Authors: Mia Marlowe
“Of course we will,” Quinn said, taking Viola’s hand in his. “It’ll be our first outing in London society as husband and wife.”
She wished she were strong enough to squeeze his fingers off. He kept making it more and more difficult to make a clean breast of things.
“Well, then we’ll—oh gracious, look at the time!” Viola’s mother consulted her brooch watch, the last of her remaining jewelry from her days as a countess. “If we wish to have a proper place for viewing the queen, we’ll need to go now. Let me fetch my parasol and we’ll be off.”
Viola’s mother scurried out of the room before she could see her daughter give her new husband a smack on the back of the head.
“Ow
!” Quinn rubbed the back of his head. “That was rather less cordial than a man expects of his bride.”
“That’s because I’m not your bride,” she hissed. “Why are you making things more difficult?”
“More difficult? I should think you’d have been pleased.” Did she
want
him to destroy her reputation? He’d intended to tell her when her mother left the room that he meant to make the rumors true, wanted her to reconsider his offer of marriage. But if she was set on being so prickly, he’d let her stew a bit longer. “Isn’t it better to be thought impetuous than ruined?”
She glared at him. “It’s better to be honest, and much easier to remember the truth than a whole pack of lies.”
Quinn snorted. “I’d forgotten thieves were such sticklers for the truth.”
“I didn’t think you were so adept with lies.” She fidgeted with her gloves, unbuttoning them as if she intended to remove them and then refastening the closures.
“Viola, what’s wrong with you? You’re nervous as a cat.”
She stood and paced before the cold fireplace, her elegant ensemble casting the room in a shabbier light. Though the parlor was furnished with an eye to correctness, it was obvious all the items of value had been sold off long ago.
“We’re too late,” she fumed. “There’ll be no catching Mr. Chesterton with the jewel ahead of time now.”
“Viola, let it go,” Quinn said.
“How can you say that? Didn’t you drag me across the continent for the diamond?” She stopped pacing and glared at him. “You know what the Blood of the Tiger is capable of, what might happen once it reaches the Royal Collection. How can you be so indifferent?”
“I’m not indifferent.” That was an understatement. He loathed the red diamond for several reasons, but highest on the list was the hold it seemed to have on Viola. “But I think we need to regroup and consider our next move. In war, one often doesn’t know where the battle will be joined until the enemy commits himself. I’m not without other resources. Be patient. Let’s see what the day brings.”
Lady Meade returned, her wrinkled face flushed and gay as a girl’s. “I trust you have appropriate transportation for us, Ashford.”
“Of course, ma’am. It is my honor to escort two such lovely women to this momentous occasion.” He offered his arm to Lady Meade.
May as well milk the cow to get the calf.
“And please, call me Quinn.”
They arrived at the stands erected near the royal dais in time to secure a premium space for viewing the ceremony before the rest of the ton filled in the available seating. The regal box was festooned with red and blue bunting and appropriately gilded in preparation for Her Majesty’s arrival. The green space before Buckingham Palace filled with commoners and laborers who hoped to get a glimpse of their queen and the fabulous jewel she was supposed to receive as tribute from a distant point in the empire.
Viola’s mother preened for her acquaintances and introduced Quinn as her new son-in-law to all who spoke to them. Lady Meade was making the most of her freshly elevated status, clearly anticipating that her daughter’s wealthy husband would care for their needs as her own nephew had not. With Viola in line to become a viscountess, the Dowager Countess of Meade and her family might find their way back into the mainstream of the ton.
With each offer of felicitations from those who’d recently ignored her mother, Viola wondered how she’d extricate herself from the increasingly sticky tangle. She resisted reminding Quinn that he’d offered to marry her in Paris. If he were serious about it, surely he’d broach the subject himself.
Yet if he was only resigned to marrying her to avoid a scandal, she wasn’t sure she’d accept. She didn’t want to be someone’s burden, someone’s inevitable responsibility.
The only other respectable way out was to announce that their “marriage” had been annulled. But that would compound one lie with another.
What a perfectly vicious little circle.
A brass ensemble blasted out a fanfare by Handel, interrupting Viola’s thoughts. Her Majesty processed past the viewing stands so burdened with regalia she was like a frigate under full sail. The queen mounted the dais and settled onto her throne. An impressive entourage of courtiers bobbed in her wake.
No ceremony was complete without speechifying. Several dignitaries found it necessary to drone on about the sun never setting on the British Empire due, no doubt, to the beauties and superiority of the English culture.
As if everyone present didn’t already believe that implicitly.
Almost everyone.
Quinn was restive during the speeches. When one scholar who’d made an “extensive three week tour of India” started pontificating about the blessings England had bestowed on a backward nation, Viola felt the muscles in Quinn’s thigh tense where it touched hers.
“Only three bloody weeks of gallivanting and he thinks he’s an expert.” Quinn snorted.
Viola shushed him. If they were ever to get close to the diamond again, alienating the queen’s people was not the way to go about it.
Finally, Mr. Chesterton, who was introduced as one of the Crown’s premier gemologists, appeared with an honor guard of Beefeaters flanking his steps. He bore a vermillion pillow with a small jewel box nestled on it instead of the snuffbox. Even though the musicians were still playing, Viola strained to hear the low voice of the diamond.
“Something’s not right,” Viola whispered to Quinn.
“Make that ‘everything’ and I’ll agree,” he answered back.
“No, it’s not here. I can’t feel the diamond.”
Quinn sat up straighter as Chesterton passed directly before them. “Maybe it’s the box. It looks like it’s made of silver, inlaid with dark stones.”
“Maybe.” Viola frowned, unclasped her jet and silver wristlets and stuffed them into her reticule.
Still nothing.
She removed her earbobs. Only the delicate necklace remained but since it was hidden under her high-collared day dress, she couldn’t remove it without a tussle. Though the diamond couldn’t harm her from a distance while she wore her silver shield, its voice was strong enough she ought to be able to hear Baaghh kaa kkhuun.
She leaned and cupped her hand around Quinn’s ear to whisper. “Even with the shielding, I should sense the stone’s presence. Without the wristlets, I should be nauseous. I tell you, whatever is in that box, it’s not genuine.”
“Wait till it’s opened,” Quinn said.
Viola scrunched the extra fabric of her skirt between her fingers. After all that had happened, he still didn’t believe her.
Mr. Chesterton dropped to one knee before the queen, holding the pillowed jewel box aloft. Viola hoped to heaven she was right. If not and if the queen was sensitive to gems, the red diamond might claim yet another victim as it had the Comte de Foix.
The queen leaned forward with interest as one of her advisors stepped up to open the box. The stick-thin man lifted the silver case from the pillow and presented it to the queen with an elaborate bow. She smiled at the stone and nodded. Her advisor returned to her side, holding the silver box before him. The deep red stone winked in the sun, making it seem larger than its five or six carats.
“Who’s that holding the jewel box?” Viola asked.
“Hubert Fenimore, another spare son like me, but he’s not likely to inherit. He has three older brothers,” Quinn said. Another dignitary had launched into a pedantic speech about the rarity and splendor of the red diamond from Amjerat’s temple. “Fenimore was a couple years ahead of me at Eaton. Is he in danger?”
“Not unless there’s a stiff wind,” she said. She’d never seen a more sepulchral figure. Fit the man with a cape and a breeze would send him aloft like a kite. “That’s not Baaghh kaa kkhuun he’s holding. Chesterton must have provided a convincing fake.”
“Good,” Quinn said. “Then we still have a card or two to play.”
“What do you intend?”
“Someone needs to inform Her Majesty that the jewel she accepted isn’t genuine.”
“I don’t see how that will get us the stone.”
“The authorities have the power to arrest Chesterton and demand the real item. Then I’ll have to convince them it’s in our country’s best interest to return the diamond to Amjerat.” Quinn studied his former schoolmate. “Since it seems I have a friend in high places, it just means a word in the right ear.”
“Shh! Really, children, I can’t concentrate with your constant whispering,” Lady Meade scolded. “Save your sweet nothings for when you return to your own home.”
Viola didn’t feel like whispering sweet nothings to Quinn. She was much more likely to box his ears. If his commander in India wouldn’t listen, why did he think London bureaucrats would be any more receptive to his arguments?
As long as the authorities thought they had the real stone, they wouldn’t notice when the genuine Baaghh kaa kkhuun went missing. If she and Quinn successfully relieved Mr. Chesterton of the red diamond, he couldn’t very well report the theft since he’d have to admit he’d switched gems on Her Majesty.
“But Quinn, that—”
“That’s how it’ll be,” he interrupted in a whisper so as not to antagonize her mother. “I don’t want you anywhere near that diamond. Let me handle this.”
The ceremony was winding down. A brass ensemble launched into a spritely Purcell tune as Her Majesty rose and retired from the fray. Hubert Fenimore clapped the jewel box shut and followed her through the deep velvet curtains that provided the backdrop for the dais.
Quinn rose. “My apologies, ladies. Some business requires my immediate attention, so I’ll be unable to accompany you for any additional excursions this afternoon. However, I’ll leave the brougham for your use. Perhaps you’d enjoy a little shopping together. My credit’s good wherever you choose to go. I daresay Harrods has a few nice things your mother might like.”
Lady Meade made a giggly, cooing noise of delight. Viola sent him a glare that should have rendered him a smoldering pile of cinders. He was determined to go forward with his own plans without even giving hers the dignity of a full hearing.
Quinn lifted Lady Meade’s hand and pressed a very correct kiss on her bony knuckles. Then he bent and brushed his lips over Viola’s cheek.
Smart man.
If he’d put her hand anywhere near his mouth, she’d have curled her fingers into a fist and clouted him a good one.
“I’ll see you at home later, dearest.”
“You know how we women are when we’re shopping.” She smiled venomously at him. “Don’t wait up.”
Quinn lifted a brow at that, but kept a smile firmly in place for her mother’s sake. “Yes, well, try not to spend all my money in one place.”
“Of course not,” she said sweetly. “I know lots of places to spend all your money.”
His smile was less convincing as he turned and walked away from them.
Viola’s mother was so excited about the idea of shopping, she kept up a lively conversation, complete with several changes of topic, with very little input whatsoever from her daughter.
All the way to Harrod’s.
Viola merely nodded and made approving noises from time to time as Lady Meade led their retail expedition. As soon as her mother’s acquisition lust was slaked and she was returned to her town house, Viola had some business of her own to attend.
Quinn might have a friend in high places, but Viola had, if not a friend, at least an associate, in the lowest. Willie used to boast that a mouse didn’t fart in Cheapside without him smelling it. A crude boast, but a true one. He’d be aware which collectors were brazen enough to purchase an item stolen from the queen herself. If anyone in London knew where Mr. Chesterton made his domicile, where he might have stashed the red diamond, and what he planned to do with the stone, it was Willie.
Viola was going to make him tell her everything he knew.
“Ashford
, what a surprise!” Hubert Fenimore said from behind his burled walnut desk. “Last I heard you were still mucking about in India with all them savages, what? Always one for adventure, weren’t you? Come in, come in. Make yourself comfortable.”
Quinn removed his hat and took the seat Hubert indicated. Undersecretary to one of the queen’s advisors, Fenimore’s office wasn’t ostentatiously appointed, but Quinn recognized the gleam of ambition in Hubert’s eyes. He’d make use of the information Quinn was about to share if for no other reason than the hope of advancement.
“What could have dragged you away from the Gorgeous East? Ah, I know why you’ve returned Home. You’ve come back to take up the reins of the Kilmaine estate from your father. He’s been poorly I’ve heard. An apoplectic fit from all accounts.” Fenimore’s thin lips twitched in a suppressed smile. “How trying for you.”
If Fenimore had been in line for his father’s title, Quinn had no doubt he’d be circling the family seat like a carrion bird every time his old pater came down with a case of the sniffles.
“I’d heard Lord Kilmaine was ill, but this is the first I’ve heard of apoplexy,” Quinn said. “We’re not on speaking terms, he and I.”
“Perhaps you’ll bestir yourself to visit for your mother’s sake then,” Fenimore said, with a sly smile. “And perchance look over the estate ledgers while you’re there.”
“Perhaps,” Quinn said. Apoplexy. His father might not ever recover, depending on how bad the fit was. Some lost the power of speech or the use of their limbs on one side after a bout with this illness. His mother would be beside herself. “But for now, I have an urgent matter to bring to your attention. First of all, congratulations on your part in this afternoon’s ceremony. It was singularly impressive.”
“Thank you.” Hubert smoothed down his mustache with the backs of both hands. “Contrary to popular opinion, most of the real work of governance is done by those of us without the fancy offices or positions. The ceremony this day was quite gratifying, however, in that it showed I do enjoy a certain amount of royal favor. Advancement to a more senior post is only a matter of time.”
“Indeed. But a queen’s favor can be a fickle thing. The smallest thing can turn it. For example, are you aware that the jewel you presented to our queen is not, in fact, the Blood of the Tiger?”
“The devil you say.”
“Have the stone examined by a qualified gemologist. You’ll find I’m telling you the truth. Chesterton still has the real diamond, or knows where it is. But time is of the essence. If he hasn’t already sold the jewel, he’s undoubtedly planning to. The damn thing is worth the earth.”
Fenimore sat perfectly still for the space of a minute. Quinn could practically see the cogs of his brain turning in his shifting eye movements.
“How did you come by this astounding intelligence?”
Quinn waved away the question. “That’s not important.”
“It is if you expect me to take you seriously.” Fenimore leaned back in his chair. “Can you imagine the loss of prestige our sovereign might suffer if it became known she’d participated in a public ceremony at which she accepted a fake diamond?”
How typical of a political appointee to focus on perception rather than reality. “Not if the real one is recovered in a timely manner. It would only highlight the efficiency and strength of our queen’s rule.” Quinn stood as if he intended to leave. “But perhaps you lack the authority to send runners to arrest Chesterton. I shall take my case elsewhere.”
“No, no,” Fenimore said. “Don’t be hasty, Ashford. These things require a certain delicacy. I will certainly act, but I need assurances that your information is correct. Again, how do you know the diamond in the queen’s vault is not the Blood of the Tiger?”
Quinn didn’t want to admit it, but saw no other way to convince Fenimore. He settled back into the chair. “The Mayfair Jewel Thief told me.”
Fenimore’s pale eyes narrowed. “You know the identity of the thief who’s been plaguing London?”
Again, Hubert focused on the wrong thing. “That’s not the point. The main issue is this. Will you be the man who delivers the true jewel to his sovereign or will you not?”
Hubert templed his fingers on the desk before him. “Sending runners to arrest Chesterton would create a sensation and spread the story wide enough that the press might catch wind of it.”
“The reward is worth the risk. The British press seems rather oblivious at present.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because no mention of the sepoy rebellion has reached our shores yet,” Quinn said.
Fenimore blinked in surprise. “No one is supposed to know about that.”
“You see, I do have my sources.” Quinn frowned at his old schoolmate, who obviously already knew about the disaster in Delhi. “Is the government quashing mention of the uprising in the papers?”
“Nothing so Machiavellian. A delay only. Once we’ve dealt with the brigands, it will be appropriate to release the information. Not before.”
“It could take months, maybe years, to quell this rebellion. Our military cannot complete the pacification on its own. We must make political overtures to the people of India as well.”
When Hubert’s eyes glinted with interest at the mention of politics, Quinn decided to press Sanjay’s claim to the throne of Amjerat. Diplomacy would appeal to Fenimore more than tales of an inherently evil diamond.
Hubert listened and nodded occasionally as Quinn detailed the inequity of the Doctrine of Lapse and how the reinstatement of Prince Sanjay’s rule would improve the natives’ opinion of the British Raj.
“If you could convince the queen to return the real diamond to the temple from which it was stolen,” Quinn said, “it would purchase so much good will, cooler heads would surely prevail in the current crisis.”
Hubert studied his desk top in silence for a few moments, digesting the new information. Finally he nodded. “I will take this to my superior. I believe I can convince him to issue a decree in Her Majesty’s name reinstating your Prince Sanjay to his throne. It’s just the sort of benevolent action that would appeal to our gracious sovereign.”
Hubert leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But the disposition of the diamond is another matter and I can make no promises in that regard. I will, however, see what may be done. In return for these considerations, you must do something for me.”
“Anything.” Quinn could hardly believe he’d convinced someone in authority to take action on Sanjay’s behalf.
“You say you know the Mayfair Jewel Thief. Very well. I’d rather not have a scandal erupt over accepting a fake jewel into the Royal Collection, so using official means to retrieve the real diamond won’t do. Let us make use of this scallywag who’s been the bane of the ton instead. If he can steal the Blood of the Tiger back for the Crown, I’ll see what I can do about a pardon for him.”
Quinn frowned. After the French count’s death, he didn’t want Viola anywhere near that diamond. “The thief may not wish to do it. I believe . . . he’s had an attack of conscience and means to retire from thievery.”
“Then you must convince him to make one last burglary or all deals are off.” Hubert spread his hands before him.
“You mean unless I convince the thief to steal back the Blood of the Tiger, you won’t see Amjerat restored to its rightful prince?”
Hubert shrugged. “One must be prepared for quid pro quo in this world. Political bargains are ever made in such ways. I trust you’ll be as convincing with him as you have been with me.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Dissatisfied, Quinn rose and took his leave.
Hubert crossed to his small window and watched Lord Ashford exit the building below and hail a hansom. Then Fenimore rang for his assistant.
“Send for a Bow Street Runner to tail Lord Ashford. I want reports on his whereabouts at all times.”
Hubert reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out a shot glass and flask of whisky. It was time for a celebratory drink. Not every day was a man handed a fortune on a plate. He’d collect the sizable reward for the Mayfair Jewel Thief and put a fabulous diamond in his own pocket before this business was done.
He’d arrange matters so Lord Ashford would take the blame for the theft of the Blood of the Tiger. It would do his old school chum no lasting harm. Everyone knew a man with
Lord
before his name could get away with anything short of murder.
But court deliberations ground slowly. By the time Ashford was acquitted, Hubert would be long gone. He’d be visiting South America or deciding which villa to purchase in Tuscany. Possessing unlimited means was such a delicious prospect, he gave himself the rest of the day off to contemplate it.
And lay out plans for making his rapacious dreams a reality.
Viola’s mother wallowed in a full afternoon of acquisitive frenzy the likes of which Harrods had rarely seen. But Lady Meade would have had a conniption fit over the next stop if she hadn’t already been dropped off at her town house with a full dozen parcels, three hatboxes, and a firm promise that Viola would call again soon.
Quinn wouldn’t be too keen on this shop either,
Viola thought.
But what Quinn doesn’t know won’t hurt me.
The brougham rattled down the narrow lanes of Cheapside and came to a stop before Willie’s disreputable establishment.
“I do not think this place is fitting for such a one as you,” Sanjay said from his perch on the driver’s seat. “Are you sure you wish to do this, memsahib?”
“Not really, but I’m sure I
have
to do it. I won’t be an instant longer than I must be.”
After the thrashing Quinn had given Willie in Paris, she doubted she’d receive a warm welcome. But if anyone had the information she’d need to find Chesterton and the diamond, it was her old fence. She hoped the information’s price wouldn’t be too dear.
Viola straightened her spine, screwed up her courage, and pushed open the door to Willie’s shop.
When Quinn returned home, no one was waiting for him at his town house. He supposed he ought to be thankful Viola was still out spending his money. The only thing in danger was his net worth and he was sufficiently flush not to be overly concerned by the price of a few gewgaws and gizzwickies.
He sank into one of the wing chairs by his back parlor fireplace where the furniture was unfashionable, but comfortable, and wished he knew what to do. At every turn, it seemed fate conspired to make him choose between Viola and his adopted country. As if the powers that be weren’t listening the first time he chose the woman he loved.
There was also the news that his father was ill. Quinn had thought he’d greet that information with a loud huzzah, till he remembered his mother’s devotion to the old devil. She’d be devastated if Kilmaine died.
It was a puzzlement to Quinn how a woman could live with a man for so many years and not know him for the coldhearted bastard he was.
Perhaps Lady Kilmaine didn’t want to know.
Quinn decided he had no stones to throw. After all, he loved a thief, someone who set his carefully constructed sense of
ought-ness
on its ear. He knew Viola. Knew her faults and weaknesses and it didn’t change his feelings for her one bit.
Love really is blind.
A smile tugged at his lips. She probably felt the same way about him. He hoped.
But he wasn’t sure.
She made love with abandon, but it occurred to him that she’d never expressed her feelings for him as openly as she’d shown her desire for his body.
She
had
turned down his proposal. Perhaps she didn’t love him at all.
Though the thought made his chest ache, it didn’t change how he felt about her one jot.
The front door scraped over the threshold and he heard voices. Quinn rose and peered down the hall of the town house toward the entrance.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Viola was saying to Sanjay, who carried in a pair of hatboxes with a brown paper parcel tucked under his arm.
“Please, milady, do not use my title,” Sanjay said. “I was once a prince in Amjerat, but no more. And I may never be again.”
The injustice boiled in Quinn’s veins. The unfairness didn’t have to continue. He’d been too afraid, too weak to stand up to his father and help his brother, but he could help his friend. He could right the wrong, but only if he was willing to put the woman he loved in danger.
If it was simply his own neck in jeopardy, there’d be no hesitation.
Resolve stiffened his spine. He’d drape Viola in silver and jet. He’d stand between her and the evil in the stone. Somehow, he’d make sure he was the one taking all the risks.
“Yes, you will, my friend,” he said softly. “Never doubt it. You will be a prince of Hind once again. And Viola will be my wife in truth.”