and we
must find your Mr. Rutherford.”

“Who?” Rand asked sharply.

“No one of your acquaintance, Bascombe. But
a special guest I’m sure you’ll thank me for including in the
night’s festivities.” Sterling nodded in a mock bow and led Grace
away from their hosts and into the salon.

She had no choice but to go with him into
the crush and the noise. Once again, Grace was impressed by the
rich details of the house. The room radiated wealth with its ornate
marble floors and painted ceilings; gilt arches soared across the
vaulted space and defied description. The writer her in her took
note of every detail, greedily storing up each flash of color and
striking chord of conversation. The furniture had been cleared from
the large narrow salon; a theatre created for dancing filled with
guests milling about in lively chatter awaiting the start of the
music. The gallery above was lined with a narrow balcony and
musician’s loft, the curtains drawn back to reveal a small ensemble
tuning up their instruments.