Read Online What Angels Fear: A Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery by C.S. Harris - Free Book Online Page A

might be genuine. “I wish I knew.”
    Kat turned away, her quick, long-legged stride carrying her across the room and back again.
    Leo shifted his weight in his chair and watched her. “Ring for another glass,” he said after a moment. “Have some wine.”
    “No thank you.”
    “Then at least stop pacing up and down the room in that fatiguing way. It’s not good for my digestion.”
    She hesitated beside the table, but she did not sit. “Who was Rachel scheduled to meet last night?”
    Picking up a knife, Leo calmly spread his bread with butter. “No one that I’m aware of.”
    “What would you have me believe then, Leo? That she went there to pray ?”
    “It’s what people generally do in a church.”
    “Not people like Rachel.” Kat went to stand before the hearth and stare unseeingly at the glowing coals. There was always danger in this game they played; they all knew that. But whoever had met Rachel last night was more than dangerous; he was evil. And what he’d done could threaten them all. “They’ll be looking into her death—the authorities, I mean. They could stumble across something.”
    “Careful, ma petite ,” said Leo, reaching for his glass. “The walls have ears.” He took a slow swallow of his wine, then frowned. “But no, I don’t think the authorities will learn anything that need concern us. I went past her lodgings this morning as soon as I heard what had happened, but the constables were there. I’ll go back tonight and make certain she left nothing that could be incriminating.”
    “You could be too late. They might have found something already.”
    Leo huffed a soft laugh. “You can’t be serious. This is London, not Paris. They’re fools, these Englishmen. So afraid of the danger to their liberties posed by a standing army that they’d rather see their cities overrun with thieves and murderers than establish a proper police force. Those constables won’t have found anything. Besides”—He thrust another piece of bread in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed—“they think they already know who did it.”
    Kat swung to face him. “You said you didn’t know who killed her.”
    “I don’t know who killed her. But the London authorities think they do. He’s doubtless under arrest even as we speak. Some viscount with a reputed propensity for slaughtering his fellow men. He has a strange name. Something like Diablo, or Devil, or—”
    “Devlin?” Her breath coming uncharacteristically shallow and fast, Kat left the fireplace and walked up to Leo, her gaze searching his face.
    “That’s it.” He gave her a wide-eyed look and she knew he was playing with her, had recalled Sebastian’s name all along. “Ah. I remember now,” he said, his head tipping to one side as he smiled up at her. “Devlin was one of your protectors, once. Is that not so? Before he went off to the wars to fight for King and country against the forces of evil and the Emperor Napoleon.”
    “It was a long time ago.” Kat swung away and reached for her pelisse. She felt a sudden need to get away. To be alone.
    Pushing back his chair, Leo came to his feet in one smooth motion, his hand reaching out to close on her upper arm, stopping her, forcing her back around so that he could look searchingly into her face. He was so languid, so slender and effete-looking, that one sometimes forgot both how swiftly he could move and what strength those long, thin fingers possessed.
    She stared blandly back at him, calling upon all her training as an actress to keep her features inscrutable and willing the rapid, betraying beat of her heart to calm.
    But he knew her well, Leo. He knew her talents and he knew, too, this one weakness she refused to admit, even to herself. A wry smile twitched one corner of his lips, then stilled. “When you’re only twenty-three,” he whispered, his hand coming up to touch her cheek in a movement that was not quite a caress, “nothing in your life was so long ago.”

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