Once Upon a Diamond (26 page)

Tristan
slowly buttered his bread while the aroma of freshly brewed tea enveloped him. Would
Kate ever forgive him?

“Eating breakfast without offering me some, eh?” 

Tristan’s mouth hung open in shock. His hand shook as he
held his teacup and focused on the sick man in front of him.

Sick?

Matthew’s eyes twinkled with life. Though the man’s face
was still pale and dark circles shadowed his eyes, Tristan would wager he was
no longer on his deathbed.

Matthew groaned when he tried to move.

Tristan pushed another pillow behind his head. “Better?”

Matthew lifted an amused brow. “Better?” he said in a
hoarse voice, “these linens are soaked. Must have sweated out that dreadful
fever, you know.”

Tristan was rendered speechless.

“Don’t be a codfish, my lord. Close your mouth and send
for some fresh linens.”

“Confound it, Matthew,” Tristan sputtered. “You, sir,
are supposed to be dead, or at least dying.” 

Tristan let out a wry grin, spilling the hot tea on his
lap and jumping from his seat. “Hell and spitfire! I’ll be in a mess of trouble
if you don’t. You do remember that you attended my illustrious wedding
yesterday?”

“Feel like hell actually.” Matthew winced, trying to
change position. “But decided it was better to stay with my sister since she
has such a tyrant for a husband now.” 

Tristan burst out laughing. “You old devil! Or should I
say mule. You’re as stubborn as your little sister.”

Matthew looked serious, his lips pinched. “How is she?”

Tristan frowned. Sweat formed along Matthew’s brow and
his upper lip. The man wasn’t as well as he wanted Tristan to think.   

“Still sleeping. She’s been with you almost every
minute, not having left these two rooms for the entire time you’ve been
dying
.”

Matthew
closed his eyes and drew in a long shuddering breath. He was obviously still
exhausted. “Strange way to spend a wedding night. But I shall mend, and you may
have your privacy again,” he glanced up, “and your bed. Now, what say you to
some food other than that nasty broth my sister’s been shoving down my poor
throat?” 

Tristan
smiled. “Your sister and that broth probably saved your hide, you ungrateful wretch.”

Kate
awoke from her nightmare, holding back a sob. Blackness had swirled about her,
choking her. It reminded her of when she was a small child hiding from her
father. Being stuck in that clothes trunk all night in the shipyard had been
horrible. It took her father until morning to find her. The darkness had been suffocating
and this dream had been just as bad.

In
her nightmare, Tristan was calling to her, shouting for her, but she couldn’t
get to him. She was scraping and clawing, screaming his name over and over, but
he couldn’t hear her. Then to her horror, he stopped calling. She had no one
then. She was all alone.

Alone.
Panic
swept through Kate as she stumbled out of bed and pulled open the drapes.
She hated the dark. And the nightmares.

Her
gaze dropped to her chemise. How had she gotten to bed? Had Tristan undressed
her? A blush stole across her cheeks at the thought of his gentle hands
removing her gown. Of course, it must have been him. He was her husband now,
wasn’t he? He must have taken over her watch of Matthew during the middle of
the night and carried her to bed.

But
he didn’t seem to want her now. Oh, no, not now. She was his duty now. His
duty, just like the diamond, she thought grimly.

She
shuddered at the chilling memories of her hasty wedding. How could she have
been manipulated so? The thought of being married to him didn’t bother her as
much as the thought of him not loving her.

She peeked out the door and saw Tristan’s large form
slouched in the wing chair beside Matthew. Her breath caught when she saw
Matthew turn. Yes. He was still alive. Tears flooded her eyes. What a morbid
thing to have to watch one’s brother die.

Frowning, she closed the door and rang for the maid.

She dressed in a pale blue muslin gown and perched
herself in front of her looking glass. The maid fashioned her hair into a loose
topknot with dangling curls framing her face.

When the servant departed, Kate rose and heard low
voices conversing in the next room. It had to be the doctor returning to
examine Matthew. But it didn’t sound like him.

She opened the door slowly and was about to announce her
arrival when she heard a familiar laugh. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she
staggered back.
Matthew?

Matthew!

Why, he was too ill to laugh!

“I fear my sister won’t take kindly to my speedy
recovery,” he said. There was a pause. “Not after what we put her through.”

Kate balled her hands against her skirt. Her head
pounded in rage as she distinctly recalled everything about the previous day,
especially her wedding! 

If Matthew was better, then there had been no reason for
her to have been forced into a quick marriage with Tristan. Her brother may not
be one hundred percent better, but the rat was laughing. Not heartily, but
laughing all the same.

She silently stomped her foot and raised her fist,
stuffing it into her mouth, trying not to scream in anger. But soon, her fists
softened along with her heart, knowing that Matthew was back to his chipper
self. Nevertheless, those two gentlemen were still in trouble. Gritting her
teeth, she soldiered back into an eavesdropping position.

“Though you have passed through the fever, Matthew, your
body’s still weak. I suggest you sleep a bit more after we fetch you some fresh
linens.”

“I do feel tired.” Matthew heaved an exhausted sigh. “Hell,
that wedding took everything out of me.”

Kate’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Hell
is what he
put
her
through!

“Tristan?”

“Yes?” 

Kate inched herself closer, wanting to hear every infuriating
word. She would like to boil them in oil! 

“Remember yesterday?” Matthew asked, his voice raw, but
perfectly sane.

“How could I forget?” Tristan replied in an amusing
tone.

Kate opened the door a little wider.

“I admit I knew I was going to live,” Matthew said,
taking a glass of water Tristan offered. “When I asked you to obtain the
license, I probably could have stood up from this confounded bed. Well, let’s
not go so far as to say that, but I was feeling a tad better.” He let out
another ragged laugh.

Kate gasped. The wretch! The cad! The abominable knave! She
heard Tristan’s unmistakable laugh, and her fury increased.

“Hold it down,” Tristan pleaded in a whisper. “Kate might
wake, and then she’ll have both our hides if she hears us. Though I have to
admit, you had me believing your death all the way up to the vicar’s appearance.
Your color looked better and so did the light in your eyes.”

Kate silently opened the door another two inches to see Tristan
burying his head in his hands with undisclosed laughter.

“Since you’re family now,” Matthew quipped, his
expression quite alive for a man who was supposed to be on his deathbed, “just
thought you should know the truth.”

Tristan shook his head. “If Kate finds out about this,
she’ll have our heads, just like my brother threatened she would. Being an earl
affords me the pleasure of many silver platters. I certainly don’t wish to
catch a glimpse of my reflection on one.”

Matthew gripped his stomach, half groaning, half
chuckling. “Stop. Simply can’t take much more...You’re killing me.”

Tristan
slapped his knee. “Come to think of it, that would solve both of our
problems.” 

Matthew’s
lips trembled with amusement as he turned his head into his pillow.

Kate’s
blood pounded in her veins. Oh! Those two could hardly contain themselves. And
neither could she. She was more furious than she had ever been in her life.

Overwhelmed
with rage, she whipped opened the door and burst into the bedchamber. Her
piercing gaze burned into the two amused gentlemen. They abruptly stopped
laughing. Tristan blinked repeatedly as Matthew sunk further into the covers.

Tristan froze.

“You conniving, despicable scoundrels!” She marched
toward the bed and grabbed the water pitcher from the nightstand. Tristan
hadn’t a chance. She hurled the liquid across the bed, hitting Tristan’s face
dead center, then crashed the beautiful crimson and white flowered container to
the ground.

Tristan shook his soaked head, whipping strands of black
hair out of his stunned face. Like a naughty puppy, all that could be seen of
Matthew, were two blue eyes peeking out from beneath the bed covers.

Kate took another moment and glared at the dazed men. Then,
as if a gigantic wind blew in, she swirled around and stomped back to her room,
slamming the door behind her.

The men heard the key click in the lock and looked at one
another with questioning eyes as what to do next. Tristan peered over the bed
at the pitcher scattered about the floor. He pushed away from the chair, tugged
at his clothes and stripped to the waist.

“That sister of yours does have a temper. Though I must
say, she was rather becoming in her outrageous mood.”

“My sister,” Matthew said calmly. “Your wife, you mean. But
Shakespeare’s play the other day fits her very well, don’t you think?” 

A frown played about Tristan’s lips. “Not something to
jest about. Dash it all. She’s beside herself.” He brushed his fingers through
his damp hair. “I best change into some dry clothes.”

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 her.”

“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.”