Why Kings Confess by C. S. Harris

Author:C. S. Harris [Harris, C. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101609781
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2014-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31

No man was a more reliable presence at the various soirees, balls, and breakfasts given by London’s fashionable hostesses than Angus Kilmartin. Sebastian suspected Kilmartin worked such gatherings in much the same spirit as a pickpocket worked the crowds at a hanging, ever on the lookout for a new connection or a stray tidbit of information he could use to increase his personal wealth. Or perhaps he was simply driven by the need to show the world that a humble Glaswegian merchant’s son was now wealthy and powerful enough to be invited almost anywhere.

That afternoon’s most fashionable, must-attend event was a lavish winter wonderland–themed breakfast given by the Countess of Morley at her vast Grosvenor Square town house. Society “breakfasts,” like “morning visits,” were actually afternoon affairs, due to the fact that very few residents of Mayfair rolled out of bed before noon.

When Sebastian walked up to him, Angus Kilmartin was contemplating the exquisite ice sculptures decorating Lady Morley’s long buffet table. The Scotsman threw Sebastian a brief glance, then turned his attention to the array of delicacies spread out before him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” said Kilmartin, helping himself to foie gras and toast.

Sebastian lifted a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“You aren’t exactly known for your fondness for social gatherings.”

“I do occasionally put in an appearance.”

“But not, I suspect, without an ulterior motive. Am I to infer that I am your purpose?”

Sebastian took a slow sip of his champagne. “As a matter of fact, you are. You lied to me.”

To call a gentleman a liar was the supreme affront to his honor, an insult that was traditionally met with a challenge to a duel. But Kilmartin merely let his gaze drift over the assembled throng, a bland smile on his comical, freckled face. “I lie all the time. I’ve never subscribed to the pathetic belief that we owe our fellow men the truth.”

“An interesting philosophy.”

“At least I’m honest about it.”

Sebastian gave a soft laugh. “True. I’m curious: What was Damion Pelletan’s reaction when you tried to bribe him?”

Kilmartin brought his gaze back to Sebastian’s face. His smile never slipped. “Heard about that, did you? Well, if you must know, he leapt at my offer. What did you think? That he became righteously indignant and threatened to expose me, so that I saw no option but to creep up behind him in a darkened alley and cut out his heart? Not his tongue, mind you—surely a more fitting punishment for one with a tendency to talk too much—but his heart? Please; spare me this drivel.”

Sebastian took another sip of his champagne and somehow resisted the impulse to dash the contents of his glass into the man’s self-satisfied face. “What, precisely, did you want Pelletan to do for you? He wasn’t formally a part of the delegation; he was simply a physician.”

Kilmartin rolled his eyes. “You don’t have much of an imagination, do you?”

Sebastian studied the Scotsman’s bland smile. He could

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