Why Kill the Innocent (Sebastian St. Cyr #13)(75)

Sebastian studied the man’s handsome, self-assured face. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this, is it?”

The courtier shrugged again, his smile never slipping.

Sebastian’s fists closed on the man’s lapels. “You son of a—”

“Gentlemen. Please.”

Sebastian threw a quick look at the shopkeeper, then took a step back and let the courtier go.

Van der Pals carefully adjusted his coat. “If you ask me,” he said, his attention all for his clothing, “the husband killed her.”

“Oh? And is this wild speculation on your part, or are you actually basing it on something?”

Van der Pals frowned as he studied his reflection in a nearby mirror and swiftly repaired the folds of his cravat. “Call it a logical deduction. You see, I told her about her husband’s young mistress—his enceinte young mistress.”

“How the bloody hell did you know about that?”

“It’s my business to know such things. I even gave her the girl’s name and address.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you do that?”

The courtier gave a wide smile that showed his even white teeth. “Because I knew it would hurt her. Why else?” The smile faded. “In the past, out of respect for my Prince, I have allowed your insults to my honor to slide. But such an outrage will not go unavenged.”

Sebastian turned away. “You can try.”





Chapter 43

Sebastian’s knock at the door of the rooms Edward Ambrose kept for his mistress in Tavistock Street was answered by a young housemaid no more than twelve or thirteen years old. She was a gangly thing, all arms and legs, with a head of rioting dark hair inadequately constrained by a mobcap. She was evidently so surprised to see an unknown gentleman standing at her mistress’s door that she simply stared at him, mouth agape.

“Is your mistress at home?” said Sebastian.

The girl closed her mouth and nodded, eyes going wide.

Sebastian handed her his card. “Kindly tell her Lord Devlin would like a word—”

“Who is it, Molly?” Emma Carter came from a distant room, trailing a length of delicate white knitting. At the sight of Sebastian, she drew up abruptly. “Oh,” she said, her free hand creeping up to cup her heavy belly. The way she was looking at him told Sebastian she not only knew who he was, but also had some idea as to why he was here.

She wore a high-waisted figured muslin gown with long sleeves and a pink shawl, and she looked lovely, frightened, and very, very young. Her accent was good enough to make Sebastian wonder what had brought her to this.

He said, “If I might have a word with you, Miss Carter? I need to ask you some questions about Jane Ambrose.”

“But I don’t know anything about what happened to her,” she whispered, her nostrils flaring with alarm. “I swear it.”

“Did she come here last Tuesday or Wednesday?”

Emma Carter and her housemaid exchanged quick, anxious glances.

Sebastian said, “She did, didn’t she? What did she say?”

The young woman’s breathing had become so agitated she was shaking with it. Her lips parted, but she seemed to find it impossible to say anything.

“Miss Carter? What did she say?”

It was the housemaid who answered. “She didn’t say nothin’. She jist stood there and looked at mistress. Then she whirled around and left.”

“That’s it?”

Mistress and housemaid both nodded.

“Did you tell Edward Ambrose she had come?”

Emma Carter shook her head no even as her housemaid was nodding yes.

“When did you tell him?” demanded Sebastian, his gaze hard upon her even as her features crumpled with her tears. “And don’t even think about lying to me again.”

“The next day. Wednesday,” said the young woman in a broken voice. “Wednesday evening.”

“And did you see him again that Thursday?”

“No. He was supposed to come in the afternoon, but he didn’t.”

“Did he ever tell you why not?”

“He said something came up. He didn’t tell me what.”

“Thank you,” said Sebastian. As he turned away, he found himself wondering what would happen to this heavily pregnant young woman if the father of her unborn child were convicted of murdering his wife.

Then he caught the horror in Emma Carter’s frightened brown eyes, and he knew the same thought had already occurred to her.



Sebastian walked the icy streets of the city, his thoughts turning over everything he’d just learned and everything he thought he’d known before.

In the last month of a life cut tragically short, Jane Ambrose had inadvertently made some nasty, formidable enemies: Lord Jarvis, Nathan Rothschild, and the courtier Peter van der Pals. All were hard men who wouldn’t hesitate to kill a beautiful young pianist if she got in their way. She had moved through a dangerous swirl of greed and palace intrigue that Sebastian suspected he still didn’t completely understand. But he was coming increasingly to suspect that her death might actually have been the result of forces that were for the most part considerably more personal.