What Angels Fear: A Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery

and blend with every cut and bruise he’d acquired over the past week. He felt as if he hadn’t slept in a lifetime. “Call me if she wakes.”
    “Of course.”
    Turning toward his room, Sebastian became aware of the sound of a man’s loud, angry voice drifting up from the hall below.
    “Damn your impudence,” swore the Earl of Hendon. “And to hell with your instructions. I want to see my son .”
    Sebastian paused at the top of the stairs. “Father.”
    Hendon looked up, a succession of emotions chasing one another across the features of his white, anguished face as he watched Sebastian limp down the stairs toward him. But all he said was, “I’d heard you were hurt.”
    “It’s nothing,” said Sebastian, and led the way into the drawing room.
    Hendon closed the door carefully behind him. “I’ve had a meeting with Lord Jarvis and Sir Henry Lovejoy, concerning these recent revelations about Wilcox. The situation is delicate, particularly with the Prince’s instillation as Regent to take place tomorrow. For an intimate of the Prince to be implicated in such heinous crimes at this time . . .”
    “Devilishly inconvenient. So what is Jarvis proposing? I’m confident he’s come up with some solution.”
    At the levity in Sebastian’s tone, the Earl’s features settled into a deep frown. “As a matter of fact, the suggestion was mine. The murders of Rachel York and Mary Grant will be attributed to the Frenchman, Leo Pierrepont.”
    “Of course. Cooperative of him to have fled the country.” Sebastian went to stand before the hearth, his gaze on the fire. “And Wilcox’s death?”
    “The work of the cutthroats and thieves who set fire to the warehouse. The riverfront can be a dangerous place at night.”
    “Amanda will be pleased. No opprobrium attached to the family name to interfere with Stephanie’s come out next year.” Sebastian glanced around. “You do realize that Amanda knew?”
    “What? That Wilcox had butchered those two women? That I can’t believe. Even of Amanda.”
    Sebastian smiled grimly. “Unlike you, however, she was unaware of her husband’s French connections.”
    Sebastian wasn’t expecting an apology from his father and he didn’t get one. Sebastian waited, instead, for the inevitable question.
    Hendon cleared his throat. “It was Wilcox who took Lady Hendon’s affidavit from Rachel York’s body, I assume?”
    “Yes. Although I gather from something he said it’s gone missing again. He thought I’d taken it.”
    Hendon stood very still, beads of moisture showing on his temples, as if he were hot. “You don’t have it?”
    “No.”
    The Earl turned away, one hand scrubbing across his face as he struggled to absorb this. It was a moment before he said gruffly, “And the woman? I understand her injuries are serious.”
    “She’s lost a lot of blood, but the doctor says nothing vital was hit. Barring infection, she should recover.”
    Hendon worked his lower jaw back and forth in that way he had. “She told you, I presume, what passed between us six years ago.”
    Sebastian stared at his father.
    “I did what I thought was right at the time,” Hendon said, his voice brusque. “I still think it was right. Such a marriage would have ruined your life. Thank God she finally saw that herself.”
    “How much, precisely, did you offer her?” Sebastian asked, his voice low and dangerous.
    “Twenty thousand pounds. There aren’t many women who’d turn down a chance at that kind of money.”
    “She turned you down?”
    “Why, yes. You mean, she didn’t tell you?”
    “No. No, she didn’t.”

     
    Kat came awake slowly. The fiery pain she remembered from the night before had gone, leaving a dull ache that throbbed down her side.
    The room with its dusky blue silken hangings and gilded furniture was unfamiliar, but she recognized the man in doeskin breeches and top boots who sat, arms crossed at his chest, in a tapestry-covered chair beside the bed. He must have sensed her gaze upon him because he turned, his hand reaching to cover hers on the counterpane.
    “I knew you’d come for me,” she said, surprised to discover her throat raw, her voice husky from the fire.
    Devlin’s hand tightened around hers. “ Kat . Dear God. I am so sorry.”
    She smiled, because it was so like him to blame himself for what had happened to her, to blame himself for having involved her in his struggle to make sense of Rachel’s death. And then her smile faded