by Kat Faitour
She’d watched as the man known as Julian stormed the room. She’d heard him shout crazed accusations.
Although, truth be told, he hadn’t been wrong.
But she’d also seen his eyes, and how they’d seemed lit by madness as if demons tormented him.
Ruby could think of a couple of people with eyes like that. She’d met one while working in the private gaming club in London. That man had been Russian. And guilty of unspeakable deeds.
This man, Margaux’s assistant, didn’t seem evil in the same way. More like mentally ill.
But he was dangerous. When he’d laid eyes on Mason, Ruby had flinched at the malevolence in the other man’s gaze. For reasons unknown, it was obvious Julian Jones hated him.
And that worried her.
Nearly all of the people had filed out of the room, following Margaux and Noor to see The Grace’s authenticity tested. Whether she intended to, Margaux had played straight into their hands when she suggested examining the only natural stone in the bunch.
But Ruby suspected the other woman knew exactly what she was doing.
The mystery was why.
Although this wasn’t the time to be concerned with that. She’d come here to do a job, and Ruby was determined to see it through.
But first, she would make time for Mase.
She didn’t approach him. Her presence wasn’t the kind of assistance he needed. Rather, she opened her burner flip phone and used the numerical pad to tediously type in a number and text message.
Mason needs you.
She waited to ensure the message was delivered, then flipped the phone closed and dropped it back into her bag.
Looking around, she saw she was almost the last person left in the room.
Almost.
She rose, crossing to the bank of desks where the proxy bidders had sat, glued to their phones. Only one remained.
Ruby approached the woman and casually nodded. Neither spoke.
A small slip of paper crossed the desk. Without looking down, without missing a step, Ruby pocketed the information.
She’d gotten what she came for.
And when she walked out, past Mason and Noor, they never even noticed.
Chapter 11
Mason made it back to the estate before Margaux. Confident about where she would go first—and a little abashed by it—he headed to the stables.
High-pitched whinnies greeted his arrival, but Sherman was the most vocal. When Mason stepped up to his stall, the horse playfully craned his neck over the edge to butt Mason in the shoulder and sniff for green apples.
Mason laughed, feeding him two. Then he stepped into the stall. He hooked the strap of a body brush over his hand and began rubbing the horse in long, soothing strokes.
The stable was quiet, the only sound an occasional nicker from one of the horses. Mason considered grooming horses to be a lot like meditation, but better suited to him. The rhythmic process cleared his mind and allowed it to wander freely.
Today, it had a lot of ground it could cover.
He thought back to the auction. They’d made it through all the potential pitfalls, and he’d thought they were home free once The Grace reached the block.
Selling that stone had been a bitter pill to swallow for all of them, especially Ruby. She despised the buyers of famous, or notorious, gems. She always said greed coupled with hubris was the worst combination possible for a human being.
They lost their humanity, she would say. Traded it in for a piece of rock.
Mason continued to move the brush over Sherman’s coat. Already, the areas he’d tended shined with good health and grooming. He kept going, moving to the horse’s other side.
Once Julian arrived, shouting about the stones being fakes, Mason had thought they were all done for. One look at any of the stones besides the one they’d examined and the Orphans would have been exposed. It didn’t help that his lab was known for producing some of the highest quality diamonds anywhere.
But better than anyone, Mason understood the market for manufactured diamonds was nothing like the one for natural stones.
Margaux understood the differences, and she’d used her knowledge to save them. But how had she known?
“I didn’t. Not until today.”
Mason jerked upright. He must have spoken the question out loud without realizing. He grabbed onto Sherman, who upon seeing Margaux was behaving like a lovesick ass.
The big horse stomped his foot, eager to greet her.
“Hold on, you big oaf.” Mason kept a hand on Sherman’s bridle until he was sure the horse wouldn’t plow through the stall’s gate in an attempt to reach her.
“Let him go,” Margaux laughed. “I’ve got him.” She entered the stall, coming to stand near Mason. Sherman, seeing her join the party, seemed ready to keel over with pure equine joy.
Mason snorted. “He’s worse than a puppy.”
Margaux went up on her toes to better scratch a spot below his ears. “Don’t listen, baby,” she crooned. “He’s just jealous.”
Mason swore he saw Sherman’s eyes roll back in ecstasy. And frankly, Mason couldn’t blame him.
Maybe he was jealous. A little.
Margaux held out her hand, and he handed her the brush. Without missing a stroke, she resumed grooming the horse where Mason had left off.
Mason tucked his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. A comfortable silence descended, interrupted only by the occasional nicker from Sherman or a snort from a nearby stall.
“So you figured it out,” Mason prompted. “But not until today? What gave us away?” He strictly kept his gaze from trailing to her mouth.
Margaux briefly lifted her eyes to his. “You did.”
“Not Julian?”
“No. When Julian accused you of trying to pass off fakes, I was unfazed. I didn’t believe him. Don’t get me wrong,” she hesitated, “I was affected by his presence. He scares me. But it was after that.”
Mason frowned, trying to piece the events of the day together. Everything had happened so fast, it was a blur. And he couldn’t think with Margaux standing so close. Her perfume teased his senses, reminding him of endless, sex-sated nights.
“Julian fled. That’s when you saw me. And that is when I knew.”
Mason pursed his lips and ran his hand through his hair. “I still don’t get it.”
Margaux laughed, clearly delighted. “Never mind. It was like a puzzle, one I didn’t know was in front of me. Something about the way you looked at Julian, and then Noor, gave me a clue. But it wasn’t enough. Not until you noticed me. And suddenly I had all the pieces. I just had to put them together.”
“And you did.”
“Yep.” She grinned. “It all just clicked right into place. And in that moment, I knew exactly what I had to do.”
“You saved us.” He took her hand and led her out of the stall, to Sherman’s great distress.
“I’ll be back later, baby,” she clucked, feeding him another apple.
“Stop. You’ve already spoiled him rotten. And he’s head over heels for you. When you were gone, he wouldn’t eat or exercise. He was completely lovesick.”
Margaux looked over her shoulder and blew Sherman a kiss. “Later,” she promised.
They replaced the brush in the tack room. Then they walked side by side down the wide aisle, back toward the main house. It took all of Mason’s willpower to keep his hold on her loose. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and beg for anything she would give.
At this point, he’d settle for crumbs. He inhaled, trying to remember where they’d left off.
“So, okay,” he began. “I know when you figured it all out. Tell me why you helped us.”
She stopped. “I couldn’t not help you.” She resumed walking, and Mason fell into step beside her. Rather than go inside, she chose the door leading to the estate’s gardens. They were pretty barren this time of year, but she enjoyed strolling between the tall, manicured hedges.
“I con
fronted my father. He admitted the diamonds were from a conflict mine.” For the first time, she hunched her shoulders, angling her body away from Mason.
“You didn’t know, Margaux. And I’m sorry I told you the way I did.” His throat ached from all the words he wanted to say.
She waved aside his apology. “You know, I’ve realized something.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think we should waste time apologizing and explaining.” She tucked her arm through his. “Do you love me, Mason?”
He gaped. Something deep inside him began to cautiously loosen and uncoil.
“I do.” He answered quickly.
“Good. I love you too.”
Her lips tilted in the kind of smile that had enslaved him from the very first day. The kind he later learned she used only on him. And the kind he would treasure forever.
They continued to saunter through the gardens, Margaux at ease while Mason concentrated on keeping his hands to himself. It wouldn’t do to strip her naked and make desperate, frantic love to her under a Belgian winter sky. From now on, he would do things right.
“You’ll have to support me, you know,” she said.
He pulled back in mock horror. “You’re the one with all the money. And the pedigree.” He surprised both of them by bursting into laughter. “You were priceless today. Pure lady of the manor. I thought everyone in the room was going to tug their forelock by the time you finished with us.”
She chortled. “I was good, wasn’t I?” She continued to chuckle. “Maybe I’ll take up the theatre.”
“Then you’re leaving? Taylor Corporation?” Mason couldn’t help but allow some of his relief to show.
“I would have, yes. But after today’s success, I’ll be out of a job anyway.”
Mason faced her. “What do you mean?”
“After my father admitted what he’d done, there was no question of my working there anymore. But he begged me to let this final lot go to auction.” She shrugged. “He has a buyer for the company. But it was contingent on the final market value of the diamonds we sold today.” She checked her watch. “I’d guess the ink is barely dry. And Taylor Diamond Corporation is no longer owned by a Taylor.”
Mason waged a ferocious struggle to contain his satisfaction. Ultimately, concern for Margaux easily won out. “I’m sorry.” He cupped her cheek and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “But that’s good, right? You said you wanted out. After learning the truth.”
“Right.” She leaned against him, and it took everything in Mason to continue the conversation. Soon, he would take her upstairs. Maybe if he made love to her every day for the next fifty years, he could believe she was real. And here to stay.
Margaux continued, blissfully unaware of his thoughts. “So he got away with it.” A muscle bunched in her jaw. “The success of The Grace allowed him to sell the company, making him a very rich man, I’m sure. And no one will ever know it’s just another blood diamond.”
Mason had struggled with the same disappointment two days ago. But he remembered what Clara said.
“Your father made a mistake. A terrible one. And it will take time for you to work through your anger. But don’t give up on him, Margaux. He’s your father—the only one you have—and that makes him more important than any batch of stones, no matter how perfect.”
“Or imperfect, in our case.”
“Yes. As I said, he made a terrible mistake. But one action, no matter how horrible, does not define the man. Let him make amends.”
They reached the gate leading back to the house. Mason clicked it open and held it so Margaux could walk through. Once inside, they stomped their feet and blew on their hands.
It was colder than they’d realized.
He led her to the salon, where Thomas had already laid a fire.
“Don’t ever let that man leave, Mason.”
He smiled. “Never.”
They settled on the sofa together. But Mason couldn’t relax. A host of butterflies had taken up residence in his stomach. His mouth was dry, and he was seriously worried he might need to vomit.
“For God’s sake,” he said, disgusted with himself.
“What’s wrong?”
He shifted on the sofa until he faced her. He inhaled, then noisily huffed the breath right back out.
“Will you stay with me?” At her blank look, he nearly quailed. He smiled, though he knew it was shaky at best. “Will you be the lady of this manor?”
Margaux stared at him until a sexy smile slowly stretched across her face. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
She was incorrigible. Impossible. He’d never have a moment’s peace. “Maybe.”
She crossed her arms and slumped back against the sofa. She still smiled widely but said not a word.
“Well?”
“Well what?” she asked.
He could have throttled her. He pointed at the room, the house, and finally himself. “How about it?”
“Maybe.”
He tumbled her flat on the sofa, careful not to hurt her. He lowered his head, but she stopped him by placing her hand over his mouth.
He raised his brows.
“Seriously,” she said. “I am officially unemployed. And possibly homeless,” she conceded, “since the company owned all the apartments. Are you sure you want to take me on?”
Mason launched himself upright and slapped his forehead. “I cannot believe I forgot.” He held up his finger. “One moment. Stay where you are.”
He ran upstairs. Within moments, he returned to find Margaux still lying prone, exactly as he’d left her.
He pulled her upright and handed her the thick manila envelope he’d brought.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Open it and find out.”
She slipped her fingernail under the flap, breaking the seal. She pulled out a stack of documents and smoothed them open across her lap. For several moments, she read.
“Mason,” she breathed. She stopped, unable to continue. Pressing one hand over her mouth, she stared at him as her eyes filled with moisture. “You did this. For me.”
He thumbed away each tear as it fell.
“No, you did it. My only part in this was showing Mr. Van Wyk your work.”
She was staring down at the documents, reading them again.
“He wants all of it. Everything I’ve painted.”
Mason nodded, grinning. “I know.”
She looked up again. “So that’s where it went.”
She’d lost him. He screwed up his face, confused.
“My painting. I came home the day I found your kit, saw that it was missing. It’s why I was in your room. I was so upset,” she confessed.
“Why?” Mason asked. “What did you think had happened?”
She pressed her palms to her cheeks in an attempt to contain her mirth. But it slipped out anyway.
“I thought you’d stolen it!”
His jaw dropped.
Margaux continued to laugh while going to work on his shirt.
“Wait, wait,” he panted. “You’re hurt.”
“Trust me, I’m fine. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let you massage me with your penis.”
Mason guffawed. She was outrageous and dirty and all his.
Well, almost.
He cupped her shoulders, reluctantly pulling her away from where she was flicking his nipple with her fingernail. The friction brought his shaft surging to life.
“I’m going to have to insist on an answer.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, concentrating as she pulled down his zipper over his massive erection. Mason’s knees nearly buckled when she inadvertently snagged the fabric against the broad head of his penis.
“Hm?” She looked up from where she was now kneeling at his feet.
Erotic, carnal fantasies almost made him forget what he’d asked.
“My proposal,” he groaned as her tongue nipped out to taste him. Hoisting
her upright, he tried to take her upstairs.
“No, here.”
He briefly considered. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t make it upstairs anyway. He was fit to burst.
He laid her on the sofa. “Are you going to marry me?”
“Depends.”
He gasped as she fisted and tugged his length. “Depends on what?” His voice was strangled.
“On how well you convince me.” She squeezed harder.
Jesus, she made him weak. He attempted to level the playing field by shifting downward until his lips found her secret spot. He eased a finger inside her and thrust.
He smiled as she crested her first peak. He nearly came himself when she reached her second. And by the time she climaxed for the third time, he was deeply seated within her, pumping to prolong her pleasure.
It was later—much, much later—before they finally made it to bed. As she drifted to sleep in his arms, her skin flushed from multiple orgasms, Mason felt fairly sure he’d convinced her. Resoundingly.
But if not, he was happy to try again tomorrow.
Chapter 12
Liam’s boots crunched against the limestone path leading up to Mason’s front door. An early profusion of daffodils lined the walk, and tulips had pushed through the thawed soil in preparation of blooming.
He tilted his head, looking up. The estate looked exactly the same from the last time he’d seen it.
And he expected a house like this would stay the same for another hundred years.
Horses neighed in the distance. Taking a deep breath of bracingly cold air, he lifted the heavy iron knocker and let it fall.
Liam had always used it in the past, preferring its medieval heft to the doorbell. Mason just laughed.
The door swung open, revealing Thomas, Mason’s butler. He was another fixture of the house, and hopefully he’d last as long as the others.
The other man’s face was a study in shock before he threw his arms wide, inviting Liam inside.
“Liam O’Donnell,” he stated. For some reason, he adopted a faint whiff of an Irish accent whenever Liam presented. “My God, how long has it been?”
“Too long, old friend.” Liam returned the old man’s embrace, thankful Mason hadn’t told Thomas why he’d stopped visiting.
