When Gods Die

“It would be difficult to do anything else with that dagger in her,” said Sebastian. Gently lifting the blue-black hair that tumbled around her neck, Sebastian released the necklace’s clasp and eased the thick, intricate chain away from her throat. “There’s a surgeon of my acquaintance who has made a study of these things—an Irishman by the name of Paul Gibson. He has a surgery near the base of Tower Hill. I want him sent for right away.”

“You want to bring a surgeon all the way down from London?” Jarvis laughed. “But it’ll be ten hours or more before he gets here. Surely we can find someone locally.”

Sebastian glanced at the man beside him. “To give us the same opinion as His Highness’s personal physicians?”

Jarvis said nothing.

“It’s important that no one else be allowed to enter this room until Gibson arrives. Can you arrange that?”

“Naturally.”

Sebastian turned in a slow circle, his gaze covering the chamber. “Do you notice something else strange?”

Jarvis regarded him with vague animosity. The earlier winning smile was long gone. “Should I?”

“That dagger was well aimed. It would have pierced her heart. Wounds of that nature typically bleed profusely.”

“Good God,” said Jarvis, his gaze lifting from the young Marchioness’s livid bare back to Sebastian’s face. “You’re right. There’s no blood.”

Chapter 6

Half an hour later, Sebastian walked into the private parlor of his father’s rooms at the Anchor on the Marine Parade. In a tapestry-covered chair beside the empty hearth, the Earl of Hendon sat with an open book on his lap, his head nodding to one side as he dozed.

“You shouldn’t have waited up,” said Sebastian.

His head jerking, Hendon quietly closed his book and set it aside. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, one hand absently fingering the bluestone necklace in his pocket. “Tell me about the Marquis of Anglessey.”

Hendon rubbed his eyes with a spread thumb and index finger. “He’s a good man. Steady. Honorable. He does his duty in the House of Lords, although he has no special interest in government.” He paused. “Surely you don’t think Anglessey had anything to do with what happened tonight?”

“I don’t know what to think. How well did you know Lady Anglessey?”

Hendon let out his breath in a long sigh. “Such a beautiful young woman, Guinevere. They married three—maybe four years ago now. There was considerable talk at the time, of course, given the difference in their ages. Some considered it a scandal, a sick old man taking such a young woman to wife. But the marriage was understandable.”

“How’s that?

“Anglessey is desperate for an heir.”

“Ah. And was he successful in getting one?”

“I heard just last week that Lady Anglessey was with child.”

“Jesus.” Sebastian pushed away from the door and walked into the room. “She was discovered in a decidedly compromising position this evening. Yet you say such behavior was not typical of her?”

“No. There has never been a whisper of scandal attached to her name.”

“What do you know of her family?”

“Nothing reprehensible there. Her father was the Earl of Athelstone. From Wales. I believe her brother, the new Earl, is still a child.” Hendon let his head fall back against the tapestry of the chair as he looked up at his son. “What has any of this to do with you?”

“Jarvis thought I might find the circumstances of Lady Anglessey’s death interesting.”

“Interesting?” Hendon shook his head. “You? But…why?”

Sebastian drew the silver-and-bluestone necklace from his pocket and dangled it in the air between them. “Because she was wearing this around her neck when she died.”

Hendon’s face went suddenly, completely white. But he made no move to take the necklace or even touch it. “That’s impossible.”

Bringing up his other hand, Sebastian dropped the necklace neatly into his palm. “I would have said so, yes.”

Hendon sat quite still, his hands gripping the upholstered arms of his chair. “Surely they don’t mean to accuse you of any involvement in this death.”

A slow smile curled Sebastian’s lips. “Not this one.” He went to stand with one arm braced against the mantel, his head bowed as he stared down at the empty grate. “It has occurred to me that an eleven-year-old’s memories of his mother’s death might easily be distorted,” he said slowly. It was not something they had ever spoken of, that long-ago summer day. Not that day, or the endless, pain-filled days that followed. “Her body was never found, was it?” Sebastian looked around.

“No. Never.” Hendon worked his jaw back and forth in that way he had. “She wore the necklace often. But I honestly couldn’t say if she had it on the day she died.”

“She was wearing it. Of that I am certain.”

Hendon pushed up from his chair and went to where a tea service and cups rested on a nearby table. But made no move to pour the tea. “There is a logical explanation. Her body must have washed up somewhere along the coast.”