Once Upon a Diamond (9 page)

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.
”

“M
other, 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 hope 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.

When they arrived in the quaint village of Ridgewater, Tristan
felt a momentary panic as Kate rose from her carriage seat, braced herself
against the opposite bench, and pushed open the small trap door on top of the
carriage.

His brows rose in shocked silence as she poked her head
through the opening and alerted the coachman to stop the carriage as it drove
past a small stone building.

“You may drop me off here, please!”

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Tristan
asked, curtly.

Immediately his gaze attached to the gentle sway of her
hips. Hell and spitfire. She definitely seemed to be older than she looked. He
stretched his hands forward, ready to catch her when she fell back into her seat.
 

Kate answered him with a cool stare. To his amazement, she
didn’t fall, but sat back down for the final few seconds of her trip.

“Kate, I
–
” He
wanted to apologize, but had no notion how to go about it.

She lifted her chin, flogging his ego with her defiance.
The
carriage stopped abruptly, and her skirts brushed by him, rustling in anger as
she grabbed her cloak.

“Pray, do not bother yourself by rising to the occasion,
P.W.” She let out a confident smile, her pert little nose dancing in the air. “I
can descend without your help. But I must thank you for a most amusing ride. Indeed.
Most amusing." 

Before Tristan could move, the steps were lowered and
Kate had departed the carriage, blazing a trail of triumph behind her. She held
the preposterous birdcage in one hand and gestured to the footman to follow
along with her load of trunks.   

Tristan sat watching in amazement.
P.W.?
His
chest began to shake with silent laughter. P.W. was short for pompous windbag.

“Mr. Digby,” he heard her whisper to his driver. “I must
thank you for stopping when I asked.”

“Quite all right, Miss.”

Tristan strained to listen through the open window as
Kate tried to lower her voice.

“Nevertheless,” she said, “I’m going to have to demand
no more nips from the bottle. One cannot drive properly under the influence.” 

Tristan frowned. Nips from what bottle? 

“Yes, Miss. Truly sorry, I am.” 

Tristan shook his head. Poor Digby, the gruff man was
becoming putty in Kate’s hands.

“You need not worry though,” Kate whispered, as if Digby
and she were old friends. “I won’t say a word to your employer. He is an ogre
at times, is he not? I would not want you let go.” 

Ogre? Tristan dropped his jaw and moved to whip open the
carriage door, but stopped when he heard the distinct splashing of liquid onto
the ground. He squinted past the window and could have sworn he smelled brandy.

Blast it all! That was good brandy!

Without Kate aware of his gaze, he watched her back as
she removed every drop of liquor from the bottle, handing Digby back the
container.

“Mr. Digby,” she uttered in a low, silky voice that sent
Tristan’s teeth on edge, “I should think you would take better care of yourself
and his lordship from now on. No more drinking on the job."

“Yes, Miss. Ain’t never going to touch the stuff when I
drive.” He hiccupped. “Cross me heart.” And with that, she was off.

Tristan glared out the opposite window, wanting to exit
and deliver Kate to wherever she was going in Ridgewater. But for her sake, he
stayed where he was. Being seen in the streets with the Earl of Lancewood would
keep the gossip mills talking for months.

Dash it all. He wasn’t going to feel for this little
chit. His mother had squeezed all the love out of him long ago. It was a tough
lesson, but he would not repeat his mistakes.

However, with Edward it was different. Fraternal love
still had a place in his heart. But for women, his heart held nothing but scars.
He enjoyed female company as much as any other male. But love a woman? Let her
become part of his life? Part of his soul? That would only come to pass when
hell iced over.    

A stab of guilt pierced him as he watched Kate march to
the front door of Bailey’s Tavern. He felt a disturbing clench of his stomach. Perhaps
she was tricking him. Perhaps she knew no one in the village. Knowing the chit,
even for such a short time, it could all be a show with that stubborn pride of
hers.

Mumbling an oath, he grabbed the handle of the carriage
door, but stopped himself. No. He decided to let her play it through. P.W.
indeed!

He narrowed his eyes as she spoke to a young boy coming
around the corner. The gangly youth pointed her up the road. Kate adjusted her
gray cloak, picked up her skirts, and gestured the footman to follow. She was
heading toward the old stone church.

Tristan squinted against the sun as he watched her
progress. So it was the vicar who was her relative. Intriguing. But how she
would ever last anywhere with that haughty attitude? 

As he watched the last bit of gray disappear behind the
doors of the vicarage, he scratched his head feeling there was something
familiar about her exit. Yet he couldn't quite put his finger on it. What was
it about the girl? 

It suddenly occurred to him that he had no notion of her
last name. He laughed at the absurdity of it all. Instantly his lips dipped
into a frown. She had obviously been shaken from the horrid events at the inn
and tried to hide her fears.

He vowed to look in on her, inconspicuously, of course.

His interest in her had nothing to with any significant
emotion in the past twenty-four hours except concern, he assured himself. Concern
and nothing else.

Taking a last glance back, he could have sworn he saw a
mangy dog scurrying toward the church. Impossible. They’d left Handsome at the
inn.  

An hour later Kate found herself at Ridgewater Manor
greeted by a stoic looking butler. The elderly gentleman threw her a short bow.
“Webster, at your service, Miss Wilcox. We were expecting you.”

Kate greeted the man and could not help but notice the
ornately carved wood banister swirling up the red-carpeted steps in front of
her. She took in a deep breath. She was so nervous she could barely think
straight.

Though her aunt was her father’s sister, Kate had
wondered more than once if she would be truly welcome. She would just have to
make the best of her circumstances, whatever they were.

Earlier, she had been quite fortunate that the vicar had
been planning to leave for his daily calls. The man had been more than happy to
give her a lift from the village to the duke’s home. Relieved, she had accepted
the man’s kindness, having no wish to return to the carriage and Tristan. A
part of her regretted her outburst with the earl, but the rebellious part of
her rejoiced in having the last word.
P. W.
The memory almost made her
laugh.

“If you would please follow me, Miss Wilcox.” The butler
motioned for a young footmen to take her trunks.

Kate flexed her gloved hands and dutifully followed the
butler down the long marbled hallway. She raised a quick peek to the
magnificent chandelier dangling directly above her and suppressed a shiver. It
was a grand home. But with all her heart, she wished she were back at Wilcox
Manor.

Things had changed. That meant her cousin Devin was
older, just like Tristan. She told herself that in another twenty-four hours
she would forget all about the earl and his pompous ways. He might be
swashbuckling handsome, but she was no damsel in distress. At least not yet.