The Birth of Blue Satan by Patricia Wynn Page A

not speak of wages. He speaks of a much greater importance. It is only due to Philippe that monsieur is still alive. These men below the stairs—they are all imbéciles! They would insist that monsieur have speech when monsieur did not have the head to speak his own name.”
    “What men?” Exhausted, Gideon fell back against the pillows. “No, don’t answer yet. Bring me some water first.”
    “ Oui, monsieur . ” Leaping to his feet, Philippe disappeared no more than a second before he returned with a goblet of spiced water. As he helped Gideon raise his head and held the vessel to his lips, he whispered, “Sir Joshua’s men have been waiting below since the night monsieur le comte was killed.”
    “To see me? Have they caught the villain who murdered my father?”
    To Gideon’s immense confusion, Philippe assumed a guarded look. “Not yet, monsieur , and moi , I must ask myself if these English are not all fools.”
    Gideon was much too tired, and too full of grief, to attend to this speech. And he had to get up. He had to go to his father’s funeral. Then he would find his father’s murderer and make him pay.
    A sip of the cool water soothed his dry throat, and he rested until his head felt clearer. Nothing could dim his revulsion of the moment the justice of the peace had stated his news. Gideon knew his only comfort would be in bringing his father’s assassin to the gallows. He had to discover the details of the attack—no matter how painful—and take the purposeful steps to bring the killer to justice.
    His regret for the fury he and his father had exchanged would take a longer time to heal.
    “Help me to stand, Philippe.”
    “No, monsieur . You are very weak. You must remain abed.”
    “Confound you! I know how weak I am, but I must speak to Sir Joshua. Tell his men to send him word I wish to see him.”
    Gideon tried to lift himself, but as he struggled to sit, the room revolved.
    “ Mais voilà , what did Philippe tell you?”
    In spite of his pain and dizziness, Gideon gave a frustrated laugh. “You impudent dog! I shall have your tail hacked off for that. If you will not help me to stand, I shall call Thomas Barnes. He   will obey me.”
    If Gideon thought this lie would spur his valet, he was grossly mistaken. The suggestion that a stable servant would be preferable seemed to carry no offence.
    “This Thomas will agree with Philippe when he sees monsieur be so stubborn , n’est-ce pas? ”
    As if their words had miraculously conjured him from the stable, Thomas suddenly appeared at his bedside, determined, it seemed, to press his master back down onto the bed. “That’s right, my lord, just you let the Frenchy take care of you like he’s done. There’s no call to get riled.”
    Gideon was sufficiently astonished to find Tom in his chamber that he easily fell back.
    As soon as he found his tongue again, he said, “Tom, I insist upon getting up! What the devil are you doing in here?”
    “Waiting on you, my lord, seeing as how the Frenchy needed help whenever you was bandaged—which was more often than you’d think. Though I never expected to say it, he does have a way with that lint and those pots of his. Welcome back to the living, Master Gideon.”
    These last words were uttered in a voice so full of emotion that Gideon’s eyes were drawn to his face. A beard of several days growth, dark circles under his eyes and rumpled clothes revealed that Tom had spent the better part of the fortnight at his side. He must have fallen asleep on the floor and only been awakened by the valet’s plaintive tone.
    A fresh look at Philippe discovered similar signs of wear, though his valet would never have allowed himself to appear in such a slovenly state. His hair was coifed with almost his usual care, and his face made up, but weary circles beneath his eyes betrayed his sleepless nights.
    Gideon said, “It seems I have you both to thank. You should seek your beds now, however. Send a footman