Who Speaks for the Damned (Sebastian St. Cyr #15) - C. S. Harris Page 0,105
orders.”
It was a lie, of course. Bow Street had never found the man responsible for the attack and probably never would. But LaRivière didn’t know that.
The Frenchman laughed again as he stretched to his feet. “And do you seriously think anyone would take the word of some lowborn, common scum against that of a count? Or that your Regent would ever allow the official representative of the French King to be accused of such a thing, let alone stand trial?”
“Probably not,” said Sebastian. “But you made one serious miscalculation. My wife was in the carriage with me that night. The bullet fired by your ‘lowborn, common scum’ came within a handsbreadth of killing her. You have met my wife, have you not? The former Miss Hero Jarvis, daughter of the Regent’s dear cousin Lord Jarvis? So you see, you don’t need to worry about anyone trying to arrest you. Once he learns what happened, Jarvis will take care of you himself. Quietly and efficiently.”
Lunging sideways, LaRivière snatched up his sword stick and, with a quick twist of his wrist, freed the blade to bring it hissing through the air. “I think not,” he said, settling into en garde. “I did offer to fence with you, did I not? Only you seem to have forgotten to bring your sword, monsieur.”
Sebastian leapt sideways as the Frenchman lunged forward in a straight attack, the steel of his blade flashing in the sunlight. Circling around him, Sebastian grabbed the wooden campstool and brought it up before him.
“Interesting shield,” said LaRivière, his blade tracing a mocking figure eight in the air.
Sebastian smiled. “Not much of a saber.”
“Yet it can be amazingly lethal,” said the Count, launching another attack.
Sebastian ducked behind a tombstone. “I saw what it did to Forbes. That knife was a decidedly clumsy attempt at misdirection, by the way.”
“But obviously effective.” LaRivière moved in with a lightning flicker of steel.
Sebastian dodged behind a table tomb so badly broken that its inhabitant’s scattered bones were clearly visible amidst the rotten remnants of his coffin and shroud.
“Hiding behind the dead now, are we?” said LaRivière with a smile.
The Frenchman was light on his feet, his shoulders straight, his wrists strong and agile. Darting out of reach of another quick strike, Sebastian pitched the campstool at the Frenchman’s head and then reached down to yank the dagger from his boot when the man ducked.
LaRivière straightened with a laugh. “Oh dear, monsieur le vicomte, I fear your blade is a tad too short.”
Sebastian shifted his hold on the knife. “It’s long enough,” said Sebastian, raising his arm to send the dagger spinning through the air.
The blade sank into LaRivière’s chest with a dull thwunk. The Frenchman looked down, the confident, contemptuous smile sliding off his face to be replaced by an expression of bemused horror.
Sebastian watched the sword stick slip from the Count’s fingers, watched the man’s knees buckle and his eyes roll back in his head. “That’s for what you did to Nicholas Hayes, you lousy son of a bitch.”
Chapter 58
I n a sense they all killed Nicholas, didn’t they?” said Calhoun. He was standing beside the empty hearth in Sebastian’s dressing room and staring unseeingly at the cold grate. “Brownbeck might have been the one to swing the sickle, but they all contributed to bringing Nick to that moment.”
Sebastian looked up from washing his hands and face at the basin. “I think you can say that, yes.”
Calhoun turned to hand him the towel. “I’m glad they’re all dead.”
“So am I.”
The valet started to say something, then hesitated.
“What?” prodded Sebastian.
Calhoun drew a steadying breath. “I wasn’t strictly honest with you, my lord. When I told you how Nick came to escape Botany Bay, I mean. I said the soldier caught in that flood with him was already dead when Nick found him. But Nick told me he killed the man. Said he was desperate to get away and the man was one of the guards who’d tormented him something fierce. But the killing still bothered Nick, even after all these years.”
“Why did you feel the need to change the story?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I was afraid you’d think less of Nick if you knew the truth. See him as the rogue everyone claimed he was rather than the admirable man I knew him to be.”
“He was admirable,” said Sebastian, taking the clean shirt Calhoun held out to him. “Loyal, brave, and strong. I wish I could have known him.”