The ex-pirate lay beneath a sheet on a bed in his Cavendish Square house, his dark, too-long hair a stark contrast to the white linen pillow cover, his hands folded at his chest, his eyes closed, his features so serene that he might have been sleeping. But Sebastian knew death when he saw it.
Kat knelt beside the bed, her head bowed in prayer, the beads of a rosary slipping through her fingers. Sebastian paused in the doorway, aware of a flicker of surprise. He’d always known Kat was raised Catholic, but somehow he’d assumed she no longer practiced her faith. In that, he realized, he had erred.
She looked up then, made the sign of the cross, and rose to her feet.
He went to enfold her in his arms, and she came to him without hesitation and trembling with need. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and as she rested her head on his shoulder, a faint sob racked her body. For one long, suspended moment, he simply held her. Then she drew back, putting space between them.
He said, “Tell me what happened.”
She swiped a palm across one wet cheek. “We were on our way to the theater. Yates had insisted on riding with me. He never does that, but he was worried because of the attack in the market. We were just making the curve near St. Giles when an old traveling coach came charging out of an alley and forced my own carriage into the churchyard wall. There were two men dressed in livery, as well as the driver. But I could tell by their voices that none of them were what they seemed. The driver struck my coachman with a long staff, knocking him from the seat. Gibson says he’s concussed, but he should be all right.”
Sebastian knew a deep sense of disquiet. While some of the heaths surrounding the city could still be dangerous, it was unheard of for a carriage to be held up on the streets of London itself.
She drew a shaky breath. “One of the men dragged me out of the carriage. He was going to kill me. Only, Yates shot him. And so . . .” Her voice cracked. She swallowed, but it was still a moment before she could continue. “And so one of the other men killed him. And then . . . It was the strangest thing. Once Yates was dead, they let me go and drove away.”
“You think they were the same men who attacked you in Covent Garden Market?”
She shook her head. “No. These men might have been dressed as servants, but their voices were educated.” Her jaw hardened, her nostrils flaring with a quickly indrawn breath. “I think they were Jarvis’s men.”
“You recognized them?”
“No. But he came to see me. Here. Tonight.”
“Jarvis came here?”
She nodded. “Less than two hours after Yates was killed. He wanted to make certain that I had a perfect understanding of the situation that now exists between us.”
“Namely?”
“I keep his secret, I keep my life. I choose to destroy him . . . I destroy myself.”
Sebastian searched her strained face, noting the new lines of anger and determination that bracketed her mouth. He had never discovered the nature of the documents Yates held, but there was no doubt in his mind that they were powerful indeed.
He said, “Did Jarvis tell you he was behind tonight’s attack?”
“No. But what other explanation is there? Those men made it obvious their purpose was to kill me. Not Yates. Me. But once they’d shot Yates, they let me live. ‘You know our orders,’ I heard one of them say. I think Jarvis gave strict instructions that they were to kill either me or Yates—but not both of us.”
“If the French are still convinced that Yates killed Eisler and stole the blue diamond, they would be very careful not to kill the only two people who might know the current location of the stone.”
“True. But then, why not kidnap me, the way the men at Covent Garden sought to do? Why not take me, force me to hand over the diamond, and then kill me?”
He studied her pale, beautiful face. “I don’t know. Have you managed to learn anything about the agent tasked by Napoléon to recover the French Blue?”
She shook her head. “My friend claims not to have been told. From what he said, I suspect the individual involved is English, although a second person was recently dispatched from Paris to assist him.”
“Him?”
“Or her. My contact did not specify which.”
She fell silent, her gaze drifting back to Yates’s pallid face.
Sebastian reached out to take her hand in his. “I’m so sorry, Kat,” he said. “I know how much Yates had come to mean to you.”
She drew in a deep breath that shuddered her chest. “In the past, I never allowed myself to be frightened. But . . . I’m frightened now.”
He tightened his grip on her hand. “I will always stand your friend, Kat. Always. No matter what happens.”
Her gaze met his. “Will you, Sebastian? And if Jarvis was behind this?”