Desire Wears Diamonds Read Free

hadn’t
bragged in detail to your men about my abilities and how
pleased you are with the results.”
    “I didn’t—“ Timsworth’s protest died fast as
the cloud of alcohol lifted slightly and made him wonder just what
he had boasted at tonight’s party. Timsworth groaned and readjusted
his nightshirt. “War stories over brandies. They’ll think it
bluster and have forgotten it before dawn.”
    “Let me go and I’ll say nothing. I’ll take
it all to my grave. But if I stay, you’ll have to kill me because
the next time I get a weapon in my hands, I can’t say for certain
which direction I’ll be pointing it in.”
    “That’s mutiny! You dare to threaten me? A
renegade who thinks to dictate terms and stroll away from his
duties? You have the stones to deal with your commanding officer
like this?”
    Michael marveled that he couldn’t feel his
own heart beating. “My commanding officer? Technically, I’m not
officially in the army, thanks to your machinations. Remember? You
removed me from the ranks and have listed me as a valet on every
pay voucher. So much for my chance at a pension, eh?”
    Already dead. I’m already gone.
    “You’re paid well enough and…” Timsworth’s
color drained from his face. “I spared you from the dangers of the
common rank and file. You’ve enjoyed a privileged stay abroad as my
personal attaché, have you not?”
    A stay abroad? Why does the man feel
compelled to make it sound like he’s taken me on some exotic tour
for which I should be grateful? Stupid git.
    “As your privileged attaché, I’ve seen
enough to make a report of my own to end your illustrious military
career. Let me go. A drum head trial will only draw attention to
the matter and make your statements at the dinner seem all too
true. But you can tell them you dismissed me for insubordination,
or gave me leave to return to England, or—I don’t care what you
tell them. But I’ll take that signed paper stating I served you
well and without fault for all these years and that I’m no longer
in your employ.”
    “This.” Timsworth held up the paper with a
sneer. “This is not an official document by any stretch of the
imagination, Rutherford. Who do you think will be fooled by some
handwritten scrawl you force me to sign under duress? And who
exactly will care enough to ask for it before they mistake you for
a deserter and put a bullet into your head?”
    “I doubt that anyone will have the time to
search for one man…not in the months ahead.”
    “Why? What can possibly lie ahead to spare
your pathetic life?”
    He can’t see it. The Sepoys are increasingly
angry and we’ve marginalized them into a corner…we’re outnumbered
and spread thin with a civilian population of our own that we
cannot protect. And he’s got us shooting children without a thought
to the ramifications. These new rumors of the pig grease are simply
an excuse for it all to go wrong.
    “Sign it, general, and we shall call it an
even trade. My life or death doesn’t matter, right?” Michael took
one step closer, allowing his commanding officer to truly
appreciate the physical differences between them. At a breath short
of seven feet, he towered over the average height and weight of the
older man, a force to be reckoned with. “You see, I don’t expect to
survive long on my own in India; which means I have nothing to
lose.”
    “One does not simply walk away from the
British Army and the East India Company because they wish to. I’ll
forget this conversation and put in a word for you to see that you
attain a position with the—“
    “This isn’t a request for a transfer. If you
have to, put my name in the casualty lists and be done with it.”
Michael didn’t move a muscle, and waited for the inevitable.
    He didn’t have to wait long.
    Timsworth’s arrogant ice broke and his hands
began to shake, marring his signature but it was still legible.
“Useless. Dishonorable waste of a man! Scribble does not change