Desire Wears Diamonds

by Renee Bernard

  Grace nodded. “O-of course!”

  “Maggie’s happy to move into one of my empty bedrooms and well, she’s practically mine, too, isn’t she?” Mrs. Clay folded her hands. “I’m no gypsy fortune teller but I have a feeling in my bones about that girl and my dear Tally. The age difference can’t be much and in a few years, it’ll be no gap at all. She’s an angel, that little bird and so fun! And,” Mrs. Clay leaned in with a conspiratorially wink, “I think he’s already lost his heart to her.”

  Grace nodded again, unsure of how anyone in the world ever managed to disagree with such a sweet and urgent soul. “Miss Beecham is very dear but why would she have to forfeit her apartment?”

  “Because you are a proper married couple! I want to combine the two apartments to make a proper home for you, here at the Grove.”

  Grace blinked. “It is…already a proper home.”

  “Of course, there’s all the amenities, yes? It is like having a little manor of your own, if you think of it properly. A kitchen downstairs with meals served and maids for the cleaning, laundry and even assistance with errands! Mind, I’m aware that not all homes include all the comings and goings of an inn and the problems that might entail.” Mrs. Clay sat back against her chair’s cushions. “Beyond the semi-private sitting room and dining room, two rooms are all you have now and, well, our Mr. Rutherford takes up a bit of space, but if you’ll try, I know you can be happy here. If we combine the two flats, you’d have four rooms and we can build to suit. What say you?”

  “I say that’s far too generous!” Grace squeaked then did her best to regain her composure. “You should know that Michael has never said a word of going elsewhere—and I don’t care what anyone says, Mrs. Clay. We will live here as long as you will allow it.”

  “Truly?” Mrs. Clay asked, her fingers pressed against her lips.

  “Truly.”

  Mrs. Clay lost the battle to hold off her tears and Grace opened her arms without hesitation to embrace the dear woman. “There, there! I would never take your Mr. Rutherford away.”

  “Oh, what a relief! You can’t imagine how worried I’ve been!” Mrs. Clay sighed. “Though I will hit your brother with a broom if he tries to cross my door again.”

  Grace smiled as they found their chairs again and began to laugh.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Waiting in the dark inside the old church, St. Martin’s within Ludgate, his nerves were already on edge when a shadow appeared on the wall inside the nave. He’d lit only a few candles in the nave to use the light as a visual alarm for his enemy’s arrival. The narrow building and small space meant there would be no ambushes. He’d chosen it deliberately as sacred ground to awe Sterling and keep him off balance. After all, the best place to meet the Devil was the last place you expected. The famous church was within sight of St. Paul’s cathedral and enough of a landmark to ward off any destructive impulses if Porter meant to try his hand at arson.

  Michael hoped it was also sacred enough to ward off any exotic third parties who might follow him there and consider duplicating their work at the Thistle to stop the exchange. Cultures ranged with vast differences but he was gambling that the beauty of Christopher Wren’s architecture was universal enough to aid his plans.

  Michael stepped out from the concealment of a prayer alcove only to stop in shock when he recognized the man who defiantly stood in a battle-ready stance on the worn flagstones in the aisle.

  “Ashe! Get out of here!”

  “Is that the extent of your friendly greeting, old friend?”

  “How in god’s name did you discover this meeting place?” But even as he asked, the answer came to him. “Never mind. Rowan.”

  “In his defense, he didn’t tell me. You shared the deadline with all of us, remember?” Ashe held his place in the shadows. “Of all the Jaded, he’s the one we’ve always gone to for aid. I did press him but he honestly didn’t know where you meant to meet the Jackal for this travesty.”

  Michael sighed. “I told him once this was my favorite place. I thought he’d guessed…” He shook off his melancholy and refocused on the dire crisis at hand. “You followed me.”

  “I did.” Ashe shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps not as skillfully as you’d have done it—but obviously I managed well enough, didn’t I? However did you get them to open it for you at this hour?”

  “Damn it, Ashe. Go! Go before Sterling gets here!”

  “Before he gets here and you give him the sacred treasure we’ve all risked our lives to keep safe?” Ashe’s voice tightened into a deadly growl. “You care for your ‘wife’, Michael, and I am the last man to underestimate the power of a woman’s hand in a man’s life. But hear me. I can’t stand aside while you reward that—Jackal! I won’t meekly cower while he dances off with his prize and my son’s life goes unavenged!”

  “Ashe. I understand how you feel but there’s more at stake than you know. He’s threatened Grace if I don’t give it to him and even if I don’t trust the Jackal, I can’t risk her.”

  “It’s you who’s not to be trusted, Michael. We could keep her safe. There’s no need to do this.”

  “No. I’ve been through all that. We can’t live our lives in prison, shut off and under guard. And what about the people we love beyond whatever walls we construct? Can you guarantee their safety? Family, friends or anyone foolish enough to be publicly associated with any of the Jaded? Sooner or later, your guard would drop and I don’t know if you would want to live with the consequences, Ashe.”

  Ashe took a step to his left, leaning up against the end of one of the pews keeping his left arm behind his back. But there was nothing casual or relaxed in the set of his shoulders and Michael wasn’t fooled.

  “Rutherford, his threats are hollow. Sterling is playing you and so is your Grace. What man threatens the life of his sister? It’s a ruse and a flimsy one. She’s seduced you and you’re not thinking straight.”

  “I’d say it’s you who’s off. Ashe, it’s gone too far. The Jackal will be here any minute and I will do what I must whether you agree or not. You waste your time and mine.”

  Ashe raised his left arm and revealed the loaded pistol in his hand. He pointed it squarely at Michael’s chest. “No. And don’t ask me to trust you again. I did and there you stand, a traitor.”

  “Are you going to shoot me, Ashe?”

  “I might.”

  Michael held his breath and weighed out his options. Unfortunately, allowing Ashe to kill him wasn’t possible. “Higher.”

  “What?”

  “Aim higher for my head or draw it to the right. You’re going to hit me in a lung which is not the quick end I’d hope for, Ashe. For God sakes! Just three inches right or—“

  Ashe’s brow furrowed as his hand unsteadily and against his better judgment obeyed Rutherford’s surprisingly calm commands. At the first sign of movement, Michael closed the gap between them with lightning speed to strike Ashe’s wrist upward and twist Ashe’s arm so that his friend either dropped the pistol or allowed his shoulder to become separated from his body.

  As expected, Ashe surrendered his hold on the pistol’s handle.

  Michael drove his full weight into Ashe’s frame and sent them both over the carved pew where Blackwell bore the brunt of their landing against the unforgiving flagstones. The air slammed out of his lungs and Ashe soundlessly opened his mouth in pain but Michael knew that even a semi-conscious Ashe Blackwell was not good.

  “Sorry, friend.” Michael sat up with his thighs astride Ashe’s chest and punched him in the jaw with brutal economic force and efficiency. Michael pulled his fist back for a second strike if needed but Blackwell was no longer moving.

  Michael quickly checked Ashe’s pulse to reassure himself that he hadn’t murdered him and then sighed.

  Damn it, Ashe. I hope that didn’t break that pretty jaw of yours.

  He stood to retrieve the pistol and tucked it into his belt as he heard the doors to the church opening. He nudge
d Ashe’s foot with his boot for effect and turned to make the best of it.

  “My goodness! I seem to have missed all the excitement.” Sterling came down the aisle breathlessly. “Is he dead?”

  Michael shifted his feet with a shrug of his shoulders and stepped over Ashe’s prone body. “Does it matter?”

  Sterling warily took one small step back. “You really are a cold-hearted bastard.”

  “You didn’t believe me when I told you as much?” Michael asked. “How stupid are you, Sterling?”

  “No need for insults, old friend.” Sterling almost snarled.

  “I agree.” Michael looked around the church, the candlelight barely illuminating the arches and columns but it was still enough to touch each surface with a flickering rosy tint that made it look alive.

  Michael pulled the leather pouch from his coat pocket and emptied it onto the palm of his hand. Even in the dim glow of the sanctuary, the large diamond glittered and gleamed with an untold number of rainbows that beckoned the eye. He held it up so that Sterling could enjoy the sight of the play of beauty and power in his palm.

  “My God!” Sterling exclaimed with a whisper. “After all this time…there it is.”

  Michael tucked it back into the leather pouch and returned it to his pocket nervously. “Wait, Sterling,” he said. “Not so fast. Remember your promise. It ends here. No more blackmail. No further payments for our liberty. Grace is free and you will leave us alone.”

  “Yes! Yes! Damn it, hurry! It’s nearly midnight and like you, I have an appointment of my own to keep this very night as well!”

  “You swear to hold to your word?” Michael asked again.

  “Yes!” Sterling held out his hand impatiently, the tip of his tongue darting out to touch his lips. His hunger for the diamond was palpable and Michael reluctantly put his hand back in his pocket to pull out the pouch.

  His fingers fisted it for a few seconds and he ground his teeth together in frustration. There was no turning back now. Slowly, he forced his own hand to slowly open, his fingers releasing its prize. “Here, then.”

  Sterling snatched the pouch from his palm with an audible crow of triumph, then pressed it to his heart. “At last!”

  Michael dropped his head and watched the man reluctantly through the veil of his black lashes.

  Sterling jauntily tossed the bag in the air and caught it before quickly tucking it away into a deep inner waistcoat pocket. “See how easy that was? All this time and it’s really mine!”

  Michael narrowed his gaze, a man in no mood to be taunted. “Run, Sterling. Take your prize and run to claim your reward. But if you stand there much longer, I’m the one who might forget our agreement and snap your neck merely for the joy of hearing that sound.”

  Sterling gifted him with a foul gesture and turned on his heels to hurry from the church, his footsteps echoing off the ceiling and walls. Michael stood as still as a statue and waited.

  He waited for silence to reclaim the room and cleanse any traces of Sterling’s foul presence. He knelt to check on Ashe, reassured by his friend’s even breathing.

  And then stood back up to walk toward the doors and wait for Death to come.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Nipson anomemata me monan opsin,” Michael whispered to himself as he carried Ashe out of the church over his shoulder. “Heard that one, Blackwell?” he asked the unconscious man. “Darius taught me that from off of the font. It means, cleanse my sin and not my face only.”

  He shifted Ashe to get a better hold of him with a sigh. “Prophetic, don’t you think?” Michael raised one of his hands and signaled the carriage he’d hired and had standing by one hundred yards from the church’s doorway. “Good man!”

  “What have you got there, sir?” the driver asked with a wary look at the body over his customer’s shoulder.

  “Bit too much gin! I’m sending him home to his wife who will make minced meat pies out of him. Unless you think it more merciful to leave him on a stranger’s doorstep? Do you think they’d be more understanding?” Michael jested.

  “Than his wife? No doubt of it, sir! Mine nearly skinned me whole last time I came home after a few too many,” the driver shared laughing then leaned down. “Do you need a hand there, governor?”

  “No,” Michael smiled. “I’m big enough to manage and even if I dropped him, I don’t see how he’d complain. But here, let’s send him to a friend’s for safekeeping.” Michael handed up a card with an address written on it along with a generous payment for the fare and then got Ashe inside the cab as best he could. Michael tucked Ashe’s coat around him and wasted one sentimental moment putting his hand over his friend’s. “Good-bye, Ashe.”

  He closed the carriage door firmly and signaled the driver to go.

  Michael adjusted his hat and sighed. It was a long walk home, but he desperately wanted to clear his head. Ashe would arrive at Rowan’s and he knew that he and Gayle would make sure his head was bandaged and that Ashe was revived. He expected Blackwell to wake up with a headache cursing Michael’s name but he would be alive and intact.

  The only permanent damage was the destruction of Michael’s happiness.

  His thigh began to ache where he’d apparently hit the pew when he tackled Ashe and if he were honest, a dozen lingering pains began to knit together to eat at his senses. The cold damp night air made his ribs twinge unreasonably and Michael readjusted his own coat to ignore them. “A good night’s sleep and all is cured,” he said aloud.

  It was something his father used to say and it was nonsense, of course. Michael was too exhausted to even pretend optimism. He limped all the way home to the Grove, his arms and legs felt sodden, his joints infused with lead.

  The east entrance was a welcome sight and he entered as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the sleeping inhabitants of the inn. He climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to their rooms, then pressed his forehead against the heavy oak.

  Home.

  Waning moonlight through the windows revealed the details and delicate changes that Grace had already wrought. There were flowers on the mantle next to his penny novels and her desk arranged with the day’s handwritten pages under a purple glass paperweight he’d bought for her. Her slippers were tucked neatly by the bedside and Grace—his breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, sleeping with her hair fanned out beneath her, one hand trailing over the bed’s edge, as if she were drifting on a raft and trailing her fingers in the water.

  My Lady of Shallot, weaving her stories through the day, confined to her rooms. Except I want to show you the world, Grace, not keep you from it. I want to lay it at your feet and take you anywhere your wonderful imagination directs you to go.

  It was over.

  He’d kept her safe but at a very high price.

  Michael quietly approached the bed, kneeling next to it to trail his fingers across her face. Her eyes fluttered open and even in the moonlight, he could see how blue they were.

  “Is it…late?”

  He nodded. “Very.” Without a word he began to uncover her, unwrapping her like an ethereal present to bare her slowly to his touch. Moonlight through the diamond paned windows caressed her skin and dusted her beauty with its silver powers. She was a feast for his senses and he sat back on his heels to take it all in.

  His beautiful Grace.

  Mine.

  One last time.

  Breathing in her skin, he leaned forward and began to sample every surface, mapping each contour and savoring her responses to even this first ghostly foray of his hands across her body. He kissed the arches of her feet and made her giggle when he tried to nibble on her toes.

  “Michael! I forbid you to suckle my toes!”

  He shook his head, relinquishing her foot. “I’ll yield the toes if you submit to my next idea no matter what.”

  She looked at him, the last vestiges of sleep leaving her face, her eyes alert and bright. “That’s a vague premise.”

  “Y
ou said you trusted me, Grace.”

  “True,” she said. “Very well, if my toes are to be left intact, then I am your willing slave.”

  He smiled. “You are no one’s slave, Grace Rutherford. But as my mistress, let’s see if we can’t make you pleased at the bargain you’ve made.”

  He stood next to the bed and divested himself of his clothes, all the while relishing the sight of Grace naked and unashamed sprawled across the blankets. Once he was free of every stitch of his clothing, he climbed up on the bed to make a closer study of his enticing bride. He pushed her soft thighs apart and made a leisurely study of her sex, ignoring her half-hearted squeak of modesty.

  “Shh. Remember the toes,” he reminded her playfully and then positioned himself to kneel between her legs. Her sex was so pink and ripe, glistening with her arousal and the scent of it was musk sweet and compelling.

  “Michael—“

  He kissed her and effectively ended the discussion.

  He licked the tight hot bud of her clit and explored the tender flesh around her channel with his fingers, circling the core of her need without pressing inside. Her thighs pressed against his ears but still he didn’t relent. He shifted his hands away to hold her hips as she tried to buck and wiggle away from the relentless assault of his tongue. He teased a small ridge above her pearl and realized that whatever sensations it evoked were likely welcome as Grace began to keen in ecstasy. Her clit swelled against his mouth and he knew he had the way of it.

  She came against his mouth in reckless spasms and he drank the dew of her body with the pride of a triumphant warrior conquering Aphrodite herself. Mine, damn it!

  “Michael! That was—you have ruined me! I…” Grace pressed her hands against her eyes. “I have lost the ability to form sentences…I think…Can a climax injure a person’s language skills?”