Queen of Diamonds by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online

as her skin, either. He could not see her eyes, but he could glimpse a halo of shiny ebony curls under a scrap of ruffled black lace, with a plumed black feather held with a bright blue ribbon. Style, grace and beauty all in one woman—and didn’t she just know it? Hell, the woman had a dog that matched.
    Harry admired the dog too.
    A long-legged black poodle, closely cropped in raven curls, had a blue collar fixed around his neck. He stood calmly, after giving Harry an inquisitive, intelligent look and one wag of a powder puff tail. The woman ignored the new arrival altogether, leaning toward the young man, concentrating on what the bespectacled secretary was telling her.
    Harry took a seat on a hard bench, waiting his turn and enjoying the view of her animated profile and admirable bosom. No, he told himself, that was rude, and would give the wrong impression, besides. He was here for information, not a liaison with a dealer in a gaming parlor.
    So he stood and turned his back, and studied the portrait on the wall and read about the reward for Jack Endicott’s missing sister. Now there was a true lady, Harry could not help thinking, looking at the angelic blue eyes in the painting, the serene smile, the erect posture, the composed features. Surely Lady Charlotte—or her mother or her cousin, whoever was used as a model for the missing child, now grown—would not be cursing, and not in French.
    â€œ
Sacre bleu
,” he heard, his lips turning up at this latest affectation among London’s high flyers.
    * * *
    Queenie had not meant to curse, especially not when there was a gentleman in the room. She had noticed the new arrival, of course. How could she not, when his entry pushed a cold draft into the nearly empty reception office? Then too, his size was impressive and so were his hearty good looks, slightly disordered by the weather and his errand. Here was no London fribble, come to gamble away his fortune in the daylight hours or still castaway from the night before.
    She turned her back on him, trying to ignore Hellen’s forward smile to the gentleman. She could not bother with the stranger’s reasons for coming to The Red and the Black in the morning, not when her own were so important, and not when her hopes, her plans, and her dreams were being disordered.
    Besides, she was more used to the French volatility than the somber British stoicism. So she cursed, then blushed and held her fingers to her mouth. Botheration. Now the young man in charge of this office thought she was no better than a strumpet, and heaven knew what the well-formed gentleman thought.
    Nothing had gone right since her return from France, after all her grand efforts and preparations. For that matter, nothing had gone quite as she had hoped in Paris, either. Her expectations might have been too high, or her desperation too low.
    Oh, with a bit of diligence and a new identity she had found a position with a well-regarded couturier, Monsieur Guatheme, who dressed royalty and wealthy women, the new aristocracy of France. Impressed by her drawings and her eagerness to learn, he was willing to let Queenie study in his studio and sewing room. After seeing what she could do, taking charge of the chaos of his creative muse, the dressmaking maestro was willing to let her manage his day-to-day business while he made love to his beautiful clients. What he was not willing to do was pay Queenie. Monsieur expected her to study for free, or repay him for his lessons in a coin she refused to spend.
    No one else was willing to take on an unknown apprentice, though, a woman without references other than her original designs and her soft-spoken manner. So Queenie had accepted Monsieur’s offer and learned at his side. She also learned to carry a needle and scissors on a ribbon at her own side. She increased her vocabulary with French expressions for castration, having one’s jewels sewn to one’s jowls, and impotency due to