Page 83 of Who Cries for the Lost

“Because Ternant used to pass information to Napoléon, which would have made him your enemy.”

“Your enemy, too, surely? Or so one would assume.”

“Personally, I prefer to meet my enemies face-to-face on the field of battle rather than jumping them in some dark alley.”

“How very gallant of you,” she said dryly. “What precisely are you accusing me of? Murder?”

He searched her beautiful, scarred face. “Actually, yes. I’ve discovered that Miles Sedgewick came to see you the night he was killed.”

“Who told you that? Rowena?”

When he didn’t answer, she huffed a soft laugh and shrugged. “It’s true, of course. He did come to see me that night.”

“Why?”

“He’d learned something in Vienna that... disturbed him.”

“You mean he’d discovered that you were working for the Bourbons?”

“Yes.” She looked at him, a smile still curling her lips. “You didn’t expect me to admit it, did you?”

“As a matter of fact, no. What time was it when he left you?”

“Eight, or thereabouts. Perhaps closer to half past. Why?”

“Someone told me they saw him elsewhere at about that time.” It wasn’t true, of course; in fact, what she’d told him dovetailed well with Alexi’s encounter with Sedgewick in Charing Cross. But he was interested in seeing her reaction.

She shrugged. “So they were mistaken. Or they lied.”

“Or you could be lying now.”

“Why would I? Do you know when Sedgewick was killed?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what would be the point in my lying about when I saw him?” She tilted her head to look up at him with an odd, quizzical expression. “Apart from which, why would I have him killed?”

“For the same reason you’ve had so many others killed: for the Bourbons. Or perhaps because he was a personal threat to you.”

“To me? Hardly. And as for the Bourbons...” She gave a faint shake of her head. “As long as Jarvis lives, no Bonaparte—especially not Napoléon’s half-Austrian son—will be allowed to remain on the throne of France.”

“Heard about that, did you?”

“The Austrian proposal? I did—although not from Sedgewick, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“And did you learn about Fouché’s list from this same source?”

“What list?” she said with a smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

“Cut line,” said Sebastian sharply, beginning to lose what little patience he had left. “Did he offer to sell it to you? Did you not want to pay his price? Is that why you had him killed? So you could simply take it?”

The smile was gone, her eyes sparkling with anger. “I told you before, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Enough of this nonsense,” she said, brushing past him.

She’d taken one step, two, when the man Sebastian had noticed earlier appeared from behind a crumbling mausoleum, raised the muzzle of a long rifle, and fired.