Diamond in the Rogue

by Wendy Lacapra

  She’d spent her whole life plotting, mapping out pitfalls and detailing dangers based on the experiences of others, deciding exactly who and what and how she wanted to live. Now that she’d placed a resolute foot into the unknown, however, she suddenly realized her cartography had been suspect all along.

  She recognized nothing.

  Terra incognita.

  A synonym for Rayne.

  She splayed her hand across his stomach. He’d warned her, hadn’t he? He’d said he’d steal her innocence, that nothing after would ever be the same.

  She’d confidently replied with some nonsense she didn’t quite remember—something about him not being able to steal what she freely gave. She would have said anything at the time. She’d never wanted anything—anyone—with such force.

  But her wanting hadn’t come close to his appetite, a hunger that saturated her with equal yearning and trepidation. He’d pushed her to her edge—a place where anticipation and apprehension braided into one.

  He’d trapped her in her greatest fear—incapacitation.

  His body had bound her legs. His giant hands, her wrists. And, just as the nascent quivers of alarm had chimed in her veins—his deep, familiar voice had percolated down into her center.

  Does this arouse you?

  She hadn’t been sure at first, but once she’d settled her breath, her awareness had riveted to other sensations. Fear had become heightened sensitivity, watchful expectation.

  She hadn’t just been aroused; she’d been alert, attentive, open.

  Willing to do as he bid.

  Anywhere.

  Anyhow.

  Anytime.

  He’d given her a new way of perceiving him, a real, though invisible, bind.

  New, confounding emotions overflowed in her heart, leaving her fragile. She didn’t know how or if she could tell him any of her swampy thoughts. And, for some inexplicable reason, she couldn’t look into his face.

  If a few simple kisses had sent Rayne running off to another continent on the other side of the world, what the devil was going to happen now?

  I am not yours to manage.

  He couldn’t have been clearer at the start. Pleasure, innocence, he’d take. Knowledge, satisfaction, he would give. But beyond that?

  No matter what she wished or how she schemed or struggled, his heart might as well have a sign that said closed. He may have bound her to him, but a pit of nasty scorn spread its first, tenacious roots in her core.

  “How is it”—he propped his head beneath his arm—“you can still manage to shock me?”

  She searched his face for some sign he had an inkling of how deeply she’d been affected. She found none. He remained remote, the same old brawn, while she had her heart on the floor.

  “What happened was not just…” She steadied her voice. He’d been correct about something else—she couldn’t force him to feel. “I am not shocking.”

  “Oh yes.” He chuckled half-heartedly. “Yes, you are.”

  “Shocking.” She lifted herself onto her elbow and away from his heat. Her gaze fixed on the door. “As in a discomfort one wishes to avoid.”

  “Well, I did try.”

  Her breath quickened as if she’d been running.

  In a way, she had.

  She’d been chasing Rayne for almost two years. Making him her means and her end—the thing she coveted or the absence she fought against.

  She hadn’t caught him, either. Instead, he’d caught her. She couldn’t imagine ever feeling such pleasure with anyone else. She couldn’t imagine opening her mind and body how she had, listening to his as she’d done, with anyone who hadn’t claimed her heart.

  She may or may not still be a maiden, but he’d marked her—mind, heart, and body. And all he could say was…

  “Shocking,” she repeated.

  His rough finger touched her spine, sending signals through her nerves. Signals that said you’re mine. Signals that lied.

  “Are you sorry?” she asked.

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t intentionally pursue something I know I’m going to regret. But, as you pointed out, you weren’t exactly thrilled when we began.”

  “I was teasing, Julia,” he exhaled. “Frankly, I haven’t any idea what I feel. I haven’t a thought in my head…but for food.”

  Food?

  She rolled her eyes. He couldn’t see her face, anyway. Her deliberate defiance ousted him in some small way, as if she’d sent a signal to her heart that she needn’t seriously consider his words, actions, or feelings.

  If she had learned anything in the last eighteen months, she’d learned Rayne would do what was best for Rayne. Now, she would do what was best for her.

  But what was best for her?

  She might as well be asking, what would the earth orbit if the sun were removed?

  “You’re quiet,” he commented. “I don’t like when you’re quiet.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “You don’t like when I’m quiet. You don’t like when I chatter. I do believe I finally get your point.”

  He frowned. “What point?”

  “You don’t like me, do you, Rayne?”

  He exhaled as if he were deeply weary.

  She stiffened. “I don’t need your reassurance.” She closed her dress—what remained of her dress, anyway. “What I need is a sewing basket, thanks to you.” She stood up. “Cheese and chocolate are still on the dresser, if you’re hungry.”

  “Julia—”

  “Rest, Rayne. It’s been a long journey.” She placed her hand resolutely on the door handle. “And tomorrow you must deliver me to Edmund Alistair Clarke.”

  …

  She disappeared through the door to the corridor.

  He swung his feet over the side of the bed and then paused. He couldn’t go chasing her through the house naked, now, could he?

  Even at Periwinkle Gate, such a thing wasn’t done. And he couldn’t dress quickly enough to catch her, either. She’d dumped all of his clothes in the tub.

  He brushed aside the upper bedclothes and yanked the sheet off her bed. He wrapped it around his waist and then stalked through the door.

  “Julia!”

  No answer. He tried the other direction.

  “Julia!”

  Nothing at all.

  He retreated back into the chamber and through the water closet, into his own room. There, he rang the servants’ bell.

  What had just happened?

  From the moment they’d stepped out of the traveling chariot, the whole world had gone mad. He’d lost his mind. Clearly.

  Correction.

  He hadn’t lost anything. She’d finally pushed him over the edge. And the wreckage was so scattered nothing made sense anymore. He culled for fragments he understood.

  He’d been angry, because everyone here believed he and Julia were eloping. He’d surmised Julia and Farring had made some sort of pact to force him to cancel his plans, and, from that, he’d decided that Edmund Alistair Clarke did not, in fact, exist. Then, Julia had barged in on him naked and stared at his cock. And from there, everything had truly gone to hell.

  Or heaven.

  Depending on which moment he chose to remember.

  But how—and why—had they ended up here? She’d said something he’d only vaguely heard over his lust—Farring tricked us both.

  A light rap sounded against the door. “You rang, my lord?”

  He recognized the voice of James—Theo’s valet—and opened the door. As usual, James was elaborately dressed in clothes suited to the prior century.

  “Lord Rayne.” He made an elaborate bow.

  “Hello, King.”

  He granted a regal nod. “It’s been some time since you graced our court.”

  “It has, has
n’t it?”

  “We are happy to see you looking so… so…”

  Rayne rubbed his stubble. “Feral?”

  “Canadian,” James replied.

  Rayne snorted. “My clothes have been soiled.”

  “Yes. Her ladyship has requested your clothes be laundered and directed me to the tub.”

  Devil take the man; his lip had definitely quirked.

  “Well,” Rayne queried, “have you anything I might borrow?”

  James eyed him up and down. “You’re larger than Master Theo, of course, but I do believe Lord Farring left something behind.” He bowed. “I will see what I can pull together.”

  “Thank you.” Rayne blew the hair from his face. “And, while you’re looking, can you tell Mrs. Shillingham Lady Julia is not to depart unaccompanied.”

  James’s lip quirked again. “Certainly. However, may I assume the dispatching of letters is permitted?”

  Rayne lifted a brow. “And—considering your tone—may I assume a letter has already been dispatched?”

  “Quite so, my lord. Quite so.”

  A fission of fear traveled up his spine. “And to whom did Lady Julia send a letter?”

  “To Lord Belhaven, my lord. Edmund Alistair…if you pardon, I’ve forgotten his surname.”

  “Clarke,” Rayne finished. “Edmund Alistair Clarke.”

  The bastard was real after all.

  …

  “…And before we enter the aviary, I suggest you don appropriate attire.”

  Mrs. Shillingham handed Julia a kind of shawl, pieced together from worn linen.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Your head.” The woman made a prune face. “The birds are beautiful, but they tend to mess.”

  Julia whipped the piece of cloth around her hair. Every room she’d been in so far had been more fascinating than the last, and she wasn’t about to miss this one. The birds’ enthusiastic squawking had beckoned her the entire time they’d been exploring.

  Hair sufficiently protected, she stepped inside the aviary. Like in the orangery, the roof was made of glass. Tall, wide-leafed plants fanned out in every direction.

  “Where are they?” She heard the birds but could not see them.

  “Oh, they’ll come. Strangers make them curious.”

  A huge flash of color hurdled through the air. Julia grabbed her headscarf, dipping as the bird landed on a perch across the path.

  “Pretty.” The bird’s head bobbed.

  “So are you,” Julia replied with a nervous laugh.

  Mrs. Shillingham rolled her eyes and shook her head. “He greets everyone that way, I’m afraid.”

  “He?”

  “The men are the fancy ones—all color and strut, each one trying to outdo the others.”

  “Does this one have a name?”

  “Sir Tangle—he was swathed in netting when Her Grace found him.”

  “Are all of the duchess’s animals rescued?”

  “Sadly, they are. Most people who acquire animals don’t know the first thing about taking care of them. They’re abandoned, forgotten, or left to waste away in sickness. That’s when Her Grace and Master Theo step in. If they aren’t familiar with the animal, her Grace locates someone who can help.”

  Again, Theo.

  Master Theo this time.

  Somehow, Julia sensed Theo was the key to unraveling the mystery of this place. But she didn’t dare ask—not yet. Nor, despite dropping several hints, had she come any closer to locating Farring’s letter.

  “So, you have scientists who visit?” She kept her voice light.

  “Most correspond. We rarely open our place to visitors.”

  Our place? Quite proprietorial. “If you did, every young child would be clamoring for a visit. This place is fanciful.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Shillingham nodded sagely. “That’s how most describe Periwinkle Gate.”

  “And how do you describe the manor?”

  “Heaven.”

  Heaven.

  Julia recognized the woman’s wistful expression. She’d found belonging here, this odd housekeeper. Just as the animals had found a home. Perhaps not the most practical of homes, but one they could count on.

  “Pretty,” Sir Tangle repeated.

  Julia approached his perch.

  “Lift your hand slowly,” Mrs. Shillingham instructed, “and hold it just in front. If he approves of you, he may nuzzle, or he may crawl onto your hand. But let him take the first step.”

  The bird examined Julia’s arm—sidestepping back and forth on his perch and tilting his head.

  “Well, Sir Tangle?” Julia asked. “Do I pass muster?”

  “Pretty.” He stretched both his claws, one at a time, then nuzzled beneath her finger.

  Julia smiled. “Aren’t you a gentleman flirt?”

  The bird nodded. “Pretty.”

  She looked into the bird’s tiny, wizened eyes, and some of her fog lifted. One by one, he placed his claws gently onto her wrist.

  “You’ve won over Sir Tangle.” Mrs. Shillingham chuckled.

  “Now if I could only win Lord Rayne.”

  “Oh, I’m quite certain he’s smitten, too.”

  Julia inhaled sharply. “I apologize, Mrs. Shillingham. I hadn’t meant to speak aloud.”

  Mrs. Shillingham lifted her brows. “He brought you here for a reason, you know.”

  “Rayne?” Julia asked, startled.

  Mrs. Shillingham shook her head. “Lord Farring. If Lord Farring did not trust you completely, you would not be here.” She transferred Sir Tangle from Julia’s wrist to her shoulder and then slipped her arm beneath Julia’s arm. “Let’s walk, shall we? And while we walk, I want to tell you a story.”

  As they passed through the long, ornate hallways, Mrs. Shillingham related an extraordinary tale about a ducal daughter who’d been determined not just to join the war as a man but to live the whole of her life on those terms. In short, she related the disappearance of Lady Theodora Maxwell-Hughes and the return—thanks to a French general’s mistress—of a wounded Master Theo, who now lived his days as he saw fit in a place where he was welcomed and understood. A feat for a beloved sibling even Farring couldn’t have managed, not without the assistance of a mutual, trusted friend.

  Rayne.

  Julia let out a shaking exhale.

  Her heart became a deep well of love for the struggles of a war hero she’d never met, for Rayne, for Farring, for this place and all its inhabitants.

  He’d been right again.

  She more than liked this place—she respected the acceptance that governed the lives of the people who called this place home. Periwinkle Gate was more than met the eye.

  And so was Rayne.

  …

  James snipped Rayne’s hair, the final step in an onslaught that had left every inch of Rayne’s person polished—teeth, to nails, to toes. Then, Rayne stood as still as possible as James tucked him into shirt, waistcoat, and trousers that looked and fit in suspiciously familiar ways.

  Despite James’s evasions, Rayne strongly suspected Farring’s letter had come with a parcel of Rayne’s most expensive clothes, all updated so they reflected the latest fashions.

  James stepped back, fussed with Rayne’s cravat a fourth time, and then proceeded to dust and polish his person yet again.

  “James. The residents of Periwinkle Gate don’t care.”

  “Ah,” James said regally, “but we aren’t concerned with the residents of Periwinkle Gate, are we? You already have the approval of the court. We have a lady to impress.”

  Rayne sighed. “She’s not the kind of lady who will swoon over a cravat.”

  “Well, perhaps not a frothy little white one, but this stunning black silk? With your hair and eyes?” He fluttered his l
ids. “If she doesn’t notice, I’ll have to find her a lorgnette.”

  Rayne inclined his head. “She’ll notice. She’s just not likely to soften.”

  “Do we want soft?” James pursed his lips. “We, if you must know, have been aiming for stimulated.”

  That, Rayne had managed without any clothes at all. “Very well, my liege, do what you must.”

  “The transfiguration is near complete.” James went to the dresser, opened a box, and pulled out a pin that glinted with a single diamond. “Just one more thing.”

  “Ah…” Rayne’s eyes fixed to the jewel he had once worn daily but hadn’t seen since he’d left Britain—a symbol of the worst within him. “No.”

  “But it goes perfectly with the—”

  “I’m not a diamond, King.” He wasn’t even part of the card suit at all anymore. “And even if I was—Lord save me from being so pompous.”

  “Forgive me as I point out there is a time for humility and a time to shine.” James glanced up out of the corner of his eye. “I believe that is from the Bible.”

  Rayne smirked. “Not quite.”

  James shrugged. “Well, I’ll just put the pin back into the box and give the box to your wife.”

  “She isn’t my wife.”

  James plucked at his cuffs. “Not by the usual standards, perhaps, but by ours—”

  “Even at Periwinkle Gate, both parties must agree.”

  “Do you mean to tell me she set out to abduct you when she didn’t wish to wed?” He lifted his brows. “I knew I should have gone for the red cravat.”

  Abduct him. Odd to hear the words so cheerfully spoken.

  He frowned. “What exactly did Farring’s letter say?”

  “Well let’s see…” James tapped his jaw. “First there was the part about you having returned from the Americas”—he waved his hand—“all untamed—but we took care of that, didn’t we? And then there was a part about you doing something very noble for your sister—none of us were surprised there, as you can imagine. Next came an interminable section about the traveling chariot the duke tried to hoist on the mother last year. The duke designed it with almost no windows—completely ashamed, he is. The mother would have none of it, as you might suspect.”

  No, the duchess wouldn’t have wanted a nearly windowless box that was an insult to Theo, and, besides, the carriage would be absolutely useless in the transport of animals. Why hadn’t he realized that at once?