When Gods Die

Devlin’s brows twitched together in a frown. “A thin man, with blond hair?”

“Ah. So you do know him.”

“He tried to kill me last night.”

“And so you killed him?”

“He fell into the Thames,” said the Viscount blandly. “What made you think to come to me?”

Lovejoy made a noncommittal sound far back in his throat. “He was a known associate of your previous victim. Charles Ahearn,” Sir Henry added, when Sebastian simply stared at him in puzzlement. “The gentleman you killed near Hungerford Market.”

“I didn’t kill Ahearn, remember? He fell, too,” said Devlin with a soft smile. The smile faded quickly. “You’re certain the blond man was Italian?”

“Quite.” Settling his hat back on his head, Lovejoy turned to take his leave. “He was a cousin of the King of Savoy.”

Chapter 55

After Lovejoy’s departure, Sebastian stood for some time with his gaze fixed on an ancient pair of crossed swords hanging on the library’s far wall. The link between the King of Savoy and the effete blond man who had chased Tom through the streets of Smithfield and tried to drown Sebastian in the Thames seemed inevitable; the connection between the conspiracy to depose the Hanovers, Lady Anglessey’s murder, and the ancient bluestone necklace that had once belonged to Sophie Hendon remained less clear. But it was a puzzle Sebastian knew he was never going to unravel as long as he allowed himself to dwell on the events of that distant summer and the lies it had spawned.

And so he forced himself to put away the rage and hurt and focus instead on what his new knowledge of his mother’s true fate added to his understanding of Guinevere Anglessey’s death. The tie between the Countess of Hendon and an unknown French poet with Venetian connections was troubling, although Sebastian was not yet convinced it was significant. Sifting through all that he had learned in the last few days, he decided it was past time he paid another call on the bereaved Marquis of Anglessey.

Reaching out, Sebastian gave the bell beside the mantel a quick tug. “Have Giles bring round my curricle,” he told Morey when the majordomo appeared.

Morey gave a stately bow. “Yes, my lord.”

But when Sebastian stepped out of the house some fifteen minutes later, it was to find his tiger, Tom, reining in the chestnuts at the base of the steps.

“What the devil are you doing here?” Sebastian demanded. “I told you to take a couple of days off and rest.”

“I don’t need no days off,” said the boy, his features pinched and set. “This is my job, and I’m doin’ it.”

Sebastian leapt into the curricle and took the reins. “Your job is to do what you’re told. Now get down.”

The boy gave a loud sniff and stared straight ahead. “It’s on account of I let you down, ain’t it? I flubbed it, and because o’ me, you almost ended up fish bait.”

“No, you didn’t let me down. I let you down by exposing you to unconscionable peril. These people are dangerous, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be responsible for getting you killed. Now hop off.”

The tiger kept staring straight ahead, but Sebastian noticed he blinked several times, and the muscles of his throat worked hard as he swallowed. “There’s boys younger’n me servin’ as cabin boys in His Majesty’s Navy, and goin’ to war as drummer boys. I guess you reckon I couldn’t do those things, either.”

“Bloody hell,” said Sebastian, giving his horses the office to start. “Just don’t take any more unnecessary risks, you hear? And next time I tell you to do something and you don’t obey me, you’re fired. Understand that?”

Clapping one hand to his hat to hold it in place, Tom scrambled back to his perch and grinned. “Aye, gov’nor.”

THE MARQUIS OF ANGLESSEY MOVED ACROSS THE FLOOR of his conservatory with slow, painful steps. It seemed to Sebastian, watching him, that the man had aged visibly in the past week.

He looked around at the sound of Sebastian’s footfalls, one hand tightening on the edge of the shelf of orchids beside him as if for support. “What is it?”

Sebastian paused in the center of the room, the warm humidity of the place pressing in on him like a blanket, the smell of damp earth and lush foliage heavy in the air. “I want you to tell me how your first wife died.”

To his surprise, a wry smile lifted one corner of the old man’s lips. He turned away to begin carefully plucking yellowing leaves from a large China rose. “I take it you’ve heard the rumors about how I pushed her to her death.”

“Pushed her?”

Anglessey nodded. “She slipped on the stairs at Anglessey Hall. She was big with child, clumsy. She couldn’t catch herself.” His hands stilled at their task, his gaze becoming unfocused as he lifted his head to stare away as if into the past. “Perhaps she would have died in childbirth, anyway,” he added softly. “She wasn’t well those last few months. But there’s no way to know.”

He brought his gaze back to Sebastian’s face. “Who told you I killed her?

“Does it matter?”