Read India Black and the Rajah's Ruby for Free Online

were gleaming at the prospect of sharing the tale of the gemstone with his guests.
    “We’ve heard how the ruby was acquired from the Rajah,” I said, not wishing to hear about the poor old boy’s decapitation again. “I suppose that’s where the legend began.”
    “The curse, you mean,” Marie Carter corrected me.
    White chuckled. “I wouldn’t say ‘cursed.’ Nobody who’s ever owned the stone has died as far as I know, except of natural causes.” Clearly, one Indian prince did not factor into the equation. “It’s just that it’s damned hard to keep your hands on the thing once you get hold of it.”
    “Harold,” Mrs. White objected. “Language.”
    “My apologies, ladies.” White looked abashed, but only for a moment as the fever to tell the story returned. “Major Swift, the fellow who took it from the Rajah, only had it a few weeks. He lost it in a game of cards to one of his brother officers. That fellow had it pinched from his cabin on the voyage back to England. The next time we hear of the gem, some lord or t’other has picked it up but won’t say a word about where he got it. He gives it to his mis—” Mr. White caught his wife’s eye. “Er, to a certain young lady. They have a falling out and the next thing you know, she’s pawned the darned stone and run off with the money. It goes on like that, with different folks owning the ruby but never able to hang on to it for very long. Just like my duchess. She probably kept it longer than anyone but in the end she had to part with it, too.”
    “Are you not worried, sir, that you might also succumb to the same destiny as previous owners?” Ashton asked politely.
    “Hell, no.”
    “Harold—”
    “Oops. ’Pologies again, ladies. I ain’t worried, Mr. Ashton. I don’t believe in fairy tales. A man makes his own luck. I intend to hang on to this pretty little rock for a long time. Soon as we get back home, I’m having one of those Tiffany fellas set it for me in pure silver.”
    “Might I suggest you consider twenty-four karat gold?” Ashton said. “With a stone of this rich, purplish-red, it’s traditional to set it that way. The yellow of the gold reduces the purple hue and makes the ruby appear a pure, unadulterated red. It would be absolutely striking against a gold setting.” The chap seemed quite conversant with the finer points of jewelry, and I noticed a lustful gleam in his eye. I felt a niggling suspicion that there was something deuced odd about Mr. Ashton.
    “Is that a fact? How about that, mother? Should we set the ruby in gold?”
    Mrs. White shrugged. “Whatever you think best, Harold.”
    White turned to me. “What’s your opinion, Mrs. Barrett?”
    “I should be delighted to have such a magnificent jewel regardless of the setting. It is exquisite. If—” And here I glanced coyly at Philip. “That is to say,
when
my dear husband presents me with such a gem, I shall consider myself the most fortunate of women.”
    “And you shall deserve such a gift. A beautiful object for a beautiful woman.” White beamed at me, his eyes straying toward my bosom. Mrs. White cleared her throat.
    “Would you care to hold it?” asked White, ignoring his wife.
    “May I?” I didn’t have to feign enthusiasm.
    He dropped it into my palm with an indulgent smile, and I held the great stone up to the light and gaped at it. I didn’t have to feign the admiration, either. It was a stunner, that stone. I’d have given my eyeteeth for one like it.
    “You’re mighty lucky,” Mrs. White observed. “Harold doesn’t usually let anyone touch that ruby.”
    No use rubbing the wife’s nose in it. I handed back the gem, thanked White for his largess, and said I expected Philip to buy the thing for me someday.
    “He’ll have a hard go of it,” said White. “This one is a keeper.”
    “It must be worth a fortune,” said Marie, which earned her another venomous glare from her father.
    “Oh, it is, Miss Carter. It is. Which is