Come the Dawn (24 page)

~ ~ ~

The ride back to Devonham House seemed to take forever.

India sat tensely, watching the streets pass in a blur and nursing the bruise that had begun to throb at her ankle, where she had struck the table. She was keenly conscious of the magnificent diamond nestled snugly in the bodice of her gown.

“But I don’t understand what the man was after?” Ian frowned at his sister.

India looked away. She had carefully avoided any mention of the diamond in her account of the night’s events. Some instinct told her that her brother would forbid her to do the thing she had already set her mind on — exploring the mystery of the diamond, and why Thorne was involved.

“Where would I go to buy a diamond, Ian?” India’s question came abruptly, cutting her brother off in the middle of a tirade about unruly females who refused to listen to their brothers and shot pistols in public places.

“Diamonds? Why in the world do you need a diamond? Grandmama has a nabob’s fortune in jewels, as you well know. She has said she would turn them all over to you if you showed the slightest bit of interest. Which you never have.” His gray eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What piece of mischief are you up to now, hornet?”

“No mischief, you silly great looby.” India’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I simply find I have a sudden yearning to buy a diamond. An
extraordinary
diamond. Who deals in such things?”

“As if I had any experience in buying jewelry! Ask me about dueling pistols or horseflesh and I could answer you. But diamonds?” He shrugged.

“Never mind. It was just a passing thought.”

Ian studied his sister suspiciously. “Don’t try and fob me off. I’ve seen that look on your face before, minx, and it means nothing but trouble.”

India’s expression could have melted the heart of the very sternest misanthrope. “I, cause trouble? My dearest brother, you must be
quite
mistaken.”

~ ~ ~

 “You’re late.”

Helena Marchmont pursed her well-rouged lips as she peered into the darkness of her boudoir.
“You!
I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” There was an edge in her voice. “When did you get here?”

The man seated in the wing chair before the dwindling fire smiled lazily. “Late enough to wonder what was keeping you, my dear.”

“But you weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow. You said you wouldn’t—”

Behind the countess there was a low laugh and a man appeared in the doorway. “My dear, luscious, Helena, I
do
hope you mean to make this evening worth my wait. After that sultry carriage ride, I am in unbearable pain.” He frowned suddenly as he saw the shadowed figure in the wing chair. “Who are—?”

The countess spun around and pushed him back toward the door. “I’ve changed my mind after all, Richard. Go away. I’m in no mood for—”

The man in the wing chair pushed lazily to his feet, his eyes dark and expressionless. “My dear Helena, it would be rude to send your guest away now. Show him in, do. I shall fix him a sherry.”

Helena Marchmont stood poised, one hand to her throat, while her eyes flickered uneasily between the two men.

“I’ve seen you before.” The countess’s ardent companion stared in shock at the man before the fire. “But what are you doing here? I could have sworn that you—”

Firelight glinted off the polished butt of a perfectly balanced pistol. “How unfortunate that you have recognized me. For that particular mistake, you shall pay dearly.”

The pistol cracked. A wisp of smoke drifted from its barrel.

Lady Marchmont’s stunned suitor grabbed at the spot where a part of his chest had disappeared. Blood welled up over his fingers. “But you — Helena said that you were — were her
brother
—” He pitched forward with a groan. His big, muscled body convulsed once, then lay still against the rich Aubusson carpet, out of place among the dainty cabbage roses.

The countess sighed. “You do have a penchant for making simple things untidy. What in heaven’s name am I to do with him now?”

“Heaven has very little to do with it.” The man before the fire gave a lazy wave of his hand. “I leave the details entirely up to you, my dear, as always.”

“You are a most unnatural brother,” Helena Marchmont snapped. “First you come back without warning, and now you leave me this — this nuisance. You think of no one but yourself!”

“Of course. It is what makes the two of us so much alike.” His thin lips lifted in a sneer. “But then again I am not your brother, am I, Helena? I am only your stepbrother. So very convenient, is it not?” He stood back, his shoulders to the mantel. The firelight clearly exposed the rising evidence of his desire.

The countess watched, entranced. Her tongue slid delicately around her lips with anticipation. Her companion smiled, his eyes sweeping over the lush curves perfectly visible beneath the gown of dampened silk. His hand went to his cravat, loosening its knot. “Come here,” he ordered softly.

Helena frowned. “But don’t you want to know about Thorne? About what happened at Vauxhall?”

He smiled very coldly. The cravat hit the floor. “Later.
Much
later.”

The next morning India awoke with faint shadows beneath her eyes. She had not slept well, her rest broken by a succession of dark dreams. The events at Vauxhall had left her shaken, worried about Thornwood and his three wards. Too many questions had been raised without answers. And then she frowned, remembering the diamond.

Quickly, she pulled a bird’s nest from its shelf beside the bed. Digging deep into the moss lining the nest, she found what she was looking for.

An extraordinary, blush-pink diamond. In the morning sun its glorious red facets winked and snapped on her hand. Whose was this stone of beauty, of incredible rarity? And how had the monkey at Vauxhall come to possess it?

India turned the jewel slowly, watching sparks play over her palm. A gem such as this had to have a history, but how was she to find it?

There was a soft tap at the door. Her dresser entered, lips pursed. “There’s someone below who wants to see you, miss. Said as how he’s a friend of your brother Luc’s.” The pursed lips grew even tighter.

“Dear Hawkins, you never approve of any man over the age of twelve and under the age of eighty.”

“Not a bit of it. I only disapprove of men that are not your equal.” Her lips twitched. “Which is to say any man between the age of twelve and eighty. Besides, there’s something strange about this fellow. His eyes are different somehow — or maybe it’s just that
he’s
different. Something in his attitude — an air of silence and confidence.”

“Connor MacKinnon!” The description could fit no one else. India shoved back the covers and jumped from the bed. “Do stop worrying about me for once and help me dress, Hawkins.”

~ ~ ~

At that moment Connor MacKinnon was lounging in the sunny front drawing room. His broad shoulders filled the perfectly cut jacket by Weston, his polished riding boots were mirror-bright, and his hair, although longer than fashionable, lent a softness to the long and unusually chiseled planes of his face. Connor MacKinnon was indeed a friend of India’s brother Luc, but few woman could have resisted the wish to make him more than a friend. Fortunately India, having seen too many women’s hearts broken by one look, remained comfortably immune to his charms.

Pushing open the door, a vision in primrose muslin with a deep navy sash that brought out the clarity of her eyes, India stood tapping her toe as she studied her exotic visitor. “Come to check up on me, have you?”

The man at the window turned slowly, a lazy smile on his face. “I’m far too busy to act as
your
guardian, hoyden. I would be dragged from one end of London to the other in the process, beating off your suitors with a club. A very
large
club.”

India chuckled. “Turning lazy in your old age, MacKinnon?”

“Old age?” One dark brow climbed lazily. “I’ll see you pay for that particular comment, my lady.” He crossed the room with the silent grace which always seemed to leave India breathless and bent over her palm, smiling faintly. “Do I need an excuse to come see my favorite friend’s favorite sister?”

“I’m Luc’s
only
sister. And I suspect Luc might be your only friend.”

Connor pressed at his heart. “You wound me. A mortal wound, and no mistake.” He collapsed into the nearest chair and India sat down after him, laughing unsteadily.

“You are the most complete hand. I can’t imagine what my brother sees in you.”

But India knew, of course. Connor had saved her brother’s life in the dangerous East, where Luc had been a captive of the pirates of Algiers. Several years later, when Luc had again fallen into danger, Connor had come to his aid once more. Remembering that time of danger, India’s smile slowly faded. Her brother had trusted Connor with his life; she knew that she could trust him too.

Her hands locked at her waist. “What do you know about diamonds, Conn?”

“Diamonds?” Connor’s eyes narrowed. “In India they were known as ‘fragments of eternity.’ In the Middle Ages they were said to cure everything from warts to infertility. Formed deep in the fires of the earth, they are among the most valued items of trade known to man.” His lips curved. “In addition to that, what did you want to know?”

“Facts, please.”

“Only one fact is of any importance. They are beautiful, valuable — and very dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“They are not always what they seem. One man’s priceless treasure can be another man’s paste replica.”

“What about this?” India slowly raised her palm. Light danced over lush pink facets of crystal fire. “Is this a paste replica?”

Connor lifted the fine gem, studying it intently. He moved it from side to side, then turned it slowly.

“Well?” India asked breathlessly. “Is it real or isn’t it?”

“It is most certainly real. And it’s flawless — or as close as any diamond comes to being flawless. No clouds, no feathers, no knots.”

“What?”

“Minute cracks or inclusions, things that would reduce the stone’s worth,” Connor explained. “No abrasions or pitting, either. But it’s that amazing color that gives the stone its value. Experts call a stone like this a fancy. A slight yellow tint is considered a flaw, but a stone with this kind of remarkable pink tone is priceless for its color. I have seen only two other gems like this — the Condé, which was part of Louis XIII’s collection, and the Sancy diamond.”

“Where did
you
find out so much about gems?” India asked suspiciously.

“In Brazil. I worked in a mine there for a while.” His gaze settled on the window, his eyes shadowed, as if caught up in memories that were far from pleasant. “As a general rule, my dear India, when the world is in chaos and people lack faith in their governments, treasures like this diamond gain in value. That is why I make it my business to know one or two things about separating good diamonds from inferior ones.”

India had the feeling there was a great deal more Connor wasn’t telling her, but she knew her brother’s friend would reveal only what he chose. “And what about this diamond? Is it from Brazil?”

“Probably not. From India, more like. The most fabulous diamonds come from there, stones like the Koh-i-noor, the Hope Diamond, the Sancy, and of course the Condé.”

“Where would I go, Connor, if I wanted to sell a jewel like this — or to buy one?”

“Montagu Street, for one. Possibly Rundell’s, but you’ll pay through the teeth for the ‘privilege’ of shopping at their select establishment. Why?”

“Just curious.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “I heard what happened last night at Vauxhall. I don’t imagine that had anything to do with this diamond.”

India’s expression was all innocence. “What gives you that idea?”

Connor MacKinnon shook his head. “You would lie to the prince himself, wouldn’t you?”

“Only if it were
very
necessary,” India said softly. “Rundell’s, you say. Thank you, Connor.”

Hard fingers shot around India’s wrist. “Stay out of it, India.” MacKinnon’s eyes were very cold. “People who possess gems like this don’t live long enough to enjoy them. All that fire and brilliance can kindle a terrible greed.”

“Are you telling me the stone is cursed?”

“I’m saying nothing of the sort. It is human minds that can be cursed — cursed with greed. A stone of this color and brilliance might drive a weak mind over the edge.” He studied India’s face for a moment, then sighed. “Since I can see you are determined to find out about the stone, I’ll go with you. How does two o’clock sound?”

India thought about protesting, but knew Connor could be as relentless as he was charming. “Very well, two o’clock will be perfect.”

By the time her brother’s friend left a few minutes later, his fears had been entirely allayed.

Of course India planned to be gone at
least
an hour before Connor returned. And just to be sure he would be completely distracted when he arrived, India sent a note around to Thornwood, asking him to call at the very same hour. By the time the two men stopped arguing and sorted out the situation, she would be safely away.

~ ~ ~

As the clock struck one a dashing youth in fashionable buckskins and a perfectly cut gray jacket strode down the steps of Devonham House. His cravat was exquisitely turned in the style known as the Mathematical, and his Hessian boots were polished to a jaunty shine. If his gait was slow and bordering on the effeminate, it was a minor flaw in an otherwise perfect appearance.

Of course the “boy” was not a boy at all, but India Delamere draped in a pair of breeches long ago pilfered from her brother’s wardrobe. Dealing with her hair had been the hardest part, but she had twisted it up and knotted it tightly, then covered the whole beneath a broad-brimmed beaver hat set rakishly askew.

Her first goal, the select establishment of Rundell’s, was located on one of the finest shopping streets in London, and India was properly impressed when she stepped inside the heavily carpeted showroom. Jewels of all sizes and colors flashed from velvet-lined cases, and women in elegant dress sat speaking softly as they considered purchases worth more than a lifetime’s wages for most of the residents of London. India’s fingers tightened on the jewel hidden in the inner pocket of her embroidered waistcoat.

“May I help you, sir?” A man in a severe black jacket surveyed India from a rosewood desk near the door.