Ecstasy Wears Emeralds

by Renee Bernard

  “Oh, no fear, Miss Renshaw!” His smile was warm, dismissing the tension between them. “A true friend doesn’t abandon you at the first obstacle. Besides, I see you regularly enough with my deliveries, and we can just look forward to those visits.”

  “Yes, I . . . suppose that’s true.” Gayle wasn’t sure if she should take him at his word or if he meant to imply something more. “Unless Mr. Fitzroy has a miraculous change of heart and allows me to cross his shop’s threshold again.”

  Peter laughed. “We’d be back at the smelling salts!” He made a note on his order sheet and then gave her a more sober look. “Not to fish for gossip, but I heard you went out on a call with Dr. West to the Blackwells’.”

  “Oh!” Word does travel fast!

  “He’s a favorite of mine, of course,” Peter reminded her. “Was everything all right there? Did Mr. Blackwell have an accident?”

  “It was Mrs. Blackwell, actually. She . . . suffered a fall.” Gayle didn’t feel comfortable saying more, and Mr. James looked horrified enough at the report.

  “Mrs. Blackwell?”

  “She’ll recover,” she added.

  “Well, there’s a relief! The gossips had it wrong and said it was the man of the house who’d taken ill. That’ll teach me to listen to idle chatter!” Peter walked back to the worktable with her books and notes spread out. “Do you mind if I ask you something, Miss Renshaw?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re not just interested in medicine, are you? I mean, you’re not just nosing around the edges or cleaning up the laboratory, are you?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No.”

  “But what will you do with it all? You may have overprepared yourself if your ambition was to work in a hospital, miss. They won’t take you on as a nurse if you know enough to argue with their doctors. . . .”

  She held her breath for just a moment. He’d never been unkind or judgmental, and she trusted him. “I was hoping to become a doctor one day. Dr. West has been very supportive and is doing everything he can to see that I’m properly trained.”

  “Really?” he asked, his entire demeanor suddenly touched with sadness. “Well, then I’ll hope for that for you. But between us, Miss Renshaw”—he picked up his order next to the cabinet—“even when a man appears to be helping you, it may be that he’s just helping himself.”

  She gasped in shock, but before she could compose a protest without revealing too much of her relationship with Rowan, Peter James was gone.

  The Jaded had gathered again. The early morning impromptu meeting was again at Ashe’s home—despite Michael’s wish to gather somewhere more clandestine in case they were being watched. But Blackwell had vehemently refused to be more than two floors away from Caroline, and the others had agreed, forcing Michael to concede defeat.

  “I meant to thank you again . . . for saving Caroline’s life. I was—less than gracious, Rowan.”

  “You threatened to kill me more than once, but”—Rowan smiled, shaking his hand—“I’m only glad that it’s over and you still have your beautiful wife with you.”

  “I always imagined the healing arts as a bit more delicate, Rowan.”

  Rowan shook his head. “It’s more of a boxing match sometimes than a chess game. But every once in a while, it’s miraculous, and so I’ve come to accept the rougher days to balance it all out.”

  Galen Hawke, now Lord Winters, stepped forward to welcome Rowan. “I missed your library and our gatherings, friend, but as for this tangle, I’ll admit a part of me just wanted to take Haley to Italy and be shut of this.”

  Ashe held out a warm apple cider to Galen, aware of Hawke’s preference to avoid alcohol. “As if she’d let you! But on a serious note, if it is our families that are in danger, then no man here will blink if you wish to take your bride as far away as possible. If I’d been as smart—”

  “You aren’t gifted with second sight, Ashe,” Rowan was quick to intervene to spare his friend an unnecessary bout of guilt over what had happened. “None of us are.”

  “Did Lady Winters return with you to London?” Josiah asked from his chair by the fireplace.

  Hawke shook his head, sitting down with his drink. “I left her there. Her aunt Alice was feeling poorly with a cold, and I didn’t want to alarm her. Besides, her father was enjoying the visit, and I knew she’d be in good hands.”

  “That’s for the best, then.” Rowan moved to pour himself a measure of brandy. “So it’s only Thorne who isn’t here.”

  “Darius sends his regards.” Ashe pulled out his letter, setting it on the table in front of them as a courtesy if they wished to read it. “He wrote that he’s staying on and thinking he might uncover something there in Edinburgh. We’ve been doing our gem brokering through the Scottish trade jewelers, and Thorne thinks they may have a better chance of hearing any rumors about the pursuit of a sacred object from India.”

  Michael hung back a bit, allowing the others to settle in as the men began to catch up on the matter at hand. No other mysterious packages had been delivered. The conversation was a balance between discussing new strategies to keep themselves safe, deciphering the letter and the meaning of sacred treasure, and holding Ashe back from running wild with a sword into the East India Trading Company offices. When Josiah quietly pointed out that they still didn’t even have a wisp of proof that the Company had anything to do with it, pandemonium broke loose.

  “What about Bascombe? He as much as confessed that the Company was behind all of it!” Ashe said.

  Rowan tried to defend Hastings. “But if they know that he’s babbled, why be so secretive now?”

  “Exactly!” Josiah said, but slunk down in his chair. “I mean, it’s not exactly Indian assassins with knives, is it?”

  Michael held up a hand. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves, gentlemen.”

  “Yes, if the sacred treasure is separate from the rest of the riches, what the hell are they talking about? There were bits and baubles, but I don’t remember a damn thing standing out above the others! Hell, it’s why it was so easy to parse it all out, remember?” Ashe finished his drink to set it down in frustration.

  Michael nodded. “I’ve been over it in my head a thousand times. We none of us knew much about the cut or quality of a gem, or how it would be valued—any of it.”

  “Colors,” Josiah recalled wistfully. “We’d left so much to fate and chance in order to survive and escape that dungeon in India, it just made sense when we divided the gems and bits of jewelry to do the same. Even then, I remember thinking how remarkable it was. No one was arguing about the size of their share or the value of what we’d taken. We just put them in piles by color on that rough wool blanket spread out over that bunk bed and had Michael hold six stones. And we chose blindly. I never even blinked at how right it all felt. Did any of you?”

  They all shook their heads. Ashe smiled. “I thought it was brilliant. Galen chose a ruby and took all the red, I had the sapphires, Darius took the opals, and Rowan, the emeralds. Michael ended up with the diamonds.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And for Hastings, there were pearls of every size up to pigeon eggs. I still can’t believe it’s real.”

  “And the oath,” Michael added. “We just took that oath and we’ve all stood behind it. We kept our heads and all of us have benefited. No one has made a great ostentatious fool of himself, and unless I missed something, most of us still have our gems tucked away.”

  Ashe nodded. “Darius brokered only a few gems for each of us through his contacts in Edinburgh for remarkable returns. I’ll admit I was surprised at how little we’ve spent!”

  Galen shrugged. “I surprised myself! I made a few improvements of the family estates after I sold just four of my rubies, but then several old investments began to come in, and with my unexpected inheritance, there’s been no need.”

  “I thought the emeralds would be a memory when I wished to get a new carriage and outfit my laboratory, but I sold two—remember, Micha
el? And then a cousin I’d practically forgotten I had died and left me enough to fund my Wednesday practice for a lifetime. A godsend, but . . .” Rowan’s brow furrowed since good fortune had never existed for a West for as long as he could remember.

  “We’ve been extremely lucky, so far.”

  “Extremely,” Ashe echoed grimly, clearly thinking of his beloved Caroline and just how close he’d come to his luck running out.

  “What about Hastings?” Rowan asked. “No offense, Josiah, but you don’t look like a man with hidden wealth. We’ve respected your privacy, but have you lost your fortune?”

  “Why does everyone always think I’m poor? I’ve sold one pearl, and Darius acquired a miraculous amount for it, and frankly, I’ve . . . I haven’t needed to make improvements to an estate or buy a carriage.”

  “It’s only because your coat is in worse shape than Rowan’s, and that is saying something. But I like that you’re putting out an aura of starving young artist with paint stains on your clothing,” Ashe defended him, then stood to refill his glass with port. “I suspect he does it to draw in the ladies, gentlemen.”

  “Leave him be.” Michael gave Ashe a quelling look. “All right, then. None of us have drawn undue attention to our numbers, but even so, whoever this is not only knows of us, but knows what happened in that dungeon and knows about the treasure.”

  “How is that possible?” Galen asked. “I know we determined that hiding in plain sight was wiser, but we’ve never really let down our guard.”

  Ashe stood slowly, an idea seizing him. “The letter implied that they knew all of us! But what if they don’t? What if one of us is still an unknown to them? It may give us an advantage if we want to start asking questions.”

  “How in the world do you deduct what an unknown person may or may not know? I think you’re off the beam slightly.” Rowan’s criticism was gently given.

  “I think Hastings could be the key!”

  “Me?” Josiah looked instantly uncomfortable. “The key to what exactly?”

  “If I were trying to learn the identity of the Jaded, I would only need one name first. I was the idiot who caught Lady Barrow’s eye and earned the nickname Jaded in that article, so let’s say I’m the start of it. I’m often at Rowan’s, as are you, Michael, Darius, and even Galen. Galen would have cemented the connection when he summoned Michael after he was forced to leave London to look after Miss Moreland. And Darius—I’m afraid our connection was similarly established when I dragged him out to that ball last spring and we were publicly seen together right before . . . well, a very memorable scene with Caroline. But where is Josiah?”

  “Yes,” Josiah echoed sarcastically. “Where is Josiah?”

  “We joke among ourselves at how difficult you are to locate, and frankly, no one’s gotten you out of your painter’s garret for months. I’ll bet our writer is having the same trouble. Hastings may be just elusive enough to stand apart. If he started asking questions in the Company’s circles, he might actually get answers.” Ashe finished his proposal, a man most satisfied with himself.

  “What? Like some sort of Jaded agent, secretly acting on our behalf?” Rowan said.

  Josiah shook his head. “No. It’s an interesting thought, but no. If anyone is watching, I’m as much in the thick of these meetings as the next man. I was at that same party with you, Ashe, and if you recall, I think I was the one who coined the phrase in that misguided conversation! I’ve been to the sporting club with Ashe, had more than my share of drinks with Michael, and am no stranger to any one of your doorways. While I may have missed the social season this last year, I’m not as invisible as you seem to think.”

  Rowan leaned back in his chair. “Leave the man be! Michael had the right of it.” At Michael’s name, Rowan glanced at the man and realized he’d left the circle a bit and was standing at the windows with his back to them. “Michael?”

  “I’ve let all of you down.” His voice echoed with defeat as he turned to face them. “I swore to protect you, and for all I’ve fussed like a mother hen, that’s all I’ve managed. I thought we’d hear from the culprit again, before the full moon as he’d promised, and I was confident that I’d be able to stop him. But this . . .” He shook his head.

  Galen approached their friend, reaching up to put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re just one man, Michael Rutherford, even if you are the most intimidating man we’ve ever seen—and you aren’t responsible for our safety. It isn’t possible.”

  Rowan seconded the sentiment. “It’s too great a burden, Michael.”

  Rutherford shrugged but rejoined them, taking a seat on the sofa. “Ashe may be casting stones in the wrong direction, but at least he’s thinking of ways to stir the pot.”

  “What are you saying?” Ashe asked.

  “I’m saying, if you’re going to really stir the pot, you’ll need a bigger spoon.” Michael leaned forward as he outlined his plan. “What if we took an advertisement out in the London Times and called out this bastard? What if we told him we don’t deal with cowards? What if we invited him to step out of the shadows, speak plainly about what he’s after, and see what happens?”

  Galen sat down next to Michael. “We might gain control of the playing field.”

  “If the bastard agrees to play along,” Ashe said. “Hell, I like it! Call him out. I’ll meet him under a bridge somewhere, and we can settle this whole business in a single night’s work.”

  Every member of the Jaded shook their heads or grunted their disapproval in the next instant. Not one of them wanted Ashe to be put in a position where the temptation to seek vengeance could cause him to forfeit his life. “You, Ashe,” Rowan spoke for them all, “are going to stay home with Caroline and count your blessings. And no one is meeting this dangerous thug under a dark bridge! I think we can be smarter than that, can’t we, gentlemen?”

  “Penny novels aside, I’m sure we can come up with something better.” Michael leaned forward, and before long they were all huddled around the table, quietly trying to plot a plan that ensured that the Jaded wouldn’t be caught off guard again.

  Chapter 24

  Rowan was in a far better mood returning home. Being in the company of the Jaded always made him feel whole, as if the ground beneath him were magically more solid from the camaraderie.

  He’d managed a stop of his own before reaching the sanctuary of his brownstone. It was a gift for Gayle that he’d been planning for some time, and one he knew would bring her immense pleasure. He imagined her reaction, indulging in a daydream where she expressed her gratitude with kisses, perhaps even crying at his thoughtfulness and tenderly confessing her secret love for him that his careful token had evoked.

  The last is rubbish, but a man can hope for smiles and kisses safely enough!

  This time, I won’t let her retreat. It’s nonsense to leave things unsaid. If I’ve learned anything in the last seventytwo hours it’s that life is precious, and when it comes to love, time even more so.

  With his bundle tucked under his arm, Rowan alighted from the carriage with a determined stride. A man makes his own luck, they say! And if the gods are—

  Rowan stopped in his tracks at the sight of the man on his doorstep. It was the worst reception Rowan could have imagined. Dr. Horace Whitfield was standing on his doorstep, apparently in the process of ringing the bell.

  Damn and hellfire! Nothing to be done but to get it over with!

  “Dr. Whitfield! Has Carter left you out in the cold?” he jested, then opened the door to let them both in just in time to startle the poor butler. “I was just on my way in, Mr. Carter. Can you ask Mrs. Evans to send a tray up to the library?”

  Carter nodded, retreating to leave Rowan to tend to his guest. Rowan walked the older man upstairs to his study, praying for once that the eternally curious Gayle Renshaw would stay above stairs until he could sort Horace away. “To what do I owe this honor, Dr. Whitfield? I wasn’t expecting you until the end of the month.”

  �
��I hear that you’ve hired a nurse.”

  “Have you?” Rowan did his best to sound nonchalant as he put his bag away and set the wrapped bundle aside.

  “Clever man!” Dr. Whitfield stood to move to the sideboard and poured himself a liberal amount of scotch, for his usual medicinal purposes. “It is hard to stay competitive these days, but no doubt your blue bloods are mightily impressed by the idea of you having a nurse on hand for your calls.”

  Whitfield, you’re such a prig! The man had been an acquaintance of his uncle and exactly the kind of man who self-appoints himself a mentor and authority figure. Except the only authority Horace Whitfield wielded was over a dwindling roster of elderly patients in North London and his own liquor cabinet. If he wasn’t still tied into the board at the Royal Academy of Medicine and the British Medical Association, Rowan didn’t think the man would have a single friend.

  “To be honest, I’m exhausted from a long house call. Was there something you wished from me?” Rowan wanted nothing of the subject, not with a man like Horace poking into things. His relationship with Gayle was still so new and fragile, and every instinct urged him to protect her from the scrutiny of men like Horace. A single misunderstanding could unravel everything she hoped to achieve, and Rowan knew that if the Association caught wind of her efforts, they would deliberately block her.

  “Quite a gimmick, to hire a woman like that to hold their hands!”

  “I have never invested much in gimmicks. But speaking of investments, I heard you bought a new carriage and matching set of four white-stocking bays to boot. Did you receive a royal appointment that I haven’t heard about yet?”

  Horace held up his glass. “I’ll drink to that delightful dream.” After a respectable swallow or two, he gave Rowan a wink. “My new young wife thought I should ride a bit more comfortably and look the part of a well-to-do physician.”