Once Upon A Diamond (A sweet Regency Historical Romance)

by Teresa McCarthy

  Peering at Kate’s locked door, Tristan decided that she was not in the mood to be talked to at the moment. And wifely duties were out of the question. Blast!

  “Before you leave,” Matthew’s shaking voice stopped him in mid-stride, “let me quote Romeo and Juliet, act five, scene three.”

  “Devil take it, Matthew. I can’t take much more of your family. She won’t have a thing to do with me now.”

  Matthew’s blue gaze sparkled with mischief. “I remember now. Listen, Tristan. ‘Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, till we can clear these ambiguities.’”

  “You are a fiend, Matthew Wilcox,” Tristan said, his eyes glaring at Kate’s door. “An incorrigible fiend.”

  In the Lancewood study, a fire crackled in the hearth while outside a heavy rain began to fall. Tristan raised a booted foot to the stepstool in front of him and leaned against the marbled mantel, staring silently at the burning coals. A pot of tea rested on a silver tray beside him, its pungent aroma reaching his nostrils.

  He breathed in a tired sigh. It was hours since he’d seen Kate. He couldn’t blame her for being angry. He had forced her into marriage. But he had wanted her as his wife. He wanted her as the mother of his children. He wanted her as his lover. He wanted her more than he wanted anything in his life. Confound it!

  Dropping into his chair, he kicked his boots onto the desk and locked his hands behind his head. She wouldn’t even talk to him now. His wife was being as cold as the cursed diamond.

  He looked up as Perkins entered the room.

  “Your lordship, Andrews to see you.”

  Tristan straightened. “Send him in.”

  Andrews ambled into the study, slapping his damp brown hair flat against his head. “Afternoon, your lordship. Rather gloomy outside, eh?” He sniffed. “Cold of mine is dreadful. Rain is coming down something fierce. Could hardly get through the streets today.”

  The man’s bulging eyes quickly spotted the brandy decanter resting on the rosewood sideboard across the room.

  Tristan lifted a brow. “A drink, Andrews? Warm you up a bit?”

  Andrews smiled. “Nothing that a good dose of brandy can’t cure, my grandmother used to say. God rest her soul.”

  Tristan splashed the brandy into two crystal glasses and handed one to Andrews. The Runner took a seat in the wing chair beside his desk. Tristan resumed his previous position. “So, what have you discovered about the shooting?”

  “I already stationed a man near the Brackshire residence in London where Captain Gaston is staying. The very day I received your missive, my man made contact with some of the servants. Though not much time has passed, the information obtained is very interesting.”

  Andrews gulped his brandy down and eyed the decanter.

  Tristan inclined his head toward the sideboard. “Help yourself. As you said, there’s nothing a good dose of brandy can’t cure.”

  Nothing that is, except for a man that’s drunk on it, he said to himself, wondering if the Runner was truly reliable. But then again, Tristan had it from the highest sources that Andrews was one of the best that Bow Street had to offer.

  “Has your man inquired about Gaston?” Tristan asked.

  “He has. And from all reports, he says that the captain was bleeding so profusely the evening of the ball, the scoundrel had to press a firm compress to his nose for at least an hour when he retired to his bedchambers. The servants never heard how he obtained the bloody face, but it is widely believed the captain wronged a lady, and a gentleman came to her defense.”

  The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of Tristan’s lips. He had heard the same. “Not far from the truth then, are they?"

  “I daresay, you must have thrown a magnificent punch to that ruffian. Wish I’d been there.” Andrews swallowed his drink and emptied his glass again. “Did you know the man had visited Paris a few times in the past year?”

  “I knew he had relatives there.”

  Tristan took a sip of his brandy. Was Gaston a Napoleon sympathizer? Since the blackmail letter was sent to Whitehall, Tristan wasn’t sure what to think anymore. Gaston could still have shot Matthew, but he had no proof.

  It seemed Tristan’s revenge for the attack on Kate would have to wait. Whitehall had given Tristan strict orders not to attack the captain again, less there be a scandal that could ruin plans to recover the diamond. It was all Tristan could do not to call the captain out for what he had done.

  Then there was Lord Douberry. Could he be the culprit? Or was the enemy someone deep in the shadows, someone no one ever noticed?

  “Gaston was in his chambers all that time?” Tristan asked, trying to confirm reports from his superiors.

  “Quite certain, my lord. No reason for the servants to lie to my man. Even if they did, what would be their reason? It seems the captain is a despicable fellow, one that no one would want to defend.”

  The Runner refilled his glass, setting the crystal decanter on the desk within arm’s reach. He turned to Tristan. “If it were not Gaston, the shooting may have been the work of a footpad searching for his next victim. Perhaps he thought you had the diamond. And as you say, the fog was thick that night. Perhaps the thief ran when he saw there was another gentleman in the carriage. Or perhaps Mr. Wilcox has an enemy...”

  Tristan considered telling Andrews the truth about the diamond. But at this time he kept his silence. The quest was thickening, putting his life and the people surrounding him in danger. The less people who knew, the better.

  “If the footpad wanted to steal something, he never came out of the fog.”

  “Perhaps he had only one pistol, my lord. The first shot was his only chance.”

  “Perhaps,” Tristan said, his mind racing. Had the fog saved his life? Did the diamond have anything to do with the shooting? Could someone want him dead for another reason altogether? He couldn’t ignore the attempts on his life.

  Tristan poured himself another brandy. The notion of a personal vendetta was altogether possible. He had a bad feeling since the incident at the inn. Something wasn’t quite right. Besides the diamond’s whereabouts, a piece of the puzzle didn’t fit.

  “I cannot in all honesty believe the shot came from a footpad,” Tristan said.

  “True, my lord, but we have to look at all possibilities.” Andrews downed his third glass of brandy.

  A few moments elapsed as the two men reviewed the different scenarios in their minds. Finally, Tristan cast the Runner a pointed look and told the man about his recent nuptials.

  “Congratulations, my lord.”

  “Thank you, but I wish to keep my marriage quiet until this mess is cleaned up.”

  “Indeed, my lord,” the man replied and quickly poured himself another glass. “A very wise approach if I do say so myself. So, if you don’t believe it was Gaston involved in the shooting, then who tried to shoot you? Mayhap the incident was tied to the inn, but then, I daresay, this last attack was even bolder than that. Has there been anyone else inquiring about the diamond lately?”

  “Like Douberry?” Tristan asked, gauging the Runner’s reaction.

  Andrews wiped a hand across his nose. “A possibility, my lord. Word has it the man’s in tremendous debt. But I doubt he has the money to hire anyone. However, the old boy could promise someone a piece of the pie, or diamond so to speak.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  With glass in hand, Andrews stood and began to circle the room. “Let us cover all the possibilities. Do you have anyone else that you may have scorned in the past year?”

  Tristan swept his mind over the events of the past year and stilled. “Yes.”

  The Runner stopped pacing. “Who?”

  “Lady Helen.”

  “A lady?” The burly man put his glass down, clasping his hands behind his back.

  “But I cannot fathom Lady Helen would want me dead.”

  “Why would she want you dead, my lord?”

  “Why else, Andrews? I didn’t marry he
r.”

  “You didn’t marry her?” the man asked, narrowing his eyes. “Did you wrong her?” His question was filled with disapproval, even if Tristan was an earl.

  “Of course not,” Tristan snapped. “She’s a pushy chit who’s combing the ton for a husband with title and wealth. But I never considered marrying her, or doing anything else for that matter.”

  Andrews’ lips thinned as he refilled his glass. “She may be our man, my lord.”

  Tristan raised his eyes in astonishment at the Runner’s liking for his brandy.

  Andrews instantly realized the earl’s concern. “All in a day’s work, my lord. I work better on a full stomach.”

  Tristan frowned. “I still cannot believe Lady Helen would feel such malice toward me that she would want me dead."

  “If there is a chance the lady is the culprit, my lord, I suggest you keep your wife out of sight for a while. There’s no telling what a jealous woman could do in that state of mind.”

  Tristan rubbed his knuckles along his jaw. He could not bear the thought of Kate being a victim again. It was her brother who had been shot, and for that reason, the next time it could be her. Whether it was Gaston, Douberry, Lady Helen, a French agent, or someone else, Kate was still in danger because of his involvement with all or any of them.

  “Any information about the diamond?”

  “Ah, now that is another pretty piece of information.”

  It was amazing what Andrews could pick up and Whitehall’s agents could not. Andrews waited for Tristan to take his seat behind the desk.

  “Seems before Fletcher was found dead, there was a story he’d been carrying a magnificent diamond. An American sea captain had been seen in the same tavern with Fletcher before he disappeared.”

  Tristan shot from his chair. “What?”

  Andrews raised his bushy brows. “Description fits Gaston’s, scar and all.”

  “Confound it, man! Why in the blue blazes did you not tell me that before? I would wager the captain heard of Fletcher’s gem and came to visit him. He could have killed the man and absconded with the diamond.”

  “Indeed, my lord. Forgive me for not stating the facts first, but we had to look at this rationally. I believe we needed to separate the shooting from the diamond. My man is still watching the Brackshire residence and the captain. Speaking of which, Gaston could have come by the gem like you said. However, since the duke and duchess are your neighbors and the Wilcox family is related, there may have been a chance that the captain overheard stories about the diamond years ago and the timing of the diamond’s reappearance fell into his lap like a gift from heaven. Or you know how gossip travels in the ton. The talk of the diamond could easily have gotten back to the man.”

  Tristan tapped his desktop. Could Gaston have killed Fletcher? Did the captain have the diamond? Was he the one blackmailing England? Tristan needed to get word back to Whitehall immediately.

  “However, after all that we have discussed tonight,” Andrews went on, “I have a strange feeling that the attempts on your life and the timely theft of the diamond are not related at all.”

  “But Gaston could have sent someone to shoot me on my way home from the ball. Yet considering the attack at the inn, I didn’t even know the man at that time. I just don’t know.”

  Andrews went over a few more facts about the diamond, inquired about Mr. Wilcox’s health, then gulped down his brandy. “I shall return with the slightest bit of information that may assist you, my lord. Take heed, and keep that wife of yours out of sight until we know for certain whom the cad is. And we will find that diamond.”

  After Andrews made his retreat, Tristan pulled the bellcord for his butler. “Have Miss Wilcox meet me in my study at once.”

  “My lord,” the butler cleared his throat and pulled nervously at his collar, “I understand the lady has left the premises.”

  Tristan’s brows slammed together. “Where the devil did she go?”

  Perkins shrugged.

  Cursing, Tristan raced up the stairs and whipped open her bedchamber door. She was gone. Heart racing, he flung open the connecting door and marched toward Matthew who was sitting in bed, sipping tea as if he were King of England.

  Not realizing the depth of Tristan’s anger, Matthew flashed a set of white teeth his way. “Lost your little bride?”

  Tristan’s gaze burned with rage. “Where the devil is she?”

  Instantly, Matthew frowned and clanked his cup against his tray. “Come now, aren’t you going a bit far? She rode over to the duke’s to clear her head. She’ll come back after she’s thought it all through. You know women. Lover’s spat and all.” He resumed sipping his tea.

  “Hell’s teeth! That’s not what I’m concerned about! A Bow Street Runner just informed me Gaston was home when you were shot. We don’t think it was a footpad either. Or that you were the intended victim. You’re right. No one could have known you were in the carriage. That means there’s someone out there wanting me dead. Could even be Douberry. I have no idea! But that person may go after Kate. I can’t explain it all now, but she could be in grave danger.”

  Matthew’s jaw dropped in horror. “I figured with all that has happened with my father and the attack back in Boston, the pistol shot was meant for me. But who knew I was in your carriage, Tristan? No one. Then I figured it had to be a footpad...”

  Tristan grabbed the door handle and glared back at Kate’s brother. “I only hope your sister made it to the townhouse safely.”

  “You can’t keep her caged up while you’re searching for the scoundrel who’s after you or that family diamond.”

  The blasted diamond again!

  A muscle twitched in Tristan’s jaw. At the moment he wanted nothing to do with that cursed gem or Whitehall.

  “She’s my wife now! Whether she likes it or not! She’ll do as I say. I won’t have her at death’s door like you were. I’ll do what it takes.” Clenching his fists, Tristan vowed to bring his wife home, safe and sound, even if he had to use force.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kate sat on the sofa in the duke’s drawing room, emotionally and physically exhausted from her brother’s shooting and her rushed marriage. Handsome curled beside her while she stroked his back. The duchess and Charlotte were out shopping. She, on the other hand, had been here all afternoon, playing her flute, and Tristan had never noticed that she had left his townhouse. What did he care anyway?

  She let out a weary sigh, inhaling the sweet smell of roses beside her. The scent reminded her of the summers at the Wilcox Manor where red roses climbed the garden trellis in the back gardens. Home. She wondered what that was anymore?

  “Katherine?”

  Kate glanced up as Devin entered the room.

  “Is your brother…?” Her cousin left the dreaded words unsaid.

  Kate drew her lips into a tight smile. “No, no. Matthew’s taken a turn for the better.” He’s going to live. The cad. “The worst is over. He’ll be joining us soon.”

  Her words implied that she was staying at the townhouse indefinitely. Devin gave her a beaming smile and strode across the room, taking hold of her hand. “Thank heaven. You must be relieved.”

  “Very,” she muttered, peering down at the floor.

  “Katherine, if I didn’t know better, I would think you didn’t want Matthew to recover.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then, what is it?” He tilted her chin toward him. “You can confide in me, you know.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  Frowning, Devin sank into the sofa beside her and wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “Come now, it can’t be that bad. What happened? Tell me.”

  “I discovered that Tristan and Matthew,” a sob escaped her, “planned something without me. It was so humiliating.” She gave a distressed moan and fell against Devin’s chest.

  Devin opened his mouth, but snapped it closed when the sound of pounding footsteps echoed in his ears.

  “A mad ear
l is not what I need right now,” he muttered under his breath, then turned to Kate who was plastered against him like a weeping child, completely oblivious to his warning.

  Tristan loomed in the doorway and launched a frigid stare at Devin’s tight hold on his wife. “What the blazes is going on here?” He stalked toward them, his powerful body eating up the distance between them.

  Peeking out from under Devin’s arm, Kate met Tristan’s piercing glare. “Y–you scoundrel!” she shouted.

  Devin’s eyes widened. He set Kate aside and rose from the sofa. “Now, Trist, this isn’t what you think.”

  Tristan’s eyes were icy chips of green. “You will come home with me this instant," he said to Kate, stalking toward her.

  Handsome gave a whine and hurried to Tristan’s side.

  “Traitor,” Kate hissed to the dog as she scurried behind the piano.

  Devin placed himself between the couple and threw up his hands. “Wait a minute. You may have some say at your home, but I live here, and Katherine is my cousin. You have no right to burst in and demand the lady come home with you, even if her brother is recovering at your house. I realize your mother is acting as chaperone, but have a care. You’re being unreasonable.”

  Tristan’s glance sharpened. “Move aside, Devin.”

  Devin snapped his brows together into a firm V. “I’m warning you Trist, not one step further or I–”

  He had no time to finish. Tristan slammed two powerful palms into Devin’s chest, sending the man whirling across the room into the piano, knocking Kate’s flute to the floor with a loud thwack.

  Kate’s chin jutted forward. “You broke my flute!”

  She stopped talking when Tristan’s determined gaze froze her to her spot. His menacing strides chilled her bones.

  Devin rose. “That’s far enough. You have no right!”

  With a flash of irritation, Tristan jerked his attention toward his friend. “I believe I have every right to bring my wife back home where she belongs!”

  The color fell from Devin’s face. “You jest?”

  “I do not jest. We were married yesterday.” Tristan glared at his friend, then turned toward Kate. “Let’s go home. Wife.”