Page 19 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
“If you ever need your father’s nose bloodied, Tom’s your man. But you need more than that to manage an actual robbery.”
“Like what? Because all I bring to the table is a propensity to chatter and exceptional good looks.”
Kit opened his mouth, ready to say something about strategy, but he stopped himself. He doubted that this man, the duke of bloody Clare’s son, thought that men such as Kit were capable of anything so refined as strategy.
Kit held up a wooden spoon he had carried with him for the occasion. “We’re pretending this is a pistol. You’re going to try to disarm me.”
“All right,” Holland said. “How should I start?”
“Do whatever you need to knock it out of my hand, or, better yet, take it for yourself.”
Holland reached for it; he was fast but Kit was expecting it.
“They aren’t going to let me saunter up to them,” Holland said. “This is pointless.”
“You’d be surprised. Try again.”
Holland did so, and this time Kit stepped out of the way, causing Holland to trip and nearly fall.
The third time, Holland went in with his left hand, which surprised Kit, and Kit went to block him with his own right hand. That put weight on his bad leg, and Kit almost fell. He managed to recover himself but was startled by both the sudden pain and the fact that he didn’t know how to fight without both legs. He ought to have realized beforehand that this would be a problem.
Worse, Holland seemed to have noticed at the same time Kit did. “Perhaps if you sat,” the man said. “After all, the coachman will be sitting.”
“No,” Kit snapped. “Betty!” he called. When she came in, he explained to her what he was trying to do.
“I think not,” Holland said. “I will not tussle on the floor with a woman.”
“Good luck getting me to the floor,” Betty said, kicking off her shoes.
“Why are you agreeing to this?” Holland asked the girl. “I have at least eight inches and several stone on you.”
“You think I’m going to pass up a chance to kick a lord? Been dreaming of this since I was a little girl,” she said.
“You have the chance to make a young woman’s dreams come true,” Kit said. Percy glared at him.
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Holland stepped toward the girl, and when she began to extend her arm toward him as if about to fire a pistol, he tried to grab her wrist.
“You’ve just been shot in the head,” Kit announced. “Try again. This time grab her around the middle.”
With obvious reluctance, Holland stepped behind Betty and attempted to get one of her arms trapped behind her back. She stepped on his foot and elbowed him in the stomach. “Ow!” he cried.
“Try again,” said Kit.
“I’d much rather be doing this with you,” Holland protested.
“I bet you would,” said Betty.
“I mean that I don’t relish the prospect of hurting a woman.”
“I’m still waiting for proof you can even come close to hurting me,” she said.
“I don’t feel comfortable becoming violent with women,” Holland said primly.
“Well, get comfortable with it,” Kit snapped. “If you’re too squeamish to grab Betty, then you’ll be hopeless when you actually have to hurt someone. On the day of the robbery, it won’t be a bloody spoon and the person you’re trying to get it from won’t be afraid to kill you. You need to act like this matters.”
“It does matter,” Holland insisted.
“This book that you want to get—”
