Why Kill the Innocent by C.S. Harris

Author:C.S. Harris
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2018-04-03T00:00:00+00:00

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Leaving the Cat and Fiddle, Sebastian turned his steps toward the river, his gaze on the heavy white clouds pressing down on the city. But his thoughts were in the past.

He was the third son and fourth child born to the marriage of the Earl of Hendon and his beautiful, restless wife, Sophia. He’d always known he was different from his brothers, Richard and Cecil—different in looks, interests, talents, and temperament. And so very, very different from their father, the Earl. He’d grown up feeling like an outsider in his own family, wondering why his eyes were a strange feral yellow rather than the startling blue that was such a strong characteristic in the St. Cyr family and wondering at the anger and disappointment he often glimpsed in the Earl’s face when he gazed upon his unsatisfactory third son. But somehow it had never occurred to Sebastian to wonder if he were really Hendon’s child.

He’d learned the truth only recently in a series of devastating revelations that had come close to destroying him. Even after all these months, even after the long-delayed reconciliation with Hendon, he still felt a stranger to himself. For if he wasn’t Hendon’s son, then who was he? Half of his history, half of himself—his unknown father’s half—remained an enigma to him, a murky, mysterious world populated by the shadowy men and women from whom he was descended and yet about whom he knew nothing.

Nothing.

Looking out over the jumbled ice of the frozen river, he told himself the free trader’s tale of a French colonel with a Scottish name and yellow eyes meant nothing. Yes, yellow eyes were rare, but they were not unique. And while a Welsh cavalry officer—along with an English lord and a Gypsy stableboy—had been amongst those named as Sophia Devlin’s possible lover, no one had ever mentioned a Frenchman with a Scottish surname.

He told himself that one of these days he was going to need to make peace with the mystery of his origins and accept that he would probably never learn what he was so desperate to know.

He told himself these things. And still hope thrummed within him, undeniable and irrepressible.

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