Once Upon A Diamond (A sweet Regency Historical Romance) Page 8

  His eyes fell to his plate, and he seemed to hesitate. “I know of the village of Ridgewater. I shall be passing that way today. I’d be delighted to escort you in my carriage if you need a lift. But that,” he pointed to the parrot, “Goes on top.”

  It was all Kate could do not to gag on her breakfast. It was fortunate that she had not mentioned her relatives, for she had meant Ridgewater Manor, not the village. He still had no idea who she was. She felt her stomach turning again.

  “That would be most advantageous to me. Thank you. I should like the lift.” A lift into hell, for all she knew.

  Nevertheless, it was better this way. Whatever he thought she was doing in the village, she did not care. As soon as she could, she would be as far away from him as possible. She hoped. And then she could make her plans accordingly.

  Tristan sat opposite Kate as his carriage turned onto the gravel road and away from the Hunting Fox Inn. The air was crisp, yet pleasant as the sun’s warm rays spilled through the windows and onto the soft leather seats.

  A hint of lavender floated in the air, and Tristan instantly recalled carrying Kate to her chambers. She was a stubborn little thing, but vulnerable all the same, and that worried him.

  What in thunderation was she doing in Ridegwater?

  “Comfortable?” he asked, lifting his gaze to meet her doe brown eyes when the carriage hit a bump in the road.

  A light feminine laugh sprang from her lips. “Oh, very comfortable.”

  She peered out the window and took an invigorating breath. “The weather is so much better today. I cannot really complain, can I?”

  Tristan watched in awe. The rain from yesterday had washed away some of the road making it difficult to make the journey smooth. Most females would complain about the uneven ride, but not Kate. She seemed to be enjoying it. He admired her gentle smile, yet inwardly cringed at her pallor.

  No matter, she would be fed in Ridgewater. The village was not rich, but there was plenty of food wherever she would be staying. The Duke of Ridgewater always made certain his tenants were well fed and that the villagers did not suffer any hardships if he could help it. Yes, Kate would improve in no time.

  “Tristan?”

  His head snapped up at the use of his name. The way she’d said it sent a prickle of warmth shooting through his limbs. “Yes.”

  “Thank you for everything.”

  “I should thank you when you refused to give the ruffian my location.” He leaned forward and took her small, delicate hand in his. “I am eternally grateful.”

  A pink flush took over her face, and he instantly felt the barrier around his heart beginning to crumble. Her eyes glittered with innocence. Her smile was endearing. Her lips were made for kissing. Kissing? Daft man! You’re going daft! Abruptly, he dropped her hand.

  Turning her head, she glanced out the window. “Did you venture to the inn to see Maggie?”

  Tristan choked down his laugh. If he didn‘t know better, he would think the little spitfire was jealous. “Maggie?”

  “Yes, Maggie. It seems to me a man of your age would be more set on a wife instead of leftovers.”

  His temper flared. “I am not married. And a girl your age should not be speaking of...leftovers. And what do you mean, my age? I will have you know that a man of my age is–”

  She raised a stiff hand to ward off his explanation. “No, don’t tell me. Forgive me. It’s not for me to ask. I should never have said a word.”

  Tristan bit down on his teeth. The devil! She was doing it to him again. Putting him in his place, as if he were a naughty schoolboy. Why should he feel any guilt over Maggie? This girl was nothing to him, but a chit just out of the schoolroom. She shouldn’t even be thinking things like that. It was...well...dashed improper.

  “I came to the inn because I was to meet someone, but the man never showed. I was looking for a gem that disappeared years ago.” Hells teeth! What was wrong with him that he felt he had to explain himself to this stubborn female?

  “A gem?” Her eyes grew with curiosity, and he almost found himself pleased with her interest.

  “A diamond. Over two hundred carats, to be precise.”

  “Two hundred carats! Surely you jest?”

  Tristan felt unduly warm as he watched the expression in her face change to fascination. At that moment, she seemed older than her sixteen years. She did say she was sixteen, did she not?

  “No, I do not jest. This gem was similar to many of the diamonds found in the treasuries of European royalty. It originated in India.”

  “India? Hmmm, I’ve heard of magnificent gems coming from that country. I’ve also heard that the cut and the color of a diamond are some things people look for, are they not?”

  Tristan pursed his lips. Whoever this girl was - and now he was having second thoughts about her age - she must have had an excellent education or she knew someone very rich. Perhaps she was a maid. Yet her learning spoke of a higher class. She was a mystery.

  “As a matter of fact,” Kate tapped her chin with her forefinger, “I believe the less flaws, the more valuable. Of course the facets of a diamond are intriguing as well...”

  As she went on about different gems, Tristan sat back in disbelief, clearly baffled by this woman-child.

  “So, tell me about your diamond,” she asked, leaning forward, making Tristan more uncomfortable by the minute.

  There was something about her that stirred his blood, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. She certainly wasn’t beautiful. In fact, she looked quite ill. Yet when she blushed, she actually appeared quite pretty.

  Tristan cleared his throat. There was no need to discuss his search for the diamond due to his covert involvement with Whitehall, but he could explain his family’s involvement. It would almost help his cause if anyone questioned his stay at the inn.

  He rubbed his jaw, then sat back and heaved a deep sigh. Where the hell was Fletcher? Something must have gone wrong. He wondered if the dead man at the inn had known of his clandestine meeting.

  “Yes, well, the diamond could very well have come from one of the largest diamonds in India.”

  “How fascinating,” Kate exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

  Tristan angled his head further in the girl’s direction and noted her eyes. They were round and luminous, flashing with such understanding and tenderness that he felt an instant squeeze of his heart. Devil take it. In a few years when this female filled out, men would be chasing her like hounds to a fox. And he knew without a doubt, if ever there was a need, he would protect this little American with his life.

  “Were there murderers and cutthroats vying to have the stone?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. “There must have been some history.”

  He shifted his gaze out the window. “Probably. All priceless gems seem to have the worst of society wanting them, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose you’re right.” A few seconds passed before she spoke again. “This may be a bit strange to ask, but do you think that man back at the inn was, um, looking for your diamond?”

  His head jerked around. “No.”

  Her face paled, as if she were remembering the gruesome scene. He instantly wished he hadn’t been so curt. But he had divulged more than he should.

  “I have every intention of finding the diamond. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Kate looked away and played with a strand of her hair. He was all too aware of the confines of this space and the awkwardness of the situation if anyone should find him alone with this slip of a girl.

  “It sounds rather mysterious to me,” she said with a sigh. She turned to look at him. “Yet what I cannot understand is why a man as wealthy as you, would have this fascination to seek such a diamond. Heaven knows you must have entire estates and homes all about England. This hobby of yours, to put it mildly, is rather extreme, is it not? Or is it a wild obsession?”

  Her eyes glinted with mischief, but Tristan stiffened every muscle. Though she didn’t kn
ow it, her words were a direct hit.

  She had no idea that finding this gem meant everything to both his peace of mind and England’s trade. Obsession? He was not like his father and never would be. If it weren’t for Whitehall, he would never be looking for the cursed gem.

  Nevertheless, he had said too much already.

  “Forgive me,” Kate said, frowning at his cool reaction. “I wasn’t suggesting that you were greedy or anything like that.”

  Greedy now, was he? Tristan narrowed his brows and decided it would not be to anyone’s benefit to continue telling the story about the family diamond.

  Kate seemed to sense the tension and looked away, her shoulders stiffening. The rolling of carriage wheels and clacking of horses’ hooves filled the silence.

  But Tristan refused to speak. The diamond had wreaked havoc on his life for as long as he could remember. And now people thought he was as foolish as his father. Even this slip of a girl. Society had begun to talk, and he was quickly losing his patience.

  But this female seemed to have a softening effect on him that made him vulnerable, something he vowed he would never be again.

  Things were better this way, he assured himself. His life had been filled with heartaches, a mother who didn’t love him, a father who abandoned him for an obsessive quest.

  Hell and spitfire, he wasn’t going to let anyone seep past his heart now, especially an eager-eyed American, and a relative of a villager at that!

  An hour passed with no words spoken between the two. Kate kept her face toward the window and gazed toward the fields, biting her tongue.

  She’d had enough. Tristan was just as arrogant as when she’d first met him years ago. It was all she could do not to snap back at him. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Those good looks wouldn’t sway her in the least.

  Kate watched as a farmer’s wagon with two small children pulled to the side of the road. A boy and a girl dangled their feet over the end of the wagon as if they hadn’t a care in the world. The driver stepped down from his perch and said something to the children. They laughed, and the man brushed a loving hand over both their heads.

  Kate’s heart twisted. Everything seemed to remind her of home. The fresh grass. The budding trees. The nicker of horses. The father. The children.

  She turned when she felt Tristan twist to face her. He looked as if he were about to recite the Magna Carta. She almost laughed at her wit, but stopped herself, recognizing the serious expression on his face. She had learned a considerable amount about the man in the last twenty-four hours. He was going to issue her another command. The oaf!

  “I need to speak to you about your stay in Ridgewater,” he said suddenly.

  “What?” Her lips barely moved as she turned back to the window.

  “Since you will be staying in the village or possibly working there–”

  She whipped back to face him, but before she had a chance to open her mouth, he raised his hands in midair, stifling her like a king commanding his subjects to silence.

  “Let me finish. Believe it or not, I have a home a few miles from the Duke of Ridgewater who, if you don’t know, resides at Ridgewater Manor.”

  Her hands curled tightly against her palms. The ninny. Her uncle was the duke!

  “If I am to be in the area,” he continued, “traveling through the village and what not, it would not be appropriate for you to address an earl by his first name. People might assume the wrong idea about you and me. You must admit, it is most unseemly how we met, and I gather our riding in this carriage together won’t help matters any.”

  He angled a black brow her way to see if she had caught his meaning. “Without a chaperone, I mean.”

  She ground her teeth and silently glared at the man she had held in high esteem only hours before. No chaperone? Wrong idea? What an ego. His earldom had gone to his head.

  “Upon our meeting anytime in the near future, you may call me, Lord Lancewood. Is that clear?”

  Kate’s temper boiled like a covered pot ready to explode. She might be naive, but she wasn’t dumb! She understood his meaning perfectly.

  “Is that clear, Kate?” she muttered under her breath and shifted in her seat, resisting the urge to push the man out the door. “Of all the unmitigated gall.”

  She shook a red finger in front of his face. “You pompous windbag. By all propriety, you should be calling me Miss, and I should be calling you nothing. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  With a flaming fury, she twisted around to face the window again, her back to the stunned earl. She raised her gloved hands, folding them across her chest and stiffened her spine as though it had turned to ice. Let him think about that!

  “Perfectly clear, madam,” came the answer from behind her. “Forgive me, I mean, Miss.”

  Chapter Six

  “Mother, I simply cannot fathom escorting that little hoyden around for the entire Season. It’s preposterous.”

  With fists clenched, the Marquess of Roxdon paced the floor of the duchess’s sitting room at Ridgewater Manor and sneezed. Confound it. His mother’s chambers always smelled of roses.

  “Come now, Devin. You will see that it’s all for the best.”

  The marquess’s stepmother, Georgiana, Duchess of Ridgewater, flitted across the room, her silk skirts brushing against the Tudor-style chair as she sat. “Besides,” she continued as a young maid began to style her dark brown hair that held a sprinkle of gray, “She’s not a hoyden. She’s an American and my niece.”

  Devin slapped a hand to his forehead. “Forget it, Mother. Hoyden. Cousin. American. What’s the difference? It’s not going to work.”

  Georgiana played with a ruby ring that encased her pinky finger on her left hand. Her exotic blue eyes gazed innocently at her son through the looking glass. “Why, dear, whatever do you mean?”

  Devin pulled his hand through his dark chestnut hair. Cool amber eyes met hers. “Oh, I think you know precisely what I mean.”

  Georgiana sighed and shooed away her maid. After the door closed she frowned and turned toward her son. “Would it hurt you to marry the girl? Would it?”

  Devin let out a bitter laugh. “Hell’s bells, Mother. Do you realize what you just said?”

  Georgiana sat ramrod straight and patted her elegant chignon with her slender hands. She smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in her teal blue gown that matched perfectly with her soft kid slippers.

  “Do not swear in my presence, young man. You may visit the gaming hells in Town, and drink to your heart’s content at White’s, and even shower gifts upon ladies of-” her brows rose in disapproval, “ill repute, but I am still your mother.”

  “Ill repute?” Devin rolled his eyes in defeat.

  He was not even going to touch that subject. She may have been his stepmother since he was one-year-old, and he loved this lady dearly, thinking of her as his true mother, but he had to admit that sometimes she was as loony as King George.

  “Mother, I implore you to stop your matchmaking. The last time you almost had me engaged me to a...a hag.”

  Georgiana waved her hand above her slender shoulder. “I’m not about to hear any of that, my dear boy. No vulgar language here.”

  With a deep scowl, Devin fell back, leaning his wide shoulders against the gold and crimson striped wallpaper.

  His mother would never relent on her schemes to match him up with a lady of her choosing. He was twenty-seven years old. Old enough to do whatever he wanted. And if his mother knew all of what he did, she would faint on the spot. Obviously she had some information, and he wondered for a moment who her spies were.

  “She was a wicked witch, Mother. All the way from the wart on her nose to the moles on her feet.”

  Georgiana’s head whipped around. “And pray tell, when did you see Belinda’s feet?”

  Devin pushed himself off the wall. “Sweet George, I never saw her feet! I would have died first.”

  Georgiana puckered her lips. “Well, I should h
ope so.”

  “Died first?” Devin asked, knowing the conversation was becoming more confusing by the second. “You wanted me to die first?”

  “Of course not. I meant her toes.”

  “Feet Mother. We were talking about feet.”

  Georgiana splashed a bit of rosewater on her neck and sprang from her chair. “Feet, toes, what’s the difference. You shouldn’t be looking for moles on them anyway. It’s not polite.”

  Fed up, Devin blew out a puff of hot air. This was going nowhere. “Mother can you not see that I am a man?”

  Georgiana stopped his tirade with a kiss to his cheek. “You would do best to see to Katherine’s comfort during the Season, my dear. I believe she will be here any day. Never know about those ships. Do remember that she’s had a dreadful time losing her father, will you? And really, Devin, even though she is your cousin, she doesn’t have a drop of your blood in her.”

  Devin saw the tears pool in the lady’s eyes and knew it was time to depart. She was thinking of her brother, Robert Wilcox, and his horrible end, though it seemed she was in agreement with the man’s family to wait a full year for the mourning period to start. Just to make sure he was dead.

  Frankly, Devin thought it preposterous to postpone mourning. In fact, he had never heard of such a thing. Jupiter, what women could do to a man. When Mother cried, one would rather be caught in a hurricane than left with her.

  “I’m so glad you finally agree with me, dear,” she said, patting his shoulder, and left the room before he had a chance to answer.

  “The devil.” Devin leaned over his mother’s empty chair as he caught the reflection of his twisted lips in the looking glass. He stared at the idiotic man in the crisp white shirt and tanned pantaloons staring back at him.

  He was a Corinthian. A man who could beat the best of them at faro and whist. A fencing master. A top of the trees horseman. A man who could lure the ladies like a spider could a fly. But all that was useless when it came to his mother.

  “Coward,” he snapped, falling into his mother’s chair. If his friends at White’s could see him now.