Page 25 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
“Oh,” said Scarlett, drawing in a sharp breath. “I see. You want me to put you off him.”
“I don’t—”
“You’re in danger of liking the man.” She regarded him with wide, astonished eyes. “Well, I never thought you’d be in danger of becoming fond of a lord.”
“It’s not like that.”
“It had better not be. You want me to put you off him? How’s this. The heir to the Duke of Clare will be one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. How do you think things usually turn out for people like us who get involved with men like them? Hmm?”
“Scarlett, you’re involved with men like them every day.”
“I take their money and their secrets. They take nothing of mine. Nothing, Kit. I’ve known you since you were little more than a boy, and you don’t have what it takes to hold back the parts of yourself that matter. Stay away from Holland and his father.”
Kit opened his mouth to protest and then realized that Scarlett had given him exactly what he had asked for: a reason not to like Percy. The fact that he wanted to argue with her was not a good sign.
Chapter20
Percy frowned at his reflection in the cheval glass.
“If my lord could explain precisely where he intends to go in this... attire,” Collins said, his voice wavering on that last word, as if he couldn’t be certain that Percy was in fact wearing clothing rather than being garbed in the stuff of Collins’s personal nightmares, “then perhaps I could be of some assistance.”
“I’m going to a new fencing studio,” Percy lied. “One that abides by slightly different, ah,règlesdu combat.” If he was going to spend a few hours getting knocked onto the floor of Kit’s back room, then he wanted an extra layer of fabric against his skin. His buckskin riding breeches would do, but his riding coat wouldn’t allow him nearly enough range of movement in his arms. He raided the attics and came up with a short-waisted sleeveless jerkin made of soft black leather, which fastened with buttons all the way up to the neck. Worn over a plain linen shirt, it would give him more protection than an ordinary waistcoat.
“If I may say,” said Collins, an edge of panic creeping into his voice, “the pairing of brown buckskin with black leather is not a choice I would have expected of your lordship.”
“It’s very bad,” Percy agreed. “And we haven’t even got to thematter of shoes.” He planned to wear his oldest, softest, and least-presentable boots. Paired with the riding breeches and the old-fashioned jerkin, the effect would be bizarre.
Bizarre, but not exactly unflattering, despite the lamentable looseness of his buckskins. He tied his hair into a queue, and remembered the sound of Kit’s voice the other night.I’ve never seen you with your hair down, he had said, as if Percy had been keeping a secret from him. He took the tie out of his hair. Then he put it back again. There was vanity, and then there was lunacy.
Collins whimpered in protest.
“Nobody will recognize me,” Percy assured him. “It’s been years since anybody who knows me has seen me with a bare head and clean face.” Other than Kit, that was. “Your professional honor will not be sullied. However,” he added, thinking that Collins was due a concession, “a new pair of buckskins—fitted this time—and a new pair of boots would not go amiss.”
Collins seemed slightly mollified, and Percy proceeded down the stairs. Then, realizing he had forgotten something, he dashed back up to his bedchamber, where he found Collins waiting with a tricorn hat in his outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” Percy said, grabbing the hat and pulling it low over his brow.
“I thought my lord would wish to wear a hat that complemented none of his other garments, so as to keep with the theme of discordance,” Collins intoned.
“Yes, yes,” Percy called over his shoulder as he left. “Thank you!”
He went to Kit’s on foot, avoiding the main thoroughfares, and arrived an hour before the shop was due to close. He seated himself at the end of the long table he had come to think of ashis own. It was Kit who spotted him first, and Percy had the satisfaction of watching Kit scan the room, pass over Percy, and then dart back to him, studying his face, dropping lower over the rest of him.
He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, aware that its color and lack of powder made it conspicuous, and also aware that Kit was watching him.
Betty was on the other side of the shop, so Percy assumed he’d have a while to wait for his coffee. But Kit brought a cup after only a few minutes, placing it on the table without any audible resentment.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” Kit said. “You left without a word.”
Percy paused with the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He hadn’t thought the circumstances warranted a formal leave-taking. He had woken up on Kit’s floor, covered by a blanket, a pillow somehow having found its way under his throbbing head. Kit himself was asleep in a nearby chair, his head resting on a table atop his folded arms. Percy had been badly hungover and even more badly embarrassed.
Percy didn’t get drunk. He certainly didn’t drunkenly call on people. That was not only beneath his dignity, it was vastly imprudent.
But he had shown up here, and Kit had listened to him ramble and then put him to bed right in front of the hearth.
Percy wasn’t sure whether to apologize or to leave. Or, maybe, to hide under the table until he was certain he could fight off the blush that threatened to creep up his cheeks. One of the many advantages of face powder was that it concealed his lamentable tendency to blush.
He swallowed. “If today is a bad day for a lesson, I’ll come back another time.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Assuming your offer still stands.” He dabbed at his mouth with his handkerchief. “Why do you not have proper table linens? All the better coffeehouses have serviettes and tablecloths.”
