Prince, the jewel burning between her breasts like a star. "I suppose we can place Prince Henry and Sebastien both in protective custody. Just until we get things sorted out. We'll have to wait until nightfall to collect Sebastien." She pinned Henry with a look. "Your Highness, consider it a gesture to reassure your people that you do not consider yourself above the law."
The Prince opened his mouth, met Garrett's steel-blue gaze, and subsided with a curt, ungracious nod. Henry had always been the smarter of the two royal brothers. Garrett glanced at the Duke: the look Richard gave her was startled admiration, and she kept her gaze on him because she couldn't stand to meet Henry's.
* * *
After they had seen to the Prince's comfort—which mostly involved feeding his Highness and seeing him drawn a hot bath—Garrett found herself in the salon with Richard, relaxing on a velvet-covered couch and sipping brandy while his Mastiff laid a head that weighed more than a stone upon her foot and sighed. "Did anyone happen to collect my glove from the garden?"
"I'll ask Seamus." He swirled cinnamon-scented liquor in his glass and leaned against the arm of the curved couch they shared. "Will Don Sebastien come if we send a messenger?"
"I don't see why not. He'll need a darkened room for day."
"I can't just lock him in the wine cellar?" But Richard half-smiled and Garrett's startled retort faded.
She let the brandy roll over her tongue, savoring an almost creamy texture. "Where's Jacqueline?"
"The Duchess—" Richard frowned. "Spent the night at her siser's. I
expect she'll be home after dinner. The Lord Mayor, I am told, has taken to his bed." Richard's opinion was plain in his voice. "You never told me you had an affair with the Prince."
"I never told the Prince I had an affair with you. When you have Sebastien in your clutches, my Lord, will you see to it that the house burns down and be rid of them both?"
"If only I could get away with it." But he smiled. "Can you link the criminal to the crime? If we have them both in the house, can you eliminate them as suspects through sorcery?"
"I can try," she said. "It depends whether the assassin kept the device used to commit the murder far away from himself until it was needed, and then discarded it, or if he kept it close. Perhaps if we can discover what
became of the poor woman's blood. . .." She shook her head. "It wasn't Sebastien, Richard. For one thing, he came up the stairs behind me, and if he had gone down so close in advance I would have seen him."
"He could have leapt from a balcony. If he's what you say?"
"He could. But—"
"A wampyr wouldn't kill, if the mood took him?"
"That's prejudice, Richard, and utterly unfair. Or is it just jealousy?"
"I. . .." He reached down and smoothed the dog's velvet ears. Sipped his drink. Fiddled with a stick-pin she hadn't seen before. "Yes," he said sharply. "Would you rather I didn't care?"
Something wild flared in her breast. "Sebastien," she said with utter clarity, "doesn't need to take."
Her words seemed to hang between them for an hour. Richard stared into the depths of his glass, and spoke very slowly, as if he had no heard her at all. "We have to—Abby Irene. We have to prove the Prince's innocence. If there is any doubt. Any shade of doubt—" He left the thought unfinished. The Lord Mayor will turn it into another article in his endless list of reasons the Colonies must secede from the Empire, and throw ourselves on the mercy of the silk-fisted French. Not just neglect, taxation, King Phillip's desire to build his Empire eastward.
Not just neglect, but malevolence.
She stood and finished her drink, gently extricating her foot from under the dog. "Send the message to Sebastien now: his servants will see that he gets it. Send another servant for a scrap of Cecelia Eliot's dress. I'll need it tonight. When I check on the Prince. Or the prisoner, if you prefer."
"As you wish," Richard said, his foot flipping restlessly. He set his own glass aside, fingers lingering on the mouth-blown glass. She shivered in an almost-physical recollection. "You should rest beforehand, Abby Irene."
"Where is Mr. Nezahualcoyotl sleeping?"
"The ambassador? He's got rooms on the fourth floor. In the East Wing, near the Prince's suite."
"I need to speak to his Highness before I rest: I need some items from him. I'll take the south guest