What Darkness Brings

Chapter 4



R

ussell Yates was one of those rare men who defied both the expectations and the conventions of his world and yet somehow still managed to prosper.

He had been born to a life of ease and luxury, the son of an East Anglian nobleman. But one frosted, wretched night in the winter of his fourteenth year, Yates stole from his father’s high-walled, sprawling home and ran away to sea. When asked the reason for such a bold but undeniably rash impulse, Yates typically laughed and cautioned his listeners against the dangers of allowing impressionable young lads to read too many stirring tales of high adventure. But Sebastian had long suspected that the true reasons were much darker and could at times be glimpsed lurking behind the laughter in the man’s mocking hazel eyes, like the shadowy ghosts of childhood’s worst nightmares.

No one knew all that had occurred during the man’s years at sea. There were whispered tales of shipwrecks and pirates and daggers stained with the blood of both innocent and evil men. All that could be said with certainty was that Yates had risen from his precarious beginnings as a cabin boy to become captain of a privateer that terrorized the shipping of England’s enemies from the Spanish Main to the East Indies. By the time he returned to take his place in London society, he was a wealthy man.

He bought a grand house in Mayfair and quickly set about scandalizing the more sanctimonious members of the ton. Broad shouldered and sun bronzed, his dark hair worn too long and with the wink of pirate’s gold in his left ear, Yates moved through London society like a sleek tiger on the prowl at a garden party. His well-muscled body kept toned and hard by regular workouts at Jackson’s Boxing Salon and Angelo’s fencing parlor, Yates exuded unabashed virility and an aggressive masculinity in a way that was rare amongst the sophisticated, mannered men of the ton. The high sticklers would always look askance at him, but London’s most popular hostesses loved him. He was wellborn but deliciously unique, endlessly amusing—and very, very rich.

Yet Sebastian sometimes found himself wondering what had brought Yates back to London after so many years. There was a coiled restlessness about the man, a recklessness born of a mingling of boredom and despair that Sebastian both recognized and understood. Was it boredom or an urge to self-destruction that drove Yates to risk everything for the transient, meaningless thrill of running rum and the odd French agent beneath the noses of His Majesty’s Navy? Sebastian could never decide. But whatever Yates’s reasons for dabbling in smuggling and espionage, his most dangerous activities were actually those of the boudoir. For the truth was that London’s most virile, most ostentatious Corinthian preferred the sexual pleasures to be found with those of his own gender.

It was an inclination more dangerous than smuggling, viewed by society and the law as a crime on par with treason. For in an age given over to vice and excess, love of one’s own kind remained the ultimate unforgivable sin, punishable by a hideous death.

It was his fear of that death—a fear increased by the enmity of the King’s powerful cousin, Lord Jarvis—that had driven Yates into a marriage of convenience with the most beautiful, the most desirable, the most sought-after actress of the London stage: Kat Boleyn, the woman Sebastian had loved, and lost.



Yates’s prison cell was small and stone-cold, the air thick with the pervasive stench of effluvia and rot. A tumult of raucous voices and laughter rose from the crowded yard below the room’s small barred window, but Yates himself sat silently on the edge of his narrow cot, elbows propped on splayed knees, bowed head clutched in his hands. He didn’t look up when, keys rattling, the turnkey pushed open the thick door.

“Jist bang on the door when ye need me, yer lordship,” said the turnkey with a sniff.

Sebastian slipped the man a coin. “Thank you.”

Yates lifted his head, his fingers raking through his long dark hair to link behind his neck. A day’s growth of beard shadowed the man’s dark, handsome face; his coat was torn, his cravat gone, his breeches and shirt smeared with blood and dirt. Yates obviously hadn’t come here without a struggle.

“So have you come to gloat too?” he said, his voice rough.

“Actually, I’m here to help.”

An indecipherable expression flitted across the man’s face before being carefully hidden away. “Did Kat ask you—”

Sebastian shook his head. “I haven’t seen her yet.” He pulled forward the room’s sole chair, a straight-backed spindly thing that swayed ominously when it took his weight. “Tell me what happened.”

Yates gave a bitter laugh. “You’re married to the daughter of my worst enemy. Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”

Sebastian shrugged and pushed to his feet. “Suit yourself. Although I will point out that Jarvis happens to be my worst enemy too. And from what I’m hearing, the way things stand now, I’m the only chance you have.”

For a long moment, Yates held his gaze. Then he blew out a painful breath and brought up a hand to shade his eyes. “Sit down. Please.”

Sebastian sat. “They tell me you were found bending over Eisler’s body. Is that true?”

“It is. But I swear to God, he was dead when I found him.” He scrubbed his hands down over his face. “How much do you know about Daniel Eisler?”

“Not a bloody thing.”

“He is—or I suppose I should say, he was one of the biggest diamond merchants in London. Prinny did business with him, as did most of the royal dukes. I’ve heard it said he even sold Napoléon the diamond necklace he presented to the Empress Marie Louise as a wedding present.”

“So he still traded with the French?”

“Of course he did. They all do, you know. The Continental System and the Orders in Council are inconveniences, but nothing more.” Yates summoned up a ghost of a smile. “That’s why God invented smugglers.”

“Which is where you come in, I presume?”

Yates nodded. “Most of Eisler’s diamonds came from Brazil, through a special arrangement he had with the Portuguese. But he also had agents buying up gems across Europe. A lot of once-wealthy people there are facing ruin, which means they’re looking to raise money any way they can.”

“Selling the family jewels being one of those ways?”

“Yes.”

Sebastian studied the other man’s tired, strained face. “So what happened last night?”

“I went to Eisler’s house to finalize the details of an upcoming transaction. I’d just knocked on the door when I heard the sound of a pistol shot from inside the house. The door was off the latch, so I pushed it open and like a bloody fool went rushing in.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why put yourself at risk of being shot too?”

Yates stared back at him, his eyes narrowed, the muscles along his jaw working. “If you were standing on the steps of a business acquaintance’s house and heard the sound of a shot from inside, would you run away?”

Sebastian smiled. “No.”

“Exactly.”

“Where were Eisler’s servants while all this was going on?”

“The man was a bloody miser. He lived in a decrepit old Tudor house that was falling down around his ears and retained only an ancient couple who tottered off to bed every night after dinner. Campbell, I think their name is. As far as I know, they slept through the whole thing. I sure as hell never saw them.”

“What time did this happen?”

“About half past eight.”

“So it was dark?”

“It was, yes. He’d left one measly candlestick burning on a table in the entry, but I could see more light coming from the parlor just to the right of the stairs. That’s where I found him, sprawled some eight or ten feet inside the room. His chest was a bloody mess, but I went to see if by some chance he still lived. I was just leaning over him when a man came barreling in behind me and started screeching, ‘What have you done? Good God, you’ve killed him!’ I said, ‘What the devil are you talking about? I found him like this.’ But the bloody idiot was already rushing off yelling ‘murder’ and calling loudly for the watch. So then I did the second stupid thing of the evening: Rather than stick around to explain myself to the constables, I ran. I didn’t realize the bastard knew who I was.”

“And who was he?”

“Turns out he’s Eisler’s nephew—a man by the name of Samuel Perlman.”

Sebastian went to stare thoughtfully out the small, high window.

After a moment, Yates said, “It doesn’t look good, does it?”

Sebastian glanced back at him. “To be frank? No, it doesn’t. Can you think of anyone who might have had reason to kill Eisler?”

Yates laughed. “Are you serious? You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who ever did business with Eisler and didn’t want to kill the bastard. He was a mean, nasty son of a bitch who enjoyed taking advantage of other people’s misfortune. Frankly, it’s amazing the man managed to live as long as he did—and I suspect that was only because people were afraid of him.”

“Afraid of him? Why?”

Yates twitched one shoulder in a shrug and glanced away. “He had a bad reputation for being vindictive. I told you: He was an ugly bastard.”

“And did you have a reason to want to kill him?”

Yates was silent a moment, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Then he turned his head to look straight at Sebastian. And Sebastian knew even before the man opened his mouth that he was lying. “No. No, I didn’t.”