Desire Wears Diamonds (3 page)

“Damn it, Rowan. Why hasn’t the Jackal
snapped at our heels yet?”

“You yourself agreed that after that fire,
Darius probably wasn’t the only one requiring time to recover.
Perhaps we were lucky and the man has succumbed to pneumonia.”
Rowan stood to head over to the side table and pour himself a
drink. “And we’re not sitting back on our heels. Galen, Ashe and I
are having all our stones discreetly evaluated by different London
jewelers and in small lots to avoid raising too many questions.
Even Darius has suggested that Josiah’s pearls be weighed to see if
any of them are false and have something hidden at their center.
We’ll find the “diamond in disguise”.”

Michael closed his eyes against the pounding
at his temples. Ever since he and his friends had escaped from a
dungeon in India, a prophecy involving the gems they had tucked
into their pockets from their insane host’s treasury had haunted
their every step. Over time, they’d learned that they were actually
the guardians of a mystic ‘diamond in disguise’ but in order to
keep it safe, first they needed to identify it. Each man of the
Jaded held a different stash of stones after a casual ceremony
where they’d divided the gems they’d taken by color. Galen had
taken the rubies; Rowan, the emeralds; Ashe, sapphires; Josiah had
taken the pearls; Darius, opals, and Michael had ended up with the
diamonds. As a result, it was Michael’s cache that was exempt from
scrutiny. They’d all agreed a diamond disguised as a diamond was a
bit redundant.

Michael shook his head, opening his eyes.
“And then what? You see? Even when we figure out which of your
gemstones is the ever elusive sacred treasure, we still have the
Jackal at our heels and I don’t like running.”

Rowan took a small sip of his brandy before
answering. “We could bury all the remaining treasure somewhere
impossible for the Jackal to ever find and…”

“And spend the rest of our lives fending him
off,” Michael supplied. “It’s a nightmare I’m not willing to
entertain. We’ll need to face him and end this.”

“True. But the answer on how to make that
happen won’t come any easier while we hide in closets or with you
forbidding any of us to leave our homes without bodyguards.” Rowan
poured another drink for his friend. “We’re taking every precaution
we can, Rutherford.”

“I don’t see you hiring those extra footmen
I asked you to,” Michael said with a growl.

“I’m a lowly physician, Michael. I’m not
expected to have a large household and it’s not as if the house
isn’t open to anyone seeking medical attention which means it’s
open for anyone to do their worst if—“ Rowan caught himself and
stopped. “I’ll get another man on staff if you get one,
Rutherford.”

Michael smiled. It was a ridiculous notion
and an easy point to forfeit. Michael was a giant of a man, a few
inches shy of seven feet in height, muscular and well-balanced in
his athletic form. He lacked the thick neck of a brawler but there
was no mistaking his power. And as the Jaded all knew, for all his
massive size, Michael Rutherford possessed the grace of a cat,
forever startling them with his talent for entering rooms unnoticed
or appearing where he was least expected.

Michael Rutherford was the last man on earth
who appeared to need a bodyguard.

“I don’t think footmen are the answer,”
Michael conceded. “You’re easy to rattle, old friend.”

Rowan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Is this a
sense of humor I detect? Were you having a go at me, Michael?”

Michael shrugged, his expression sobering
out of habit. “I have always had a sense of humor. I’m just more
selective in my jollier moments. And today, I’m afraid, isn’t one
of them.”

“When is a better moment? Hell, it occurred
to me that I’ve never really seen you laugh, Rutherford.”

Michael folded his arms and gave Rowan his
most intimidating look. “I laugh.”

Rowan took a seat behind the desk. “All
right. I’ll take your word for it. You laugh. What next then for
the Jackal? Besides finding the treasure…”

“The Jackal sees us as the aggressor and
blames us for the fire at the Thistle. Unless he’s had an epiphany
in the intervening weeks since it happens, it means he knows
nothing of the third party that Darius uncovered.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“So we must put ourselves in the Jackal’s
shoes. He is in a two party fight and his opponent has demonstrated
a willingness to use deadly force.” Michael’s voice took on a low
measured cadence, as his imagination took hold. “He is outnumbered
and every blow he strikes is either deflected or ineffective. If he
weren’t frustrated and furious before, he is now. The gunshot at
the Thistle proves it.” Michael unconsciously reached up to touch
the faint scar on his cheekbone from the Jackal’s missed shot.

“Yes,” Rowan echoed again, this time more
softly as he respectfully took in the strategic turns of a
soldier’s mind.

“He may regret firing his pistol because
he’ll never again be able to show the white flag to draw us out.
Even if—even if we were stupid enough to start that fire, he might
worry that he gave away too much in his rage. Subtle attacks didn’t
drive us to ground, and his one and only attempt to meet us in the
open nearly ended in his demise…”

“And some of us with him,” Rowan added.

“It just reinforces his impression that we
are an unpredictable enemy,” Michael said and took the large chair
across from Rowan as he began to relax into the conversation.

“Very well,” Rowan took another sip from his
drink before he continued, “the Jackal thinks we are arsonists as
well as jewel thieves. Lovely!”

“If I were the Jackal, I wouldn’t be
accepting anymore of your invitations. It could never be public
enough to suit.”

“So we’re back to waiting for him to make
his next move.”

Michael closed his eyes. “If I were the
Jackal…”

“Go on.”

“My best weapon is my anonymity.”

Rowan grimaced. “If you know you still have
it. It was close quarters in that stairwell according to your
accounts. What if he fears you got a good look?”

Michael shook his head, his eyes still
closed in concentration. “No. That fear has long been dispelled. If
we’d identified him, we’d have already been on his doorstep. It’s
been a few weeks and no one has come calling. He’s decided we were
all as blind as he was in that smoky hellhole.”

Michael opened his eyes.

Rowan became very still. “I can see it in
your face. Finish your thought.”

“If I were the Jackal, it’s no more games.
When I’d gotten the soot out of my system, I’d come after you one
by one until I had what I wanted or until every one of the Jaded
were dead.”

“Does he have our membership in hand
then?”

Michael nodded. “Half of us, at best.
Blackwell is known to him; and you. Not Darius, I suspect, though
with he and Isabel temporarily taking up residence with Ashe and
Caroline, it wouldn’t take a genius to make the connection. Josiah
might also be on his list of possible suspects but his impairment
may have saved him the Jackal’s surety and slowed his hand.”

“How? Is it possible that he is morally
sound enough not to attack a blind man?” Rowan asked in
astonishment.

Michael sighed. “No. I don’t think the man
has a single moral restraint. But Josiah’s attendance at our
informal meetings has been sporadic at best and his public
appearances recently were even more rare. Hastings is an elusive
ghost and I’ve sent Eleanor a letter to privately ask her to see
that nothing changes on that front.”

“He’d be furious if he knew you’d asked his
new bride to keep a tight hold on his leash.” Rowan’s tone was raw
with disapproval. “You overstep, Rutherford.”

“Hastings is the most vulnerable man in our
circle, Rowan. You want me to see things through the Jackal’s
eyes?” Michael leaned forward, the intensity of his gaze
frightening to behold. “I want to teach the Jaded a lesson about
fear. I want you to give me what I want. And I want you to be sorry
that you didn’t give it to me the first time I asked. So I’m going
to slit the throat of the weakest among you and make sure each and
every one of you watches so that the next time I ask, you’re on
your knees.”

“You…are a very scary man sometimes,
Rutherford.”

Michael tried not to wince. “Not fit for
parties then?” Michael said, a shadow of mirth flitting across his
features. “Should I just go?”

“There’s no escape for you, friend. Even if
the devil is at the door, life must go on.”

Life must go on. Even if I’m the devil in
that metaphor?

Already their lives had changed so much
since they’d returned to England. Michael conceded that Rowan was
probably right. He took the glass he was offered from his friend’s
hand. “I’ll toast the happy couple from here.”

“Michael, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Of all of us, I’d say you’ve said the
least. About India.”

“What is there to say? It was a slender
slice of hell.” Michael’s throat closed before he added quickly.
“In that dungeon.”

“I’m still amazed we survived all of it,”
Rowan said.

“We were lucky to only lose one man,”
Michael said with a sigh.

“Two.”

“Pardon?”

“Two men. John died just after we’d escaped
but there was another man at the beginning, remember?”

“My god, I’d forgotten him completely!”
Michael stiffened in embarrassment and stood in a rush. “Damn
it!”

“We’d exchanged names in the pitch dark and
barely sat down before they dragged him out! It’s not as if we had
any time to bond with the fellow…”

“That’s no excuse!” Michael kicked the desk
and grimaced at the pain.

Rowan held up a hand as if to stop him, but
didn’t approach his friend. “Hell, it happened so quickly. They
took him out never to return. Darius said the guard muttered
something about a bird for execution and we knew—”

“They were going to kill him. Some kind of
example probably to entertain the locals.” Michael ran a hand
through his thick hair. “Sterling.”

“Sterling,” Rowan repeated. “Sterling…what
was his last name again?”

“Porter, wasn’t it? Yes, it was Sterling
Porter.” Michael’s hands fisted at his sides. “Damn it! How could I
have blocked the man from reckoning?”

He walked back over to the windows to stare
down at the street below.

How was that possible?

Hell, I’ve been so caught up in everything.
In survival and then in escaping, in getting back to England and
keeping them all safe from Jackals and prophecies, knife wielding
assassins, poisoners and burning buildings…

But to have forgotten one of our own? Even
if we only knew him for an hour, it doesn’t seem right. It’s as if
I’ve allowed him to be die twice…

“You’re wallowing in guilt over there,
Rutherford.”

“Are you a mind reader now, Doctor
West?”

“Michael, please. We couldn’t see our
fingers in front of our faces for the first stretch. We never saw
his face and there wasn’t a lot of conversation to be had. He was
gone before we’d even had time to accept what was happening and we
all pushed him from our minds to avoid thinking of the worst.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Probably?” Rowan shook his head. “Hell,
I’d
forgotten him, too! It was Darius who corrected me when
I said something of it a few days ago; about how lucky we were all
six of us to overcome so much. So you’re not alone in this,
Michael.”

“Sterling Porter.” Michael set his drink
down and rebuttoned his coat. “No, I am not alone, but I have
something to do.”

“What do you intend?”

“To track down his family and offer my
condolences.” Michael squared his shoulders. “It won’t be much but
at least they’ll know where he fell.”

“Not today, Michael. It’s Darius’s wedding
day,” Rowan said quietly.

Michael held his breath, wanting to argue,
wanting to tell his friend that he ached to escape the confines of
the house and not sit by in awkward isolation at the celebration.
But Rowan was right.

“Of course. Time enough afterward.” Michael
let out a long sigh. “We should get back downstairs. I don’t want
to miss the wedding toasts and the send off.”

But I’ll be on it before nightfall no matter
what and begin the search for his family.

There’s been enough waiting.

It’s time to take action.



“It’s a lovely menu, Mrs. Dorsett,” Grace
said quietly as she handed the paper back to the cook. “Thank
you.”

“As you wish.” Mrs. Dorsett’s expression
remained stony and Grace did her best to ignore it. She’d been
running her brother’s household for nearly seven years but her
gentle nature didn’t lend itself to authority. In the first year,
she’d once begged her older brother to release Mrs. Dorsett but
he’d laughed at her childish request and merely pointed out that he
liked the woman’s cooking. And then he’d added that until she had
proven to be as invaluable as the cook, she would need to accept
the charitable nature of her position.

She’d learned her lesson and never
complained again.

She’d acquired a steadier hand and uncovered
the real reason for Mrs. Dorsett’s foothold. It was her brother’s
need to keep up social appearances by employing a cook—even if that
servant had the education and bearing of a badger. Appearances were
everything.

Our father’s lesson to my brother, I fear.
Though I wonder what lesson I took from all those years of
invisibility...

Her brother had brought her to London at
seventeen years of age after their father had remarried and
indicated that he had no place for another woman in the house. His
new wife was the widow of a country squire and had no desire to
share her position with another woman—even the quiet and odd
daughter of her new lord and master. The flimsy excuse that Grace
could find a rich husband in Town had been accepted without
argument. No one really believed that Grace was going to take
London by storm without a title, dowry or any chance at a debut but
no one had spoken up when they’d packed her off to the city with
her meager belongings.