The Night Angel Read Online Free PDF

no comfort. He was moored here in this hotel lobby until Serafina returned. Just as he was anchored to this futile state until she bade him depart.
    “Sir?”
    “Of course.” Falconer watched as the young man seated himself across the low table from him.
    “Nathan Baring at your service, sir. Might I say how deeply impressed I was with your response to the legate this afternoon.”
    His shame deepened. “I was wrong in what I said and how I said it, and worse still were my actions.”
    “On the contrary, sir.” The man’s admiration was clear in his softly spoken words. “Long have I dreamed of confronting Prince Fritz-Heinrich in just such a manner.”
    When Falconer merely shook his head in reply, Nathan Baring went on. “Your patron’s daughter, did I understand that she is an artist?”
    Of course. Now the reason for the young man’s enthusiasm came to the fore. Falconer examined him more closely. Nathan Baring was tall, slender, clear of eye, fervent of manner and voice. He was dressed in elegant shades of charcoal gray— striped trousers and diplomat’s morning coat, grey silk vest, ruffled cravat. Clean-shaven and dark haired, he was a young man of status and means. Falconer felt utterly common in comparison.
    “She is indeed a lovely lass,” he said now, keeping his voice as even as possible.
    “Yes, I suppose so.” Baring clearly noticed Falconer’s astonishment at the words. “I mean no offense, sir. But to be frank, my profession has brought me into contact with every manner of loveliness. Yet what Miss Gavi has revealed, if she is the artist I seek, is unique.”
    “Your profession?”
    “I have been in my government’s service since I was seventeen, sir. First in the American army, then as a member of our ambassadorial service. Istanbul, Saint Petersburg, and finally London.” Baring shifted forward until he was perched upon the edge of the seat. “Tell me, sir, did Miss Gavi do the sketches of your good self and the British court that appeared in the antislavery pamphlet issued by the Powers Press?”
    Falconer saw how people in the lobby began turning toward the central staircase. It was always the same when Serafina appeared. He rose to his feet. “Perhaps you’d care to ask her directly.”
    Serafina stepped into the lobby, her eyes only for him. And in her gaze, Falconer found his answer.
    She did not love him.
    She displayed the deep affection of a very dear friend. But it was not romantic love. They had grown to know each other so very well. For eight months, Falconer had spent part of nearly every day in her company. He knew her well enough to know the message she bore before she even opened her mouth.
    She was coming to say good-bye.
    Oh, it would not be a farewell in the physical sense. They were bound together for life, unless he chose to walk away and never see her again. She would always welcome him. She would keep a room in her home and her life for him. Wherever her future might take her, he would be welcome.
    If only he could bear to be with her as a friend. And nothing more.
    The young man cleared his throat.
    Falconer forced himself to form the words, “Nathan Baring, may I present Serafina Gavi.”
    She turned to him and said calmly, “Now is not a good time, sir.”
    “No, of course not.” But he did not back away. “Might I ask you one question only?”
    “Some other day, perhaps. I would ask that you wait—”
    “Serafina,” Falconer said quietly.
    She acquiesced as he had known she would. She would deny him nothing. Except the one thing Falconer desired above all else.
    “Very well, sir,” she said. “Your question.”
    “Did you, that is, were you the artist who drew the Crown’s men into the slave vessel? The drawing used in the Powers’ antislavery pamphlet?”
    “Yes, I was.”
    “Oh, I say.”
    Something in the man’s voice caused Falconer to look beyond his own pain. He saw a young man who genuinely seemed affected not by Serafina’s beauty