Diamond Dreams

by Sandra Heath

  Fleur realized she’d been a little hasty, and pretended to be overcome with embarrassment and confusion. “Oh, dear, how ... how dreadful of me. I’m truly sorry, Athan, Miss Rutherford, for I spoke without thinking.... Please forgive me.”

  “Of course,” Athan replied, but Ellie remained pointedly silent.

  Fleur gave her a look of pure daggers, then smiled at Athan. “Actually, Miss Rutherford and I might have been good friends, I think, but she speaks of taking a position as governess to Lady Brecon’s children, so our acquaintance cannot possibly blossom.”

  Athan’s eyes quickened with surprise, and not a little dismay. Was this true? John was no less disconcerted. “What’s this, my dear?” he asked Ellie.

  “Well, Miss Tudor certainly mentioned such a post to me, but—” Ellie began, but Fleur broke in.

  “I mentioned it to you.” She gave an incredulous laugh. “On the contrary, Miss Rutherford, it was you who told me. How on earth would I know about such a post?”

  Again Ellie didn’t respond, and the atmosphere tightened a little more. Athan cleared his throat, realizing with a shock how little love was lost between the two women. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that this might prove the case. But then, there was so much that he hadn’t foreseen, so much he wished he could deal with decisively, so much he wished were different.

  “I’m sure there is a misunderstanding,” he said, and at last extricated himself from Fleur’s clinging hold. “And now I think it’s time I made my presence felt at the castle. Thank you for your hospitality, John. Rest assured that I will do all I can in the matters of the tureen and the bank. Good day to you.”

  “Good day, Athan.”

  Athan turned to Ellie. “And to you, Miss Rutherford.”

  She inclined her head. “Good day, Lord Griffin.”

  He hesitated, wanting so much to blurt out the whole truth and shame the very devil, that the words were almost on the tip of his tongue, but then Fleur linked her arm through his again, and gave a trill of pretty laughter.

  “I will ride in the carriage with you. My horse can be tethered behind. Oh, I’ve been longing to talk to you.”

  Ellie remained in the parlor, leaving John to accompany them to the door. Her emotions felt torn in all directions, and she did not see how there could possibly be a happy outcome from such a tangle. She was no match for someone like Fleur, whatever the latter might think to the contrary, and it was clear that no matter how much Athan loved Ellie Rutherford, he would marry Fleur Tudor. Perhaps Lady Brecon would have her governess after all.

  John returned, closed the parlor door carefully, then confronted his niece. “Am I right to suspect your dealings with Lord Griffin of going beyond mere casual acquaintance?”

  For a moment she considered lying, but could not. “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Would I also be right to read something into your intimate use of each other’s first names?”

  She hung her head. “Yes.”

  “Then it has to stop, is that clear? While any hint of precontract exists with Miss Tudor, you are not to have anything to do with him. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat in his rocking chair. “May I ask how you really met? And don’t repeat that nonsense about the party of gentlemen on the Isle of Wight, because I know it isn’t true.”

  So she told him everything, excepting the supernatural encounters that she and Athan knew to be true, but which would probably sound a little lunatic to anyone else, even her uncle.

  John looked gently at her. “You must have an eye to your reputation, my dear. If you and Athan are meant to be, then fate will do all that is necessary. That is one thing Russia taught me the hard way. Nikolai and I wished to be together, but destiny decreed otherwise, and if it has decreed that Miss Tudor is to be Athan’s bride, then there is nothing you—or he—can do about it.”

  “You cannot order me not to hope,” she answered.

  He smiled sympathetically, “I know, my dear, I know.” His glance moved to Nikolai Trepov’s portrait as he remembered how much he had hoped in the past. He gazed at the beloved face, and suddenly regretted giving way in the face of Paul Dalmatsky’s vengefulness. “I’ve been craven, have I not?”

  “Craven?”

  “Yes. By deciding so quickly not to go to St. Petersburg, I have admitted to my fear of Dalmatsky. An English gentleman should show more backbone. I will go to Russia after all, and to hell itself with Dalmatsky. If I have to confront him, then I will.”

  Ellie was alarmed by his tone. “Don’t be reckless, Uncle John. There is no need to take risks.”

  “On the contrary, there is every need. There is a risk in everything, and it is time I faced my particular demon.” He went to his writing desk. “I will send word to the castle immediately. You and I will accompany Athan on the voyage, my dear, and that is my final word.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  In London at dusk that same day, Valentin waited in the Jolly Roger tavern in Lower Thames Street. The tables were partitioned by old blue velvet curtains that were greatly in need of cleaning, and the seats were rough benches. The uneven stone-flagged floor was seldom brushed, and the smell of tobacco smoke and stale ale was almost noxious. The Jolly Roger was the haunt of villains and whores, but a great many gentlemen were to be found there too, gentlemen of the fancy who came because of a notorious cockpit in the yard behind.

  Valentin was seated as far from the street as he could be. He had not come for the cockfighting, or indeed to sample the dubious ale, but to keep an appointment with the man who was so vital to the successful theft of the diamond from the Tower of London, that without his cooperation the whole stratagem would surely fail.

  A serving girl had earlier brought a lighted candle to the table, but Valentin had extinguished the flame, fearing his face might be glimpsed. Two books lay on the table at his elbow, and his gloves had been neatly placed on top of them.

  He had not worn his uniform since disembarking at Lowestoft. His hair was still long, but he’d abandoned the queue and side-plaits, and now wore it tied back simply with a black ribbon. He kept the collar of his greatcoat turned up, and did not remove his top hat, which was pulled well forward over his forehead.

  There was something about his shadowy figure that kept all and sundry at bay. Whores glanced in his direction, but did not approach him, and if pickpockets and footpads wondered what valuables might be about his person, not one of them contemplated lying in wait for him when he left.

  Glancing at his fob watch again, he exhaled irritably. The fellow would rue it if he played games!

  “Prince Valentin?” A man halted at the table, his well-spoken voice revealing just a trace of Northern Irish accent. He wore a military cloak over the uniform of a major in the Twenty-seventh Inniskilling Fusiliers, a battalion of which regiment was at present providing the garrison at the Tower.

  “Major Carver?” Valentin responded, looking up quickly, but not bothering to get to his feet. He retrieved his gloves and pushed the books aside, for they had now served their purpose of identifying him.

  The newcomer slid onto the settle opposite. He was in his thirties, of medium height, slightly built, with receding sandy hair, freckles, and nervous blue eyes. He glanced uneasily around, then looked at Valentin. “Let’s get this over with, so I can be out of this flea nest.”

  “I had begun to think you’d cried off, Major.”

  “I thought about it, you may be sure of that,” the other replied with feeling.

  Valentin smiled coldly. “But you decided your career was worth too much to you.”

  “That’s about the truth of it.”

  “Well, if you were fool enough to dally with your commanding officer’s wife....” Valentin shrugged. He had learned the lesson the hard way, so this stupid Irishman could do the same.

  Major Carver looked at him in the shadowy light. “You’re army too, aren’t you?” he said, sensing the experience in Valentin’s wor
ds.

  “No,” Valentin lied.

  The other shrugged. “But you are Dalmatsky’s nephew?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m supposed to do all I can to assist you in this ... endeavor?”

  “You know you are, Major, and let me warn you not to treat me as if I’m a blockhead from the Neva marshes, for I assure you I’m not. Now then, which night are you on duty?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Valentin smiled. “So soon? It is good.”

  “You may think so; I certainly don’t,” snapped the other, glancing around again for fear of seeing a fellow officer among a party that had just arrived for the cockpit.

  “What is the plan?” Valentin asked.

  “A fire.”

  Valentin looked blankly at him. “A fire? At the Tower of London? That’s nonsense!”

  “The jewels are kept guarded in strong metal cages in the Martin Tower. Without keys, these cages will require crowbars to prize them open, so to think of simply stealing anything swiftly and without detection is out of the question. But if there were a fire, and the jewels were in peril, then they would have to be rescued. My informed guess would be that they would be broken out and removed to the Governor’s residence at the other end of Tower Green. If I’m correct, then I will have an opportunity to exchange the fake for the real diamond.”

  “And if you are wrong?”

  Major Carver was exasperated. “Do you have a better notion, sir? Because if you do, I wish you would share it!”

  Valentin flushed. “The removal of the diamond is your task, Major, not mine.”

  “From which response I take it that you have nothing sensible to say.”

  “Be careful, Major Carver, for I am not accustomed to insolence.”

  “You surprise me,” the major replied dryly.

  Valentin’s hand moved toward the small pistol he always carried against his heart, but then he thought better of it. He could hardly shoot anyone in here and expect to get away with it. Besides, the fellow was necessary to the plan. His hand slid away again, and he quelled his anger in order to give Carver a bland smile. “Tell me about your fire, Major.”

  “I know where and how to start it without being seen. It will be in an adjacent tower, and by midnight it will have taken sufficient hold for the sentries in Tower Green to spot it. The troops will be mustered and all efforts made to extinguish it. The Tower engines will prove inadequate, and engines will come from all over. Crowds will gather, and there will be general panic. When the flames threaten the Martin Tower, the jewels will be taken to safety.”

  “To the Governor’s house?”

  “I would lay odds upon it,” Carver replied.

  Valentin smiled. “And what, precisely, is my role to be?”

  “I plan it all to be at its height at midnight, which is when it also happens to be high tide on the river. You are to be in a boat at Tower Stairs at that time, and I will bring the diamond to you. You must be there, however, for I dare not absent myself for more than a few minutes without risk of being missed.”

  “So all I am to do is be in a boat at Tower Stairs at midnight?”

  “Well, by all means be there without a boat if you fancy a swim in the Thames with the diamond between your teeth!” snapped Major Carver.

  “At least I would still have teeth with which to perform the feat,” Valentin growled, dearly wishing to knock the Irishman’s down his throat.

  There was an uneasy silence, then Carver exhaled slowly. “Are we agreed about the fire?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask a question?”

  Valentin spread his hands. “By all means, although I do not guarantee to answer it.”

  “How, exactly, do you mean to get the stone out of England?”

  “In a most novel way that is almost guaranteed to escape detection,” Valentin replied.

  “And that is all you mean to tell me?”

  “I do not know you well enough to share my secrets with you, Major Carver.”

  “Then a word to the wise, Prince Valentin. The diamond may be small, but if its theft is discovered, you may count upon it that Russian involvement will be the first suspicion. The fact that Czar Alexander possesses the twin jewel will be reason enough for the finger to point. That will mean that anything and everything Russian will be searched and searched again. No ship will be able to leave port until it has been turned inside out, and no traveler will be left unsearched, even a Russian prince.”

  “Nevertheless, the diamond will reach St. Petersburg safely.”

  Major Carver studied Valentin in the gloomy light. “You seem very sure of that,” he murmured.

  “I am. Oh, I am, for the hiding place is ingenious. Anyway, that is not your concern, for you will have discharged your part of the bargain by then. When are you expecting me to hand over the fake diamond? Now, I suppose?”

  “Of course.”

  Valentin laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no, my friend, I am not that big a fool. I will bring the false diamond with me in the boat, and when you hand me the real one, I will hand you the fake. That way I will be certain of seeing both diamonds together. It wouldn’t do for me to discover that you had given me back the fake, would it?”

  Carver flushed in the dim light. “You question my honor, sir?” he demanded hotly.

  Valentin didn’t flinch. “What sort of honor is it that permits you to bed your commanding officer’s new bride?” he pointed out with monstrous hypocrisy.

  “Damn your eyes,” breathed the other.

  “Let us just concede that we have a healthy suspicion of each other, and my way of doing things will guarantee that there is no sleight of hand on either part.”

  “I can see your reasoning, and even agree with it, but for me to actually walk out of the Tower with the diamond is taking a grave risk. The fact that it’s missing could be noted before I have time to replace it with the fake, but if I take the fake with me now, the exchange can be done on the scene in a second, without anyone the wiser.”

  “And I may end up with the same piece of pretty glass that I brought from St. Petersburg. Besides, do you really imagine that in the heat and panic of a conflagration, the temporary absence of one small stone is going to be noted? I think not. Be at ease now, Carver, for all will go according to plan. I will be there in the boat at midnight, and I will have the false diamond ready. You bring me the real one, we exchange them, and go our separate ways.”

  “And that is the last I will hear of you and your damned kinsman?”

  “The very last.”

  “So be it.” The major got up again, and strode out of the tavern.

  * * *

  Athan lay naked in his bed at Castle Griffin. The curtains hadn’t been drawn at the windows, and a shaft of moonlight shone across Ellie’s portrait in the adjacent room. He gazed toward it, longing for her to be at his side, longing to hold her close, to make love to her as they both needed so very much. Just to think of her aroused his senses ... and his body.

  A woman’s shadow moved across the open doorway, and he leaned up on an elbow. “Ellie?” The name slipped so naturally from his lips, for he could only think that it was she; but it was Fleur’s red hair that caught the moonlight, Fleur’s slender body that was revealed through the diaphanous muslin of a loosely tied robe.

  If she’d heard Ellie’s name, she gave no sign. She came to the bedside, and he could smell her perfume, as sweet and seductive as lilies. “Don’t send me away, Athan,” she whispered, pretending to be a trembling virgin swept by a beguiling mixture of love, desire, confusion, and bewilderment.

  “Please go, Fleur, for this is—”

  “—is right,” she said softly, and put a finger to his lips to prevent him from saying more. “Being parted from you has taught me how much I love you, Athan, and now that you’re home again, I cannot bear to be beneath the same roof and not be with you. I have never felt like this before, but I know I must follow my heart. I am yours.�
��

  She slipped the robe back from her shoulders and allowed it to slither to the floor. She played the role of half-martyr, half-siren so well that Athan did not see the real Fleur Tudor at all. He saw a timid creature emboldened by circumstances beyond her control.

  “Put the robe on again, Fleur,” he said gently, striving to remain on the right side of honor, but battling his own treacherous senses.

  “I’m going to be your wife, Athan, so what harm is there in anticipating our vows? You want me. I know you do.” She knelt on the bed beside him, and put trembling fingertips to his face. “I’m so afraid you don’t want me anymore,” she whispered. “When I saw you and Miss Rutherford today—”

  “Miss Rutherford?” He hoped his voice did not tell tales on him.

  “She really is so like the portrait of your Caroline that I ... I fear her.” Fleur squeezed a pathetic tear or two. “She will steal you from me if she can, I just know she will.”

  “I have given you my word that you will be my wife, Fleur, and that has not changed.”

  Her tortured gaze moved to the portrait, shining so clearly through the doorway. “You keep Caroline in your rooms, where I cannot yet come openly. You have her face before you when you go to sleep, and there to gaze upon again when you awaken. I fear her hold upon you, my darling, and now that Miss Rutherford is here....” She hid her face in her hands, and surrendered to well-rehearsed weeping.

  “If ... if the portrait upsets you to that extent, then I will have it removed.” He didn’t know what else to say. He’d felt unhappy enough about this marriage even before this, but faced with the effect Ellie and the portrait had upon Fleur, he felt worse than ever. He was a man of conscience, and right now his conscience pricked as if it would pierce his heart. He had a duty to this woman, and had no one else but himself to blame for the situation in which he now found himself.

  “Remove the portrait?” Fleur whispered. “You’ll do that for me?”

  “Yes, of course,” he answered, hating himself.