She gave a soft laugh. “In general, Yates has very little patience with poets—especially those just down from Oxford.”
“What about an army lieutenant named Matt Tyson? Mid-twenties. Dark. Also good-looking, although not in Beresford’s boyish way. Has a rather rakish scar on his chin.”
“Him I do know. Yates finds him amusing.”
Amusing. It was the same word Tyson had used to describe Beresford. “But you don’t like him?” said Sebastian.
Her smile faded. “He’s never been anything except charming and gracious to me. But . . .”
“But?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t ever want to turn my back on him—metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“Do you know if he”—Sebastian hesitated, struggling for a way to put his question into words—“has the same inclinations as Yates?”
She understood what he meant. “I don’t know. But I can ask.” She tipped her head to one side, her gaze on his face, and he wondered what she saw there. She was always far too good at knowing what he was thinking. “Why did you come here to me, Devlin? Why not ask Yates directly?”
“Because I’m not convinced he is being as honest with me as he could be.”
She pushed up from the sofa and went to fiddle with the heavy satin drapes at the window overlooking the square.
“What?” he asked, watching her.
She exhaled a long breath. “To be frank, I’m not certain he’s being exactly honest with me either.”
“Why? Why would he lie?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” But her gaze slid from his in a way he did not like.
He said, “Do you know anything about a large blue diamond whose sale Eisler was handling? A diamond that may once have formed part of the French Crown Jewels?”
He watched her carefully and saw no trace of anything in her face other than puzzlement and surprise, followed swiftly by what looked very much like fear.
But then, he reminded himself, it would never do to forget that Kat was an actress. A very good one. And it struck him as ironic and troubling that he found himself doubting both of the women in his life—although for vastly different reasons.
She said, “What are you suggesting? That the French are somehow involved in Eisler’s murder?”
“You know about Napoléon’s quest to recover the French Crown Jewels?”
“Yes.”
A simple answer that told him she probably knew more than he did. Once, she had worked for the French, passing secrets to Napoléon’s agents in an effort to weaken England and free Ireland. She claimed she’d severed that relationship long ago. But Sebastian suspected she still had contacts with her old confederates—as did Yates.
He said, “Who would Napoléon task to secure the diamond? Would he send in someone new? Or would he use a contact already in place?”
“It’s difficult to say. He’s taken both approaches in the past.”
“Would it be possible to find out?”
He half expected her to tell him no. Instead, she twitched the heavy drape in place and smoothed it down, although it already hung straight. “I can try.”
He let his gaze drift over the familiar planes of her face: the thickly lashed, slightly tilted eyes; the small, childlike nose; the wide, sensual mouth. His love for her still coursed deep and strong, as he knew it always would. He had loved her since he was so very young, untested by battle and as yet untouched by the bitterest of disillusionments. Even when he’d believed she’d betrayed him—even when he had tried to forget her—he had loved her still. Their souls had touched in a way granted to few, and he knew that even if he never saw her again, his life would forever be entwined with hers.
But he also knew that with every passing day, the distance between them yawned subtly deeper and wider.
And it disturbed him to realize the extent to which he neither trusted nor believed her.
Chapter 38
A
fter Devlin left, Kat sat down and composed a carefully worded note she dispatched to a certain Irish gentleman of her acquaintance. Then she ordered her carriage and set off for Newgate Prison.
She found Yates standing beside his cell’s small, barred window overlooking the Press Yard. There was an uncharacteristic tension in the way he held himself, and she went to slide her arms around his waist and press her cheek against his taut back in a quiet gesture of friendship and comfort. They were two outcasts who’d made common cause together against both their enemies and the disapproving world. In many ways, he was like the brother she had never had. And she found she had to squeeze her eyes shut against a sudden upsurge of unexpected emotion at the thought of losing him.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” he said, closing his hands over hers and tilting back his head until it rested against hers. “I didn’t expect to see you again today. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the theater?”
“I’ve time yet.”
Beneath her encircling arms, she felt his torso expand with his breath. He said, “Your dashing viscount came to see me this morning.”