Desire Wears Diamonds

by Renee Bernard

  Impossible. God, all of this…

  Not private. Here. Not wise. Damn…

  He’d have sold his soul to be able to claim that he’d ended it because of some gentlemanly streak of honor or that his reason had returned to proclaim that he was too good a man to ruin a woman in an entryway next to the coat closet and boot scrapers. But he’d have lost that wager for it was another agent entirely that restored order to the universe.

  His savior was a young soul that Michael had long relied on.

  The loud clatter of a dropped tray against the bottom step of the stairs had the effect of a cannon shot and Michael ended the kiss instantly and staggered back with a groan of frustration without dropping her.

  Tally.

  Michael looked over and Tally signed his unhappy dilemma. I’d meant to bring the tea since mother was sure she’d forgotten it but—Tally gestured to the destruction at his feet, his poor face as red as an apple. I made a mess of everything, didn’t I?

  Michael put Grace down, a thing of glass and priceless measure and turned to Tally. Michael spoke aloud so that Grace would understand the exchange as he used his hands to reply. “It’s right as rain, Tally. I’ll get it and if there’s a mess, I made it. You’re a good man.”

  Tally ducked his head with a shy smile and retreated back down the hallway, leaving them alone.

  Michael let out a long slow breath and returned his attention to Grace. “Mrs. Clay’s son, Tally. He’s a deaf-mute but very clever and…” Michael’s words trailed off and he braced himself to wait—for whatever tirade she would summon and that he had rightly earned. The damage was done and he didn’t think a phrase of apology existed to make amends for what had occurred between them.

  “Please,” she whispered, stepping back on unsteady feet. He began to reach out to offer his hand but she waved it off, her cheeks blooming with pink and her eyes bright. “If you…have any regard for me, Mr. Rutherford, do not apologize.”

  Michael blinked. “No?” Guilt warred with the lingering effects of her kisses. “Isn’t that—required?”

  Something in her expression snagged at his memory of a breathless girl describing a carriage wheel passing in front of her face and Michael’s throat tightened with emotion. He’d trespassed but apparently the lady was not as fragile as he’d feared.

  Grace shook her head vehemently. “You only have six apologies left, Mr. Rutherford. Don’t waste one on—“ She pressed her fingers to her lips to cut off her own speech. “Good bye.”

  The door was open and she was gone before he could draw breath.

  He leaned his head against the closed door and shut his eyes, and forced himself to let her go.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was a battle of nerves Michael was already losing as he retied his cravat for the fourth time as he readied himself for Bascombe’s ball. “I look like an actor.”

  Ashe grinned from his seat and took a sip of brandy from his glass. Michael had not invited his friend, but Ashe Blackwell had never needed a formal summons to call on the Grove. After all when had any of the Jaded ever waited for written words of welcome before dropping in on each other? “You look very elegant for a mountain troll.”

  “If you meant to either calm me or provide a rousing speech to inspire, I have to say you’re failing miserably.”

  “Nonsense! I’m providing a distraction. Besides, the way you’re fussing about over that one would think you had more at stake than a social outing to make mincemeat of a mortal enemy. Can it be that our Michael Rutherford is torturing his cravat because he is concerned about his appearance to the ladies in attendance?”

  Michael turned away from the mirror and gifted Ashe with a look of deadly assessment. “Don’t push me. Vanity is your cross to bear, not mine, and I’m in no mood to play. I hate social gatherings and this one has all the appeal of a flogging.”

  Ashe stood, his expression one of reconciliation. “And yet Galen still speaks gratefully of how you bravely entered all those salons as his emissary to find his Miss Moreland. You’re a good man in any setting, Rutherford. And I can still come along if you’d like. Caroline will be glad to have a few hours without me and has already given her blessing.”

  “No, Ashe. Your heart is in the right place and don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t trust you to keep your reserve. Sterling is bound to be there and you…have every right to call him out, Ashe, but—“

  “But you’d rather I didn’t spoil your very first formal ball by throttling the man until he’s dead?” Ashe took another slow sip from his brandy.

  “Don’t joke. It’s only my promise to you and the others that’s keeping me from hanging myself with this damned cravat.”

  “You’ll be fine. Keep the Jackal in your sights and pay a bit of attention to Miss Porter and you’ll be fine.”

  Michael’s spine stiffened of its own accord and Ashe’s expression changed.

  “Rutherford?” Ashe put his glass down. “It was a blind jab but is there truly something you’d like to tell an old friend?”

  Michael retied his cravat for the fifth time and avoided meeting Ashe’s gaze in the mirror. “No.”

  “I said nothing when we made that stop at the dressmakers, Michael. You wouldn’t be the first man to lose his footing.”

  Hell, I’ve already lost my footing and insulted her beyond all reckoning.

  Michael turned to face him. “I’m not losing anything. She is merely a means to an end and even so, I’ve been as clear as possible that I’m no proper suitor. Porter’s sister has as much to do with me as the man in the moon and is kind only because she thinks I’m a friend to her brother.” The lie tasted like wormwood but Michael wasn’t about to admit his weakness for Grace aloud to Ashe.

  “I see. Laid it all out did you? Declared your ineligibility?” Ashe pushed his hands away from the tie and took over as smoothly as any valet. “Rutherford, I can’t help but get the feeling that as grounded as you are, you’re a babe in arms when it comes to women.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “How many women have you bedded?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  Ashe stood back, surveying his handiwork. “There. Cravat tied. And it’s a brilliant question.”

  “Dozens.”

  “Liar.”

  Michael’s hands fisted in frustration. “I’ve bedded all that would have me! Satisfied?”

  Ashe’s gaze narrowed, his arms crossing. “Getting there.” He went back to the small table and refilled his own glass but added another for Michael and splashed a healthy dose of brandy into it. “You and I, Rutherford, we are not as close as say, you might be with Rowan or even Darius.”

  He handed Michael the brandy and Michael took it gratefully. “I’m content with my place in the Jaded.”

  “You’ve kept your distance but at the same time, you’re central to our little club, aren’t you?” Ashe pressed on. “You’re not even the oldest among us, but the unofficial leader and guardian all the same. We all respect you so much. You never broke in that hell hole and you took our beatings and stepped in front of the whip more times than I can count now.”

  “I’m a mountain troll, remember? We live for pain.” Michael replied dryly than downed his brandy in one great gulp, savoring the burn down his throat and sweet heat of it in his stomach. “I don’t want to talk about India, Ashe.”

  “That wasn’t the topic at hand,” Ashe said, returning to his chair and gesturing for Michael to take his own seat.

  “I’ll be late.” Michael held his ground.

  “Fashionably late is not late, Rutherford. Sit.”

  Damn it!

  Michael begrudgingly sat down. “I’m sitting, Blackwell. Although, for the life of me, I can’t see why! I am not discussing the intimate workings of my most private self and I’m amazed that you of all people aren’t reminding me that this is not the time for diversions. It’s about the Jackal.”

  Ashe nodded slo
wly. “Agreed. It was inappropriate to tease and I understand that your attentions to his sister are merely part of a ploy to stay close to the man. But, let’s set aside the particulars, for the sake of debate.”

  “We’re debating now?” Michael asked.

  “Perhaps.” Ashe leaned forward until his forearms rested on his knees. “I’ve gone over and over it in my mind, what you said at Antonelli’s shop and if I’m to claim to be any kind of friend to you, then I can’t let it go.”

  “I’m sorry, you’ve lost me. What was the topic again?”

  “Women. You said you would never marry which wasn’t a surprising claim from any bachelor but it was the next bit that snagged my attention. You said the reason was obvious.”

  “It is obvious!” Michael shifted uncomfortably in his chair. God, he hated this! He was as subject to human desire as the next man despite his denials. Kissing Grace had stripped him of his defenses and Michael Rutherford was not accustomed to feeling exposed and vulnerable. “Isn’t it?”

  Ashe shook his head. “Not to my eyes. Have you some malady?”

  “No! Are you blind, man?”

  Ashe said nothing and didn’t move a muscle, patiently waiting for Michael to speak again.

  “Blackwell, I can’t believe I’m speaking of this. I’ll indulge you this time and then I don’t care if you’re on your deathbed, we aren’t speaking of this again.”

  “Agreed. Let’s have it.”

  “I loathe you right now.”

  “Understood. Out with it.”

  “I’m…too tall,” Michael said with a growl. “Is that obvious enough for you?”

  Ashe narrowed his gaze, a man in enrapt concentration awaiting comprehension. “Not even vaguely.”

  “I’m…big.” Please God, let the ground open and swallow me whole.

  Ashe didn’t move. “Women like tall men. It’s a documented fact.”

  Michael stood, too uncomfortable with the subject to face the explanation head on, and began to pace. “Not in my experience they don’t! And I’m not tall—I’m too tall! I was extremely shy as a youth and never really ventured out much but after I joined the Army—”

  Ashe cleared his throat but didn’t say anything as he pressed the fingers of one hand against his own lips. Still, Michael interpreted it as a good sign that he’d finally stuck a chord with Blackwell and that Ashe was struggling to take it all in. Michael went on, encouraged.

  “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. “Altho
ugh, 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.