Queen of Diamonds (24 page)

It had, a storm of desire and devotion and a dedication to making his woman happy. She would be happy, he vowed. And she would be his.

Of course she did not know that his intentions were honorable. How could she, when he had not known himself until yesterday when he finally realized that he could not live his life without her in it. But how the deuce was he to ask her, with Rourke in the room? He had no pretty speeches prepared, not even a bouquet of flowers. What kind of fool brought breakfast instead of a betrothal ring? Damn!

And there was this mess with Ize, and her wanting to fly away on some secret mission Harry could not comprehend.

He did not have to understand. He would take care of the inconvenient Ize, then he would take care of whatever mare's nest awaited at the end of her journey. And then he would care for her for the rest of their lives.

He came over to her near the window and put his arm around her, not caring what Rourke saw. He stroked her taut neck, hoping to lessen her tension. “Charlie will be fine. In the meantime, I need to know what name to put—”

“There he is!”

On the special license.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I followed him, ma'am, just like you said. And I waited outside this old place—it looked like a rooming house—to see if he came out again.”

“He didn't see you, did he?” Queenie asked, handing the boy a piece of cheese and a slice of ham on bread as soon as he jumped down from a decrepit hackney carriage pulled by a sway-backed old nag. She knew better than to hug him in front of the men.

“A'course he didn't see me. No one notices grubby brats. I would of been back sooner, but no jarveys take their coaches down those streets.” Charlie swallowed the sandwich nearly whole. After all, he had not eaten in almost two hours. “So I started to walk home, but afore I could get to the corner, I spotted a gentry cove headed toward Ize's house, so I ducked in an alley and watched him go in.” Charlie turned toward Lord Harking now. “I watched 'cause he was better dressed'n any other cull on the street, but his beak was broke, all swollen sideways and purple. And he had a bald spot. Do you think it might be your brother-in-law what stole the diamonds, gov?”

“It might just be, Charlie. You did well.”

The boy beamed with pride. “I started to run then, to tell you, and headed toward a wider road, but no one would take up a poor-looking fare, and I didn't want to flash my brass, not in that neighborhood. Afore I could go too many streets away I finally spotted Old Jim and Millie—Millie's the horse—what I knew from before. Jim sometimes gave me a ha'penny to watch the mare when he needed a break. They brung me home.”

So Queenie handed Old Jim a sandwich too. Millie looked older than her driver, if that were possible. She was drinking out of a leather nose bag, her sides heaving with the effort.

“Did you get the street name and number of the house?” Rourke wanted to know.

Charlie spoke to Harry, not the Runner. “I was watching Ize too careful-like to see street signs, if there was any, and there was no numbers on the houses. But I can show you where it is, all right.”

Queenie shook her head. “No. You cannot go back. Ize will recognize you.”

Charlie was already clambering up onto Harry's curricle. Harry took her hand, kissed it briefly and let it go in the shortest time ever, and not because it smelled of ham and cheese. “Do not worry. I will bring the lad back safe and sound.”

“There is no reason for either of you to go! It is too dangerous, dealing with criminals and cutthroats. You know your brother-in-law tried to stab you once already. Please, my lord, do not go! This is a matter for Bow Street and the courts, not a country gentleman and a child!”

Both the country gentleman—who took her comment to mean incompetent bumpkin—and the child—who took her comment to mean bumbling baby—frowned at her. So did Rourke as he climbed up to sit next to Harry on the bench. The groom from the livery stable and Charlie shared the narrow tiger's stand behind the seat.

“We will be back soon,” Harry promised as he gave the horses the office to start. “In time for luncheon.”

Queenie was left in the street amid swirling dust. The man she loved and the boy she had practically adopted were driving away, perhaps into peril. They did not even realize how treacherous Ize could be—or how many secrets he knew. Thick-headed Harry was even thinking of his stomach instead of his safety! Luncheon? She'd give him a piece of her mind and let him chew on that, the clunch.

There was not another blessed thing Queenie could do about his leaving except curse, in two languages.

…Or she could hire Old Jim and Millie, who looked to be settled in front of her store for a nap. Queenie looked at the ancient mare. Then she looked at the curricle, careening around the corner. “Can you follow them?”

Old Jim scratched his head. “Not at that speed, we can't. But I knows where they're going, so it don't make no nevermind. Asides, Millie and me, we know shorter ways to get there.”

Stay behind packing? Wait for word of whatever mayhem ensued? Or trust her life to a tired old horse, an antique coach, and an ancient driver? Two of the things she feared most in the world were facing Queenie now: a rickety, unreliable carriage, and a rabid, rapacious Ize.

She feared losing Harry worse.

“Hellen, mind the shop!”

* * *

At last! Harry was finally getting somewhere. He was doing something about his missing heirloom, and doing something about rescuing Madame Denise Lescartes from whatever demons plagued her. Then she would trust him. Then she would marry him.

She had to. Even if she did not love him, the woman was too smart to turn down such a golden opportunity. Not that Harry wanted to be wed for his title, money, or what influence he had. But she loved him, he knew she did, even if she did sometimes think he was a flea-brained farmer, which he sometimes was. She'd expressed her love in words. Better, she'd expressed it in those sweet little sighs she made when he kissed her, in how she pressed her soft body against his hard one. And in how she desperately did not want him to rush into danger. She would marry him.

Nothing else mattered, not what his sister would say, or the gossip columns, or his neighbors. Life was good. Life was simple, just the way it was meant to be. There would be no more riddles, no more regrets…as soon as he got rid of his brother-in-law and the bastard who threatened his bride.

He flicked the whip over the horses' heads to quicken the pace.

“If Ize lives at this place or does business there, he'll keep until later,” Rourke said, holding onto his hat. “Or I can take a handful of Runners and get him tomorrow. He'll tell us where your in-law is, if we have to shake it out of him.”

“We will finish this today. Now. The two of us.”

Rourke tried to stay upright as the vehicle turned a corner on two wheels. “You know, my lord, this is a matter of the law now. You reported those diamonds stolen, a crime committed. You wouldn't be thinking of taking justice into your own hands, now would you?”

If Lord Harking did not have the reins in his hands, he'd have his pistol. “Of course not.”

“I have a solemn duty to remind you that dueling is illegal.”

“And I need to remind you who is paying your salary for this case. Furthermore, dueling is for gentlemen. Sir John Martin is no longer one. That pop-eyed poltroon Ize never was.”

Rourke did not seem reassured. “I am in charge, is that understood? No one makes a move without me. Right?” He cautiously turned to look behind him, to include Charlie and the hired groom.

The groom yelled back, “Right, sir. I have a wife and children. I ain't no hero. My job is staying outside with the horses. If we live long enough to get there.”

They did reach the dark, narrow, littered street Charlie directed them to, not quite in the rookeries, but not far distant. He pointed out a soot-begrimed house that was even shabbier than its neighbors, some of the windows boarded over, a beggar with a gin bottle in his hands sleeping beside the doorstep.

Harry pulled ahead, out of sight of the remaining windows, and stopped. “We'll go back on foot,” he said, already forgetting that Rourke was supposed to be in command.

The Runner did get down first while Harry was transferring the ribbons to the groom. Rourke was too relieved to be on firm ground to argue, and he agreed when the viscount took the words out of his mouth and ordered Charlie to stay behind.

“Do you know what Madame Lescartes would do to me if anything happened to you, my boy?” Harry asked when the lad would have protested being left with the horses.

Charlie grinned. “She'd likely baste your ballocks to your backside.”

“Precisely. So you keep your eyes open and whistle if there's anything untoward in the street.”

“Right, gov. Iffen I see Ize or your kin come out I'll follow him.”

If Charlie saw either of those loose screws walk out of the building, Harry would be lying unconscious somewhere. “We do not know if they are still inside.”

They were, and arguing loudly enough on the third floor landing to be heard from the ground floor entryway. One of the rooming house renters saw the Runner with his club in his hand and jumped out an unboarded ground floor window, landing on the sleeping sot. Two other boarders pushed past Harry in a hurry. Some doors on the upper levels slammed shut, locks turning; others creaked open so the rooms' occupants could peer out at the commotion in the upper hall. One of the men there did not seem to notice or care, as he kept up his loud carping.

Harry headed for the stairs. “It's Martin, all right. I recognize his whining.”

Rourke tapped the viscount's shoulder then put his finger over his lips and stepped to the side of the stairwell, indicating they should stay out of sight, listening. “We'll learn more this way. Maybe get a confession.”

Harry wanted his diamonds, not a discussion, but he bided his time, now that he knew Martin was there. He nodded and left his pistol in his boot.

Then he wished he had it in his hand when someone came through the door behind him. Someone who smelled of lilacs.

He pulled her roughly toward the space behind the stairs, among brooms and mops and buckets. “What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded in the harshest whisper he could manage.

“I heard shouting and saw people running out the door and leaping out of windows. I thought you might be in trouble.”

“So you came to my rescue? With a darning needle? Devil take it, woman, I am supposed to be the one who slays the dragons! Why can you never act like an ordinary female?”

“Should I swoon or weep?”

“You should stay home and sew!”

“Sh,” Rourke ordered, glaring at both of them. “Unless you want to announce our presence.”

Harry tried to push her outside, but someone else was coming in. Charlie.

“Damn it! I told you to stay with the horses!”

“I work for Madame Denise. I came to see she was safe.”

“She'd be perfectly safe at home, or outside, where you can watch her to your heart's content.”

The noises from above were stopped, as if the arguers had heard something and were listening. Harry scowled at Charlie, but he pulled both the boy and the woman into the shelter of the stairwell, out of view of the upper landing. “And don't be knocking anything over.”

The shouting resumed. “What do you mean you don't have any money for me?” Martin was ranting. “You've had the necklace for over a week now! Deuce take it, are you trying to leave town with my blunt?”

“Shut your trap. The neighbors can hear you.”

So could Rourke and Harry and the others. Harry thought the Runner had enough evidence to arrest at least one of the maggots. He jerked his thumb up the stairs, but Rourke shook his head, no.

“I do not care who hears! And everyone in this neighborhood knows your shifty, shady business anyway. How do you think I found you, with you moving so much? I had to use my last coins to buy the information. Now I need the brass, I say. You told me a few days, for your stone cutter to pry the diamonds out and refacet them so no one could suspect where they came from. I paid for passage out of England at the end of the week—and I need the ready to start a new life! I can't stay in town much longer, damn it, not with that buffle-headed Harking issuing rewards and hiring Runners to look for me.”

“And me. So what do you do? You chance leading them straight to me. So who is the bigger fool? I told you I'd send word when I had the blunt, damn it. Now get out of here.”

“Not without my money or my diamonds, damn your cheating soul.”

“You call me a cheat, you bastard? You're the one who tried to pass off paste jewels!”

“Paste? Those are the Harking diamonds! They are famous! Otherwise I could have sold them at the high-toned jewelers.”

“And I say they are glass! Here, let me show you.”

The listeners below could not see what Ize was doing, but they heard something drop to the bare wooden floor, like a pebble. Then they heard Ize strike it with something, likely the handle of his knife. The stone shattered. “You see? Diamonds don't shatter like that, now do they?”

Martin was not that easy a pigeon to pluck. “How do I know that was one of the Harking diamonds?”

“Listen, you muckworm, you came to me. I took the sparklers in good faith and gave you a down payment, for when my cutter could make the stones saleable. I say they are fake. You're lucky I don't carve your liver out, 'stead of asking for my brass back. Here, take the bloody necklace and get out.”

They listeners below could hear a heavy chain—lighter by the missing stones—drop to the floor.

Three pairs of eyes behind the stairs looked at Harry.

Charlie's mouth was hanging open, and the Bow Street Runner was shaking his head in disbelief.

Queenie rasped out the question they all wanted to ask: “You knew? You have been turning the town upside down for fake diamonds?”

Red flags flew in Harry's cheeks. “They were mine,” was all he said. And hers, was what he hoped. To hell with waiting, was what he decided. He left the shadowed cover and stepped over to the bottom of the stairs. “He's lying, Martin. They weren't all glass.”

Ize cursed. So did Martin. So did Rourke.

Harry went on: “It seems my profligate father pried out a few of the stones to pay his gaming debts. I think my mother used one or two to finance her flight. I pawned one myself, to make a better dowry for my sister, which you wasted within a year. I've been purchasing the real ones back when I can, or replacements for the missing stones whenever I had the blunt. I'd say more than half were real by now.”

“You dastard!” Martin saw the Runner and knew he was finished. But he was not going to go by himself. He twisted the handle of his cane and pulled out his hidden sword. “You were going to give me nothing, you frog-faced rotter? You were going to let me believe they were all imitations? Not on your life!”