Then he enveloped me in a fierce hug and tugged me onto his lap. “You said you had news for me as well.”
I told him of the tampered letters, including my grandmother’s from Hyderabad. “She said my father was murdered and my mother died of grief after losing us. I cannot bear to think of her in such anguish.”
He held me close, allowing me to weep again. And when I had finished, he wiped away my tears with his thumb ever so tenderly.
“Are you afraid of living in such a world?” I whispered as his arm tightened around me.
He nuzzled the back of my neck, his breath soft. “Mayhap. But Kitty, we can still begin anew. We do not have to be bound to our family’s curses or their poor choices. We can choose differently, aye?”
I wanted to agree with him. He held me a moment longer, his arms firm as if he could shield me from the whole world. At last, with a reluctant sigh, he eased me from his lap and rose. He snatched a dark coat from the armoire and threw it on over his white shirt.
“You are leaving tonight?”
“Better to investigate when no one can see me under the cover of darkness.” He sounded different now. Harder. Resolved.
“Us,” I corrected. “I shall go with you.”
He strapped on his sabre—the moonlight gleaming against the lethal silver, his expression hidden. “You’ll do no such thing, Katherine Aurora Sinclair.” Only his tone gave evidence of a mounting exasperation.
“I have as much a right to know where my grandfather’s money comes from. What if he or Chudley is part of these ledgers you uncovered? Remember the night Edward was shot? Why did my grandfather leave the house? No, I am coming. You’ll need two of us to examine such a vast warehouse, and besides, I shall have Europe’s premier fencer by my side to offer protection.”
He opened a drawer of the nearby desk and pulled out a brace of pistols, then slid them into his coat. “Kitty, why do I think you will be the death of me?”
“I will most certainly not be the death of you. You once said you liked the adventure I promised.”
“I deeply regret admitting such a weakness,” he noted grimly as he tied his hair back with a ribbon—very much resembling a pirate and making my heart thump harder with that white scar on one cheek. “This will be no bluestocking salon escapade. If anyone so much as looks at you in the wrong manner, I shall be obliged to dispatch him.”
The possessiveness in his voice should have unnerved me, yet instead it sent a strange thrill coursing through my veins. Sebastian could be lethal when truly provoked.
“No, I am well aware of the risks,” I said as I rose from the bed to reach my armoire, where more suitable clothing waited. “I am a bluestocking at heart, even if those fine ladies and Lady Ashford rejected me in the end. I won’t see injustice served if I can help it. I daresay those wealthy, bored women in the salons can fight with pretty speeches and pamphlets, but the true cost is when we actually confront the night,no matter the risk to our bodies or souls. That is when our mettle is demonstrated.”
His shoulders heaved as he watched me dress. “I cannot lose you.”
I swallowed hard and clung to his hand. “You will not lose me. I am not Hugh. And I daresay, a woman who loves her husband carries his burdens as well, just as you have carried mine.”
He pulled me close until his warm lips rested against my forehead. I had never seen Sebastian afraid.
“And if we do not like what we find?” he whispered.
“We likely won’t, but I will not leave you alone.” I clung to him, remembering his speech from the other side of the bedroom door our first night in Calcutta, when I had locked him out.
He kissed me and murmured into my hair. “Whatever comes of tonight, besides my faith in God, you are the only truth I am certain of.”
36:Kitty
Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;
Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.
PSALM 91:5-6
Warehouse 14 on Clive Street loomed silent and brooding under the wash of moonlight, highlighting our carriage when we pulled to a stop. Crumbling mortar traced the joints of soot-stained brick, and the rusted iron handle groaned when Sebastian pushed the door open. He held a single candle, the flame flickering in the humid air as we stepped into the cavernous space where Hugh Sinclair had died.
I drew my shawl tighter as I followed him into the vast room. Our footsteps echoed in the eerie quiet. No doubt, my husband would confront the specter that had haunted him for so long.
Sebastian’s pace slowed as we reached a darker patch of floor, visible beneath the puddle of candlelight.
“Here,” he said simply, though his voice hitched.
