stuck to the floor as if it were newly tarred. It took him a moment to realize what it was: years and years of sugar that had leaked through casks to cover the floor, then half melted in the damp air. From up ahead came that same furtive sucking sound. Then it stopped.
Away from the open doorway, the darkness of the warehouse was nearly complete. But Sebastian’s senses of sight and sound had always been acute. Wolflike, Kat used to say. Trying to still his own breathing, he listened, his gaze raking the towering rows of casks.
It was the barest hint of sound—cloth brushing against wood. Sebastian whirled just as Dark Coat leapt toward him from atop the nearest stack of kegs.
The sudden movement dislodged the casks, toppling them in an avalanche of crushed staves and cascading sugar that swept Sebastian off his feet. He went down hard, his hand scooping up a fistful of sugar he threw in Dark Coat’s face as the man lunged toward him, knife in hand. The man swore and staggered back, buying Sebastian enough time to roll to one side and come up onto his knees, a broken stave clutched in both hands.
“Ye son of a bitch,” swore the man, charging again.
Swinging the stave like a curving club, Sebastian slammed the jagged edge into the man’s wrist, sending the knife skittering away into the darkness. “Who hired you?” shouted Sebastian.
Whirling, the man took off toward the distant rectangle of light, his boots sliding and sucking in the sugar.
Shoving to his feet, Sebastian tore after him. They erupted into the sunlight covered in a fine dusting of sparkling white crystals.
He could hear the bleating of a goat from a ship out on the river, the raucous cries of the seagulls circling over the docks. Heads turned as, one after the other, the sugar-encrusted men raced up the hill and into the lane. Dark Coat had a good hundred-foot lead, and Sebastian couldn’t close it.
Snatching up his gray’s reins on the fly, Dark Coat threw himself into the saddle, the horse shying violently as the man’s weight came down hard, and he set his spurs into the animal’s sides.
“Son of a bitch,” said Sebastian. Breathing hard, he leaned forward, his hands on his sugar-dusted knees as he watched the gray’s tail disappear with a shivering swish up the lane.
Sebastian was in his dressing room brushing the sugar out of his hair when Jules Calhoun came in. “A bath is on the way, my lord.” He held out a sealed missive on a silver tray. “This arrived while you were out. Delivered by a liveried footman.”
Sebastian reached for the letter and studied the masculine-looking handwriting of the address. He flipped it over, frowning at the sight of the familiar coat of arms on the seal. The handwriting might be masculine, but it obviously belonged to Miss Hero Jarvis. He broke the seal and unfolded the heavy white page.
“Please be prompt,” repeated Sebastian, dropping the missive back on the silver tray.
Calhoun moved about the room gathering up the Viscount’s sugar-dusted disguise. “You think the man who followed you was working for Ian Kane?”
“It’s possible. Kane is the one who sent me after O’Brian in the first place.” Sebastian glanced over at his valet. “But there may well be more to Mr. O’Brian than meets the eye.”
“Would you like me to look into the gentleman, my lord?”
“It might prove interesting.”
Calhoun bowed and turned toward the door.
“Oh, and, Calhoun—tell Tom to bring my curricle around in half an hour. I think it’s time I paid a little visit to Bow Street.”
Chapter 20
Dressed once more in his own exquisitely tailored dark blue coat and buckskin breeches, Sebastian drove his curricle to the Brown Bear, the aging inn in Bow Street that was essentially treated as an extension of the Bow Street magistrate’s office.
“Walk ’em,” he told Tom, handing the boy the reins. “We’ll be leaving for Kensington as soon as I’m finished here.”
Pushing through the inn’s smoky public room, Sebastian found Sir William Hadley seated at a booth near the rear, a plate of cold roast beef and a tankard of ale on the worn, stained boards before him. “You might be interested to know I’ve discovered the identity of one of the women who was killed Monday night at the Magdalene House,” said Sebastian, sliding into the bench opposite the Bow Street magistrate.
Sir William raised his tankard to his lips and drank deeply. “Now why the bloody hell would I be interested in that?” he said, drawing the back of one meaty hand across his wet mouth.
