breakfast table pondering these questions when a distant peal sounded at the front door. A moment later, Morey appeared to clear his throat and bow.
“A gentleman to see you, my lord. Colonel Otto von Riedesel apologizes for the incivility of calling upon your lordship at this hour but wishes to stress the importance of his errand.”
“Show him in—and bring him a tankard of ale.” Sebastian glanced down at the black cat seated on the rug at his feet. “And you behave.”
Green eyes gleaming, the cat flicked its tail and looked vaguely evil.
The colonel came in with a quick step that jangled the spurs at his boots and swirled the black cape he wore thrown over his shoulders. “Please, do not get up,” he said. “My apologies for interrupting your repast.”
“May I offer you something, Colonel?”
“Thank you, but no.” He held his black shako beneath one arm; raindrops quivered on the ends of his mustache and on the high blue collar of his black dolman. “I require only a moment of your time.”
“Please, sit down.”
“Thank you.”
Von Riedesel sat, bringing with him all the scents of a rainy morning mingled with the odor of warm horseflesh, as if he had only just come in from exercising his hack in the park. He smoothed the splayed fingers of one hand down over his face, wiping the moisture from his mustache. Then he hesitated, evidently at a loss as to how to begin.
Sebastian said, “I take it you’ve heard of the death of Jacques Collot?”
Von Riedesel nodded, his normally ruddy cheeks pale.
“You knew him?”
“Me? No. But I knew of him—of his involvement in the theft at the Garde-Meuble.” The man’s voice was strained, his accent more pronounced than usual. “Vhy vas he killed? Do you know?”
“Presumably because someone was afraid that he might talk.”
The Brunswicker rested his forearms on the tabletop and leaned into them. “But vhat could he know?”
“Well, he knew the late Duke once possessed a certain large blue diamond.”
“Sir!” Von Riedesel sat back sharply. “If you mean to suggest—”
“That you had a reason to kill him? Well, you did, didn’t you?”
The Brunswicker surged to his feet. “I refuse to stay here and—”
“Sit down,” said Sebastian. “Since you’re here, you might as well answer some of my questions. Unless, of course, you prefer that I address them to the Princess?”
“I ought to call you out for this!”
Sebastian chewed and swallowed. “But you won’t, because that would draw the attention of the public—not to mention the Prince Regent—precisely where you don’t want it. Sit.”
The colonel sat.
Sebastian cut another slice of ham. “Daniel Eisler had a nasty habit of collecting damaging information about people—especially important, vulnerable people.” He paused to glance over at the colonel, who sat staring rigidly ahead. “It occurs to me that he could have discovered something Princess Caroline did not want publicly known. Something such as the details of the sale of her father’s jewels, perhaps? Or was it proof of her extramarital dalliances?”
“Whoever told you Eisler had damaging information about the Princess was lying.”
“Actually, you told me.”
“Me? But I never—”
“Otherwise, why are you here?”
New beads of moisture had appeared on the Brunswicker’s full cheeks. Only, this time it was sweat, not rain.
Sebastian said, “Eisler wasn’t your typical blackmailer. He liked to use his information to torment people, or to bend them to his will. So what did he want from the Princess?”
“I can’t tell you that!”
“Did she give him what he wanted?”
Von Riedesel pressed his lips into a thin, flat line, then nodded curtly. “Yes.”
Sebastian gave up on his breakfast and leaned back in his chair. “You’ve served and protected the Duke’s daughter for more than a decade. I can’t see you standing idly by while a nasty little diamond merchant threatened her.”
“You are suggesting—vhat? That I vent to his home Sunday night and put a bullet through him?” If the Brunswicker’s face had been pale before, it was now suffused with color. “As it happens, I spent last Sunday evening in the company of a voman of my acquaintance—and no, I have no intention of telling you her name.” He pushed to his feet, the movement so violent the chair toppled over, startling the cat. “Good day to you, sir!”
He had almost reached the door when Sebastian said, “Tell me this: Did the Prince know about Eisler’s interest in his wife’s affairs?”
Von Riedesel paused at the door to look back at him. “No. But I’ll tell you who did know.”
“Who?”
A gleam of malicious triumph flashed in the Brunswicker’s