Page 46 of What Cannot Be Said

But she only smiled as she turned away.

?“You think this Major Zacchary Finch could be the man Sir Ivo accused Laura of having an affair with?” said Hero later that evening when she and Sebastian retired to the drawing room after dinner. She was sitting beside the empty hearth, setting neat stitches into the hem of a gown she was making for the new baby, while Sebastian stood beside one of the open windows overlooking the street and sipped a glass of port.

“It seems possible—if he’s back in London,” said Sebastian, looking over at her.

She was silent for a moment, her attention seemingly all for her stitches. Then she said, “It strikes me as a strangely intimate thing for Emma to have told her brother’s fencing master—even if he did chance to come upon her when she was upset and crying.”

Sebastian took a slow swallow of his wine, his gaze shifting again to the darkened scene below. The night was warm and mostly clear, with a waning moon that was still nearly half-full and illuminated the few puffs of high clouds scuttling across the black sky in the balmy wind. The street was unusually quiet for the hour; he could see only a footman walking an aged pug and the half-obscured figure of a well-dressed man who’d been standing in the shadows near the corner for long enough to make Sebastian feel uneasy. He turned his head to look at Hero. “I could be wrong, but I have a worrying suspicion there was considerably more going on between the brilliant, handsome young fencing master and his student’s pretty sister than he wants me to know about.”

Hero looked up from her sewing. “That is worrying.”

He glanced back out the window; the figure was still there. “I can’t see a man of Sir Ivo’s ilk taking that sort of development kindly.”

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

Sebastian took another sip of his port. “There’s a man across the street, near the corner. He’s been standing there staring at the house since we came up from dinner.”

“What man?”

“I don’t know,” said Sebastian, setting aside his drink and pushing away from the window. “But I think it’s time I find out.”

Chapter 27

The watcher took a step back when Sebastian slammed out of the house—a flintlock pistol held casually at his side—and strode across the street toward him. But the man did not run.

This was no ruffian. He wore buckskin breeches, Hessians, and a coat of superfine cut in a style favored by military men. Of above-average height, he looked to be in his late thirties, with broad shoulders and a strong frame obviously somewhat weakened by recent illness. His right arm rested in a sling, and his face bore the haggard look of a man who was still in some pain.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” demanded Sebastian, coming up to him. “And what are you doing out here staring at my house?”

The man looked sincerely chagrined. “I beg your pardon; I didn’t expect you to see me. I’ve been standing here attempting to decide if I was being a fool even to think of trying to talk to you, and what in blazes I should say to you if I do.”

“You’re Finch?”

The man’s eyes widened. “I am, yes. But how did you know?”

Sebastian eased the small flintlock pistol he’d been carrying into his pocket. “We need to talk.”

?They retreated to the Angel in Bond Street, where Sebastian bought a couple of pints and steered the Major to a table near the pub’s old-fashioned massive stone fireplace.

“I still don’t understand how you knew who I am,” said Finch, settling across the table from Sebastian.

“Someone told me McInnis accused his wife of having an affair with you.”

Finch stared at him. “Good God. When did he do that?”

“Laura never told you about it?”

“No. When did this happen?”

“The Wednesday before she was killed.”

Finch wrapped both hands around his tankard and gazed down at it. “Bloody hell,” he said softly.

“Were you?” asked Sebastian, watching him closely. “Having an affair with her, I mean.”

Finch’s head came up, his lips tightening into an angry line. “No!”

The man certainly looked sincere. But Sebastian had known too many accomplished liars to take him at his word. “How long have you been back in London?”

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