Page 24 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
She looked neither pleased nor surprised. “Well, make it fast, and I’ll forgive you.”
“The man I asked you about, Edward Percy?”
“The man who doesn’t exist.”
“He’s the Duke of Clare’s son and heir, Lord Holland.”
Something passed over Scarlett’s face. He had known her for nearly ten years, had been what he’d call friends with her for most of that time, but had seldom seen her face express anything outside the narrow range between mild consternation and mildpleasure. But now she looked shocked. It lasted only a moment, but it had happened, and Kit had seen it.
He was put in mind of Percy, who had the same outward impassivity, the same ability to hide his feelings. They were both so accustomed to deceit that they schooled their expressions as a matter of course. When the mask dropped, it meant something.
Kit’s only question was whether she was surprised to learn Percy’s identity, or whether she was surprised that Kit knew.
“Of course,” she said. “They all do call him Percy. I ought to have made the connection. And—good God—he’s the one who wants to hire you to rob someone. He knows who you are. This is all most unfortunate.”
“Do you know him?” Kit asked, trying not to betray his eagerness to know the answer. He needn’t have bothered, because she didn’t so much as look at him.
“He’s never been here,” she said.
Kit almost laughed. “I gathered that he wasn’t likely to be among your customers.”
Now she looked at Kit shrewdly. “Did you, now?”
He swallowed. “He hardly makes a secret of it.”
“I see. To answer your question, no, I don’t know him. He went to one of the usual schools, then idled about town for a while before traveling through Europe for two years. He returned earlier this autumn but has seldom been seen in society since then.”
Kit might have thought this an impressive amount of information for Scarlett to have at the tip of her tongue—especially about a man who wasn’t even among her clientele—if he hadn’t seen her perform the same feat many times over the years.
“Is he cruel to his servants? Does he fail to pay his bills?” Kitdearly wanted any information that would kill his desire for the man.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Come, Scarlett. There has to be something unpleasant you’ve heard.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Why do you want to know?”
“Why do you care? Maybe I want to rob him and am looking for proof that he deserves a comedown.”
“You aren’t, though.”
“Please, Scarlett.”
“He doesn’t get on with his father. They’re faultlessly civil in public, but they quarrel like the Furies at home. Holland’s mother died while he was away on the Continent. Everyone’s first thought was that the duke had finally killed her, but in fact she was carried off by a cancer. Disappointing to gossips, but reassuring to friends of Her Grace. Almost immediately, the duke married Lord Holland’s childhood playmate, Lady Marian Hayes, the only daughter of a doddering old fool of a nobleman whose property abuts the Duke of Clare’s Oxfordshire estate. She and her brother were educated at home with Holland until the young gentlemen went away to school. She gave birth to a daughter shortly before Lord Holland’s return to England.”
“The duke’s marriage was not, I take it, a love match.”
“It might have been.” Scarlett smoothed her skirt. “The duke is still handsome and widely considered to be one of the most charming men in London, not to mention rich and a duke. I’ve heard that he can be very winning.”
Kit could not care less whether the duke’s manners were winning. “Tell me more about the son.”
“Lord Holland is Edward Talbot, commonly known as Percy. His mother was Lady Isabelle Percy, the only child of the Earl of Westmore and the last of that line of Percys. She, and everyone else, called her son Percy.”
Kit waved this information away. “Any notorious love affairs? Mistreated servants? Anything.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “I never would have thought of you as a blackmailer.”
“I’m not,” Kit said a little too defensively.
