Desire Wears Diamonds

by Renee Bernard

  “Please, sir.” She held his arm, helping him up as best she could. “Perhaps I should not have staked my argument on your…physical position.”

  “Cab, miss?” the driver called down from his perch, having stopped at the hail.

  “Yes!” she said, just as Mr. Rutherford was barking, “No!”

  Grace looked up at him and might have been swayed, but the small trickle of blood on his head became a rivulet that trailed down the side of his face. “Yes. We are most definitely in need of a carriage.”

  “I am not going to a hospital, Miss Porter.”

  “Then accompany me home and you can take the carriage wherever you’d like afterward.” She’d have said anything to get him inside the cab, a vague plan coalescing inside her head about convincing him to see reason once he was off his feet.

  Several pedestrians moved past them and Grace held her breath.

  “Fine. We’ll get you home safely,” he conceded then looked up at the driver. “The lady will give you her address and then we’ll go on from there.”

  The driver touched his hat with an odd smile. “As you wish, sir.”

  The driver helped Mr. Rutherford to his feet and Grace gathered up her basket to stand next to them, only to be bemused as she realized that Mr. Rutherford was holding his hand out to her to act the gentleman and help her inside the waiting cab. As if it were perfectly normal for bruised and bleeding men to adhere to social courtesies.

  She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not going to bolt once I’m wedged in there with my skirts, are you?”

  His jaw tightened, but his expression was hard to interpret. “On my honor, I won’t make a run for it.”

  Grace took his hand and climbed up then true to his word, he followed her. If she’d been cavalier about the man’s physical size and presence before; there was no escaping his dimensions now. The springs on the carriage protested a bit as he shakily ascended into a space that was meant to hold only two passengers and inserted himself as carefully as he could onto the seat next to her.

  There was not an inch to spare. He made a great effort not to infringe on her skirts or her person, but it was in vain. By the time he landed, the length of his thigh was harbored up against hers, the outside of his hip touching hers and only by twisting his upper torso at great cost to his comfort did he avoid practically taking her into his arms.

  Layers of crinoline and petticoats did little to shield her from the heat of his flesh and even with his hands politely holding the handle and door frame to keep his weight from shifting against her, it was a delightful crush.

  In countless stories, she’d written of great passion or unrequited love, all fueled by her own guess at the subject since she’d never so much as held hands with a man she wasn’t related to and only once witnessed an impolite kiss between her father’s assistant and a farmer’s daughter behind the market wall. It was all supposition and borrowed descriptions from ladies magazines and books; with a salacious dash of what she hoped was a man’s frankness if he had explored the fictional world of the dreadfuls.

  But there was nothing fictional about the erratic beating of her heart and the curl of an electric spiral of tension coming to life between her hip bones arcing all the way up to the crown of her head. “Well!” she exclaimed, aware that she was three shades of pink at the discovery of the wicked confines of a hackney cab when shared with Mr. Rutherford.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “I’d say the odds of a quick escape are beyond us both now.” She started to laugh and then covered her mouth with a gloved hand, mortified. “I’m so sorry! That was terribly forward!”

  “You did say that you tend to speak your mind,” he said. He pounded a fist on the roof to signal the driver to move off. “Nothing rude in that, Miss Porter. If you ask me, it’s a charming weapon that disarms more than it wounds.” He averted his face and watched the traffic as it passed.

  Grace’s mouth fell open at the compliment, stunned into a brief silence—but only briefly before curiosity reasserted itself. “I should thank you, Mr. Rutherford, for stopping me from…falling.”

  “It was instinct, Miss Porter. I’m only wishing I hadn’t tripped over my own feet in the attempt.”

  “I still can’t believe you were there.” She looked away from him, nervously. Does he wonder why I was there? He’s a friend of my brother’s and if he mentions it to Sterling when he sees him…God help me, it’s a tangle.

  “May I ask you to tell me?” he asked.

  “Tell you what?”

  “I know what I was trying to save when I fell into the street. But what were you trying to save, Miss Porter?”

  Grace’s grip on the seat tightened. “I…would rather not say, Mr. Rutherford.”

  His eyes dropped to her basket where the edge of a rumpled sheet of paper was visible and she shifted to push it further under her skirts. She’d have told him it was rubbish but then her sanity would be in doubt. After all, who dove into the street without looking after rubbish?

  “Not even a half-hearted attempt at a lie?” he asked. “I’m quite gullible.”

  She smiled shaking her head. “I’m not saying I’m not capable of deception, sir. But with you, Mr. Rutherford, I find I am at a loss. I owe you my life so I will begin by repaying you with total honesty.”

  “So, the papers are…?” he pressed gently.

  “None of your concern.” Grace held her breath and bravely awaited his disapproval.

  “You are a woman of mystery, Miss Porter.”

  She felt a flutter of a warm spasm of pleasure inside her chest at the words. “What a lovely thing to say!”

  “Is it?” Mr. Rutherford asked in shock. “Are you sure?”

  She shrugged. “Well, it sounds better than…” Grace caught herself, wishing the man didn’t have a talent for making her act like a giddy schoolgirl. The carriage rocked as one of the wheels struck a deep hole in the road and Michael’s face took on a gray tinge. She stiffened her back and attempted to redirect the conversation. “We should divert the driver and get you to a hospital, Mr. Rutherford.”

  “Absolutely not. I promise I’ll see a physician, if that will content you.”

  “It barely satisfies but I don’t know you well enough to bully you one way or the other, sir.”

  “You bullied me into this carriage.”

  “That was a feat, wasn’t it?”

  “It was. I can’t remember the last time I was bullied into anything, Miss Porter.”

  “I will refrain from abusing my powers if I can.”

  He smiled back at her and for Grace, the world faded away. Suddenly the reality that Mr. Rutherford was taking up over half of the small space in the hansom cab’s interior; that his feet were by necessity tucked under her skirts; that every time she inhaled she was treated to a heady mix of the scent of his skin and a hint of cinnamon and musk. His soap? Or the herbs his wife adds to his laundry…

  “It’s oddly comforting to be ordered about,” he admitted. “Too many years in the army are to blame I suspect.”

  Before she could ask him any one of the dozen questions that leapt into her mind, the carriage came to a halt and her worst nightmare unfolded.

  Michael felt the familiar carriage he’d hired to spy on the woman sitting next to him pull to a stop and everything instantly changed.

  “Please,” she whispered, reaching across to catch his hand, anxiously looking into his eyes. “Please don’t tell him…anything! I beg you!”

  Before he could respond or even comprehend who it was he was not telling whatever it was he wasn’t supposed to say, a man was pounding on the carriage door, his angry face peering in at her through the window. “Mrs. Dorsett said you’d gone for errands but I don’t recall you needing a carriage to—Who is this man?”

  Shit. There goes the high ground!

  Grace opened the door, feigning outrage. “Sterling! How can you be so rude?” She climbed down unassisted before Michael could stop her. “Mr. R
utherford was kind enough to see me home after I had a bit of a mishap while shopping. I tripped and would have fallen into traffic if not for his effort to save my life!”

  “Mr. Rutherford?” Sterling asked, his angry expression giving way to confusion. “How gallant of the gentleman!”

  “I was looking at ribbons for a new bonnet and—well, I know the details of my days bore you, but yes, thank goodness for Mr. Rutherford! I know he’d hoped to surprise you but I’m afraid I spoiled things for him.”

  “To surprise me? Had he?” Sterling took a measured step back, his gaze firmly locked on Michael, his curiosity unmistakable. “I’m sorry. How is it that the gallant Mr. Rutherford wished to surprise me?”

  “He’d come by to call on you a few days ago…but there was an incident, as I said, and…I think his ribs are broken…”

  “To call on me? You said nothing of it, Grace.” Sterling’s brow furrowed as he tried to take in the jumble of facts.

  “At my request,” Michael answered quickly, not fond of the way Grace’s face was losing color. “I wished to give you a pleasant surprise.” He was virtually trapped inside the carriage, wincing as he shifted forward on the seat, doing his best to ignore the glassy sharp pain in his side. Good manners dictated that he climb down for introductions, but Grace was still blocking the doorway and made no sign of moving.

  “To what purpose?” Sterling asked.

  “To reacquaint himself naturally!” she said. “You’ve met before but...as I said, he is injured so—”

  “Naturally?” Sterling looked at her in astonishment. “Is it possible for me to have forgotten such an acquaintance?”

  “From India.” Grace glanced back at Michael, biting her lower lip. “Is that not what you said, Mr. Rutherford?”

  “Yes. In India, briefly.” Michael kept his tone as light as he could, his hand on the carriage door as he braced himself. “I was in the army and hired out by the East India Trading Company.”

  Sterling’s eyes shifted back to Michael. “I don’t recall a Mr. Rutherford but I never really paid much attention to the men in the lower ranks.”

  Grace gasped at the insult. “Sterling!”

  “No offense taken,” Michael said. “Unlike some, I’ve never pretended to be a gentleman.”

  Grace gasped again but Michael couldn’t take it back. Nor did he wish to after seeing how the words had hit their mark as Sterling’s composure faltered.

  The bastard’s all about show and pretense.

  Sterling recovered and smiled. “A man of such sharp wit is generally unforgettable, Mr. Rutherford, yet I’m still having difficulty placing you. Tell me again how this surprise was to be engineered and how you are in a carriage with my younger sister?”

  Grace’s agitation was keenly evident as she continued to block her brother’s path. “Please, Sterling! Mr. Rutherford has been nothing short of heroic! He saved my life, at great risk to his own only to be rewarded by us keeping him from seeking out a doctor!”

  “Such a dramatic act! What dangers are leaping out of bonnet shops that I’m not aware of?”

  “I fell into the street in front of a carriage and he pulled me back, just in time.” She turned shyly back toward Michael, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. “I felt the breeze from the turning carriage wheels against my face. It was—terrifying!”

  Michael’s eyes widened a little in surprise as her tone expressed more delight than fear at the recounting. Apparently Miss Grace Porter was not a woman who shied from adventures. Damn. She’s more appealing at every turn.

  “What a great coincidence that he was there!” Sterling crossed his arms. “What street was it again?”

  “Sterling!” She protested then continued her voice dropping to a softer plea. “Please, brother. Surely this is a conversation that can wait for a better time!”

  “How horrible of me. I don’t wish to seem ungracious. Come inside and I’ll send for a doctor and we’ll—“

  “Don’t trouble yourself on my behalf,” Michael cut him off. There was no way he was going to allow himself to be dosed with laudanum and become defenseless under Sterling’s roof. He forced himself to sit up straighter, gritting his teeth against the pain. “Forgive me if I keep my seat but I’ll take Miss Porter’s advice and take the carriage on to see my own physician.”

  Broken. I don’t need Rowan to tell me I’ve broken a few ribs.

  “Perhaps my brother’s suggestion is the wiser course, Mr. Rutherford!” Grace protested, turning back to plead her case through the carriage window. “You are clearly in pain, sir! Please! Stay!”

  Michael shook his head. He didn’t know if Sterling really recognized him but he didn’t want to linger and find out before he was confident of being able to stand on his own two feet. “I should go. I’ve disrupted the day enough.”

  “Not at all,” Sterling said. “Even if I’m not clear on the course of events, I’m grateful for your actions. Mr. Rutherford, you must allow me to repay you for your bravery.”

  Michael was grateful for the shield of the carriage door to hide the involuntary fisting of his hands in frustration. “No payment is necessary.”

  Sterling went on. “A humble show of thanks. Come to dinner Sunday next. We can reminisce about our adventures in India and truly reacquaint ourselves.”

  Grace’s head popped up, surprise framing her expression. “D-dinner?”

  “What say you?”

  Hell, no! I say I’d rather eat dinner with a viper!

  Caught. He was caught. Whatever vague plan he’d been working on had evaporated the instant he’d fallen under that blasted carriage wheel. He was caught in his lie to Grace. Logic and the rules of polite society dictated that he should happily accept an invitation to “reacquaint” himself with Mr. Sterling Porter. One look at Miss Grace Porter and it was a jumbled mess in his mind, her strange guilt at being on Oxford Street and the lies and secrets she was enlisting him to keep—whatever they might be.

  He cleared his throat. “I would hate to impose—“

  “No imposition!” Sterling smiled again and Michael felt a bubble of bile rising in is throat. “I insist. Grace would be in attendance and I’m sure, she would be hurt if you refused.”

  Trapped like a fly in amber. Damn it!

  “How can I refuse?” Michael said then looked to Grace. “Dinner. Sunday next.”

  “Let’s say eight o’clock?” Sterling added.

  If she’d protested, Michael would have had his excuse to withdraw from the invitation, but Grace looked up into his eyes, a strange flash of anxiety in their blue depths, adding to the puzzle.

  “Yes.” Michael said, a man in a trance.

  “Sunday next, Mr. Rutherford.” Sterling clapped his hands and broke the connection between the pair.

  Michael touched his forehead out of habit, reaching for the brim of a hat that wasn’t there, and was rewarded with a shard of hot glass stabbing into his side. But the pain was nothing. He’d have endured anything and kept the smile on his face rather than reveal weakness to his archenemy. He knocked on the carriage ceiling to signal the driver and the horses pulled away into the lane and spared him the sight of a Sterling Porter’s crocodile smiles.

  Game is bloody on now.

  Surprise.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You’ve broken at least two ribs, Rutherford.” Rowan announced as he felt as gingerly as he could along Michael’s side to explore the damage done. “Are you spitting up any blood? Does it particularly hurt anywhere else?”

  Michael bit his lip to keep from saying anything too sarcastic. “I’ve not punctured anything if that’s what you’re asking and it hurts like the devil when I breathe. Please just wrap it as tightly as you can and let’s call it good.”

  Rowan smiled but pulled out the bandages he would need along with a pair of good scissors to cut the cloth. “Why are all my friends such terrible patients?”

  Michael ignored him.

  Rowan slowly lifte
d Michael’s arm to hold it away from his body while he started the wrap. “It’s badly bruised. You’ll have a blueberry pie under your armpit before morning. The cut on your head is incidental and I don’t see the need for any stitches but you may have another scar to add to your lovely countenance.”

  “I don’t care.” Michael reached up to touch his head and regretted it as the pain from his ribs sliced up his spine. “Damn! Well, at least my balls have stopped throbbing.”

  “I’m not going to ask. But I’ll leave you something for the pain.” Rowan eyed his bag. “I brought a new mixture that is said not to be addictive if—”

  “No. There’s no need. Now is not the time to be groggy or slow-witted.”

  “Is this part of your plan? Did the Jackal do this?”

  “No. A four in hand. But…the situation may have moved things along.”

  “Tell me.”

  “She was there.”

  “She?”

  “The Jackal has a younger sister.” Michael reached up to run his hand through is hair out of habit and winced in regret at the gesture, instantly dropping his arm back to where Rowan had held it. “And don’t look at me like that.”

  “Any other man, I’d be more worried. But let’s have it.”

  “She’d stumbled into the path of a carriage and I pulled her back. She’s proclaimed me a hero and her brother has invited me back for dinner Sunday next.” Michael stood to retrieve his shirt. “He is eager to discuss our adventures together in India.”

  “My god! It’s a nightmare!” Rowan shook his head slowly. “This is insane, Rutherford. You can’t play parlor games with this man.”

  “I’ll do what I have to. It’s the meeting we meant to have weeks ago only this time, it’s better. We risk only one of us. One way or another, he’ll reveal himself. He’s too frustrated to pass up his chance and too overconfident not to make his threats and when he does, he’ll tell me what we need to know. Hell, I’ve already determined so much more of him than we’d ever hoped.”

  “And if he’s more clever then you give him credit for and keeps his cards close to his chest? Then what?”