Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “No. Which reminds me that under no circumstances should you ever cross my neighbor, Mrs. Goodman’s threshold, sir. Her sitting room beams are so low that I’ve hit my head on her hanging lamps no less than three times.”
“I’ll make a note of it.” He leaned back with a smile, and caught himself in the ridiculously relaxed motion of it. He was there to shadow Sterling and instead he’d been hanging on her every word. Sterling! Where the hell did he get to? Michael turned as if a gun had gone off, instantly finding Sterling in the small gathering across the yard. He appeared to be in conversation over a pale grey gelding but Michael suddenly wasn’t sure. Could it be a meeting with another assassin? Am I standing here like a fool while he plots something?
“Your brother’s business looks serious,” Michael stated. “I wonder why he thinks to conduct it here.”
“I don’t know. We have no stables to fill.” She shook her head slowly. “I—cannot say for certain what his disposition is toward you, Mr. Rutherford. Please don’t think me disloyal to my brother but he’s been acting strangely since you arrived.”
“I can imagine.”
“Can you?” she asked, a genuine note of surprise on her face. “How?”
He’d overstepped. “I’m a ghost from the past. I can see how it would make a man uneasy.”
“So uneasy he’s determined to drag you out for dinners and next a ball? So uneasy that the sister he’s long been too embarrassed to accompany outside of his home is now worth showing off?”
“Grace!” Sterling interrupted them, calling across the paddock as he began to make his way back to the pair. “What do you think of him?”
“Pardon?” Grace asked, a gloved hand covering her throat.
“The grey!” Sterling replied. “Whom else would I speak of?”
Miss Porter was openly flustered and Michael did his best to intervene. “He looks solid enough from here. Are you truly in the market for a horse, Porter?”
“Not at all.” Sterling rebuttoned his coat. “But it is a good excuse to get out on a beautiful day and take a stroll. I’m so glad you could join us, Rutherford, though I wasn’t sure you’d brave the outing.”
“It was an invitation to a horse fair, Sterling, not a duel,” Michael said. “Courage may be a requirement but I was pleased to see Miss Porter again.”
Damn. The truth of those last words made his throat feel tight. It was a pleasure to see her. Even with the strange distraction of Sterling’s games and his dislike of feeling exposed in a public place, the world faded when Grace Porter began to speak. Attempting to predict what she would say was humbling, and he didn’t try. He’d no sooner think to chart her thoughts than wager which way a swallow would turn.
“Did you thank Mr. Rutherford for the lovely gown, Grace?” Sterling asked her. “It was extremely generous of you, friend, and the nicest thing she’s likely ever to possess.”
Her face flushed pink. “I’m sure I meant to thank him again, Sterling.”
“There’s no need for that!” Michael said, displeased at the way that Sterling brought up the gift.
“Why so surly, old friend?” Sterling teased him easily, as relaxed as if they truly were old friends. “Grace isn’t bothered by me. I have the advantage of being an older sibling in that she expects very little courtesy of me and is probably grateful that I torment her far less than I once did when we were children.”
Grace turned away, her bonnet shielding her expression from view but Michael didn’t need to see her unhappiness. His rage at Porter’s bluntness required little fuel. “I’ve never heard a man boast about being a disappointment before. Your sister may not be bothered but I am.” Michael held his place, daring Sterling to be the first to step back. “We are not children to forgive cruelty so easily.”
Sterling smiled, before he stepped back with a mocking half-bow. “What a delight to see a man rise to her defense—and to be so generous with his opinions.”
“Please!” Grace spoke out breaking the tension instantly. “Sterling isn’t being cruel, he’s being callus, Mr. Rutherford and since I agree that we are not children; I say you should both behave!” She smiled, gently touching Michael’s elbow. “I’ve long since decided to accept my dear brother’s wretched disposition and single-minded character in the hopes that it might improve my own to do so.”
“I’m a fortunate man with a saint for a sister,” Sterling proclaimed softly. “Envious, Rutherford?”
Michael’s breath caught in his throat. It was worse than wrestling an eel. God, he’s slippery! “Envious as any man would be,” he conceded and was rewarded as some of the anxiety in Grace’s eyes softened. “I apologize, Miss Porter, but I should be going. Thank you for including me in the day and for…the good company.”
“You’re welcome,” Sterling replied, tucking his sister’s hand into the crook of his arm. “We shall see you at Bascombe’s then?”
“I’ve already given you my word.”
Sterling shook his head in admiration. “A man of honor! So refreshing!”
Grace’s cheeks flushed pink. “Of course he is a man of honor! Are you so surprised?”
Sterling shrugged his shoulders openly unapologetic. “I wasn’t surprised. I meant to compliment the man.”
Michael waved off the insult and touched his hat. “Until the ball, Miss Porter. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”
He walked away before Sterling could add anything else to the exchange or draw him back into another round of verbal jousting. He circled the makeshift paddock and deliberately moved close enough to pass within arm’s reach of the “gentleman” that Sterling had spent so much time talking to. He didn’t stop and question him, but took a quick inventory of the horse trader. Michael was puzzled at the rough and frayed edges of the handler’s coat, the dirt on his neck and the flat and crooked bent of his face after enduring more than a few fistfights in his lifetime.
For all his pretentions, not exactly a member of the Ton for Sterling to be so keen on spending time with the bloke…unless he’s the most clever thug in disguise I’ve ever seen.
The handler spit on the ground laughing as a potential customer made a low offer and Michael subtly shook his head with a smile, dismissing the fantasy of Sterling openly meeting some assassin at a horse market.
Which meant the purpose of the outing still eluded him.
And the only thing he’d learned was that of all the women in the world, it turned out that Grace Porter was like a diamond in disguise.
“A successful morning,” Sterling sighed as he settled into the carriage seat.
“Successful? In what way?” she asked. “You barely spent five minutes in his company and when you did rejoin us, it was…” Grace bit her lower lip. “You goad him into thinking he should come to my defense.”
“Shouldn’t he?” Sterling smoothed the cloth of his sleeve. “I am cruel to you, remember?”
Grace looked out the carriage window as she spoke. “I never forget it.”
Sterling allowed her the pout. He stretched out his legs and tipped his head back, closing his eyes and effectively ignoring her completely. He had no intention of giving her any more insights into his plans. He was already regretting some of the unguarded comments he’d made.
His confidence in Grace’s compliance wasn’t absolute. But things were going so beautifully Sterling wasn’t going to press his luck. Her ignorance was crucial and from where he’d stood, only added to her innocent appeal to Rutherford’s inherently chivalrous nature. He’d never have guessed it looking at the hulk of a man that he would have as soft a nature as his addled sister. Sentiment was a mark of weakness and for now, it was the only clear advantage he would ever have with Rutherford.
The masks were off, even if neither of them had admitted it aloud.
But it was Grace that was holding Rutherford in check. Sterling was sure of it.
He’d watched them at the paddock. Rutherford so attentive, bending slig
htly to catch Grace’s every word, smiling and nodding as if the woman were the cleverest creature ever born. Every instinct he’d had at that first dinner was cemented into fact.
Another week to the ball and Sterling would have the chance he’d dreamt of. He would publicly have one of the Jaded on a leash and have all the proof needed to demonstrate to his debtors that his schemes were finally coming to a head. Bascombe’s folly would stand in even greater contrast to his own elegant patient plans and help him to put the minor setbacks he’d suffered into perspective.
Mine. Nearly mine now…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grace eyed the gown hanging on her wardrobe door. It sparkled in the afternoon light and scattered impossible miniature rainbows along the walls and floors. The morning’s outing to the horse market had been surreal and her stomach hurt to think of the wasted chance for a private conversation with Michael. She’d meant to use whatever precious minutes she gained to warn him that Sterling was…
Her brow furrowed. Even now she didn’t know what her brother intended. Something was wrong, that much was crystal clear. He wasn’t going to his office regularly and his focus on every nuance of Mr. Rutherford’s speeches and appearance made no sense to her. He’d emphasized his authority in urging her to be appealing and tightened his grip on control of the house. He’d repeatedly spoken of prizes and chances until Grace was convinced that some grand carnival had entered their lives. Sterling was like a manic matchmaker. But she couldn’t see why after years of telling her that she was lucky to have her brother’s protection to keep her from the workhouses, he was shoving her into Mr. Rutherford’s path.
Worst of all, she was weakly allowing all of it.
Because being in Michael Rutherford’s path was thrilling. God help her. The man’s presence and quiet looks were enough to turn her knees to rubber and then, dear heaven! He listened so sweetly and attentively to her blathering on that she was struggling to remember why anything in the world mattered.
And then miracle of miracles! That was her story on centaurs he’d referenced—or rather a chapter from Mr. A.R. Crimson’s “Isles of Thunder” series! He’d evoked a world that she’d created in secret and spoken of it with such intimate knowledge and even respect that she’d lost all feeling in her extremities. Fire and ice had tumbled over her skin in an excited rush and she’d very nearly clutched his arm and confessed all.
But fear of reproach and the consequences kept her in check. She wasn’t ready to lose Michael Rutherford’s approval. Not just yet.
Grace reached out to touch the gown’s silver braiding and sighed. All those stories and she’d imagined seductions a dozen times. On the page, it was heated looks and the firm command of a man’s hands; or something equally vague and sinful sounding. But this… This didn’t match anything she’d written or read.
This was Michael Rutherford looking into her eyes and simply allowing her to be herself. Where Sterling would frown or say something cruel, Michael only encouraged and applauded her. He complimented her wit and entertained her odd opinions and god help her, he’d invaded more and more of her waking moments, commanding her senses and distracting her from the days ahead.
But then he’d gone even further. He’d defended her against Sterling. Against the verbal jabs she’d endured for so many years, she’d become numb to them.
“Ridiculous,” she whispered. “All of it.”
Grace turned on her heels and gathered her light coat and reticule. She hurried down to the ground floor as she pulled on her gloves. There was no hesitation in her step and when Mrs. Dorsett stepped out from the kitchens with unspoken questions in her eyes, Grace didn’t blink.
“I have an errand to run, Mrs. Dorsett. I should be back before dinner but if I am late, please serve Sterling as he wishes.” Grace retrieved her bonnet.
“And where am I to tell him you’ve gone?” Mrs. Dorsett demanded.
“Tell him the truth, Mrs. Dorsett.” Grace finished tying the ribbon on her bonnet and rewarded the cook with a smile. “Tell him you have no idea.”
She sailed out of the house with her head held high, a giddy schoolgirl escaping her governess.
And a tyrannical headmaster.
A large woman in a green work dress and a white apron cheerfully bustled forward, cheeks flushed from her labors. “How may I help you, miss? Is it a room you need, or a meal?”
“I’ve come to call on Mr. Rutherford. I understand he is in residence and I’m hoping…that he will see me.”
“Oh!” The woman clasped her hands together, smiling. “Of course! I’m Mrs. Clay, owner and sole proprietor of the Grove. He only just returned, I believe, as Tally went up with a small tray. Not that he would ring for it! Dear man! It’s only that I made some fresh lemon biscuits and our Mr. Rutherford has a weakness for them.”
“Does he?” Grace swallowed at the familiarity toward their Mr. Rutherford, blinking at the tumble of information from the innkeeper regarding a tenant that she very openly adored. “Would you please tell him that Grace Porter has come to call?”
Mrs. Clay nodded, only to gently begin to corral Grace through the inn’s ground floor. “Of course, my dear! I’ll take you to the first floor parlor on the east side where you can have a lovely bit of conversation. There’s a sitting area there and it is semi-private away from the rest of the inn. You understand, I wouldn’t feel comfortable escorting you directly into his apartments. The Grove is a very respectable establishment.”
“Oh, yes! I can wait in the common room if you—“
“What nonsense! A lady like yourself? Not that you wouldn’t be safe as a church mouse in my dining room, Miss Porter! No rough trade allowed at the Grove. My husband, Mr. Clay, God rest his soul, always said that an inn worth its salt meant you could always forget to worry—just like home!” Mrs. Clay led the way past a large and cheerful Tudor style dining hall filled with guests where the smell of fresh bread and beef stew underlined her speech toward a separate entrance and stairway. “This way!”
Grace lifted her skirts as she climbed the stairway, marveling at the cozy inn’s charms and how out of breath she was attempting to keep up with Mrs. Clay, a woman twice her age and girth. I’m panting at the pace she’s setting and I don’t think she’s drawn air between words! How remarkable!
“So exciting! To have a lady call on Mr. Rutherford! It’s a first!” Mrs. Clay announced as they reached the first floor landing and the parlor and private dining room she’d described. Diamond shaped panes revealed that there must be a tree-lined lane next to the Grove and the blossoms and greenery in the late afternoon sun gave the room a fairy-tale like cast. There was nothing ablaze in the large fireplace but the room retained a bit of warmth and Grace smiled at the bouquet of fresh lilacs atop a small table in the parlor’s center. Two identical doors were visible on the opposite wall and Grace could see no other egress from this private end of the inn.
Mrs. Clay walked over to the fireplace. “If the room seems chilled, don’t hesitate to pull the bell. My son, Tally, will come right away and see to things. He is such a dear boy! And growing so fast! He has a keen wit and a good way with our guests and long after I’ve departed, the Grove will stand in his care.” She sighed. “I’m a very blessed woman.”
Grace could only think to nod. Mrs. Clay was a genial font of enthusiastic information and after only a minute’s acquaintance, she found herself bemused and envious that Mr. Rutherford had such a lively landlady. “You are indeed blessed, madam. Shall I…wait here then while you send word to Mr. Rutherford?”
Mrs. Clay smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. “Here, yes. Just there.” She turned, surprising Grace at the development and walked toward the door on the right, knocking briskly. The portal opened to reveal Michael Rutherford in a white linen shirt open at his throat, his coat removed and his head bare—a man at home. Grace had to avert her gaze, a nervous smile blooming on her lips at Mrs. Clay’s unorthodox approach to social matters.
“Mr. R
utherford,” Mrs. Clay said. “Miss Grace Porter has come to call and I was sure you wouldn’t mind if I brought her up. Shall I bring up another tray of lemon biscuits and tea for you and your guest?”
Shock on his face gave way to rote courtesy. “Mrs. Clay, I’ll rely on your care.”
“Aren’t you a dear!” Mrs. Clay said beaming and then stepped back to bustle off, apparently determined to make a great show of the Grove’s hospitality and assist her favorite tenant. “Back in a blink!”
He came out of his apartment, closing the solid oak door and Grace blushed. There was something strangely intimate in seeing him in this setting, in knowing that his most private sanctuary lay behind the door at his back. Mrs. Clay had insisted she wouldn’t deliver Grace into his rooms but she’d certainly come close.
“Miss Porter? Is everything all right?” The bass of his voice was tempered with concern and something in her melted at his kindness.
“It’s—well enough.” She nervously twisted the ties on her reticule. “I’d have sent word to warn you of my visit but since I only just thought to come, it seems we are both surprised to see me here, Mr. Rutherford.”
He studied her for a moment. “I’m guessing you must have had some reason to risk a call.”
“A very good reason.” She took one deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Which, as we speak, I am reordering and composing that reason inside my head so that when you hear it you won’t think me any more scattered than you already must.”
“I don’t think you are scattered. I meant it when I said as much this morning. I like the way you think. But let me see if I can draw up some small talk to give you time to ease into whatever subject is troubling you.” Michael gestured toward the pair of upholstered chairs set by the window. “Not my forté but I don’t want to disappoint at my first attempt at playing host.”
Desire Wears Diamonds Page 12
