her hand on the soft swell of her belly. `And twenty years from now, if this child is a girl, would you think it right that she betray you to whatever man she marries?'
When he remained silent, she said, `Have you been so honest with me, Devlin? Will you tell me why you can't even bear to be in the same room with your father? And will you tell me about Jamie Knox? Will you tell me why a common ex-rifleman and tavern owner looks enough like my husband to be his brother? Neither one of us has been exactly open with the other, have we?'
`No,' said Sebastian, just as the man passing them pivoted quickly, his bag slumping to the pavement as he raised a cudgel and brought it down hard across Sebastian's back.
The breath left his body in a huff, the pain of the blow dropping him to his knees.
Sebastian fumbled for the dagger in his boot, fought to draw air back into his lungs. He saw the man raise his club to strike again, was aware of Hero beside him, her hands at her reticule.
Then she drew a small walnut-handled pistol from her reticule, pulled back the hammer, and fired point-blank into the assailant's chest.
`Jesus Christ,' yelped Sebastian as the man staggered back and went down, hard. He gave a jerking kick with one leg, the worn heel of his boot skittering over the wet paving.
Then he lay still.
`Is he dead?' Hero asked.
His dagger held at the ready in his hand, Sebastian went to crouch beside the man.
He looked to be somewhere in his thirties or early forties, his body thick and hard, his face darkened by the weather, his hair a light brown, badly cut. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth; his eyes were already glazing over. Sebastian dropped his gaze to the pulverized mess that was the man's chest.
`He's dead.'
`Are you all right?'
He twisted around to look at her over his shoulder. She stood straight and tall, her face pale but composed. But he could see her nostrils flaring with her rapid breathing, and her lips were parted, as if she were fighting down an upsurge of nausea. `Are you?'
She swallowed, hard. `Yes.'
His gaze dropped to the pistol in her hand. It was a beautiful if deadly little piece, a small muff flintlock with a burnished walnut stock and engraved gilt mounts. `Where did you get that?'
`My father gave it to me.'
`And taught you to use it?'
`What would be the point in my having it otherwise?'
Sebastian nodded to the dead man. `Is he one of your father's men?'
`Good heavens, no. I've never seen him before.'
Sebastian drew in an experimental deep breath that sent a white flash of pain shooting across his back and around his side, so that he had to pause with one arm propped on his bent knee and pant for a minute.
She watched him, a frown drawing her brows together. `Are you certain you're all right? Shall I get one of the footmen to help you up?'
`Just give me a moment.' He tried breathing again, more cautiously this time. `Are you going to tell me about the connection between Childe and your father?' he asked when he was able. `That is how Jarvis comes into this, isn't it?'
She met his gaze. `You know I can't do that. But I see no reason why you can't ask him about it yourself.'
Sebastian grunted and reached out to grasp one of the dead man's arms and haul the lifeless body up over his shoulder.
She watched him. `Is that wise, considering you are hurt?'
He pushed to his feet with another grunt, staggering slightly under the dead man's weight.
`What are you doing?' she asked.
`Taking your father a present.'
He thought she might object.
But she didn't.
Chapter 46
Sebastian's knock at the house on Berkeley Square was answered by Jarvis's butler, who took one look at the bloody corpse slung over Sebastian's shoulders and staggered back with a faint mew of horror.
`Good afternoon, Grisham,' said Sebastian, pushing past him into the elegant entrance hall.
`Good gracious, Lord Devlin; is that... is that man dead?'
`Decidedly. Is his lordship home?'
Grisham stared in awful fascination at the dead man's flopping arms and blue-tinged hands. Then he seemed to recollect himself, swallowed hard, and cleared his throat. `I fear Lord Jarvis is not at present...'
A burst of male laughter filtered down from the floor above.
`In the drawing room, is he?' Sebastian headed for the delicately curving staircase that wound toward the upper floors, then paused on the first step to look back at Grisham. `I trust there are no ladies present?'
`No, my lord. But... but... My lord! You can't mean to take that that corpse into his lordship's drawing room?'
`Don't worry; I suspect Bow Street will want to come collect it. Perhaps you could dispatch someone to advise them of the need to do so?'
Grisham gave a dignified bow. `I will send someone right away, my lord.'
Charles, Lord Jarvis stood with his back to the empty hearth, a glass of sherry in one hand. `The Americans have shown themselves to be an abomination,' he was telling the gentlemen assembled before him. `What they have done will go down in history as an insult not only to civilization but to God himself. To attack Britain at a time when all our resources are directed to the critical defense against the spread of atheism and republican fervor...'
He broke off as Viscount Devlin strode into the room with a man's bloody body slung over his shoulders.
Every head in the room turned toward the door. A stunned silence fell over the company.
`What the devil?' demanded Jarvis.
Devlin leaned forward and shrugged his shoulder to send the slack-jawed, vacant-eyed corpse sprawling across Jarvis's exquisite Turkey carpet. `We need to talk.'
Jarvis felt a rare surge of raw, primitive rage, brought quickly under control. `Is this your version of a brace of partridges?'
`The kill isn't mine. He was shot by an elegant little muff pistol with a burnished walnut handle and engraved brass fittings. I believe you're familiar with it?'
Jarvis met Devlin's glittering gaze for one intense moment. Then he turned to his gawking guests. `My apologies, gentlemen, for the disturbance. If you will please excuse us?'
The assemblage of men - which Sebastian now noticed included the Prime Minister, the First Lord of the Admiralty, and three other cabinet members - exchanged veiled glances, and then, murmuring amongst themselves, filed from the room.
Sebastian found himself oddly relieved to notice that Hendon was not one of them.
Jarvis went to close the door behind them with a snap. `I trust you have a damned good explanation for this?'
`Actually, that's what I'm here to ask you. I want to know why the hell my wife and I were attacked by...'
`Hero? Is she all right? My God. If my daughter has been harmed in any way...'
`She has not with no thanks to you.'
`I fail to understand why you assume this has anything to do with me. The world must be full of people only too eager to put paid to your existence.'
