Desire Wears Diamonds

by Renee Bernard

  “That’s mutiny! You dare to threaten me? A renegade who thinks to dictate terms and stroll away from his duties? You have the stones to deal with your commanding officer like this?”

  Michael marveled that he couldn’t feel his own heart beating. “My commanding officer? Technically, I’m not officially in the army, thanks to your machinations. Remember? You removed me from the ranks and have listed me as a valet on every pay voucher. So much for my chance at a pension, eh?”

  Already dead. I’m already gone.

  “You’re paid well enough and…” Timsworth’s color drained from his face. “I spared you from the dangers of the common rank and file. You’ve enjoyed a privileged stay abroad as my personal attaché, have you not?”

  A stay abroad? Why does the man feel compelled to make it sound like he’s taken me on some exotic tour for which I should be grateful? Stupid git.

  “As your privileged attaché, I’ve seen enough to make a report of my own to end your illustrious military career. Let me go. A drum head trial will only draw attention to the matter and make your statements at the dinner seem all too true. But you can tell them you dismissed me for insubordination, or gave me leave to return to England, or—I don’t care what you tell them. But I’ll take that signed paper stating I served you well and without fault for all these years and that I’m no longer in your employ.”

  “This.” Timsworth held up the paper with a sneer. “This is not an official document by any stretch of the imagination, Rutherford. Who do you think will be fooled by some handwritten scrawl you force me to sign under duress? And who exactly will care enough to ask for it before they mistake you for a deserter and put a bullet into your head?”

  “I doubt that anyone will have the time to search for one man…not in the months ahead.”

  “Why? What can possibly lie ahead to spare your pathetic life?”

  He can’t see it. The Sepoys are increasingly angry and we’ve marginalized them into a corner…we’re outnumbered and spread thin with a civilian population of our own that we cannot protect. And he’s got us shooting children without a thought to the ramifications. These new rumors of the pig grease are simply an excuse for it all to go wrong.

  “Sign it, general, and we shall call it an even trade. My life or death doesn’t matter, right?” Michael took one step closer, allowing his commanding officer to truly appreciate the physical differences between them. At a breath short of seven feet, he towered over the average height and weight of the older man, a force to be reckoned with. “You see, I don’t expect to survive long on my own in India; which means I have nothing to lose.”

  “One does not simply walk away from the British Army and the East India Company because they wish to. I’ll forget this conversation and put in a word for you to see that you attain a position with the—“

  “This isn’t a request for a transfer. If you have to, put my name in the casualty lists and be done with it.” Michael didn’t move a muscle, and waited for the inevitable.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  Timsworth’s arrogant ice broke and his hands began to shake, marring his signature but it was still legible. “Useless. Dishonorable waste of a man! Scribble does not change the facts. You’re a demon, Rutherford.”

  “No.” Michael gifted him with a crocodile smile of his own.

  But I’ll be damned if I’ll linger in Hell and play soldier for the devil.

  CHAPTER ONE

  London

  May 1860

  Michael Rutherford leaned his head against the carved molding that framed one of the windows in Dr. Rowan West’s study. The eclectic clutter and cozy colors behind him soothed his spirits. Dr. West’s haven worked its subtle magic on all the men of the Jaded whenever they came. It was a casual sanctuary that had kept them close and provided a place for them to talk, plan or relax and kept the brotherly bonds between them tight.

  At the moment though it was allowing Michael to hide from the festivities of all his friends below. Darius Thorne had finally wed the lovely Miss Isabel Penleigh in a quiet ceremony that was sure to set off a firestorm of scandal. It had been weeks since the ink had dried on Miss Penleigh’s first marriage’s annulment, but the plan for a quick wedding to Darius had been thwarted by her parents. In a cruel move, Lord and Lady Penleigh had sued Netherton and claimed that Isabel was not in her right mind when she left her “dear husband” and that if Lord Netherton intended to keep her dowry, he would have to keep his wife as well.

  They’d have been in the court for months or years if the villain Netherton hadn’t finally broken his silence privately to her parents about the illegitimacy of the marriage, his bigamy and his disinterest in regaining Isabel’s hand. They’d agreed not to expose him to the law in exchange for her dowry, or whatever was left of it after he’d paid off a few debts.

  It was an uglier end than Thorne had hoped and a terrible betrayal of her parents to coldly collect their daughter’s dowry and then promptly to disown her outright for her “unsightly” condition and her wretched choice of a man with a profession and not a drop of blue blood.

  From what Michael could see, neither the bride nor the groom’s happiness had dimmed in the slightest despite the storm of disapproval around them.

  Apparently love made even the cleverest men refuse to see the dangers.

  Another wedding…

  Darius’s face had shone with triumph as he recited his vows and Michael begrudged him none of it. He was glad for all his friends to have made their way back to their lives. It wasn’t resentment that drove him away from the revelries.

  It was an uneasy sense that there was a dark force in motion that would rather see the Jaded at funerals than flowery celebrations of tender future joys. The Jackal was still out there. The fire at the Thistle was solid proof that he’d underestimated the danger and it had shaken his confidence in his ability to keep his friends safe. Then Darius had told them that he’d uncovered the presence of a third party who believed that whatever mystic item they’d spirited out of India must remain in their hands.

  Their fate was now supposedly controlled by an ancient prophecy and keeping the sacred treasure out of the Jackal’s hands was more than a game of fortune—losing to the Jackal would be the end of all of them and all that they loved.

  Nothing but enemies of the worst kind—the kind I can’t see.

  Came close to seeing the bastard in that fire though. Hell, he was close enough to touch in that smoky stairwell.

  Michael shoved away the memory. He’d lost a lot of sleep wondering how differently it would have turned out if he’d been at the head of their group when they’d met the Jackal face to face. His fingers clenched around empty air in his frustration.

  “You’re not up here moping, are you?” Rowan’s voice interrupted.

  “I’m not a child to pout in corners.” Michael’s back stiffened and his face grew hot with the realization that he’d protested a little too loudly. He looked exactly like a toddler hiding in the drapery, and he knew it. “I have a headache.”

  “I’ll get you something for it then.”

  Michael turned and waved him off. “There’s no need. It will pass.”

  Rowan crossed his arms as he sat on the edge of his desk. “Your absence was noted. Couldn’t you at least pretend to be happy for them?”

  “I am happy for them. I am happy for all of you. I am brimming with joy.”

  “I can tell. You look like a man on the edge of a giddy collapse,” Rowan said dryly. “Perhaps if you smiled, it would come across better. But then, it is your turn next even if you do try to hide from it.”

  Michael crossed his arms. “If you’re implying that I’m somehow slated to get married next, you’re daft.”

  “Careful, Rutherford. Every bachelor who ever makes a proclamation of his determination to die alone invariably brings down the wrath of Aphrodite herself and lives to take it back.” Rowan crossed his arms to mirror his friend’s stance. “Ask any of us
, if you don’t believe me.”

  “Leave me be. I can’t help but feel as if we’re making a mistake, sitting back on our heels and pretending that nothing is wrong. And this public show of—” Michael sighed. “By all means, go enjoy the party, Rowan, but I…I can’t.”

  “It was months between incidents last time—”

  “Why?” Michael cut him off. “Why so long between every attempt? Is he baiting us? It takes veins of ice to demonstrate that kind of patience, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I may have many faults but excessive patience is one I may have skipped, Rutherford.” Rowan dropped his arms, yielding the fight. “Which is what brings me in here to find you, friend. The wedding party? Remember? Darius has been desperate to marry his Isabel for weeks now and if not for the legal tangle, this happy day would have occurred over two months ago.”

  “Damn it, Rowan. Why hasn’t the Jackal snapped at our heels yet?”

  “You yourself agreed that after that fire, Darius probably wasn’t the only one requiring time to recover. Perhaps we were lucky and the man has succumbed to pneumonia.” Rowan stood to head over to the side table and pour himself a drink. “And we’re not sitting back on our heels. Galen, Ashe and I are having all our stones discreetly evaluated by different London jewelers and in small lots to avoid raising too many questions. Even Darius has suggested that Josiah’s pearls be weighed to see if any of them are false and have something hidden at their center. We’ll find the “diamond in disguise”.”

  Michael closed his eyes against the pounding at his temples. Ever since he and his friends had escaped from a dungeon in India, a prophecy involving the gems they had tucked into their pockets from their insane host’s treasury had haunted their every step. Over time, they’d learned that they were actually the guardians of a mystic ‘diamond in disguise’ but in order to keep it safe, first they needed to identify it. Each man of the Jaded held a different stash of stones after a casual ceremony where they’d divided the gems they’d taken by color. Galen had taken the rubies; Rowan, the emeralds; Ashe, sapphires; Josiah had taken the pearls; Darius, opals, and Michael had ended up with the diamonds. As a result, it was Michael’s cache that was exempt from scrutiny. They’d all agreed a diamond disguised as a diamond was a bit redundant.

  Michael shook his head, opening his eyes. “And then what? You see? Even when we figure out which of your gemstones is the ever elusive sacred treasure, we still have the Jackal at our heels and I don’t like running.”

  Rowan took a small sip of his brandy before answering. “We could bury all the remaining treasure somewhere impossible for the Jackal to ever find and…”

  “And spend the rest of our lives fending him off,” Michael supplied. “It’s a nightmare I’m not willing to entertain. We’ll need to face him and end this.”

  “True. But the answer on how to make that happen won’t come any easier while we hide in closets or with you forbidding any of us to leave our homes without bodyguards.” Rowan poured another drink for his friend. “We’re taking every precaution we can, Rutherford.”

  “I don’t see you hiring those extra footmen I asked you to,” Michael said with a growl.

  “I’m a lowly physician, Michael. I’m not expected to have a large household and it’s not as if the house isn’t open to anyone seeking medical attention which means it’s open for anyone to do their worst if—“ Rowan caught himself and stopped. “I’ll get another man on staff if you get one, Rutherford.”

  Michael smiled. It was a ridiculous notion and an easy point to forfeit. Michael was a giant of a man, a few inches shy of seven feet in height, muscular and well-balanced in his athletic form. He lacked the thick neck of a brawler but there was no mistaking his power. And as the Jaded all knew, for all his massive size, Michael Rutherford possessed the grace of a cat, forever startling them with his talent for entering rooms unnoticed or appearing where he was least expected.

  Michael Rutherford was the last man on earth who appeared to need a bodyguard.

  “I don’t think footmen are the answer,” Michael conceded. “You’re easy to rattle, old friend.”

  Rowan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Is this a sense of humor I detect? Were you having a go at me, Michael?”

  Michael shrugged, his expression sobering out of habit. “I have always had a sense of humor. I’m just more selective in my jollier moments. And today, I’m afraid, isn’t one of them.”

  “When is a better moment? Hell, it occurred to me that I’ve never really seen you laugh, Rutherford.”

  Michael folded his arms and gave Rowan his most intimidating look. “I laugh.”

  Rowan took a seat behind the desk. “All right. I’ll take your word for it. You laugh. What next then for the Jackal? Besides finding the treasure…”

  “The Jackal sees us as the aggressor and blames us for the fire at the Thistle. Unless he’s had an epiphany in the intervening weeks since it happens, it means he knows nothing of the third party that Darius uncovered.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “So we must put ourselves in the Jackal’s shoes. He is in a two party fight and his opponent has demonstrated a willingness to use deadly force.” Michael’s voice took on a low measured cadence, as his imagination took hold. “He is outnumbered and every blow he strikes is either deflected or ineffective. If he weren’t frustrated and furious before, he is now. The gunshot at the Thistle proves it.” Michael unconsciously reached up to touch the faint scar on his cheekbone from the Jackal’s missed shot.

  “Yes,” Rowan echoed again, this time more softly as he respectfully took in the strategic turns of a soldier’s mind.

  “He may regret firing his pistol because he’ll never again be able to show the white flag to draw us out. Even if—even if we were stupid enough to start that fire, he might worry that he gave away too much in his rage. Subtle attacks didn’t drive us to ground, and his one and only attempt to meet us in the open nearly ended in his demise…”

  “And some of us with him,” Rowan added.

  “It just reinforces his impression that we are an unpredictable enemy,” Michael said and took the large chair across from Rowan as he began to relax into the conversation.

  “Very well,” Rowan took another sip from his drink before he continued, “the Jackal thinks we are arsonists as well as jewel thieves. Lovely!”

  “If I were the Jackal, I wouldn’t be accepting anymore of your invitations. It could never be public enough to suit.”

  “So we’re back to waiting for him to make his next move.”

  Michael closed his eyes. “If I were the Jackal…”

  “Go on.”

  “My best weapon is my anonymity.”

  Rowan grimaced. “If you know you still have it. It was close quarters in that stairwell according to your accounts. What if he fears you got a good look?”

  Michael shook his head, his eyes still closed in concentration. “No. That fear has long been dispelled. If we’d identified him, we’d have already been on his doorstep. It’s been a few weeks and no one has come calling. He’s decided we were all as blind as he was in that smoky hellhole.”

  Michael opened his eyes.

  Rowan became very still. “I can see it in your face. Finish your thought.”

  “If I were the Jackal, it’s no more games. When I’d gotten the soot out of my system, I’d come after you one by one until I had what I wanted or until every one of the Jaded were dead.”

  “Does he have our membership in hand then?”

  Michael nodded. “Half of us, at best. Blackwell is known to him; and you. Not Darius, I suspect, though with he and Isabel temporarily taking up residence with Ashe and Caroline, it wouldn’t take a genius to make the connection. Josiah might also be on his list of possible suspects but his impairment may have saved him the Jackal’s surety and slowed his hand.”

  “How? Is it possible that he is morally sound enough not to attack a blind man?” Rowan asked in a
stonishment.

  Michael sighed. “No. I don’t think the man has a single moral restraint. But Josiah’s attendance at our informal meetings has been sporadic at best and his public appearances recently were even more rare. Hastings is an elusive ghost and I’ve sent Eleanor a letter to privately ask her to see that nothing changes on that front.”

  “He’d be furious if he knew you’d asked his new bride to keep a tight hold on his leash.” Rowan’s tone was raw with disapproval. “You overstep, Rutherford.”

  “Hastings is the most vulnerable man in our circle, Rowan. You want me to see things through the Jackal’s eyes?” Michael leaned forward, the intensity of his gaze frightening to behold. “I want to teach the Jaded a lesson about fear. I want you to give me what I want. And I want you to be sorry that you didn’t give it to me the first time I asked. So I’m going to slit the throat of the weakest among you and make sure each and every one of you watches so that the next time I ask, you’re on your knees.”

  “You…are a very scary man sometimes, Rutherford.”

  Michael tried not to wince. “Not fit for parties then?” Michael said, a shadow of mirth flitting across his features. “Should I just go?”

  “There’s no escape for you, friend. Even if the devil is at the door, life must go on.”

  Life must go on. Even if I’m the devil in that metaphor?

  Already their lives had changed so much since they’d returned to England. Michael conceded that Rowan was probably right. He took the glass he was offered from his friend’s hand. “I’ll toast the happy couple from here.”

  “Michael, may I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Of all of us, I’d say you’ve said the least. About India.”

  “What is there to say? It was a slender slice of hell.” Michael’s throat closed before he added quickly. “In that dungeon.”

  “I’m still amazed we survived all of it,” Rowan said.

  “We were lucky to only lose one man,” Michael said with a sigh.