Queen of Diamonds (25 page)

Martin tried to end that lying, cheating, ugly life right there. He lunged forward with his sword aimed at Ize's heart.

The target was too small. He missed, but not by much, piercing Ize in the chest. When he pulled his sword back and out, Ize kicked him, sending Martin flying against the stair railing. The rotted, termite-ridden railing.

The wood shattered. Martin kept going, right through the splintering wood and over the edge. He screamed.

Queenie screamed as his body landed at her feet.

Ize clutched at his chest, where blood was dripping down. He looked over, careful to keep away from the edge. He got a good look at Harry and the Runner beside him. “Bloody hell.”

“That's precisely where you are going. Come down, Ize. You are under arrest in the name of the Crown. We have heard enough to know that you were well aware the necklace was stolen. If you give back the real stones, you might not hang.” Rourke could not see the blood pouring over Ize's fingers, which made the subject of his punishment moot.

“Unless they charge him with the murder of a baronet, dirty dish that Sir John Martin was,” Harry added, holding Queenie so that her head was averted from his broken brother-in-law.

“Is he dead?”

Rourke did not have to bother kneeling down to check for a pulse. “I never saw a live man with his neck at that angle. You are right, my lord. There's always barristers willing to plead self-defense, I suppose, but it looks like murder to me.”

“You ain't going to hang me,” Ize shouted down, knowing he was not going to live long enough for a hempen necklace. He'd seen enough knife stabs in his time—hell, he'd inflicted enough—to recognize a fatal wound.

“You could jump out the window, I suppose. Take your chances on not ending in a heap like Martin.”

The nearest window had a board nailed over it.

Ize still had his knife, and he had nothing to lose. He was already losing his balance and his eyesight along with his claret. “Come and get me.”

“I'll go up,” Lord Harking said.

“No, Harry! Let him be.”

Something in the woman's voice sounded familiar to Ize, but all he saw through a red haze was the top of the dark-haired French seamstress's head, Harking's mistress, the witch who likely had that brat follow him home.

“All right, you win. I am coming down.”

He did, slowly, staggering, one hand up in the air, the other over the wound in his chest. When he reached the bottom steps, he lowered his hand, so a knife dropped out of his sleeve. He rushed down the last steps and pushed past Rourke, who was reaching in his pocket for his manacles. Now Rourke had a gash across his hand.

Ize would have slashed out at Harry next, but Queenie threw a broom at his head, then a mop.

Then Harry had his pistol in his hand, where he stood in front of the door. Ize was not leaving that way.

Charlie had picked up the Runner's fallen club and was guarding the hall toward the back door that led to an alley.

Queenie was in the middle, too far to pick up a dust pan or a bucket. Ize snarled at her. “You bitch! You brought them here!” He leaped forward with his last strength, knocking her down, his knife at her throat.

Charlie swung the club at his back. Harry brought the butt of his pistol down on the man's head. He kicked the knife across the hall for Rourke to pick up in his uninjured hand.

Ize did not move, and Queenie was frantically pushing him off her, trying to roll out from under his dead—or nearly so– weight. Harry quickly pulled him up and turned him over. They all saw the sword wound and the blood for the first time.

Rourke took his time wrapping his handkerchief around his hand. Charlie cast up his accounts in a bucket. Queenie stopped sobbing, knelt at the dying dastard's side and started praying.

Ize looked up, into the bluest eyes this side of heaven, which he was never going to see. He opened his pop eyes as wide as he could, to see those eyes one last time, and their distinctive dark rims.

Blood came out of his mouth, along with his last word. “Queenie?”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Rourke finished knotting the cloth around his hand. “What did he say?”

Harry pulled Queenie away. “Nothing.”

“Well, he said enough before. We'll track down the rest of your diamonds, real or fake now. A few might have been cut and sold.”

“No matter. I find I no longer care as much. The setting is recovered. Maybe in the future I will finish replacing the stones. Maybe not. Too many people have died over them to give me any pleasure in owning the damned things.”

Rourke agreed, setting out to call for the Watch and the constable and more Runners to complete the case. They'd all want to talk to Lord Harking and Madame Lescartes later, take their depositions, decide about disposal of the bodies, etc., but they were free to go now. Seeing how the lady was trembling and as white as the lord's linen neckcloth, Rourke told them to leave before the crime scene became overrun. He might be able to keep their names from the newspapers for awhile that way. A heavy purse changed hands, and gratitude.

Harry led Queenie to the old carriage, where they would have a bit of privacy, not the curricle. Charlie climbed up to ride with Old Jim, although he could have walked as fast as old Millie, who had earned her retirement this day.

Harry did not bother asking, he simple picked Queenie up and placed her on the worn and torn seat, stepped up and pulled her onto his lap, his arms wrapped around her so she could not be bounced around by the rough passage of the rickety wheels. He stroked her back until the trembling stopped, telling her what a brave girl she had been, and how proud he was of her, and if she ever walked into danger like that again he would beat her with a broom or a bucket himself, or whatever was handy.

Queenie had to smile, cocooned in safety, knowing Harry would never hurt her, and Ize could never hurt her again, ever. She needed a moment to reflect on the changes in her life. Now she was free of Ize's threats, free to go to Lord Carde without fearing for her friends' safety or her own life. Her shop was safe from arson, and the women who worked there. Ize's death was ugly, and she would pray for his soul, but his life had been ugly too.

Then Harry said, “Is that the name I should put on the special license, Queenie? What was it, Queenie Dennis? The girl they think might be Lady Charlotte Endicott?”

He could feel her stiffen in his arms as she pulled away, to sit across from him. She did not look at his face, but rubbed at a spot of blood on her glove. “They say Queenie Dennis was blond-haired, the same as the missing child. Ize saw my blue eyes and got confused. His guilty conscience made him see more than was there. Perhaps he wished forgiveness for his sins.” She shrugged. “He was delirious, hallucin—What special license?”

“The one I would purchase as soon as you agree to marry me, when I have a name to give the archbishop's secretary.”

“M-marry?”

“That was the question I have been trying to ask you. I don't know how. I suppose I should go down on my knee, but the floor of this carriage is less than appealing. I think Old Jim's last passenger was a chicken grower. I should bring flowers, I know, but I was in such a hurry this morning, and hungry. I am always hungry when I am anxious.”

“You are always hungry,” Queenie managed to murmur, through her amazement.

He ignored that. “I wanted to give you the Harking diamonds as an engagement present—but if one of the stones is cut, I can have that made up into a ring, so you will still have all the centuries of my name behind it. That is what I want to give you, a new name, one that you can keep forever. My name.”

“Lady Harking?” she asked in disbelief. “You are truly asking me to be your viscountess? Not your mistress?”

“That too, but both. Only both. I would wed a woman who seduces me with her smile and her scent and, yes, her secrets, but this is not about lust, not only passion. I will have a virtuous wife, if it kills me to step back from you. I want you, sweetheart, as the mistress of my heart, mistress of my home. My wife.” He liked saying that so much he repeated it. “My wife.”

“But you cannot. You will hate the scandal.”

“I would hate more living the rest of my life without the only woman who can complete my life.”

“You do not know—”

“It does not matter, I tell you.”

“You trust me that much?”

“I love you that much.” He reached for her hands, bringing them to his lips, and whispered, “I know I love you,
chérie
, whoever you are, and I do not want to live without you, no, not for another day. I thought long and hard, and I know this is the only way for me to be happy, and for you, I hope.”

Queenie was back across the carriage and in his arms, kissing him with all the love she had felt for so long. But she would not marry him.

“What?” he was out of breath, and out of patience. “You cannot go around kissing gentleman like that, madam, if you are not prepared to make honest husbands of them. I tell you now, I shall not accept
carte blanche
, no, not even for the delights of sharing your bed. We share a name or nothing.”

“I want to marry you, Harry, more than you will ever know. I dreamed of such a thing, but never thought it was possible. We are from such different worlds.”

“We will make our own world. You'll see. I shall spend my life making you happy.” He put another inch of distance between them, so he could see her better. “What, are you crying? Deuce take it, that's a fine start, isn't it?” He handed over his handkerchief.

“You have made me happy enough to weep, my dearest Harry, simply by loving me. Your asking me to wed is beyond my hopes and prayers. But I cannot accept, not until you know my past.”

“The devil take the past. I have spent too much time worrying over what went before, trying to atone for my parents' sins, my brother-in-law's crimes. It is the future that matters, our future together.”

“That is what I have been trying to tell you. I cannot know what the future will bring once I reveal my past.”

“That is what I have been trying to tell you, that I do not care. I will love you no matter what. I know who you are now, and what you have done to make yourself into a magnificent success, and a loving, generous, good-hearted woman. That is enough. I trust you, and you trust me, I think.”

“But I am not a fit wife for a viscount.”

“You are the only wife this viscount wants. I do not want a mistress kept hidden away, nor one whose children I cannot acknowledge as my heirs. I want you,
chérie
, and I have since the day I first saw you. If you are worried that I will become a possessive, demanding sort, stealing your independence, do not be. You will not need the income, but you can keep the shop, if you want. I will buy us a town house in London, take my seat in Parliament, and spend as much time in the city as you need. All I ask is that you come to the country with me first, and as often as you will. You will love Harking Hall, I know. And you can set up a shop in the nearby village. The local ladies will be delighted. And I shall build you a studio so you can draw and design to your heart's content. I would never try to harness your talent or your dreams, only your love. I could not bear to see you in danger, at the mercy of the rakes and reprobates in town. Where you go, I go.”

Which called for more kisses, and a few more tears. Harry had to borrow back his handkerchief. Queenie had to wipe her eyes with her gloves, leaving black streaks on them from her lash darkener. Her throat was too clogged with emotion, but she shook her head, no. “I cannot.”

“You can!” Harry insisted. “I want to protect you and give you the protection of my name. The only thing I would ask you to give up in return is Lescartes's name.”

“He never existed.”

“Even better. Now I can stop being jealous of him.”

“Silly Harry. I have never loved another man.”

“I am silly for you. Say yes, sweetheart, and make me the happiest of men.”

“Your asking has made me the happiest of women. I never thought it possible, to wed where my heart leads. And I could not marry without that. But, Harry, it is not that easy. What if I am a criminal?”

“Are you?”

“Not in my eyes. But the law…”

“Then you need me more. Our marriage puts the power of the peerage at your back. And my money in your pocket. I have acquaintances in high places who will help. Believe me, the courts are far less eager to take on the wife of a viscount than some questionable French dressmaker with a shadowy past.”

Queenie knew that to be true. “But for your sake, you need a wife who is acceptable in your circles.”

“I need you.”

“Yet you speak of taking your seat in Parliament. With an orphan as a bride? You shall be a laughingstock. That is right, Harry, I am an orphan, taken from an institution, with no name, no family. Nothing. There are no baptismal records of any Queenie Dennis, no school records or communions, nothing to say that she ever existed. And I will never know who I truly am.”

“Darling, people already think you are my mistress, a foreigner, and in trade. I cannot imagine your being an orphan any harder for them to accept as my wife. And I do not care if they do. I never was fond of the so-called polite world where the manners are mean and swinish. And Camden's sister will stand your friend, so we shall not be entirely shunned if it comes to that, which I doubt. A woman takes her place in society from her husband's standing, not the other way. So we shall not be invited to Almack's? It is not half as entertaining as the Cyprian's Ball. The women are not dressed as well either, and the refreshments are stale.”

“Your family will care.”

“What, that I do not attend Almack's? Perhaps my sister can go, once her mourning period is over, and find herself a decent husband. If my sister cares for me at all, she will be delighted I found happiness. And she will love you for that. Meanwhile, I think Olivia can be encouraged to relocate to Sir John Martin's estate, which belongs to her son now. He should be raised there, knowing his lands and people. I know the place is heavily mortgaged. We can use some of the real diamonds to bring it back to self-supporting profitability. I can hire a trustworthy steward, and she can set herself up as the lady of the manor, without the disgrace Martin brought to her at Harking Hall. That way she will not feel that she is taking second place to the new Lady Harking, after running the estate so long.”

“I know nothing of being chatelaine to a country estate.”

“You learned how to be a designer of dresses. You can learn to manage our house. Besides, there is a competent staff.”

“You have thought of everything.”

“I have thought of nothing but you.”

He tried to prove it with his kisses, his caresses. If his words could not convince her of his love, perhaps his passion could. She returned his kisses; she let her hands go exploring the same as his. His cravat was undone. Her bonnet was tossed to the muck of the carriage floor. Her skirts were raised. So was Harry's standard, at full mast.

But he did have standards. He would not take his bride in a filthy carriage, in the middle of London, without a wedding.

“Say yes, sweetings, before I die,” he gasped.

Queenie took a moment to catch her own breath, and raise the bodice of her gown. “I cannot, until I speak with Lord Carde.”

He dropped his hands, which were lowering that neckline so he could touch the rose-petal velvet of her breasts. “The deuce, you say. The earl is to decide my happiness?”

“He is to decide my fate. Until then I cannot know what I have to give you, a nameless orphan or a wanted criminal. I did commit crimes of omission by not telling what I knew, so I am guilty of deceiving that family, at the very least. But know this, my dearest, that I want to marry you more than I want anything in this world. I think I love you more than my own honor—but not more than yours.”

“Tell me, then. Let me decide.”

“Not yet. Will you come with me, though? Listen to what I have to say, what they have to say? They deserve the truth after all these years, truth that I have helped keep from them.”

“I will never leave your side again.”

“Oh, Harry.”

So Harry banged on the carriage roof and told Old Jim to take his time returning to the shop.

Old Jim cackled though toothless lips. What, did the jobbernowl think Millie was hurrying?

* * *

Harry had to leave her, of course, to make arrangements to have Martin's body shipped to the baronet's own rundown estate. Harry did not want that bastard befouling the Harking crypt, not did he want to attend the ceremony. So he hired a hearse and a mourner to go with it, and said good riddance.

He wrote letters to his sister, made frequent appearances at Bow Street and made payments to jewelers to buy back his own gems.

He used some of the cut stones to pay off the reward. Part went to Rourke, but another portion belonged to Charlie, who agreed that having a real education paid for was a handsome enough windfall, as long as he did not have to leave Madame Denise. So Harry swore he could go wherever they did, until he decided to attend university.

Harry now had the ring, with one of the Harking diamonds in a new shape and setting. He brought flowers every day. He bribed the archbishop's secretary to issue a totally reprehensible and exorbitantly expensive special license with the bride's name to be inserted later. He was ready.

Queenie was ready, too. She had promoted her head fitter to store manager. She had completed stacks of sketches with her special customers in mind. She had stacks more for the fashion journal, and a much larger stack of coins to hire on new workers, and to take with her. She did not want to close the store, putting so many out of work. Nor did she want to disappoint Lady Jennifer and her plans to help expand it into a training school, when Jack Endicott finally opened the Ambeaux Silver academy for needy girls. And Queenie could not forsake her dream, in case Harry changed his mind.