Disbelief shuddered through her. How had she descended so far, so fast? For that was the truth of it. One tax at a time, she’d slid by small increments back into Doyle’s world, a world only a few short years ago she’d vowed to leave behind forever, until she’d fully reimmersed herself. Now, on top of the taxes, it was a job.
But she had no choice. Clare wasn’t leaving here without a way to have his son. He might even insist on taking the boy by force. That was what his stormy eyes were telling her.
And where would that leave her? Doyle would lose no time naming her as an eel and a thief and destroying her reputation among her upper-class clientele, leaving her with nothing.
She must agree.
She could retch.
“Aye,” she said, at last.
Doyle clasped his hands together, a smile that would have done a snake proud spreading across his face. “Would ye like a seat? This’ll take a while.”
“We’ll stand.”
He shrugged. “Iffin ye can believe it, I was once a wild, young lad, who had a propensity fer dice. One night, I found meself in the house of a duke. Ye can’t imagine such a mansion.” He jutted his chin toward Clare. “Well, I imagine he can. Prob’ly lives in one himself.”
That Doyle wasn’t wrong grated on Hortense.
“So, after goin’ through all his coin,” he continued, “this duke started gamblin’ anythin’ he laid eyes on. His snuffbox. His silk handkerchief. A candlestick. One bloke even won a talkin’ parrot off him. Filthy mouth on that bird, I’ll tell ye fer free. Make a sailor blush. Still alive, that bird.” Doyle shook his head in wonder. “Anyway, the hours were gettin’ small and the duke was gettin’ right desp’rate. Kept thinkin’ his luck was ’round the corner, so he kept goin’, but anyone could see we were up to the end o’ it. The mood had turned rotten. There’s always that moment with the dice. Best to get gone, ’specially if there’s a nob in the mix. They ne’er lost anythin’ in their lives, so some of ’em don’t take nicely to it. I could see that’s where this duke was. Then he looked me square in the eye and said he’d be takin’ all his back off me. Real quiet like, I asked him how he planned on doin’ that. I never did like squarin’ up to a gent, and a duke no less, but I had a pretty pile sittin’ in front of me and I wasn’t ’bout to give it up easy just because some spoilt nob was cryin’ in his milk. He said somethin’ to one of his fancy servants and it wasn’t a minute before the man was back with the sparkliest thin’ I ever did see.”
“What was it?” Hortense asked. Doyle had paused for the question just so she would ask, and it was his game they were playing.
“A tiara.”
Clare’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Unexpected.”
Doyle snorted. “That’s exactly what I told him. He said that tiara fer all me winnin’s. His mam got it off a Russian princess. All sapphires and diamonds. Never seen nothin’ like it. Now, just so ye don’t think I’m all rogue, in me defense, I did hesitate. I didn’t want to give up all me winnin’s, but I saw I didn’t have much choice in the matter. I wasn’t gettin’ out of that house without one more throw of the dice. And, what more, the duke had the mark of the loser as clear as if it was writ on his fore’ead. So, I rolled.”
“And you won,” said Clare.
“I collected me tiara and winnin’s and got out of that house like the hounds of hell were nippin’ at me arse. I knew it was only a matter of a minute before that duke came to his senses and robbed me of me winnin’s. Nobs got everythin’ in the world, and they don’t like to part with a ha’penny of it. ’Bout a fortnight later, a pair of runners showed up at me door, demandin’ the tiara.”
“And?” Hortense couldn’t help asking. She was anxious to know the end of the story. The scoundrel always did have the gift for a compelling tale.
A wily look entered Doyle’s eye. “I gave ’ematiara, that’s sure.”
She caught the distinction. “But notthetiara?”
“Eh, I knew it wouldn’t be long before a runner was at me door. So, I had one made.”
“You had a tiara made?” asked Clare, his brow knitted in bewilderment. He truly wasn’t part of this world.
Doyle gave a dismissive flick of the wrist. “Oh, yeah, nothin’ to it if ye know the right people.”
Sudden understanding walloped Hortense. “Paste.And that’s the one the duke received.”
“Pet, ye always were quick on the uptake.”
“And you still have the real one?”
He nodded, smug. It was no small satisfaction to pull the wool over a duke’s eyes.
“You have the genuine tiara. What’s the job?” she asked slowly, her mind racing. What was she missing?
His smile slipped. “Years ago, ye met me mam.”
Hortense gave a slow nod. “She lives?” The woman must have reached her ninetieth year by now. Hortense remembered her as both frail and steely.
