Desire Wears Diamonds

by Renee Bernard

  

  Sterling hummed to himself as he headed up the stairs to Grace’s bedroom. His plan had worked so well he’d nearly overthrown his own success. He’d expected to have to make a vague threat of committing Grace to an asylum if Rutherford didn’t come to heel, but apparently the sight of her black eye was all that was needed.

  Sterling laughed, giddy with his impending triumph.

  In recent months, he’d have pressed for the treasure instead of forcing Rutherford into a match first, but he was learning as he went. The Jaded were as skittish as colts and even harder to bridle. A ridiculous affection for Grace was all well and good, but Sterling didn’t trust it.

  He wanted Rutherford well and truly bound before he sprung the trap.

  Only then would the giant fool see how he’d lost the high ground and forfeited his options. Patience, old boy. This time. This time, I have him and well within my deadline to the others! Hell, there’s even room to give the pair a few days to bond a bit and sample a little marital bliss…Which will make it all the more effective when I threaten to remove the ground beneath his feet!

  “Grace!” He knocked on her locked bedroom door. “It’s settled! Rutherford’s agreed and agreed to see to it soon.” A strangled muffled cry was audible through the wooden door and Sterling smiled. “There, there! He’s not so bad, is he?”

  “Sterling, please!” Grace’s voice was closer this time, just on the opposite side of the portal. “What can be gained by this? I’m begging you!”

  He rolled his eyes and felt some of his joy fade. “I’ll have no tears on the day. Cry now and then enough! For I swear, Grace, if you defy me and try to spoil this or throw a tantrum in front of the vicar—you’ll spend the rest of your life in a madhouse sitting in your own filth! Do you hear me?”

  He was rewarded with the sound of her tears and decided that that was as much agreement as the day required.

  He passed Mrs. Dorsett on his way back down the stairs and stopped her briefly. “Keep her under lock and key, madam. I’ll not have my sister slipping out to run any more errands. Is that understood?”

  “Of course, Mr. Porter,” the woman said, nodding.

  “What a treasure you are!” Sterling clapped his hands together and continued on and never saw the pleased blush that crept up his housekeeper’s face.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Rutherford, you came!” Darius Thorne stepped forward, relief evident on his face. “There was no real news after Bascombe’s and you can’t imagine how Ashe has been chomping at the bit!”

  “I can imagine.” Michael surveyed the gathering, surprised at the size of it. Josiah Hastings was having a small showing of two paintings for the Royal Society of the Arts and it was a milestone that their circle had long anticipated. Michael had naturally expected the Jaded and their wives to be there and then a few additional acquaintances of each but this… This was a large public gathering of apparently genteel art lovers and anyone curious as to what a blind man’s painting would possibly look like. “I thought it was to be invitation only.”

  “It is quite a crowd, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Though we need to find a private corner to talk. There’s been…a bit of a development and I want to—“

  Lord Winters walked up, unintentionally interrupting. “Thank God, you’re alive!” Galen lowered his voice to add, “Not that I entertained speculation otherwise, but Ashe is a force.”

  Lady Winters laughed as she came around to take Galen’s arm. “Mr. Rutherford, I never doubted your safety but it is a delight to see you again.”

  “You’re too kind,” Michael answered then nervously looked over the crowded gallery again. “I don’t know why I thought it would be eight or so of us in a room.”

  “Eleanor would have preferred it in light of her nerves,” Haley said in reference to Josiah’s beautiful prim wife and reluctant model. “I’m afraid we overrode their simple plans for a quiet reveal. But Mr. Hastings work is too startling not to garner the public’s attention and praise.”

  Darius sighed. “The press hasn’t even gotten into it yet. I’d say the crush of curious onlookers will only get worse in a week or two after the Times publishes their critique. Isabel will regret missing the day.”

  “Where is she?” Michael asked bluntly. His urge to ascertain where everyone was and reaffirm that the Jaded and the women they loved were all secured was irrationally strong.

  “With Caroline to entertain and distract her, though fatigue made it a wise choice. Rowan assures me it is a common complaint when…well, you know…” Darius finished awkwardly, shy to speak aloud of his wife’s pregnancy but his eyes shone with pride and pleasure. “You wished to speak privately?”

  “Yes.”

  Galen looked at his wife, “Would you excuse me for a moment, dearest?”

  Haley pressed her lips together as if she would refuse but yielded after looking at Michael’s face. “I’ll go, but don’t think you’re not repeating every word to me later, Galen.”

  “Yes, dear. Every word.” Galen kissed her hand and released her to retreat with the others to the emptier side of the room away from the portraits.

  Michael shook his head. “So much for our secrets.”

  Darius smiled. “I think it’s charming that you ever held the illusion that the women weren’t keeping a close watch, Rutherford.”

  “All right, enough,” Galen said. “We’d heard nothing of you for three days, although Rowan said he received a pithy note from you indicating that Bascombe’s was nothing we’d hoped for.”

  Michael shook his head at the painful understatement. “No. It was nothing we’d hoped. Is Rowan coming?”

  “Sadly, no,” Darius answered. “He was called out with Gayle. Some rich client has fallen ill and as Rowan knows, disease and death don’t often come at convenient times.”

  “And Ashe?” Michael pressed on.

  “Running late but he should be here any moment.” Galen crossed his arms. “But now that we know it’s serious, you’d better tell us.”

  “How do you know it’s serious?” Michael knew it was a waste of effort to delay the inevitable but he was in no hurry for the agonies ahead.

  It was Darius who offered a reply. “Because you’re taking a roll call like a headmaster before exams.”

  “Out with it,” Galen said firmly. “Is it Bascombe? Did the fat old toad pop up to cause trouble the other night?”

  “No, in fact, I never saw him which may have been a small blessing in disguise.”

  Darius reached up to adjust his wire-rimmed spectacles. “The paper made the gathering sound like a lively affair but of course, what we want to know is how Porter explained his insistence that you attend. Did he give nothing away?”

  You mean, besides his sister? Michael cleared his throat. “Not really although there was certainly an unexpected…development, you could say.”

  “Finally! Progress?” Galen asked.

  “I don’t know if you would ever label it as “progress” but you’ll find out soon enough.” Michael took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Things have taken a turn.”

  “Rutherford!” a voice called from across the room and their small circle instantly pivoted. “Fancy meeting you here!”

  God, no! He wouldn’t be this bold or this stupid—would he?

  Michael had only a fraction of a second to give Darius and Galen a warning look, praying they’d take the hint and simply retreat while they still could. He stepped away from his friends hoping to redirect the Jackal from strolling into their midst. “It’s a public showing and I didn’t realize you were an art connoisseur, sir.”

  Sterling Porter smiled. “I heard from an associate of mine, a Lord Waverly that Lord Winters had been the prime supporter of the event and pressed the Royal Academy on Hastings behalf. It was a flimsy thread to follow, but I’d hoped to find you here. After all, Lord Winters is…rumored to be a dear friend of yours.”

  Galen held his
place and Darius drifted back but didn’t walk away. It was clear he wished to stay close but didn’t want to get pulled in by this stranger.

  “Introduce me to your friends, Rutherford.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “God, what manners!” Sterling strolled around him as if he were no more than a potted plant in his way. “Then I shall ask for introductions myself.” He shifted his hat and gloves to one hand. “Sterling Porter,” he said with a half bow. “At your service.”

  Galen made a subtle signal to Thorne with his free hand behind his back and Darius applied himself to making a study of milling nearby as a disinterested by-stander. Michael shifted his own position to add to the distraction then watched in admiration as Galen pulled on an aristocratic air as smoothly as another man pulled on a cloak.

  Galen dropped his chin an inch, adopting an expression of icy study. “Mr. Porter. I am Lord Winters. You’ll forgive me but when you yelled across the room like that, I mistook you for a carter hawking his wares.”

  Sterling’s façade of merriment cracked but he recovered quickly. “My enthusiasm overtook my better nature, Your Lordship. But was there not another gentleman? That one there?”

  Galen’s lip curled in distaste. “I don’t know him really. Soliciting funds for a reformed college or something. A stupid project of an acquaintance of mine and one that I cannot endorse; education for women. Ridiculous!” Galen lied smoothly and deliberately turned his back toward Darius. “Why do you look familiar to me, Porter?”

  Sterling’s smile was as genuine as a crocodile’s. “Do I? How fascinating!”

  Galen narrowed his gaze, a ferocious and malicious intensity in his eyes. “Lord Waverly, did you say? You are not associated with Rand Bascombe, are you?”

  “No. Not at all.” It was Sterling’s turn to lie and Michael had to hide his hands behind his back to disguise his growing anxiety.

  “How lucky for you, Mr. Porter, that you are not.” Galen tipped his head to one side, a dark raven staring at something shiny. “So oddly familiar…”

  “I have that kind of face,” Sterling said, openly enjoying the game.

  Galen could hold his own in a dogfight but Michael knew that the only reason Sterling was there was to inflict as much damage as he could with as many of the Jaded in attendance as possible.

  And there’s no way Galen can anticipate the blow coming his way.

  “I’ll have you,” Galen said with deadly calm. “These things take time but once I know your origins, I’ll have you, won’t I?”

  “Lord Winters,” Michael interrupted. “I’ve kept you too long.”

  “Yes!” Sterling chimed in. “I didn’t mean to interrupt! Although as Lord Winters is obviously your esteemed friend he may be equally thrilled to hear my news. I came to tell you that I secured special dispensation.”

  Galen’s brow furrowed. “Special dispensation?”

  Sterling sobered. “No easy feat but I have a few connections of my own, Your Lordship.” Sterling turned to Michael. “We can have the wedding a few days earlier than we’d thought.”

  “When?” Michael asked without looking at Galen.

  “Say, tomorrow?”

  Ashe Blackwell walked up, a striking lion-like figure in his olive silk jacket and gold waistcoat. “What happens tomorrow?”

  “Ah, Mr. Blackwell! A moment of your time,” Darius stepped in front of Ashe and blocked his approach. “Come, Blackwell, I wished to talk to you about funding our project and then perhaps we can pay our compliments to Mrs. Hastings.”

  Ashe gave Michael a sharp look, eyeing Sterling with a new curiosity but allowed himself to be shunted off to greet Eleanor.

  Too close. That was too close for comfort.

  “You didn’t answer me, Rutherford.” Sterling prodded him. “Will tomorrow be acceptable?”

  “Wait,” Galen said. “Who are we talking about marrying, Michael?”

  “Mr. Rutherford wishes to marry my younger sister, Lord Winters,” Sterling answered with a smug look at Michael. “And will do so tomorrow.”

  “W-what?!” Galen’s shield of cold reserve evaporated instantly. “Like hell he will!”

  Sterling’s face tightened with fury but also with triumph, as the gallery began to quiet with whispers at Galen’s outburst. “He is honor-bound to do so and practically begged me for her hand, Lord Winters. I assure you, Mr. Rutherford is a welcome addition to my family.”

  “He’d rather marry a muck-covered pit-bull bitch than any relation of yours, you—“

  “Galen!” Michael cut him off, aware of several things at once; that Ashe was practically fighting Darius off to reach them as their words echoed off the walls, that the gallery crowd was enjoying a very different kind of display and that this, this would be the moment he could never take back.

  He’d boasted like a fool to the Jackal that he had friends.

  And now he would publicly lose them for the Jackal’s amusement.

  “Tomorrow cannot come quickly enough, Porter. Send a note to me with the time and details of the arrangements and I will be there.” Michael kept his voice even and his tone level.

  “I’ll leave you to it, gentlemen,” Sterling bowed again, “Until tomorrow, Rutherford.” He left them, his feet nearly skipping out as he began to hum the wedding march on his way out of the gallery.

  Damn.

  “What the hell was—“ Galen started, but Michael shook his head and turned away.

  “Not here!”

  “I disagree,” Ashe reached them at last, with a very rumpled and breathless Darius on his heels. “Here is perfect!”

  Lady Winters sailed up openly displeased at the ruckus. “No, Mr. Blackwell, it is most certainly not the place for whatever discussion you men are having! You are ruining Josiah’s opening and Eleanor only just arrived to see all of you bashing about and making a scene!”

  Darius glanced over and winced. “She looks crushed. Perhaps there’s somewhere more quiet?”

  Haley pointed imperiously toward a small door in the corner. “Go! It leads to the back hall and there is an empty storage room at the end of it. Or go to Rowan’s brownstone since that seems to soothe, but out with all of you!”

  They made it as far as the servant’s back hall she’d directed them toward but no further before Ashe’s impatience restarted the conversation.

  “To hell with it! I’ll send Eleanor a written apology and we’ll all buy her flowers. I know I was late but someone tell me what nightmare I’ve strolled into or I’m going to start swinging at his head!” Ashe said as he turned to block their progress.

  For a moment, no one spoke but it was Galen who cleared his throat and addressed Darius, and not Ashe. “Sorry for the cut direct, Thorne. I figured since we’d demonstrated our acting skills in front of Netherton, it might be rumored that you weren’t my favorite person. And if Sterling couldn’t quite place you, I didn’t want to help him.”

  Darius shook his head. “It was brilliantly played. Clearly Porter knows of you, Ashe and Rowan. A dozen innocent scenarios outside of Bengal can explain the connection between all of us so I think he’s still trying to piece it together. I hold to my instinct that Josiah and I are out of his sights.”

  “It doesn’t matter!” Ashe broke in. “Why are you nattering about over which of us Sterling knows? Am I the only one who missed the explosion in there? That vile weasel thinks Michael is going to—“ Ashe nearly choked on his revulsion before he could go on, “Marry his sister!”

  “I am going to marry Grace Porter.” Michael’s words were delivered with quiet resolve. “Tomorrow.”

  Shock hit each of his friends and their responses were visceral and unmistakable. Horror. Surprise. Disgust. Concern. Not exactly the joyful wishes or round of congratulations one could normally expect. Even in the midst of this madness, I never anticipated how much that would sting…

  “Why?” Galen asked.

  “I didn’t encourage you that night thinking you would
set upon his sister!” Ashe ground out, his fury unconcealed. “Damn it! Are you mad?!”

  Michael swallowed his anger, rounding on Ashe. “You watch your step, Blackwell. My life is mine and this—is my life! I’ve done the Jaded’s bidding for a long time and given my share to our brotherhood. You all ignored me when it was your turn to wed and I advised caution, so you don’t get to weigh in on my choice!”

  “In all fairness,” Darius said as he adjusted his glasses, “this seems very different. Grace Porter isn’t just any woman. She is…”

  “She is the woman I’m going to marry.” Michael wasn’t giving an inch.

  “Why?” Galen asked again.

  “I have my reasons.”

  Ashe shook his head in disbelief. “Then tell us. Tell me why you think that sharing wedding toasts with that despicable excuse for a human being and linking your name forever with his family is—even conceivable?”

  “You have to trust me. If ever you trusted me, friends, I need you to trust me now. And I need you to stay back!” Michael crossed his arms. “I don’t have to tell you anything, Ashe.”

  “Let’s go to Rowan’s.” Galen offered. “My wife has the right of it. This isn’t—“

  “The rest of you can go and speak freely without my interference,” Michael stepped back. “I have other matters to attend to.”

  He started back down the hall to the door of the gallery and hesitated with his hand on the latch. “And no, you’re not invited to the wedding.”

  He closed the door behind him and was gone without a single protest from his friends.

  

  “Hellfire! That was…unexpected!” Dr. West raked his fingers through his brown curls. They’d landed at Rowan’s after all, and Rowan had joined them in his study and endured the same rites of surprise and horror the rest of them had suffered as they recounted the day’s revelations. “Sterling Porter, right in your midst—and Rutherford at his side?”