Free Why Mermaids Sing by C. S. Harris Page A

do it on her own terms. Because she harbored no illusions. Now that Jarvis had his hooks in her, she would never be free, never be safe.
    And neither would Devlin.
     
     
     
    Leaving his aunt Henrietta’s ball, Sebastian descended the torchlit steps to discover a man in a rough greatcoat and slouch hat lounging against the wall near Sebastian’s carriage, his hands in his pockets. As Sebastian approached, the man pushed himself upright and took a step forward.
    Sebastian’s footmen made to stop him, but Sebastian waved them back.
    “Nice evening,” said the man, the skin beside his eyes crinkling in a smile. He looked to be about thirty years of age, with broad shoulders and a kind of coiled restlessness that reminded Sebastian of men he’d known in the army, in the secret service.
    Sebastian casually slipped one hand into his own pocket and felt the smooth, well-crafted wooden stock of his pistol. “Then why the coat?”
    This time the man’s smile showed his teeth. “You know why.” His speech was not that of a gentleman, yet not of the streets, either.
    Moving deliberately, Sebastian brought the small flintlock from his pocket to hold it loosely at his side. He was careful to keep a calculated distance between them. “What do you want?”
    For an instant, the man’s eyes left Sebastian’s face, his gaze flicking to the flintlock at Sebastian’s side. The man’s expression never altered. “I’ve come to offer you some friendly advice.”
    “Advice?”
    “Advice. I was hired to give you a warning. You know the kind. A dead cat on your doorstep. A brick through your window in the middle of the night. But then I thought, Why play games? There’s something the gentleman needs to understand, so why not simply explain it to him?”
    “Hence the advice.”
    “That’s right.” The man in the slouch hat brought up his left hand to scratch the side of his nose. “The thing is, you see, you’ve been asking too many questions. The gentleman who hired me wants you to stop.”
    “You mean, asking questions about Barclay Carmichael and Dominic Stanton.”
    The man smiled again. “That’s right. See? I knew you’d understand.”
    “Who hired you? Lord Stanton or Sir Humphrey Carmichael?”
    The man’s smile slid away. “Now there you go, asking questions. Not a good idea, remember?”
    The man was starting to annoy Sebastian. “Just who are you, anyway?”
    “My name isn’t important. I’m just the messenger.”
    “And the adviser.”
    “So to speak.”
    “And if I fail to heed your advice?”
    The man’s smile was completely gone now. “That would be unwise.”
    Sebastian signaled his footman, who leapt forward to let down the carriage steps. “Give your employer some advice from me, why don’t you?” Sebastian said.
    The man pivoted to keep his face toward Sebastian as Sebastian moved past him to the carriage. The man’s right hand never left his pocket. Sebastian never raised the pistol from his side. “Tell your employer I don’t like people who kill cats. I have a real objection to heavy rocks being thrown through my windows. And if he sends anyone after me again, I’ll kill him.”
    Something glittered in the other man’s eyes, something that was both a warning and a promise. “Till we meet again, then,” he said, and faded into the night.
    Sebastian settled into the corner of his carriage, the flintlock resting against his knee. He could hear the distant strains of music from his aunt’s ballroom and, from nearer at hand, a woman’s laughter.
    His questions were obviously making someone uncomfortable. The threat against him had been serious, the man who delivered it a professional. Leaning forward, Sebastian signaled his coachman to drive on. He had no intention of heeding the man’s warning, of course. Which meant that he’d be meeting the gentleman in the slouch hat again.
    Only next time, Sebastian knew, he wouldn’t see the man coming.

Chapter 20
     
     
    T UESDAY , 17 S