Page 58 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
“More likely the duchess’s, I should think,” Kit said, his mouth dry. He had known he’d need to come clean to Rob at some point but had put it off time and again. “You know the job I’ve mentioned? The Duke of Clare is the mark.”
Whatever Kit had expected from Rob, it wasn’t total silence. It wasn’t Rob putting a shoulder on Kit’s arm and taking the seat beside him. Kit kept his attention on an ornate silver soup spoon. He didn’t want to look at Rob, and he certainly didn’t want to look at Betty.
“I would have told you before the job,” Kit said. “It’s only that the situation is a bit complicated.”
“You’re going to hold up the Duke of Clare’s carriage. Yes, I’d damned well say it’s complicated, especially since you’re fucking his son.”
Kit dropped the spoon to the table with a clatter. “I—what? You recognized him? You knew?” Kit’s mind reeled. Rob and Betty were looking at one another, and Kit glanced between them. “What am I missing?”
“I told him not to involve himself in this mess,” Betty told Rob. “But do you think he listened?”
Rob buried his head in his hands. When he looked up a moment later, he seemed to have come to some kind of decision. “You’re in love with the Duke of Clare’s son.”
“I didn’t say—” Kit began, but Rob cut him off.
“And together you’re going to hold up his father. And why, exactly, is the duke’s pretty son so eager to steal from his papa?”
“There’s an item he wants. I believe it belonged to his mother. He says we can have everything else in the carriage.”
“You idiot. He means to kill his father and let you hang for it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You would if you were thinking straight. He’s used some combination of lust and knowledge of what the duke did to completely addle your senses. This scheme ought to be obvious even to a baby.”
“When he first came here, he didn’t know I had any particular reason to hate his father,” Kit said, the excuse sounding feeble to his own ears.
“Where did he get your name, Kit?” Rob demanded. “Is there anyone who knows you’re Gladhand Jack who doesn’t know that the Duke of Clare had your wife transported? Because I can’t think of any. He knows who you are, and he’s setting you up.”
“If Percy wanted to kill his father, I don’t think he’d choose such a roundabout way,” Kit said. “And I don’t think he could—” He broke off. He had been about to say that he didn’t think Percy could feign affection for him, but Percy could probably feign anything he pleased. And yet, Kit didn’t think Percy was doing so.
When Kit told Percy that he adored him, he had been speaking the truth. And Percy’s only response had been that Kit shouldn’t. But that hadn’t sounded like a warning so much as the protest of a person who didn’t believe he deserved to beloved. It could all be an act, and Kit’s refusal to believe so might just be because his prick—or, even worse, his heart—was not reliably rational.
He couldn’t have said exactly when it happened, or why, but Kit found that he had come to trust Percy, had come to have faith in the man. He knew there was more to Percy’s scheme than Percy had confessed: he had seen the way Percy measured out his words when speaking of his father’s bigamy, weighing each one to make sure it wasn’t too much. There was a good deal the man had left untold, but Kit felt certain it wasn’t anything that would harm him.
“My mother told me someone was asking about you,” Rob said. “I’d bet it was your lordling.”
“Your mother was as surprised as I was to discover that I was doing a job for the Duke of Clare’s son. She tried to persuade me not to,” Kit said.
“If you think my mother isn’t an accomplished actress, you’ve gone even softer in the head than I had thought, and believe me, I already think your judgment is frighteningly impaired,” Rob said. “Have Tom do the job. Stay away from it.”
“I need to be there.”
“Oh, of course. You need to see Clare punished.”
“No,” Kit said immediately. “I do want Clare punished, and I’ll be glad to see it happen with my own eyes. Of course I will.” He felt his face heat as he spoke, knowing how much he was revealing. “But I need to be there to make sure Percy’s all right.”
Rob raked his hands through his hair and groaned. Betty swore and got up from the table.
Thinking he’d just as well give his friends time to complain about him behind his back, Kit reached for his walking stick andhauled himself up the stairs and into his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, his heart racing and his stomach churning.
Even through the closed door, he could hear Betty and Rob talking. About him, no doubt.
Kit absently patted his hip in search of a flask that hadn’t been there for a year. Instead, he stretched out an arm for the jug of water that sat on the washstand and swallowed a mouthful.
It was a long while before he heard footsteps on the stairs. It was Rob, of course.
“Mind if I come in?” Rob asked, cracking the door open. He had a cup in his hand.
