Queen of Diamonds (27 page)

She tucked her hem back down. “We are talking of love-making, my lord, not marriage.”

“Are we?” Harry smoothed the line between her eyebrows. “You do understand that if you give yourself to me tonight, you are mine forever? I am no despoiler of maidens. Uh, you are a maiden, are you not? Not that it matters, of course.”

She nodded, and he smiled. “I lied. It matters. I am thrilled to be the first, and the last and the only. But make no mistake, I am not a rake taking his pleasure and leaving without a backward look. I am not leaving!”

“Oh Harry, do not pull at me now. Let us have tonight and think about the future later.”

“But we might make a child. I have to know that my son or daughter will bear my name.”

“I would not wish to bring a bastard into the world any more than you would. Yes, if I conceive, I will marry you.”

“Then I shall keep you in this bed until we make triplets! But you shall marry me anyway,” he said, lifting the nightgown over her head. This time the dog barely grumbled when the soft flannel landed nearby. “Because you will not want to miss what we will share tonight. You will see, I swear, and then you will want me in your bed forever.” He grinned, very much the rake he denied being.

Queenie smiled back. “Conceited clunch. Are you so positive I shall enjoy your lovemaking?”

Now he frowned. “Perhaps not the first time, from what I understand, but I shall try my hardest.”

She could already feel his hardest against her thigh. “Show me.”

And he commenced to do so, worshiping her body with his hands, his tongue, his sighs and his warm breaths, the entire time murmuring words of love that were almost more arousing than anything else. Almost. Soon Queenie could not differentiate any of the sensations; she was one pool of desire, one liquid fire from her head to her toes and all kinds of new places between.

Harry started at her eyebrows and admired every inch of her as he started his loving journey.

He paused at her ears, delighting in the shivers he felt quiver through her. “Do you mind the light?”

“No, I love to see your face.” Queenie could feel the flush spreading from her chest to her cheeks. “And the rest of you. I never realized a man was built so differently, with such firm muscles.”

She had not seen firm yet, he thought.

“And your hair, here, so different from mine.” She was caressing his bare chest, wondering at his muscles, feeling the cords at his ribs, then discovering that she could make his nipples harden too.

By then Harry had worked—pleasured—his way past her chin and was feathering kisses and tiny nips of his teeth up and down her neck, before devoting himself entirely to her beautiful breasts.

Queenie was nearly writhing in her rising passion. She knew there was more, and she wanted it, now. She was hot and moist and wanting, needing to be filled with him and his love.

“Harry!”

“Soon, my love. Soon.” He was licking at her belly, tickling the sensitive skin around her navel. The anticipation of his southerly journey was making them both gasp and groan in the pain of pleasure.

Blowing warm breaths on her bare skin, Harry let his fingers graze the curls between her thighs. Queenie tried to wrap her legs around his, pulling him closer, but he was not ready. He was ready, all right, but not finished introducing her, and himself, to these first delights.

She cried out, so he had to still her cries with another long, tongue-tangling kiss, which only made her more impatient. “I thought you wanted to make a baby!”

“Sh, my love. The waiting is the best part. Well, maybe not the best part. But I need to make sure you are ready.”

“I am ready, you gudgeon. I have waited all my life for you. Do you think I am not ready now?”

He laughed and went back to worshiping at the altar of her body. He stoked her inner thigh, then a bit higher, and she whimpered.

He lowered himself for a more intimate kiss. First, he had to admire what Heaven had blessed him with. So perfect, so soft. So…fair?

“Bloody hell, you
are
a blonde!”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Now.” Harry was back on the floor, back in his robe, having dislodged the dog from his nest atop it. He threw Queenie her nightgown. “Tell me now. Do not say I have to wait, either. I am dying for you, woman, surely you can see that.” A blind man could see the evidence under his wrap. “I have earned the right to know the truth.”

“But I do not know if I have the truth!”

“Then tell me what you do know.”

So she did, because he was Harry and he was right, and because he loved her and would not make love to her until she explained. And because she needed him, and finally trusted him, and his love.

She told him about Molly and Queenie, and not remembering anything before that time except the awful man who was never supposed to be mentioned or he would hurt them all. He was Molly's brother, but he could wreak chaos on all of them, although she never saw him again. He was the bogeyman, the evil one whose name was not to be spoken.

Harry was back on the bed, propped on pillows beside Queenie. He clasped her hand. “You were just a child.”

“He made threats. I tried to forget. I suppose I had to forget or I could not have survived the fear.”

Harry repeated, “You were a little tot. How could you do anything else? But what about the carriage accident?”

“I do not know if it was a real or just what he told me then to frighten me worse. Or else he told me so I would believe I was the lost girl, because he intended to ransom me to Lord Carde, the previous earl, who died so soon after his wife. I simply cannot recall the actual happening, so I never truly believed it occurred.”

“You might have been injured. That is common, I understand, for a wounded person to lose all memory of the immediate past. Go on.”

“The ransom plan failed, most likely because of the earl's death and Dennis Godfrey's own grievous wound. It seemed Dennis Godfrey and Ize devised a new blackmail scheme before Godfrey's death. I did not know any of that for years, and am guessing at some of it now. Molly claimed a dead soldier as husband, as my father, whose supposed annuity was our support. Why should I have questioned my own mother? Molly never told me anything more. She never wanted me to ask questions about her past or my father, so I did not.”

“She kept you isolated and apart, that is what all the reports said, so you had no reason to doubt anything she said, or hear any chance gossip. Why would you keep asking if you never thought anything was amiss? Children adapt. They make the best of things and ignore what they cannot understand.”

Queenie nodded. That was what she had done, in hindsight. “Ize said she never took me to the Endicotts, as her brother had first planned, because they would have immediately known I was an imposter and tossed me out. She loved me. That is one thing I truly believe.”

“Of course she did. No one would part with you.” He kissed the top of her head. “I will not. But they never found that other girl.”

Queenie shrugged. “She was small. Thrown in a ditch, who knows?”

“They took dogs out, I understand, and dragged the water. They searched for days and never found a trace. But go on. How did you find out you were not Molly's own daughter, if you forgot your earlier past?”

Queenie explained how Ize came calling after Molly died. He wanted his share of what they had been collecting all along, for helping Dennis Godfrey with the crimes and for keeping him hidden until he could get away. “But Molly's brother did not get on his ship, and I wonder now if Ize killed him. We will never know.”

“But Ize threatened you,” Harry guessed from her renewed shudders.

“And Hellen and Mrs. Pettigrew, because we had stayed with them. He nearly destroyed Captain Jack's gambling club, to stop me from making inquiries. Then he told me the truth about the extortion. They had taken a blond-haired, blue-eyed child from an orphanage, he said, to fool the earl into leaving the ransom money—and then to fool Phelan Sloane to keep paying to hide his own crimes and ease his guilty conscience. That was better than trying to get the earl's young heirs to pay for a child they would not recognize. You see, as long as Phelan Sloane paid, they never had to show a little girl who was not the right one. Any poor orphan that Molly raised was good enough. A lock of hair, a miniature from an artist at the village fair…Sloane was content to send the money, even if he had to steal it from those he had so badly hurt. That was why I wanted the shop to be such a success, in order to repay someone. I wanted to tell them, the two brothers, but I was afraid what Ize would do.”

Now Harry did shake her, albeit gently. “For an intelligent woman, you are an incredible fool, my dear.”

Queenie took umbrage and stiffened her spine. “I am not. I made myself into a premier dress designer, a successful business woman, and almost your lover.”

“We will discuss the almost later. But you believed Ize.”

“He was there. He knew the truth.”

“He told you what he wanted you to believe. He was a liar, a possible murderer. A more dishonest man would be hard to find, except his friend Dennis Godfrey. At best Ize was a dealer in stolen goods, a thorough criminal. Darling, he could have hung if you identified him. That was likely why they never tried to return you to your family, because you knew too much, even if you could not remember it all. Of course he told you a Banbury tale about an orphanage. And of course he threatened you, the dastard. He should be glad he is already dead or I would tear him limb from limb for that alone. But you? You believed anything Ize would say?”

Queenie started weeping again. “I was so alone, so afraid. He said I could hang, too, because I had profited from the crimes.”

“But you were a mere child. You led a sheltered life, never knowing anything of the world or its evils. You could not remember the horrors—what infant could? Even now, you do not know if the images are real or simply nightmares. No one could blame you,
chérie
. I swear to that.”

She kept crying.

“Hush, sweetings, I did not mean to make you feel guilty. Foolish, yes, but how could you know at the time? You did the best thing, running away from him, the smartest, bravest thing you could do. You were never at fault, not ever, and you must not blame yourself, only the villains.”

“I let them keep looking, even after I knew they would not find Lady Charlotte.”

“You stayed alive to tell them now. Soon, with me at your side. They will have to untangle all the lies and find the truth, if it is even possible after all these years, and then we will all know. Then you will be free to be whatever, whoever you want. As long as that person is my wife.”

“And you truly do not care?”

“I care that my feet are growing cold again.”

* * *

Some time later—the candles had burned out—Harry heard a cough and a discreet scratch at the door.

“Madame Lescartes?”

It was Lady Jennifer's blasted butler, who had set himself to see to the party's comfort, damn his powdered wig. He must have seen the lamp light under the door, Harry supposed, or heard the bedframe creaking while he was creeping back from seeing to his twice-mistress's comfort.

“Is everything satisfactory?” the maggoty major domo whispered.

Queenie tried not to chuckle. “Oh, yes, everything is entirely satisfactory now. Good night.”

And it was.

* * *

If the Earl of Carde was surprised at the horde of strangers descending on his doorstep, his stoic mien did not express it. Alex was too intrigued by the letter he had received requesting an interview, and the message from his man at Bow Street, Rourke.

He admitted the crowd to his home, quickly moving his spectacled glance over Lady Jennifer, who was too old. Mrs. Pettigrew was definitely too old, and far too common. Miss Hellen Pettigrew was too young, and Madame Denise Lescartes was too dark-haired.

Disappointed, the earl ushered them all into the Gold Parlor, where his wife, his brother and new sister-in-law were all anxiously waiting.

After greetings and introductions, at which Alex's countess apologized for not rising from her position on the couch due to the vast expanse of the unborn infant she was carrying, Lady Jennifer graciously excused herself and her brother.

“I think there are too many people for a frank discussion of whatever the issue might be. Cam and I shall stroll your lovely grounds, with your permission, my lord? I believe my butler has already escorted Madame Lescartes's poodle and her young servant to visit the gazebo we noticed on the drive through the grounds.”

Jack Endicott opened the door for them, saying, “A poodle? Just do not let my ward Harriet see the dog, or she will want one like it.”

Alex bowed, relieved to be spared some of the awkwardness, and invited the others to be seated.

Mrs. Pettigrew found a wide upholstered seat conveniently next to a table with a dish of bonbons. Hellen and John George Browne quickly took their place on a love seat, as close to each other as they could respectably sit, while Mr. Rourke stood by the window instead of placing himself among the company.

Lady Carde, nee Eleanor Sloane, cousin to both the murdered countess and the missing woman, stared intently at Queenie, especially at her eyes, then apologized for her impolite scrutiny. She invited her to take the seat nearest her couch, and Harry stood behind Queenie's chair, his hand firmly, obviously, uncompromisingly on her shoulder.

“Perhaps we should have a more private talk?” the countess suggested.

Queenie cleared her throat to stop the quaver in her voice. “No, these are my friends. Or they are part and parcel of what I have to say.”

“Perhaps a glass of wine, then?” Jack Endicott offered, smiling at her. Queenie could see where the former hero had his reputation as a rake and a rogue, but he touched his pretty wife's cheek as he passed to the side table where bottles and glasses were laid out.

“Thank you, that would be lovely.”

An even more awkward silence grew as everyone sipped their drinks, waiting. At last Harry squeezed Queenie's shoulder and asked if he should begin.

She raised her chin. “No, it is my story to tell.”

“That's my brave girl.”

She set her glass aside, took a deep breath and said, “I am Queenie Dennis.”

Mrs. Pettigrew peered at her over the rim of her glass. “Damn me for a fool, so you are!”

“But Queenie Dennis was always described as fair-haired, like our sister,” Lord Carde said.

Hellen, her mother and Harry all chorused, “She is a blonde.” Only Harry blushed when he realized what he said and how he knew.

Jack looked at his old friend consideringly. Before he could ask any questions, Queenie untied the small black scrap of lace and ribbons she wore as a head covering. She leaned forward so the others could see the pale roots near her scalp.

She swallowed, because her throat was so dry, but she managed to say, “I am blonde. I am Queenie Dennis, and I might be your sister. I do not know. I have no memory of my infancy. I was hoping seeing Carde Hall might bring insight.” She shrugged. “Your home is beautiful, my lord, my lady, but it is not familiar to me.”

Alex leaned forward. “But?”

“But I have nightmares about a carriage accident and being alone.” Now her words came faster, as if she wanted them all out at once, to get this over with. Somehow Ize and Harry's diamonds and France got tangled in her tale. She knew they would have to sort it all out later, but she just wanted to tell them, now. “He told me I was an orphan, and guilty of crimes. I was so afraid, I did not know what to do. I swear I did not know about the extortion or Mr. Sloane's part in it.”

She turned to Lady Carde. “I beg your pardon, my lady, for I know he is your brother, and he paid for my life and my home and my education, but I cannot forgive him. I did go visit him at Mr. Browne's family's inn, to see if some recognition existed between us…” Again, she shrugged. “There was none. He seems content, and I suppose I am glad for him.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said, reaching for her husband's hand. “But you are not sure if you are, indeed, my cousin and Alex's half-sister?”

“I do not know the truth. I never wanted to claim a reward, or anything like that. You must believe me that is not why I came. I wanted to repay you for the money and the sorrow if I could.”

Now Jack's wife, the former governess Allison Silver, spoke up. “I remember you from the interview room at The Red and the Black. You wore a veil and a lovely bonnet.”

“I came twice, wanting to look at the portraits, wanting to ask questions. But then there was the fire, because of me and my curiosity. I could not cause you and your family more harm, so I ran away, like a coward.”

“Not a coward,” Harry insisted. “A young woman with no one to turn to.”

Alex took off his glasses to wipe them, as if he felt guilty that he had not been there. Jack cursed, because it was his club and his attempt to find the information.

Queenie went on: “I thought I could make a new life with a new name. I would be safe, and I could find a way to earn money to give back to you.”

Alex waved his hand at the luxurious room, with its treasures in every nook and hanging on every wall. “We do not need your money, my dear. And none of this was your doing. I would not have taken a farthing of yours.”

“You see?” Harry asked. “I told you Ace would be fair. You had nothing to worry about.”

Lady Carde leaned forward, or as far as her burgeoning belly would allow. “Nothing except who she is.”

“It does not matter to me,” Harry insisted.

“But it does to us,” Jack's wife declared. She turned to her husband. “You have to ask her the questions. You know, the ones you prepared for all the imposters who came for the reward.”

So Jack bowed and asked, “What was your pony's name?”

“I never had a pony. I have never ridden a horse in my life, and never intend to get on one of those large, terrifying animals.”