Who Speaks for the Damned (Sebastian St. Cyr #15) - C. S. Harris Page 0,86

noticeably agitated. Once, this woman had loved Nicholas Hayes enough to run away and seek to marry him. But after almost nineteen years, people changed, thought Hero—particularly when their circumstances altered so radically. Looking at her now, Hero found herself wondering how much of the passionate, willful nineteen-year-old girl Kate had once been still lingered within this poised, awe-inspiringly composed woman. Or had that vulnerable girl been squashed and left behind long ago?

The woman who was now the wife of Sir Lindsey Forbes jerked at the ribbons of her hat as if suddenly finding them too tight. “I’ve just heard that Lord Seaforth was found dead this morning. Is it true?”

“Yes,” said Hero baldly.

“Dear God.” Katherine Forbes turned away, one hand coming up to press against her lips as if she was momentarily overwhelmed by what she’d just heard. And it came to Hero, watching her, that this was a woman who’d long ago learned to hide every wayward emotion and betraying thought. That what Hero had at first taken as calm self-possession was actually a painstakingly constructed facade.

And that facade was cracking.

She watched as Katherine Forbes carefully set about tucking away everything she didn’t want seen. When she turned to face Hero again, head held high, only her unnatural pallor betrayed her. “I ask that you and Lord Devlin keep what I have to tell you in the strictest confidence . . . if at all possible.”

“You have my word.”

“Thank you.”

She sat then, tensely, on the very front edge of the sofa facing the windows, her reticule gripped with both hands on her knees as if it could somehow protect her from the consequences of what she was about to say. “I’m here because Lord Seaforth’s death has led me to fear that my previous lack of honesty may in some way I don’t understand have contributed to the Earl’s death.”

She paused, as if unable to go on, and Hero said quietly, “You saw Nicholas, didn’t you?”

Kate sucked in a quick breath, then nodded. “We were just returning to St. James’s Square—Sir Lindsey and I. We’d been visiting acquaintances, and it was early evening, that time of day when the setting sun lends such a glorious golden light to everything. I looked across at the square, thinking how pretty it all was, and . . . I saw Nicholas standing there, by the fence around the water basin.”

“You recognized him?”

She nodded again. “Immediately. He was older than the young man I remembered and dressed like a tradesman, but the instant I saw him, I couldn’t look away. It was as if all the noise and color of the square faded and there were only the two of us.” She paused as if vaguely embarrassed by what she had just said. “I realize how fanciful that sounds.”

“No, please—” Hero’s throat suddenly felt so tight, she had to work to push out the words. “Go on.”

Kate’s voice was hushed, her chest jerking with each strained intake of air. “For a moment, I couldn’t look away. Then I remembered Sir Lindsey was beside me and I was terrified lest he turn and see Nicholas too.”

“Did he?”

“No.” She paused as if reconsidering this. “At least, I don’t think he did. Nicholas told me afterward that he hadn’t intended to approach me, that he was simply hoping to catch a glimpse of me from a distance. He hadn’t meant for me to see him.”

“But he did approach you?”

“Yes. Four days later. I was with my maid Molly at Hatchards, in Piccadilly. We spoke for only a few moments, but arranged to meet again. Someplace private.”

“Where?” said Hero, sharper than she’d intended. “Where were you to meet?”

Kate swallowed. “In Pennington’s Tea Gardens, on Thursday evening.”

“Dear Lord,” whispered Hero. “That’s why he went there.”

Kate pressed her lips together and nodded. “I knew Sir Lindsey would be busy with all the events surrounding the Allied Sovereigns’ visit. When the day came, I told him I wasn’t well and had decided to stay home. He was furious, of course—he likes having a wife with him at such events.” She said it as if any wife would have sufficed as long as she was attractive and presentable enough for Sir Lindsey to consider her an asset, and Hero suspected that was true enough. “But for once I didn’t give in to him. He grumbled, but in the end he went alone.”

For once I didn’t give in to him, thought Hero. What a miserable marriage. Aloud, she said, “You were