Page 51 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
That night, when he heard tapping at his window, he was not surprised.
“I got your message,” Marian said, climbing into the room and dropping a bag onto the floor, causing its contents to clatter. “What’s wrong?”
He poured them each a glass of brandy and sat in one of the chairs before the fire, gesturing for Marian to take the other one. “What if we called the robbery off?” he asked.
She took a long drink of brandy and tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I was wondering when you’d suggest something like that.”
He was almost dizzy with relief. Surely, the pair of them were mad; this entire highway-robbery scheme was nothing more than a folie à deux. “So you agree,” he said.
“Of course not, Percy,” she snapped. “Not in the slightest. Your father has done something unforgivable to both of us and I don’t know if I can live out the rest of my life if I know that he hasn’t been punished for it.”
“People do it all the time,” Percy said, thinking of Kit. “Live their lives, knowing that someone who wronged them is alive and well.”
“But we have a chance to take something back from him.” She leaned forward, her eyes bright. “We have a chance to make things—not fair, not equal, but just a little less unfair. I know it’ssmall and petty, and I know I’m being spiteful, but spite is all I have right now.”
He nodded, remembering his conversation with Kit. “It’s honor.”
“I feel far from honorable right now, Percy.”
“The feeling that you and I have of something being taken away from us? That’s our honor. The need we have to make the duke pay isn’t any different from calling a man out in a duel. It’s not small and petty. I was raised on stories of the honor of the Talbots and the honor of the Percys, and all those stories come down to people taking unaccountable risks to stand up for what and who they value.”
Percy could gather up his brooches and his rings and sell every last yard of silk in his wardrobe and eke out a plain existence. Marian could live with Marcus, or perhaps even stay on at one of the duke’s lesser properties. They could both be sufficiently content despite the niggling sense of incompletion that came when they remembered that the duke still had his name, his fortune, his coronet.
But Talbots didn’t let their honor be sullied, and neither did Percys.
Percy realized he had had it all wrong when he told Kit that honor is just spite dressed up; spite was honor when it was the only weapon you had against someone more powerful.
“You’re right,” Percy said slowly. “I just had cold feet.” He extended his hand, and Marian grasped it for a long moment before she got to her feet and threw open the window. “The entire house is fast asleep,” he said. “You could simply walk to your apartments like a sensible person.”
“And so I could,” she replied, looking over her shoulder, one foot already on the windowsill, “if I didn’t have business taking me elsewhere this evening.”
“Evening,” he repeated, scandalized. “It’s past two in the morning.”
“By the way,” she said, gesturing at the sack she had left on the floor, “fence those for me, will you?”
Before he could protest, she was already gone.
Chapter36
It took another day for Kit’s leg to get into a state that was amenable to being walked on for more than a few yards, and even then, he had to hire a hack to take him to the park.
He knew that Percy went riding early most mornings and found him easily enough. The park was still mostly empty, except for shadowy figures returning from whatever mischief they had been up to in the dark. The ground was blanketed in a mist that drifted across the grass. Most people would take this as a sign that greater caution was needed, but Percy was reckless with his own safety, and so Kit followed the sound of hoofbeats until he caught sight of Percy racing along the path, disappearing into the fog and then reappearing as if by magic.
Percy rode like he did everything else—he was graceful enough to make risking his neck look easy. He was fast and lithe, and it was a pleasure to watch him. Even in his loose riding clothes, even with his hair tied back and tucked under his hat, the long lines of his body were visible.
Kit already knew Percy was beautiful—had known it the first time Percy walked into his shop, and every further encounter had only served as redundant proof. But the pleasure Kit tookin watching him wasn’t simply because Percy was beautiful, or even because he was talented. It was because Percy wasPercy. He enjoyed looking at Percy for the same reason he had been frightened out of his wits to see Percy sword fighting: he just liked the man.
Kit told himself that he liked a lot of people, even though he knew that wasn’t true. He told himself that it was nothing unusual to like a person, even if, on paper, every single thing about them was antithetical to one’s staunchly held beliefs about what a person ought to be.
He told himself that liking didn’t mean one held any tenderer feelings, and neither, for that matter, did kissing.
He told himself all of this and didn’t believe a word of it. He clutched the parcel he held in his free hand, and when the fog cleared, he stepped closer to the path of Percy’s horse.
“Please watch your step,” called Percy, breathless and pulling up on his reins. “I’m afraid I don’t have the patience for bloodshed this morning.” Then he must have recognized Kit, because his face closed off entirely.
“I came to beg your forgiveness,” Kit said immediately.
“For what?” Percy asked after hesitating for only the space of a single breath.
