Why Mermaids Sing

Chapter 42

Charles, Lord Jarvis leaned forward to study the row of hieroglyphs emblazoned against the brilliantly painted red and green tones of the sarcophagus. “Late seventh or sixth century B.C. wouldn’t you say?”

He turned to the curator at his elbow, a painfully thin man whose shrunken skin and bony features reminded Jarvis of the Egyptian mummies the scholar had dedicated his life to studying. “I’d say so, yes,” agreed the curator, clearing his throat.

The sarcophagus was part of a shipment of Egyptian artifacts only recently arrived at the British Museum, and Lord Jarvis was amongst the first in London to see them. His passion for Egyptology was one of the few distractions from statecraft Jarvis allowed himself.

He turned to the enigmatic statue of a cat displayed on a nearby plinth, its eyes, ears, and collar picked out in gold. “Ah. Lovely. Just lovely.”

The sound of footsteps echoing through the empty corridors brought the curator’s head around, his features twisted by a look of annoyance mingled with nervousness. When Jarvis requested a private showing, he did not like to be disturbed. “Sir. The museum does not open to the public again until Octo—”

“Leave us,” said Viscount Devlin, pausing in the doorway to the chamber, his fierce yellow gaze focusing on the curator.

The curator opened and closed his mouth several times, then scuttled away.

Jarvis uttered a bored sigh. “I trust you have a good reason for this interruption, Lord Devlin.”

He was already turning back to the sarcophagus when the Viscount moved, so rapidly as to be but a blur at the periphery of Jarvis’s vision.

Jarvis was a large man, tall and bulky with years of comfortable living. Yet by reaching across to grab a handful of Jarvis’s waistcoat, Devlin managed to bring him spinning back around. Jarvis saw the flash of a blade, felt cold steel at his throat.

“Very well,” he said dryly. “You have my full attention. Now what is this about?”

“I know you’ve threatened Kat Boleyn,” said Devlin, his lips peeling back from his teeth as he spit out each word. “And I know why. But if you want the name of Napoleon’s new spymaster in London, you’re going to have to find another way to get it.”

“If you think—” Jarvis began.

Devlin cut him off with a quick jerk of the knife that caused the edge of the blade to nick Jarvis’s flesh. “No. The matter is not open for discussion. I’m here to tell you the new situation. All you do is listen.”

Jarvis felt rage boil up within him, hot and impotent. He held it in check.

“By this time next week, Kat Boleyn will be my wife. You make a move to harm her or threaten her again in any way and I’ll kill you. It’s as simple as that. You know I’m a man of my word, and you know I’ll do it. I trust I make myself clear.”

Jarvis returned the man’s hard stare.

“Of course,” Devlin continued, “you could try to have me killed. But I don’t think you’re that stupid. The consequences for you if your lackey were to fail would be fatal.”

With one smooth motion, Devlin withdrew the knife from Jarvis’s throat and stepped back. It was with difficulty that Jarvis resisted the urge to bring his hands up to his throat.

The Viscount was already crossing the room. Jarvis stopped him before he reached the door. “You would do that? You would marry that traitorous whore?”

The Viscount’s hand moved. Jarvis felt a passing breath of air, followed by an ugly thwunk as the blade sank into the wood of the sarcophagus behind him.

“Call her that again,” said Devlin, “and the next knife bites flesh.”

Sebastian found her in the shadows near the stage door. The air was heavy with the scent of dust and greasepaint. She had the hood of her cloak drawn up as if she were cold. Her pale face and haunted eyes were those of a woman with no hope, no future.

He walked up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. What she must have seen in his eyes caused the little color she had left in her face to drain away.

“I know why you’ve been afraid,” he said. “It’s over now. Jarvis won’t bother you again.”

He felt her tremble beneath his hands. “God save us. Please tell me you didn’t kill him.”

“Not yet. But I think I’ve convinced him of the folly of threatening my wife.”

“Your wife?”

“I’ve found a bishop who’s agreed to marry us by special license on Monday evening at seven. I pushed for sooner, but he insists he has other engagements.”

“You can’t marry me.”

“You’ve been saying that for months, and I’ve respected it. But no longer. This is why you refused me before, isn’t it? Because of your arrangement with the French.”

She drew in a breath that shuddered her chest. “Oh, God. Partially. But only partially, Devlin. You know what I am, what I have been. An actress. A whore—”

He pressed his fingers to her lips. “Don’t. Don’t say it.”

She stared up at him. “Why not? It’s the truth. Would you have me live a lie?”

“No. I would have you live a life defined not by what you’ve been, but by what you are.”

“My past is a part of what I am.”

“A part. But only a part.”

He slid his hands down her shoulders to capture her hands in his. “Marry me, Kat. It’s the only way I can truly keep you safe. As Kat Boleyn, actress, you will always be vulnerable. As the future Countess of Hendon, no one would dare move against you.”

“Your father—”

“Will adjust in time. Or not.”

Her hands twisted beneath his. “How can I knowingly cause an estrangement between you?”

He gave a wry smile. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s already an estrangement between us.”

“Society—”

“Society be damned. You think I care what Society might think of me?”

“No. I know you do not. But I care.”

“Why?”

“This marriage would ruin you.”

“Losing you would ruin me. I’m not taking no for an answer, Kat,” he added quietly when she only stared at him with wide, bruised-looking eyes. “I listened to you before and almost lost you. I can’t risk losing you again.”

“You think this marriage will protect me from Jarvis?”

“Yes. Nothing I could do or say would signal to him more clearly my intention to keep you safe.”

She was silent for so long he knew a quiet blooming of fear. Then she swallowed hard, her chin jerking up. “It’s true, you know. I did pass information to the French. For years.”

“Do you still?”

“No. Not since February.”

“Then I don’t care.”

Her mouth parted silently, her forehead knitting with confusion. He knew she couldn’t understand him, would never be able to understand how his experiences in the war had affected him in this way.

He ran one thumb across the back of her hand. “You did it for Ireland, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then how could you think I would hold your love of your country against you?” He brought her hands to his lips. “I’m frightened by the fact you put yourself at risk. And I’m hurt because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, even before the threat from Jarvis. But my love for you is undiminished, Kat. It always will be.”

A tear escaped from the edge of one eye to roll silently down her cheek. “I don’t deserve this kind of love,” she whispered. “This kind of devotion.”

He gave her a tender, crooked smile. “I intend to spend a lifetime convincing you that you do. The notice of our approaching nuptials will be in the morning papers.”

A shadow crossed her face. “Then there’s something else you must do tonight.”

“What is that?”

“Tell your father.”