Desire Wears Diamonds (6 page)

And missed the mischievous grin on his
younger sister’s face.

CHAPTER THREE

There was a long moment of shocked silence
after Michael spoke as each of the Jaded tried to absorb his
words.

“He was…one of us?” Rowan asked from his
chair. “You’re certain?”

“Why did it never occur to any of us that he
wasn’t dead?” Galen asked.

Darius readjusted his wire-rimmed glasses.
“Seriously? Perhaps because death seemed the most likely fate when
the guards hauled him out of that dungeon never to return? Perhaps
because we couldn’t think of a reason for him
not
to be
dead?”

“At the Thistle,” Josiah said. “In the
stairwell, remember? He said, ‘We meet again
’
and something
about being ‘old friends’.”

“I remarked about it at the time,” Michael
said, then walked to the study’s window and looked out into the
night. “And then forgot it all like a fool in the days that
followed.”

“It was a vague clue at best,” Ashe noted.
“The bigger hint was that the bastard appeared to know far too much
about what happened to us in Bengal.”

“Sterling!” Darius sighed. “We’ve had a
ghost on our heels all this time.”

“I say we make him a ghost in earnest and
sleep in peace tonight!” Ashe grumbled.

Rowan rubbed his temples with a sigh. “No
one’s arguing that he’s not a deadly enemy of us all, but I’m not
sure I can…plot a cold blooded murder.”

“It’s not murder. It’s justice!” The hatred
in Ashe’s voice was as sharp as steel, and just as unyielding. “My
first born lost because of his poisons and very nearly, my
Caroline! What’s to discuss?”

All of them except Michael exchanged looks.
Months and weeks of hating a nebulous foe had culminated in this.
Their enemy now had a name and was literally within their reach but
like Shakespeare’s Hamlet the men were learning that even a sense
of righteous vengeance couldn’t erase all of a man’s morals—or his
reluctance to personally “do the deed”.

Darius touched his friend’s shoulder. “The
authorities wouldn’t agree and I don’t want to see you hanged for
such a worthless man’s life, Ashe. We have no solid proof of his
involvement in anything that’s happened to us. Not one shred that
we could hold up in a court of a law as a shield to protect us if
this goes wrong.”

“Darius is right. It’s our word against his.
I don’t think a failed mugging, the random confessions of a
murderer who then killed himself, hearsay, and a blind man’s
recounting of faceless burglars and an assault on his night
watchman along with,” Galen leaned back with a wry grin as he
continued, “Oh, yes! How can I forget? Our involvement in a
gambling house fire and the odd belief that we’ve been featured in
an ancient Hindu prophecy; is going to sway a jury or persuade
anyone of anything. Hell, it all just sounds like one of those bad
penny novels that Michael enjoys!”

“Hey!” Michael stiffened. “Leave off a man’s
books!”

“Hey!” Josiah protested with a laugh. “And I
resent being characterized as a blind man!”

“My apologies to you both. I should never
judge a book by its presentation and for a man wearing tinted
spectacles at night and using a cane, you can see how one might
make the mistake,” Galen countered archly. “What were we talking
about again?”

Josiah tipped his head back against the
cushions of his chair with a smile. “God, I love these
meetings.”

“He’s here in London! Where
exactly
in London?” Ashe pressed.

Michael crossed his arms defensively. “He is
here in London. And I’m not giving you his home address, Blackwell.
For reasons that should be obvious, I’m not telling any of you any
more until I’m ready.”

“No more secret messages in the papers, no
more worrying about where he is or how to draw him out,” Ashe said.
“You found him and I say we move quickly before whatever advantage
we have evaporates.”

“We still don’t know why he wants this
sacred treasure or if he’s ultimately the one behind what’s
happened. If you move too fast, Ashe, you could end up forfeiting
everything,” Darius calmly stated. “The Jackal may be on a leash
and we’d be no better off.”

“He’s right.” Galen took a sip from his
lemon water. “But then, Thorne’s always right.”

“Gentlemen,” Michael said, turning back to
face his friends. “There is no chance of the scales not balancing.
But I need you to trust me. I need you to back off while I assess
the situation and determine the best course of action. Penny novel
or not, we’re finally in a position to hold the reins and steer the
plot in our direction.”

Ashe’s ice blue eyes narrowed. “It’s not a
question of trust, Rutherford. But I don’t want to hang back and
see this snake slink off again!”

“I won’t let him escape,” Michael said, his
voice like hot stones falling on a drum. “And when the time comes,
I’ll be the one to end him and I’ll act
alone
.”

Silence descended again and Michael went
on.

“You have your lives now and families to
protect.” He straightened his shoulders, imposing his full height
and daring them to argue that he wasn’t the man for the job.
“Besides, I’m already engaged in this. I say we limit our exposure
to one man. There’s no need for the rest of you to step in. I have
this well in hand. If I need help, I’ll ask but not unless it’s
absolutely necessary.”

“Wait!” Ashe wasn’t backing down. “You
cannot suddenly think to pretend that we are not in this together
already.”

“No. We are in it together. But these next
few miles will probably end in bloodshed and I’m the one who has
the Jackal in my sights.” Michael took a deep slow breath and then
let it out carefully. “I’m the only one here who knows what it is
to kill a man.”

“As a soldier, yes, but…” Rowan came around
to sit on the edge of his desk. “Surely this is different.”

Michael shook his head. “The only difference
will be that this time I might enjoy pulling the trigger.”

They held their collective breath and Ashe
sat down slowly.

“Damn,” Darius whispered. “You always did
know how to get in the last word.”

“I have him in my sights. And I
never
miss.” Michael went on. “Never.”

“Then that settles it.” Galen set his drink
down. “We leave it to Rutherford to come up with a plan on how best
to take care of the Jackal. Darius goes off on his honeymoon
tomorrow as planned and we hold here. We stand with Michael and
offer whatever help he requires and for now, we keep out of the
way.”

Every man nodded his assent except Ashe, his
eyes still locked onto Michael’s unflinching gaze. “Swear to me
that no matter what happens, Michael, you’ll do whatever it takes
and my Caroline will be safe.”

“I swear it, Ashe.”

Ashe nodded. “Then I’m content to stand by.
For now.”

Michael sighed. It was all he could have
hoped for, considering that Ashe more than any of them, had
experienced the worst of the Jackal’s schemes. His beloved Caroline
had nearly died and suffered a brutal miscarriage after ingesting
poison meant for Ashe. Even now, her health was fragile and she was
confined to bed during this new pregnancy. They all knew that Ashe
lived every day in mortal terror of losing his incomparable
American in childbirth. It made him more volatile and none could
argue that Ashe wouldn’t be better off a hundred miles from London
and whatever was about to unfold.

But no one was going to move Ashe an inch in
his current state of mind.

So the compromise was victory from Michael’s
vantage point.

Hell, if I can keep all of them at a safe
distance then no matter what happens, I’ll have kept all my
promises to the Jaded
.

Because this wasn’t the first vow he’d made
to his friends.

In the dark of a dungeon in Bengal, Michael
Rutherford had sworn to protect his friends and make whatever
sacrifice was asked to get them home and restored to their
lives.

The group visibly relaxed, returning to
their favorite spots in Michael’s apartment, refilling their
glasses and settling in to talk about the turns of fate and try to
make sense of ancient prophecies or the more enticing mysteries of
how best to please a new wife. Each of them was convinced that they
had landed the most beautiful woman in the world and had converted,
like most affirmed bachelors, into fanatical husbands.

Michael knew better than to enter the
lighter turns of the conversation. He retreated to the window seat
and let out a quiet sigh. He was the last bachelor standing and
with the dark days ahead, he had no intention of altering that
fact. But for now, he also had no intention of mentioning to his
friends the wrinkle in the cloth that was Grace Porter.

She’s irrelevant.

Michael’s brow furrowed as the thought
failed to carry any conviction, especially weighed against a
restless afternoon where she’d invaded every moment he’d had—even
as he’d fought to focus on the Jackal alone.

Does she know her brother is a foul excuse
for a human being? Could any one with a look that clear be
untouched by the horror of it? If she is in it, then she’s just one
more element to watch. And if she isn’t…

If I move carefully, could I accomplish my
goals without bruising her spirit?

Michael closed his eyes, shutting out the
rise and fall of conversation behind him. He’d accepted a
commission of murder to protect men he held as dear as brothers,
and lied to those same men about how much he would enjoy the
task.

No pleasure in it. But if she is an innocent
in all of this—if I can’t manage it gracefully, I’ll swing from the
gallows for it and forever be known as a demon—especially to her.
But if I take my time and can hold Ashe back long enough to let me
find my way through, perhaps I can save her…

If not myself.

CHAPTER FOUR

In the days that followed, Michael
immediately hired a Bow Street runner to track Porter’s movements
and began to gather intelligence like a general planning a battle.
If there was ground to be lost, Michael wanted it to be to
Sterling’s disadvantage so he wasted no time. Normally, he’d have
done all of it himself but since he’d been to Sterling’s house, he
had no faith that Grace would keep his visit a secret. She was the
Jackal’s sister and her loyalties would probably lie with him. If
she betrayed that he’d called, his height was bound to be
mentioned. No one ever failed to mention how tall he was, even to
him—as if Michael Rutherford were miraculously unaware of his
condition.

Except Grace Porter.

She said nothing of it and I’m so used to
hearing some tired remark, I missed it entirely.

Michael’s hand stilled, hovering above the
notes he’d been making in his small leather covered pad as he
leaned back against the carriage seat. He’d hired the hackney for
the day and ordered the driver to simply wait on the shaded lane
indirectly across from Porter’s home. It was a good spot to make
his covert observations shielded from view and out of the
weather.

Michael looked again at his handwritten
notes and considered how very different Grace was from every woman
he knew. Grace had calmly addressed him as if giant rude men
invaded her sitting room most ordinary days. She reminded him of
Lady Winters, the first woman to break into the Jaded’s small
circle and the first person he’d ever met who was more stubborn
than Galen Hawke, now Lord Winters.

I wasn’t as miserable today in Grace’s
drawing room as I was in the Haley’s but this was different. I
should have asked more questions when I had the chance. I let the
situation derail me and it’s hard to think of what to say while
Miss Grace Porter is looking at you.

Michael pushed the thought away, unwilling
to let the memory of Grace’s charms distract him from the task at
hand. If she’d told Sterling about him, a description would be a
natural inclusion in that conversation. It might be the one detail
that betrayed him if he spied Michael personally lurking around the
docks or outside the East India Trading Company’s buildings.

Instead since his discovery of the Jackal,
he’d done what he could to watch the house from a safe distance and
added his own observations to his hired man’s. The house itself was
small but on the end of a desirable street for anyone up and coming
and the adjacent square was once considered extremely fashionable.
Michael sketched out what he could remember of the interior and the
layout of the narrow house from his brief view, noting as many
details as he could.

He’d also confirmed that there was only one
live-in servant to speak of. The sour faced woman he’d met was
their cook and an indifferent housekeeper. They took another girl
on as maid for a day or two a week, but nothing steady. He saw no
sign of Grace leaving for calls and no visitors came to the house
for tea or afternoon conversations.

It bothered him to think of her without
friends.

She’s too young to be so isolated.

The runner had added the news that Sterling
hired hackneyed carriages to get to work if the weather was foul,
but would walk the first legs of the journey if the day were nicer.
Even so, he would hire a cab for the last of his commute so that he
always arrived by carriage.

The one story that sealed Michael’s
instincts about Mr. Porter’s identity had been a nearly off-hand
notation. “Man was laid up for a few weeks since sometime in
January. Grocer said it was all quiet and half-orders for a while.
Something about pneumonia. Though he’s back to work now
apparently.”

Pneumonia? Or a good lungful or two of
smoke, more likely.

“I wonder how he explained to his sister
about the singed holes in his coat or the stench of the soot,” he
asked aloud.