"His brother? Sebastien, you can be too polite. The love of my life. Although I suppose I knew he would have to take Richard's side in the end."
Richard was the Duke of New Amsterdam. And another of her conquests, among whom Sebastien was pleased to number himself.
"You swore an oath to your king."
"The oath goes with the office," she said. She brushed past him and slipped a wand out of her sleeve, which she dropped back into her inseparable carpetbag. A glass beside it was full of ice and the gin and lime she smelled of. She swirled the drink to make the contents clink. "I need your help,
Sebastien."
"Tell me," he said.
She gulped gin, three long thoughtful swallows, and cupped the glass before her breasts. There was an inch of liquor left. He took it from her hands, returned it to its place beside the carpet bag, and pushed her hair behind her ear. She shivered when his finger brushed her throat, and then she laughed like a fox crying in a trap.
Sebastien cupped her shoulder, but it would have been a breach of her dignity to pull her close just then.
"I'm thinking of going into private practice," she said.
"Do you need an investor?" After centuries of existence, he had money. Nothing but, it sometimes seemed.
"No," she said. "But I could use some business advice. How does one go about becoming a consulting detective, anyway?"
* * *
He stayed with her for hours. She offered herself, but when he kissed her mouth and confessed himself quite satisfied, she did not ask for details of where he had been or with whom. Abby Irene, like Phoebe, was a grown and experienced woman. Sebastien was old enough to appreciate a minimum of histrionics, and her living warmth was comforting when she curled against his chest, nursing another drink. "You could stay with me," he offered, and she shook her head and didn't answer.
He understood. She wasn't anybody's pet. Not that David—or the rest of the blood—could be expected to understand that.
Reminded, he lifted his hips and dug in his pocket. Sleepily, she complained, but then he caught her hand and slipped the ring onto her middle finger after testing two others. "Sebastien?"
"Please wear it." He folded her fingers closed.
She thought about that, examined the garnet glowing in the gaslight, and said, "I'll keep it if you tell me why."
He was silent so long she shifted against him and poked him in the ribs with an elbow. "Sebastien."
"Someone I knew in Europe has come to Boston," he said unwillingly. "I don't know what he's running from, but I suspect he's looking for me. That ring is merely a mark of my regard."
"Someone. Someone like Jack or me? Someone you left?"
"David is the name he uses now. One of the blood."
"Oh." She breathed steadily; he closed his eyes and listened. "And you don't trust him," she said.
"I trust him to follow the rules as they are writ. The letter and not the intention. Wear the ring."
"You think he wants to hurt you."
"It's what we do," Sebastien admitted, after a moment's thought. He allowed himself the affectation of a sigh. "He carries too much hatred for himself to entirely thank me for keeping him from true death. I hoped he might. . .reconcile his contradictions, given time, and find some peace."
She jerked forward and turned over her shoulder to stare at him, her hair breaking into locks against her neck. "You turned him against his will?"
"He begged me," Sebastien said. This time, he did tug her back into his embrace and after a moment, she permitted. "He was more afraid to die—"
"Perhaps," she said, "you'd better start at the beginning."
One portentous sigh was enough in any conversation. He contented himself with stroking her hair. Mike jumped up on the sofa beside them and flopped against her thigh. Abby Irene, who spoiled the dog shamelessly, scratched behind his ears.
"He was a whore when I met him," Sebastien said. "A boy whore, and I don't know if he ran away from home or if his family cast him out for who he was. He had told me various versions of the story, which I suspect are all lies. He is. . .an inveterate liar. But I am certain of a few things: his family were Puritan, and he believed very strongly in his stern and uncompromising God. The earth was a vale of tears, and the only reward was in the afterlife. But you see, David—his name