Page 98 of The Traitor
Baumgartner twirled a quill pen at the desk in the town house library. “Lawyers are not usually motivated to be efficient. St. Clair, you should pay a call on Mr. MacHugh.”
Sebastian stopped staring into the library’s fire long enough to note that the professor was serious. “Why?”
“Because,” Michael said from his perch in the window seat, “MacHugh is not a hothead, not some fired up, titled puppy drunk on his expectations. Somebody goaded him into challenging you. Somebody lied to him convincingly enough that he’d risk his life over pistols or swords—and put your life in jeopardy as well.”
Lied to MacHugh, as Sebastian had lied to his wife, for reasons he himself was no longer entirely sure of.
“Somebody badly wants me dead,” Sebastian said. “And my wife is out running around the City with no one but Giles and Aunt Freddy to keep her safe.”
“St. Clair,” the professor said, tossing the feather to the blotter, “pay attention to your man. He makes sense. Talk to the officers who challenged you, and a pattern might emerge.”
And that pattern could lead straight to Michael, or straight to the Iron Duke himself, in which case emigration to Patagonia might extend Sebastian’s years on earth.
“Mercia could be behind it.” Sebastian rose from the couch rather than keep the library’s tray of decanters in sight. “My instincts have been spectacularly wrong on occasion.”
“Your instincts are superb,” Michael muttered. “They always have been.”
Suggesting what? Sebastian could not read Michael’s expression, because the man was staring out the window. Again.
“Fine, then. When Milly gets back, tell her not to wait dinner for me. I’m off to call upon MacHugh.”
Professor and valet exchanged a glance Sebastian could easily decode.
“Perhaps I should go,” Baumgartner said. “Or at least go with you. As an observer. I’m feeling decidedly Germanic, and perhaps even princely, now that I consider the matter.”
Michael let loose a particularly profane curse in Gaelic, an oath Sebastian hadn’t heard for more than a year.
“It’s him,” Michael said, springing off the window seat. “It’s Anduvoir. I know it.” Sebastian and the professor joined Michael at the window. “That fellow leaving the tavern on the corner, the one with his hat at the wrong angle.”
“He’s too far away to be sure,” Sebastian said, but the hair on his arms and nape was prickling disagreeably. “It could be him.” Anduvoir prided himself on the creative use of heel lifts, costumes, and cosmetics, but something in the arrogance of the walk, the angle of the hat, the attitude of the walking stick was definitely Continental.
“It’s him,” Michael said, moving swiftly toward the door. “I know that little shite’s bullying swagger.”
“Michael!” Sebastian’s voice stopped him at the door. Michael turned, impatience in every line. “Don’t let him see you. If he’s here, there’s a game afoot, and his games usually end up deadly for those who least deserve it.”
“He’ll not catch sight of me.”
Michael was gone, a wisp of lethal Celtic smoke dissipated on the spring air, but Sebastian spoke aloud anyway. “Be careful. For God’s sake, my friend, be careful.”
The professor remained to the side of the window, where light and shadow would not reveal his presence unless a person knew exactly where to look. “Brodie can take care of himself, but you do realize our womenfolk are abroad without us, and now Anduvoir is loose in the same city?”
Dread curled into a hard ball in Sebastian belly.
“I made Anduvoir rich and earned him more than one promotion. He has no reason to bear me ill will.”
The words were like a child’s prayer, equal parts fantasy and hope.
“Anduvoir bears every living creature ill will,” the professor said. “He’s a putrid excrescence on the face of humanity. My guess is the French won’t mind should we find a dung heap to fling his remains upon.”
“I would mind. I served France for five years without once taking a human life. My wife would not be pleased were I to turn up murderer now.”
Baumgartner gave a shrug that looked far more Gallic than German. “So don’t tell her. Lady Freddy and I long ago came to the realization that discretion is not only prudent on some occasions, it is also kind.”
For all the pragmatism in Baum’s words, he seemed uncomfortable with them. And well he should.
Amid the panic swirling in Sebastian’s gut, and the dire possibilities crowding his mind, he found a point of stability.
“I would tell my wife if I’d gone after Anduvoir. Milly would want to know. She would rather endure my truths than my self-serving attacks of kindness. I realize that now.”
