Desire Wears Diamonds (24 page)

“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?”

“We are betrayed,” Ashe whispered
distractedly holding an empty glass that he’d never remembered to
fill. “And by the last man I’d ever expected.”

“No. I won’t believe that. Sterling may be
preening in triumph but we know better than that. Michael is likely
playing along in some scheme and couldn’t reveal the details while
the Jackal was present,” Rowan countered.

Galen held up his hand. “The Jackal wasn’t
in that hallway and Rutherford was firm on the matter. If there
were details to his plan, why not reveal them then?”

“We did promise to leave him alone to
whatever scheme he devised,” Darius added. “Something must have
happened at Bascombe’s. Has anyone seen her? Is she…beautiful?”

Ashe wasn’t having it. “Damn it! She’s
probably as plain as mud and as horse-faced as her brother! There’s
nothing like the power of the first taste to make a man lose his
mind and if I’d been thinking straight I wouldn’t have said a word
to nudge him down that path! Means to an end, he said!
Bullshit!”

The others raised their eyebrows at the
words “first taste” but said nothing of it. It seemed the lesser
surprise of the day.

Darius walked over to grip his friend’s arm.
“You go too far! You’re already close to saying too much and not
being able to go back, friend. We don’t know what he is facing and
we cannot react like quarreling children!”

“I for one, don’t believe that he intends to
go through with it,” Rowan said. “Michael has too much honor, too
much respect for women to…marry this girl merely to use her as a
pawn.”

“A pawn,” Darius repeated then he sat
forward quickly. “Think of it like a chess game. This could all be
some feint of Rutherford’s! A ploy of sacrifice to draw the Jackal
out from behind his castle.”

“I hate chess,” Ashe countered, his lips
pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

Darius smiled. “That’s because you always
lose when we play.” Darius sighed and softened his tone. “And you
always lose because you’re too impulsive.”

Ashe let out a long slow breath and then
scowled as he tried to take a sip from his empty glass. “Perhaps
you’re right.”

Galen took a seat in the circle. “Chess. So
what is his play? And what would be the next logical move for
us?”