Page 33 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
“Oh, for fook’s sake,” a nattily attired young man snapped, pushing past the butler. “How many lewd ruffians do ye ken who dress like this? Morning, Thorne.”
If Kit hadn’t been looking at Thorne, she might’ve missed thejoythat flickered in his blue eyes at seeing the newcomer, which quickly was overshadowed by irritation. “What are ye doing here, Bull?” he growled.
Titsworth stepped forward, body held rigid butsomethingin his posture suggesting eagerness. “Shall I have him unceremoniously thrown out, Your Grace? It would be an honor—I have several burly footmen standing by, and Pastorino can help.”
Kit pressed her lips together—partly to keep from laughing and partly so she wouldn’t shoutI’m busy!—and began to play from memory a soft Paganini piece her mother had always loved.
But Thorne was already shaking his head. “I’m no’ throwing him out.”
“Are ye certain?” Bull asked now, crossing the room in what could only be called a saunter. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like. Although I’d request we did itceremoniously.”
Thorne nodded to the butler. “Make a note, Titsworth. If we ever have to toss Bull out on his arse, we do it with all the bells and whistles we can find.”
Titsworth bowed regally, a hint of disappointment in his expression. “I shall have the staff begin the search for such accoutrements. Trumpets, too? Perhaps a cannon?”
“Why no’?” Thorne scowled at the young man making himself at home in the leather chair opposite his desk. “Tambourines. Kit can bring the fiddle.”
None of them looked at her, but Bull twisted in his chair to smirk at the butler. “See if ye can find an elephant or two, Titsworth. I expect the very best.”
Rolling his eyes, Thorne waved the butler from the room as he said to the lad, “Ye’re supposed to be keeping an eye on yer family, that was the arrangement.”
“Flick’s brother is in town, she’s hosting him for tea today, and I’d rather wearbrownthan sit through that.”
The older man snorted at the apparent travesty which was brown. “I wear brown.”
“Nay, ye wearbronze,” the lad corrected. “With all that golden hair, bronze works for ye.” He nodded to Thorne’s waistcoat. “But ye should no’ pair it with such a boring neckcloth. I’ll have a word with yer valet.”
“We cannae all afford to look like colorblind peacocks, Bull.” Ignoring the young man’s outraged gasp, Thorne jerked his chin across the room. “Some of us have reputations. But since ye’re interested, that’s my man, playing for me.”
Bull twisted again in his chair, surprise evident on his face. Surprise that Thorne’s valet was playing violin in his study?Surprise that his valet appeared to be a young man his own age? Or surprise that Kit was paying close attention to their conversation, rather than the sheet music?
“Bull,” Thorne announced, “This is Kit Pastorino. He used to be a footman until I promoted him, and I didnae expect him to ken much about men’s fashion. Kit, this is Bull Lindsay, the lad I was telling ye about. Bull, Kit. Kit, Bull. Christ, ye’re both named after animals.”
As Bull gaped, clearly disconcerted to hear Thorne had been speaking of him to hisvalet, Kit nodded gracefully.
Without halting the notes, she called, “Nice to meet you, Mister Lindsay. And for the record, Your Grace, I know purple and green are all the fashion in some circles.”Like the theater.“Peacocks are popular.”
Bull’s shock had turned to smugness and he sat back in his chair, turning his back to Kit once more. “There. Clearly yermankens more than ye do.”
Kit’s fingers stumbled just slightly; she didn’t think anyone noticed.Yer man. The way Bull had said it made her wonder if he’d seen through her disguise…
“So, Thorne, what news of the investigation?” Bull was reaching for a box on the desk.
But Thorne slapped the lid down, and the lad barely had time to pull his hand out. “Ye cannae steal my cigars, lad!”
Bull lifted hisotherhand, holding a pair of cigars. “I already have.”
Kit’s snort of laughter drew Thorne’s gaze, and his irritation softened.
Before he could respond, however, the door opened again. “Titsworth only just got around to—who the shite is this?” the auburn-haired man blurted as he slammed the door behind him.
“Ah, good morning, Fawkes,” Thorne said, slowly standing. “Ye’re just in time for cigars and updates.”
Bull had also stood, apparently understanding how civility was supposed to work. Idly fingering notes she’d long ago memorized, Kit watched him eye the newcomer warily.
“Why doesheget to walk in,” the lad asked, “and I have to wait to be introduced by that sartorially challenged butler of yers?”
The other man was stalking across the room. “I walk in because I’m staying upstairs. I’m his cousin. Who are ye, laddie?”
