kill him, I can’t.”
Kat was peering through the bowed window of a perfumery on Bond Street when she heard a man’s cheery voice say, “Top o’ the morning to you, my lady.”
She swung to find Aiden O’Connell smiling at her with lazy green eyes. “
His smile widened to bring a beguiling dimple to one cheek. “I had to leave town unexpectedly for a few days.” He captured her hand and brought it to his lips in a parody of gallantry. “Forgive me?”
She took her hand back. “No.”
He laughed. “Why did you want to see me?”
He fell into step beside her as she turned to walk up the street, her sunshade held at a crisp angle. “Actually, I was going to suggest you might want to leave the country.”
“Really?” He kept the smile in place, but his gaze sharpened. “Why?”
“Someone was about to betray you to Lord Jarvis.”
The dimple faded. “Who?”
Kat twirled her parasol. “Jarvis gave me a choice: your identity or my life.”
“And so you betrayed me.”
“As it happens, no. Lord Jarvis’s threat to me became known, and it was suggested his own health might suffer as a consequence.”
“Ah. I think I understand. I saw the notice of your approaching nuptials in this morning’s paper. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. But your congratulations are premature.” She swung to face him. “I want your help leaving the country.”
He opened his eyes wide. “Really? And your marriage to Lord Devlin?”
“Would ruin him.”
The Irishman was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You love him that much? That you would go away to save him from himself?”
“Yes.” Turning, she continued up the street. “It’s to your advantage to help me leave. You know that. Without Devlin’s protection I would remain vulnerable to Jarvis.”
“Why do you need my help? Ships leave England from any number of ports every day.”
“Because Jarvis’s men may still be watching the ports. I can’t take that chance—and neither can you. I don’t have much time,” she added impatiently when he said nothing. “The wedding is scheduled for Monday night.”
O’Connell continued studying her in silence for a moment, then let out his breath in a strange sound that could have meant anything. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The children were playing in the square across from the house. The boy looked about twelve, towheaded, with ruddy cheeks, and limbs just beginning to lengthen beyond boyhood. The girl was some four or five years younger and still very much a child, with a ragged, beloved doll she kept tucked under one arm as she ran, laughing, after her brother.
Sebastian stood and watched them for a time, then turned to mount the steps to Felix Atkinson’s house in Portland Place.
He found Atkinson still at home and finishing his coffee in the morning room. He looked surprised and vaguely annoyed to have Sebastian’s card brought up to him.
“Please have a seat, Lord Devlin,” he said curtly. “Although I must warn you, I haven’t much time. What may I do for you?”
Sebastian took one of the chairs near the cold hearth and said in a pleasant voice, “I understand you were a passenger on the
Atkinson set aside his cup with a shaky hand. “Yes, that’s right.” He was a prim-looking man of medium height and build, in his late thirties now, perhaps a little older. He wore his light brown hair oiled and swept to one side in a futile attempt to disguise a receding hairline, and he had a habit of putting up one hand to touch it, as if to reassure himself it was still in place.
“You’ve noticed, I assume,” said Sebastian, “that someone seems to be killing the sons of your fellow passengers?”
Atkinson’s hand crept up to touch his hair, then slipped away. “Well. You don’t mince words, do you, my lord? To answer your question: Yes, I have noticed. Perhaps you noticed on your way into the house that I have at least two Bow Street Runners watching my children at all times.” He pushed to his feet. “I appreciate your concern for my family’s welfare even if I fail to understand what affair any of this might be of yours. However, I am a busy man, Lord Devlin, so I really must ask you to excuse—”
“Sit down,” said Sebastian, his voice no longer pleasant.
Atkinson sank back to the edge of his chair.
“It must have been a living hell on that ship after the crew left, taking with them most of the food and water.” Sebastian leaned forward. “I imagine you thought you’d never see your family again.”
Atkinson cleared his throat and looked away. “It was difficult, yes. But we were all Englishmen and women, thank God.”
“I would have expected the water to run out before the food.”
“So we feared. The crew left us but one barrel of water, you know. But one of the gentlemen aboard—Sir Humphrey, to be precise—rigged up a kind of distillery using a teakettle and a gun barrel. It didn’t produce much, but it was enough to keep us alive. That was when the lack of food became the major issue. Most of the ship’s stores had been lost in the storm, and the crew took what was left.”
“Tell me about the cabin boy,” said Sebastian, his gaze on the other man’s face.
A tick began to pull at the edge of Atkinson’s mouth. “The cabin boy?”
“What was his name again? Gideon?”
“I think so. Yes.”
“Do you by any chance remember his family name?”
The twitch became more rapid, distorting the lower part of the man’s face. “I don’t know that I ever heard it. Why?”
“He was injured, was he not? In the storm.”
“Yes.”
Sebastian leaned forward. “I wonder, how long after the crew left did he die?”
Atkinson leapt from his seat and began to pace the room. “I don’t know. I can’t recall. It was a very difficult time.”
Sebastian watched the man striding back and forth. “I suppose you’ve heard the rumors?”
Atkinson stood very still, his entire face now twitching with distress. “Rumors? What rumors?”
“It was inevitable, I suppose, given the way the bodies of the victims have been butchered. I mean, a shipload of starving passengers and a dying boy…” Sebastian shrugged. “You can imagine the conclusions people are drawing.”
“They’re lies.” Atkinson’s voice rose to a shrill pitch. “All lies. It never happened.” He brought up a handkerchief to press against his lips. “Do you hear me? It never happened.”
Sebastian stretched to his feet. “Unfortunately, someone out there obviously believes it did happen. And unless you help us catch him, that boy of yours playing in the square will continue to be at risk.”
“How can I help you catch this killer when I don’t know who he is? You think if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you?”
Sebastian let his gaze drift toward the window overlooking the square. In the sudden silence, the laughter of the children came to them, light and sweet. “If there’s one thing the last few days have taught me,” said Sebastian, “it’s that some men will do anything, sacrifice anything and anyone, to save their own lives.”
He turned toward the door. “Good day, Mr. Atkinson. Do give my best to your family.”
