Page 26 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
“Odd that you think I give a damn about running a coffeehouse for people who want tablecloths.”
“How silly of me,” Percy conceded. “What can I have been thinking. I hadn’t realized that wiping one’s mouth on one’s sleeve was something radicals enjoyed.”
A moment passed during which all Percy could hear was the din of conversation and the rattle of cups in saucers, and somehow, over all of it, the pointless pounding of his heart.
“Are you always like this?” Kit asked.
“That depends on what you mean bythis,” Percy said.
“Fucking difficult,” Kit said so promptly that Percy forgot himself and glanced up at him. He looked disheveled and badly shaven and as if he hadn’t run a comb through his hair since God was a boy. In other words, he looked as he always did. And he was glaring down at Percy, if glaring could be accomplished without any malice. Was there such a thing as an affectionate glare? Percy found that he very much hoped so, because Percy was an idiot.
“In that case I certainly am always like this,” Percy said as snappishly as he could in the circumstances, which probably wasn’t very snappish at all. “Except for when I’m worse,” he added.
“Drink your coffee and then come along,” Kit said.
“I beg your pardon?” Percy hadn’t come all this way, hadn’t ransacked the attics and given his valet nightmares, just to be thrown out on his ear.
“Drink your coffee,” Kit repeated slowly, “and then go to the back room.”
“There’s still an hour until you close,” Percy said.
“Betty will work the shop.”
Which had to mean that Percy wouldn’t be fighting Betty, which in turn meant that Kit had listened to Percy’s objections and taken them seriously. “Oh,” Percy said, and drank his coffee as slowly as possible so as not to seem too eager.
Chapter21
Kit couldn’t stop staring. It was a blasted waistcoat, or at least something along those lines. And it was made of leather, which on its own shouldn’t be enough to give Kit palpitations. Maybe it was the combination of leather and all those little buttons? Maybe it was the fact that the garment fitted so closely over Percy’s chest?
Maybe, if he were honest, he had this reaction to everything Percy wore.
“We’ll try again, just you and me,” Kit said, shoving the few pieces of furniture against the walls to clear a space for sparring. Finally, he took his walking stick and stood it up in the corner. He walked to the center of the room without it, conscious of his limp and the pain in his hip. The other night, Percy had said that Kit’s balance was off, and the more Kit thought about it, the more he thought that was the problem. If he could shift his weight to his good leg and rely less on moving, he could probably hold his own. And if he couldn’t, then they’d figure something else out. “We’ll try to fight, and then from there work up to disarming.”
He stood in the middle of the room without his cane and felt horribly exposed. His leg could give way at any moment.
“All right,” Percy said, coming to stand before him. “How do you want to start this?”
“I ought to tell you that I’ve never taught anyone how to fight,” Kit said. “And I’ve never fought anyone without needing to, so I’m not sure how—”
Percy punched him in the gut.
Kit used his bad leg to sweep Percy’s feet out from under him, and Percy hit the floor. Percy sprang up with more speed than Kit would have thought possible and hit Kit in the jaw.
Kit grabbed Percy’s wrist and used it to spin him around, then pinned it behind his back.
“Well,” Percy said, his back flush against Kit’s chest. “We’ve established that you can fight.” He elbowed Kit in the belly and then got free.
“And so can you,” Kit said, dodging a fist. “Your punches are weak. I can’t tell if you’re pulling them or if nobody’s ever taught you how to properly hit someone.”
“I assure you it’s the latter.”
Kit was out of breath, but Percy plainly wasn’t. He decided that later on, he’d let himself have a good long sulk about being old and out of shape. For now, he held his hand to the side of his body, at shoulder height. “Hit my palm, as hard as you can.”
He watched as Percy pulled his arm back and swung.
“Not horrible,” Kit said. “Give me your hand.” He took Percy’s hand and folded the fingers in, one by one, then tucked the thumb. His fingers were long and fine boned and looked frail in Kit’s own far larger hands. But there were calluses on his palm and the side of his thumb, which Kit hadn’t expected. “Now that’s a proper fist. You do the other hand.” He watched as Percycopied exactly what Kit had done and then held both hands out for Kit’s approval.
Kit hadn’t expected that, either, hadn’t thought Percy would be an eager student, or that he’d take orders from a commoner. In his experience, rich people went out of their way to avoid listening to anybody else.
