Dangerous to Know

occasion?” Monsieur Leblanc asked.

“Non, monsieur, it would not be.” Cécile shot him the firm sort of look she reserved for unsuitable suitors, but the glint in her eyes suggested she was not wholly uninterested. Encouraged, he pressed on, flirting with her shamelessly.

When Mrs. Hargreaves joined us a few minutes later, the conversation moved to a discussion of household staff, and I took the first opportunity to excuse myself and go off in search of my favorite horse. I didn’t want to ride outside the bounds of the estate, so kept within the walls, but the exercise was nonetheless refreshing. The misty rain had stopped, but the air retained a heavy coolness, making it feel more like early spring than summer when I dipped beneath shady trees. I’d then emerge in sunlight again and bask in its warmth. I continued in this manner, tracing the circumference of the stone walls, until I spotted something out of place.

A bright red ribbon dangled from the limbs of a tall, narrow tree. Slowing my horse and then stopping her beneath it, I tugged to remove the envelope attached to its end. Sebastian was not, it seemed, ready to stop playing games.

You’re lovely when you ride, but your beauty has distracted me from my stated purpose, which was to follow your too-lucky husband. He’ll never find me, you know. I’ll appear when I’m ready.

With a sigh, I refolded the paper and tucked it into the pocket of my neatly tailored jacket. That he was trying to follow me came as no surprise. But I was not about to wait for him to appear. Colin had taught me surveillance techniques; he’d also taught me antisurveillance techniques. Given that we were on a limited property in the middle of the countryside, I knew it couldn’t be too difficult to locate Sebastian. The trick would be keeping him from escaping. It wasn’t as if I could sneak up from behind, leap on him, and bind him to the nearest obliging tree. Instead, I would have to rely on my wits—and his vulnerabilities.

To begin, I slid off the horse and stood perfectly still, listening for any sign of movement. He couldn’t be on horseback—the animal would have been too obvious, and the groundskeepers would have spotted him. On foot, he’d be much slower than I, mounted, and I suspected he wasn’t actively following me. He must be waiting, lurking nearby in order to watch me read his note.

Next, considering my options, I debated pretending to be hurt—Sebastian, hearing me cry out and finding me somehow immobilized, would scoop me up and deliver me to the house, where the servants could help me restrain him.

That, of course, would never work. He’d gingerly put me down within earshot of the house and disappear. My mind churning, I snapped the red ribbon out of the tree, regretting for a moment that knocking Sebastian over the head with a rock wasn’t a viable option. I leaned against the tree, fingering the smooth satin ribbon, frustration consuming me. And as the feeling grew, it was compounded by everything else bothering me: the image of Edith Prier frozen in my brain, the coldness of Colin’s mother, a confused muck of emotion surrounding the baby I’d lost. Just as I verged on being utterly overwhelmed, I saw the solution. If Sebastian admired me as much as he claimed, he would come to my assistance if I were upset. This required no manipulation, no game—only letting him see the honest truth of what I was suffering.

Or at least some of it.

For the first time in months, I stopped censoring my emotions, stopped trying to appear genteel and polite and strong. I sank down to the damp ground, my back against the tree, and I put my head in my hands.

I grieved my lost child.

I despised Colin’s mother for her lack of support.

I remembered the hideous gash across Edith Prier’s throat.

And I started to cry, heaving sobs that soaked my handkerchief and shook my body to its core. I don’t know when Sebastian appeared. I never heard his footsteps nor felt his hand on my shoulder when he knelt beside me. At some point, however, I became aware I was holding a dry handkerchief and realized he’d handed it to me. His eyes were the bright sapphire blue I remembered them to be, and they were looking at me not with concern, but mischief.

“You’re as bad as I am, Mrs. Hargreaves. Although I gather I’m not to call you that. It’s Lady Emily now, isn’t it? Correct address is so important.”

“Don’t torment me,” I said.

“I’m merely applauding your performance. It was worthy of the Divine Sarah.”

“You don’t consider her a skilled actress?” I asked, wiping the rest of my tears.

“The finest. I saw her play Cleopatra not two years ago.”

“Then you should not compare her to me,” I said. “What you see before you is not acting.”

“Come, now, you can’t expect me—”

“Sometimes, Mr. Capet, all a lady has left is the truth.” He was still resting his hand on my shoulder. I removed it and rose to my feet. “I feel a certain responsibility to you—I know not why, particularly as it seems you’ve abandoned your charge.”

Sebastian had promised to look after Edward White, a young boy whom we had both encountered during Sebastian’s quest for objects owned by Marie Antoinette. Only a handful of people knew the child’s true identity— that he was the direct descendent of the last dauphin of France. The Capet family had protected Marie Antoinette’s son, Louis Joseph, after his secret escape from the clutches of cruel guards during the revolution, and it was Sebastian’s legacy to continue the tradition by looking after Edward. It was a role against which he’d rebelled, but eventually, after learning the boy had nearly been killed by a person with a vested interest in protecting the claims of a pretender to the French throne, he agreed to do his duty.

“I’ve done nothing of the sort!” he said. “He and his mother are on holiday at the seaside. They’re perfectly safe.”

“I’m not in a humor to argue with you.”

“What’s troubling you, my darling Kallista?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You have no idea how you wound me.” He sidled closer to me.

“You have to stop this, Mr. Capet.”

“Darling, I know you call me Sebastian to everyone else. Why cling to formality when we’re alone?”

“We shouldn’t be alone. It’s inappropriate. I want you to come back to the house with me.”

“Absolutely not!” He brushed dust from his yellow waistcoat.

“Why must you make everything difficult?” I asked, tears pooling in my eyes. “I cannot take much more.”

“Darling, please.” He held out a hand; I pushed it away. “Gossip told me of your injuries, but I see that you’re well recovered if you’re able to ride. Although emotionally perhaps not quite so well as physically. What is troubling you?”

“More things than I care to recount. And if you’ve any of the qualities of a gentleman you won’t press me.”

“I shan’t press you.” His voice, low and gentle, had a rhythmic quality to it, almost musical. “Though it wounds me to think you believe I’ve any of the qualities of a gentleman.”

“My husband feels strongly that you need to present yourself to the police and give an alibi for Edith Prier’s murder.”

“You don’t think I killed her?”

“What is your alibi?”

He heaved a sigh. “When was she murdered?” he asked. “Surely you don’t expect me to keep a catalog of morbid events in my head?”

“Sebastian!”

“First name. That’s much better.”

“Alibi.”

“Right. Yes. Let’s see…Thursday…Calais. I took a room at a remarkably dim tavern across from the hotel the Whites were in after a more than usually tedious channel crossing. Terrible weather.”

“Can you prove it?”

“If I must. The owner would remember me. We had an infuriating discussion about continental politics.”