Page 44 of What Cannot Be Said

It was the obvious explanation, of course. And it would make sense if it hadn’t been for the surely premeditated way the killer had posed his victims’ bodies. Sebastian was silent for a moment, then said, “Did you know a young girl named Gilly Harper?”

“You mean the apprentice who was killed the other night in Piccadilly? No. Surely you don’t think the deaths are related?”

“They may not be,” said Sebastian. “What about Basil Rhodes? Do you know him?”

A glint of something dangerous flashed in the other man’s eyes. “Let’s say I know of him—I’m from Jamaica, remember. Why? What does he have to do with anything?”

“I’m told he quarreled with Lady McInnis. Did Emma tell you about that?”

“No, but I’m not surprised. He’s one of the biggest plantation owners in Jamaica, and Lady McInnis hated the institution of slavery. It’s one of the things she was working the hardest to change.”

“Was she? No one has mentioned it.”

Pitcairn nodded. “Sir Ivo didn’t like it, so she tried to keep it quiet.”

“And yet you knew. Did Malcolm tell you about it?”

A faint flush rode high on the other man’s cheekbones, and his eyes slid away. “I’m not sure where I heard it.”

So that came from Emma, too, thought Sebastian with a deep sense of foreboding.

He didn’t like where the implications of all this were leading.

Chapter 26

I’ll walk when I leave here,” Sebastian told his tiger as they drew up before an impressive Park Lane town house overlooking Hyde Park. “So go ahead and take the chestnuts home now. Then I want you to see what you can find out about Mr.Damion Pitcairn—who his friends are, whom he fences with, any secrets he might be hiding.”

“Aye, gov’nor,” said Tom with a grin, scrambling forward to take the reins.

Sebastian stood on the flagway as the tiger drove off, his eyes narrowing as he studied the familiar red barouche drawn up nearby. Then he turned to mount the steps to the house of the formidable woman he still called Aunt Henrietta, although he now knew she was not, in fact, his aunt.

Born Lady Henrietta St. Cyr, the Dowager Duchess of Claiborne was Hendon’s elder sister. The sprawling mansion overlooking Hyde Park should by rights now be the residence of her eldest son, George, the current Duke of Claiborne. But George was no match for his awe-inspiring mother. On the death of his father, the amiable, middle-aged Duke had quietly elected to continue residing in the modest Half Moon Street establishment where he’d raised his family, rather than try to oust his widowed mother from the house to which she’d come as a bride more than fifty years before.

Now well into her seventies, the Duchess was one of the grandes dames of Society. She had a boundless curiosity about her fellow men and women, an inquisitive nature, and a flawless memory—all of which made her a particularly valuable source.

Sebastian was still on the second step when Her Grace’s dignified butler opened the front door and a tall, slim woman in her mid-forties stepped out. “Thank you, Humphrey,” she said to the butler with a smile. Then she turned, the smile fading from her lips at the sight of Sebastian.

“Good afternoon, Amanda,” Sebastian said to his half sister.

Amanda stiffened, her nostrils flaring on a quickly indrawn breath. She was his elder by a dozen years, the first of four children born to the marriage of the Fifth Earl of Hendon and his beautiful, wayward Countess, Sophia. She had the late Countess’s golden hair and elegant carriage, but facially she more closely resembled her father, Hendon, while her disposition had always reminded Sebastian of a vindictive, resentful wasp. As was her habit these days, she was dressed in an elegant, black-trimmed silver gown of half mourning, although her husband, Lord Wilcox, had been dead for well over four years—and she had heartily despised him for most of their married life.

“Devlin,” she said now, and brushed past him without another word.

Sebastian watched her walk away, her head held high, her back rigid. Then he turned to the Duchess’s now-frowning butler and said, “I take it Her Grace is in?”

Humphrey’s frown deepened. “I believe she is on the verge of retiring to dress for dinner, my lord.”

“Then I’m glad I caught her,” said Sebastian, brushing past the stoic butler. “In the drawing room, is she?”

Humphrey sighed. “She is, my lord.”

Sebastian found the Dowager seated beside the cold hearth, a half-empty glass of claret in her hand. “You timed that well,” she said when he came to lean down and kiss her cheek. “Amanda just left.”

“I know; we met on the front steps. She looked as if she would have loved nothing more than to rip into me about something, but the presence of Humphrey spoiled her sport. What have I done to earn her displeasure now?”

“Need you ask? She’s in a pelter over your involvement in the investigation of these latest murders, of course.”

“One would think she’d have grown accustomed to it by this point.”

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