As she’d expected. She hoped for Doyle’s sake that he didn’t have any further games planned, for Jamie wouldn’t tolerate them.
Then it would be done.
And, not long after, she would take the signet ring, andtheywould be done, too.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“The instant yousee us emerge from that door”—Jamie pointed toward Flick Doyle’s establishment—“make ready to leave.”
“Aye, my lord,” said the coachman, positioning himself on his perch so the door remained in his line of sight.
Once they stood outside Doyle’s lair, Hortense caught Jamie’s eye and said, “I just want you to know that no matter where this night takes us, I’ve come to enjoy knowing you.”
Her sudden statement took him slightly aback. He didn’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted. A little of both, perhaps. “You will know me after this night, Hortense.”
She stared silently up at him, tense and on edge. Something in her look rattled him. He couldn’t read it. “You stay out here,” he said. “I can take the tiara and get Rafe, alone.”
She shook her head. “I must go and see the job through to the end.”
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut.To the end.The end of the job. The end of them. The irony didn’t pass him by. In gaining his son, he would lose Hortense. For he suspected that though he’d given her pleasure after pleasure, he hadn’t given herenoughto stay.
She tapped out the special knock. The door opened a crack, and a boy’s dirt-smudged face appeared. “Oh, yer back.” The boy stood aside and waved Jamie and Hortense inside.
The interior was as dark and grim as the first time, but tonight Jamie felt its impact more sharply. This was where Hortense had lived. This was where his son now lived. In this squalor, in this pit of despair—for although it was deepest night, surely no light ever shone within these walls, other than cheapest tallow—the two people who meant the most to him in the world lived beneath Flick Doyle’s thumb, subject to the power he wielded in his little fiefdom.
No more.
Not while breath remained in Jamie’s body.
Down into the underground room, they descended, its rough environ exactly the same as it had been five days ago, complete with Doyle sifting through the day’s take—coin, watches, chains, rings, handkerchiefs—and looking very much like the slum lord of his realm.
His head popped up. He pushed his spectacles up his nose as a reptilian smile spread across his face. “Why look at ye two, all fancied up fer the night.”
Jamie supposed he and Hortense were rather conspicuous in their masquerade ball finery. He shrugged. He didn’t give two tosses.
Doyle’s eyes narrowed into assessing slits. “Now, what ye got fer me?”
Jamie pulled the tiara from his cloak and plunked it on the knife-scarred table. Doyle slid the lantern close and retrieved a magnifying glass from a drawer. Hunched over, glass to his right eye, he flipped the tiara over, inspecting it closely for a full minute.
Jamie stole a glance at Hortense. Her entire body was a tight ball of tension. He itched to reach for her hand, but he resisted. He understood instinctively it was the wrong move in this room and with this audience.
Doyle straightened, setting the magnifier and tiara down. “Now me mam can rest in peace. It be the imposter.”
“You had a mark placed on it.” This from Hortense.
Of course.
A guffaw rumbled from Doyle’s gut, bringing up a gob of phlegm he spent ten full seconds disposing of. “This ain’t me first stroll ’round the block. Ain’t me last neither, pet.”
Her jaw tensed. She didn’t like being calledpet.
Jamie’s patience had its limits. It was time to finish this. “Where is Rafe?”
Doyle’s eyebrows lifted toward the ceiling. A ceiling which threatened to tumble down on top of them at any moment. How on earth was this edifice staying upright, anyway?
“Don’t like to be kept waitin’, do ye? Ain’t ye a right proper nob.”
Hortense spoke up. “That was the agreement.” She flashed Jamie a warning glare. He was to keep his temper quiet in his mouth.
