Desire Wears Diamonds (21 page)

Sterling had to swallow the cold dread that
threatened to choke him. “Not
yet.
But unlike you, I
accepted that after the raj fell nothing would be simple. I told
you it wasn’t there anymore. I was the one who made the connection
to the Jaded and I’ve not wasted time and resources stomping around
in a jungle nor will I be forced to marry some rich curdled old
bitch to make good on my loans.
I
intend to deliver the
diamond, Rand, single-handedly and without a nod to your hollow
contributions.”

“After all this time? After so many
repetitions of that same promise?” Melrose said from his place
leaning against the bookshelves. “You can still say those words and
look us in the eyes?”

“How?” another man asked, as he refilled his
glass from a small bar against the wall. “How are you going to do
it single-handedly?” His words slurred from the whiskey’s power but
he was still steady on his feet.

Sterling pressed his lips together. He had
no desire to tell them the particulars of his plan for at least two
solid reasons. He didn’t want Rand or any of them trying to
intervene since they’d made it clear that they didn’t trust his
competence. And secondly, he was too close now. Tonight, he’d
brought Rutherford as proof that he’d gained vantage into the
Jaded’s ranks but it was a move he regretted. Any of his
compatriots could swoop in and spoil it or achieve the mystic
diamond without involving Sterling and he may have tipped his own
hand too far.

Damn it! If they’d given me the resources I
demanded in the beginning, all this would be over! Instead I’ve
been shoved aside and forced to beg and borrow at every turn;
inventing ridiculous makeshift schemes to try to further my cause
and break the Jaded without the others taking matters into their
own hands.

“Well?” Rand asked, openly enjoying
Sterling’s discomfort. “Tell us, Sterling. Tell us how you only
need a few more months and you’ll have it this time. Tell us how
you need “one more” small advance to seal the deal. I do so love a
good fairy tale!”

“Feel free to fuck yourself, Bascombe.”
Sterling leaned forward and ignored everyone but the man behind the
desk. “I have a very elegant solution underway. I don’t think I’ll
say more except that
nothing
I’ve done has been wasted. I’ll
have it before the first day in July. The diamond is here, in
London and I’m willing to stake all that I have on that.”

“All?” The room fell silent and the flames
on the candles danced from an unseen force.

Sterling began to pray as he hadn’t in a
long, long time.
Please dear God in Heaven. This time. This time
let me win.

“All that I have.”

I may have staked my life on it.

And time was officially running out. He’d
had enough of Bascombe’s ridiculous party and the scrutiny of his
peers. Sterling turned and left the room without a word, slamming
the door behind him. Rutherford would be the work of another day.
He would find his sister and drag her off the dance floor if need
be, but the charade was over.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

She was light in Michael’s arms, but not
insubstantial. Her smaller height was no true match for his, and
yet she magically fit perfectly against him. Michael was able to
place a hand between her shoulders at her back and to hold her
without hunching over and as he accomplished the first few turns
without incident, pride began to seep into him straightening his
shoulders and allowing him to forget his fears.

Here was no porcelain doll! Grace Porter was
warm and lively, her touch instantly reminding him that the current
of desire that had nearly carried them away at the Grove was no
dream. There’d been no reproach or mention of that embrace and
Michael was grateful for the reprieve. He was determined to
demonstrate restraint and prove that he could be a gentleman when
he tried.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Immensely!” she replied. “It is a night I
will always remember as my first and likely last ball.” There was
no bitterness in her tone, only a matter-of-fact acceptance and joy
in the moment.

“You are too confined to the house, Miss
Porter.”

“Oh, I get out.” She gave him a secretive
smile and evoked an English Mona Lisa. “I have my own unique
methods for seeking escape. It’s just that Sterling prefers me to
run the household and he doesn’t approve of ladies social clubs and
the like.”

“No?”

“My brother has a deep suspicion of them and
swears that they are all essentially political and subversive.”

“Are they?”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t know! I’m not
allowed to join any. But I don’t think they are as dangerous as he
imagines. Our neighbor three houses away, Mrs. Sieverding, is a
member of one and it all looks rather innocent.”

It was his turn to laugh. “But that would be
the definition of a subversive group, wouldn’t it? One that gives
every appearance of innocence while they secretly plan to topple
the government or assassinate every vicar in England? Can’t you see
it? Petticoats and petit fours as a cover for an elite team of
female assassins?”

“Oh, yes. That’s…true…” It was as if he’d
flipped a switch and lost her. Wherever her thoughts had taken her,
it was far away from his presence and Michael admired the
phenomenon. Darius did the same sometimes when he was working on a
vast problem. One minute he’d be making conversation and the next,
mid-sentence, he was a man adrift.

She’s a thinker, like Darius. God, she’s so
smart…but far prettier than Thorne when she’s distracted.

She blinked suddenly as if recalling that
she was in the midst of a waltz and that Michael was there. Her
steps slowed and she would have stumbled if he didn’t offer the
steady frame of his arms for her to cling to. Michael eyed the
other dancers who were less apt to slow their pace and decided that
the best course of action was retreat. He gently escorted her off
the floor and away from the swirling crowd. With her fingers tucked
into the crook of his arm, he walked her out the French doors of
the large salon out onto a narrow verandah overlooking the gardens.
The spring night air was cool enough that balcony was empty
ensuring their privacy. Michael chose to keep talking, as if
nothing had happened. “Your brother is unworthy of you, Grace.”

“Sterling would vehemently disagree, but I
don’t need rescue, sir.”

His jaw clenched to bite off the argument
that sprang to his lips.
Like hell, you don’t!

Another pair of dancers stepped out onto the
verandah, openly clinging to each other and making Michael wonder
if the punch were more potent than it appeared. Their privacy
vanished and he regretted it deeply. “Miss Porter, if it’s not too
forward, would you care to take a turn in the garden away from…” He
glanced over at the lovers, his own face growing hot. “The crowds.
It seems well-lit with Chinese lanterns and I confess, I might need
some more fresh air before attempting another life-threatening turn
in that ballroom.”

“How thoughtful!” she readily agreed and
took his arm to walk down the stone steps to the garden. “It is a
crush, isn’t it?” She stopped halfway down, her movement abruptly
coming to a halt. “If it’s my life you’re referring to, I felt
quite safe, Mr. Rutherford.”

He smiled. “Perhaps I was thinking of the
other dancers. My waltzing skills are a bit erratic and there’s no
telling what weak soul I might have run over in there.”

She struck his arm playfully with her folded
fan then laughed. “I have always wanted to do that!”

“Hit me with a fan?” he asked.

“Not you! Anyone really…women do it all the
time in dramatic fashion from what I can gather and I read an
article chiding ladies for getting a bit too carried away with the
use of their fans as weapons.” She shrugged and resumed their walk
down the stairs to the symmetrical garden below. “It sounded
wickedly appealing.”

You are wickedly appealing.
His body
tightened at her words and it was Michael’s turn to wrestle with
his internal landscape.
This is ridiculous! I have to be able to
go more than two minutes without wishing to kiss this
woman!

“I can’t see you causing real injury with a
bit of folded fabric and bamboo,” he said.

“True,” she echoed and then he lost her
again.

He guided her down the gravel path lined
with blooming French lavender and patiently waited.

Her eyelashes fluttered and even by the pale
light of the lanterns, he could see the blush that crept up her
neck. “I’m so sorry! I was daydreaming again!”

“I’ll forgive you only if you take a deep
breath and without censure, tell me what you were thinking in that
moment. All in one go.”

“You’re sure?” she asked, tipping her head
to one side to study his offer. “All in one go?”

“Yes.”

“I was thinking about fans as weapons and
how men can put rapiers into their walking sticks and umbrella
handles, but there is no feminine equivalent. And that it would be
sinfully exciting to think of a stiletto built into the wooden
handle of a lady’s lace and feather fan and the very last place
that anyone would ever think to look if they were disarming her.”
Grace released his arm and took a step back, a woman warily
awaiting judgement. “Not…not that one would ever…do such a
thing…”

“My god!”

Her eyes flooded with horror. “I
was—jesting!”

“That was brilliant!” Michael exclaimed.
“That popped into your head? Truly?”

She nodded slowly. “I did say that I was
scattered, Mr. Rutherford. I’m afraid things tend to pop in my head
quite often.”

“So clever!” He held his arm back out. “What
an original thinker you are, Miss Porter.”

“You don’t mind it?”

He shook his head firmly. “I find it very
entertaining. I never know what you are going to say next and you
never disappoint.”

She was so still, her face tipped up toward
him, eyes shining. “I could have said the same to you, Mr.
Rutherford.”

“I’m not entertaining,” he asserted
quietly.

“No, but you never disappoint, sir.”

Michael fought to hold himself in check.
“Would you—care to finish our turn about the garden?”

“Oh!” She smiled and recovered her
composure, taking a small step forward to take his arm. “Lead on,
Mr. Rutherford!”

The path wound to turn under a large oak
tree before heading back toward the house and as they stepped into
the dark shadows of the walled garden’s end, Michael questioned his
own sanity at proposing an “innocent walk” at night in Bascombe’s
little wilderness. They were too far from the house for his liking.
“Perhaps we should head back before they send out a search
party.”

“We are a scandalous distance out,” she
said, apparently reading his mind. “But before we run in like
guilty children, I have to tell you something, Mr. Rutherford.”

“Yes?”

“I could be wrong, sir, but I have the
distinct feeling that you are genuinely worried about me. You are
so quick to come to my defense and I’m—humbled by it. But I don’t
wish to take advantage of any misplaced gallantry on your part.”
She reached up to nervously smooth back a curl from her face. “I’m
not blind to the tensions between you and Sterling. I know he can
be a difficult man but I can manage my own life.”

“As you said, you don’t need a rescue, Miss
Porter,” Michael said. “But that doesn’t mean—“

“I don’t wish to shock you, Mr. Rutherford,
but I intend to live independently from Sterling and I have—plans
to do exactly that.”

“What?” Michael’s amusement evaporated in a
single breath. “What plans?” An irrational vision of Grace Porter
having a clandestine lover ready to sweep her away from her
brother’s household stirred a dark weight in his chest—a possessive
tiger stretching to life. “Grace.” He took another deep breath and
tried again. “Damn it.”

“Sir?”

Michael moved fast, emotions outpacing all
else, and he caught her upper arms in his hands, stepping close to
look down into her startled eyes. “I shouldn’t have cursed! If you
only knew me…you’d know how out of character…” He softened his hold
by an infinite degree but something in him refused to let go. “I’m
a version of myself I have never known, Grace. If you have—is there
another man, Grace? I have no right to ask but I—you affect me. You
know you do. I demonstrated how much at the Grove but—I need to
know. Tell me, Grace. Tell me your plans.”

Her eyelashes fluttered in shock but she
didn’t drop her gaze. “There is no one and I…”

“Say it.”

“I meant only that I’ve saved money of my
own to leave my brother’s house. On my own, Mr. Rutherford.” She
tipped her head back a single inch, innocently unaware of the
inviting picture she created and the havoc she was wreaking on his
senses. “But I find that I want you to have every right to ask, Mr.
Rutherford, and that doesn’t seem possible.” She reached up to
place one hand against his chest, her fingers splayed against the
rhythm of his heart. “I want all my secrets to be yours to keep or
betray, sir.”

His hold on her was firm and commanding but
not cruel. The heat of her body, the scent of her hair and skin and
the look of absolute rust and calm nudged him over a line he had
sworn to never again cross. It was sheer madness not to release
her, not to apologize or beg to reassure her that he would take
every secret she’d ever placed with him to his grave.

But Michael wasn’t thinking anymore.

Relief that Grace Porter was free gave way
to a raw desire to claim her, to possess the right to protect her
and hold her—to seize the chance to touch what he could not keep.
He lifted her up against his chest and off her feet, lowering his
lips to hers, hungry and eager to taste her mouth again. The
familiar and fiery assault of sensation drove him on as her lips
parted eagerly, matching his desires with a sigh and proving that
the unpredictable Grace Porter was always to be a surprise to
him.