“You didn’t know,” she said. “You never know when your family will be taken away from you.” Her own life had taught her that.

He gave her a wry look. “I should have known, Miss Paredes. I should have come home. Instead I was far away, playing police officer when I should have been here, helping search for my mother’s pelt.”

She wished she had some clever words, soothing words, to placate him, but he would likely always blame himself, just as she did over her sister’s death. “So is this Paolo to blame?”

“My cousin Joaquim—who’s an actual police inspector, unlike me—he and I investigated my mother’s claims thoroughly. We’ve never found any evidence to corroborate the claim.”

“Then why does she think he’s responsible?”

Mr. Ferreira sighed heavily. “When the pelt was stolen, the thief also took a strongbox from my father’s desk, a box that contained only my grandfather’s correspondences. You see, Paolo’s my father’s bastard brother. Older than my father, but never acknowledged. My father believed his brother stole the letters to find some evidence of his birth he could use to blackmail us, to obtain a portion of the inheritance he didn’t get. The pelt was taken in case the letters proved useless. But we’ve never found any verification of that. No proof.”

So they had ample motive, but nothing more. “And your mother’s just repeating your father’s claims.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have looked everywhere, Joaquim and I. We know the pelt hasn’t been destroyed—that would kill her. But each lead we had fizzled away. I personally searched every one of my uncle’s properties. My time with the police forces taught me a great deal about breaking into others’ houses discreetly.”

“You broke in?” The idea of urbane Duilio Ferreira breaking into a house seemed fantastic. He laughed, the gloom about the room fading with the sound. At least her incredulity had gotten a smile out of him. “Forgive me, sir. I didn’t mean to make it sound . . .”

“Implausible?” he supplied. “That’s what makes me valuable to the police. People think I’m useless, but I was instructed by some excellent housebreakers. I’ll have you know I’m very good with a skeleton key.” He nodded once at the end of that statement. “I’ll even stoop to breaking a window if necessary, although I have not attempted the palace.”

Oriana wondered if he might be a touch drunk. Or perhaps he was simply fooling her again. “The palace?”

“To see if he’d hidden the pelt there,” Mr. Ferreira said.

Something clicked in her mind, a recollection of his wary reaction when she’d first mentioned Paolo Silva the day before. “Do you mean Paolo Silva, the prince’s seer? The one who pulled me out of the river?”

“Yes.” He sighed, his dark lashes hiding his eyes. “He’s my father’s bastard brother.”

Why hadn’t he mentioned that when she’d told him of the seer’s “rescue” of her? Of course, many families didn’t speak of their bastards. But Silva’s entry into her story must have made him suspicious. “And what happened to you tonight, Mr. Ferreira?”

“Erdano and I met at a tavern,” he said. “We were set upon as we left.” He reached back, dug something out of the pocket of his frock coat, and laid it on the table. It was a knife bearing the mark of the Special Police. “It could be a coincidence or stolen, but this doesn’t look like a cheap copy. It’s regular issue.” His eyes rose to meet hers. “I think they’re not happy that I’m asking about The City Under the Sea. What I’m not sure about is how they know I’m still asking.”

Oriana glanced down at the blade. A line of his blood stained the edge. “Do they know about you . . . and your mother?”

“Why would we be alive if they did? No, I suspect this is about the investigation.” He regarded her wearily. “I came by earlier to return your sketch, but you were out.”

Oriana licked her lips. Was he accusing her of telling someone about his investigation? Did he think she’d provoked this attack on him? “I . . . I saw my master on the street, and . . .”

He held up one hand. “You don’t have to explain. I just wanted to apologize for not getting you a knife earlier, as I promised I would. I’ll bring one to breakfast.”

The coil that had been twisting in her stomach loosened. She didn’t want him thinking badly of her. “Thank you.”

Mr. Ferreira stood and offered her a hand up. Her mitts lay on the table, but she placed her bare hand in his and let him draw her to her feet. That close, he smelled of ambergris cologne, of blood and brandy, a fascinating combination.

“I should go to bed,” he said, “before the brandy goes to my head.”

He must be exhausted. She felt guilty now for interrogating him. “Of course.”

“Then good night, Miss Paredes.” He gathered up his coat and assortment of weapons, including the knife with the sigil of the Special Police. He moved toward the door, but stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. “And if you sleep in the bathtub, you might contrive to rumple the bed anyway. I was already asked by my valet, who had it from the butler, who was told by a maid that you didn’t sleep in your own bed last night. Their assumption being, of course . . .”

“That I was in your bed,” she finished for him, warmth stealing through her body again. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nodded, and then was gone.

Oriana sat down and stared dazedly after him.

She didn’t know why she was reacting this way to him. She had never given a moment’s thought to any of the men who’d made up Isabel’s court of suitors. Some had been overly familiar, touching her inappropriately or making suggestions, but that had only made her like them less. They simply hadn’t interested her.

She wasn’t certain why this man did. He wasn’t strikingly handsome. He was human—or half-human, she corrected herself. He was also half-selkie. Her people tended to regard selkies as savages, choosing to live in the sea like animals. She’d never met one before, though. Lady Ferreira was certainly not a savage, nor was her son.

But selkies also had a reputation for seductiveness. Oriana licked her lips, wondering if that was the source of her reaction. She had gotten close enough to smell his skin. That scent she’d taken for ambergris cologne must have been a selkie’s musk. Could that be it?

She shook her head to stop her brain’s meandering. She needed to keep herself under control around Mr. Ferreira. She didn’t need any more complications.

CHAPTER 15

THURSDAY, 2 OCTOBER 1902

Duilio had expected to toss and turn for hours, but he’d actually fallen asleep facedown on his bed without even undressing. Marcellin had been livid at Duilio’s disregard for his attire, more so than he’d been over learning that someone had tried to kill his master. Duilio took it with good humor, though, offering the man the chance to pick out his evening wear for the ball that night as a sop.

By the time he reached the breakfast table, he found Miss Paredes and his mother already halfway through their meal. When reminded of the ball they planned to attend later, his mother promised she would take a nap that afternoon. She appeared unruffled by their plans, which made him feel better about dragging her out into society.

He turned to Miss Paredes, sliding a napkin-wrapped bundle across to her. “I hope this one works for you, Miss Paredes.”

She peeked at the knife and its wrist sheath, then quickly shifted the contents to her lap. “Thank you,” she said meekly. Her eyes flicked toward the door where Gustavo was entering, carrying a tray with Duilio’s regular breakfast and coffee. “It will be fine, sir.”