Page 52 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
“For saying you were nobody. For saying you didn’t matter.”
“Are you apologizing for hurting my feelings with an unpleasant truth, or for lying?” Percy asked.
“For hurting your feelings with a lie,” Kit said.
That must have been satisfactory, because Percy dismounted and came to stand face-to-face with Kit. “Why did you do it?”
“I didn’t want Rob to know that I was—that I’m fond of a person like you.”
“And what kind of person am I, exactly?”
“A bloody rich one.”
Percy let out a startled, slightly bitter laugh. “And that’s what you thought when you saw that your friend, who you had believed dead for the past year, was alive and well? You thought—better not let him think I’m overly friendly with this man I’m rolling around with on the floor.”
Kit didn’t know how to explain that Percy seemed to occupy the foremost portion of his brain, nor did he know exactly when that had happened. “Yes” was all he said. And then, because Percy’s eyes were searching his face, looking for something that Kit couldn’t hope to hide, “I don’t know how not to think about you. I don’t know how to stop, and I don’t want to.” He swallowed. He had felt like this once before, and the result had been him and Jenny standing before a priest as soon as the banns were called. He knew what it was, and he knew he wasn’t foolish enough to say so out loud. “I brought you something.” He held out a parcel wrapped in brown paper.
Something gratified flickered across Percy’s face. Kit smiled, because of course Percy was the sort of person to be delighted by presents. “What is it?”
“Nothing much.” Kit placed the parcel into Percy’s outstretched hand, then watched his face as he opened it.
“It’s cake,” Percy said, not as if he had expected a golden snuffbox or something, but as if there was nothing in the world better than cake. He broke it into two pieces, giving one to Kit and popping the other into his mouth. “Oh, it’s very good.”
“I thought you might like it.” In fact, Kit, arriving at the bakery as soon as they unlocked their doors, had picked out the cake that seemed the most unnecessarily complicated. The baker’ssleepy daughter had informed Kit that this cake had orange peel, rosewater, and a number of spices. It cost twice as much as the other similarly sized cakes. Kit knew at once that it would be Percy’s favorite.
“Where did you get it?”
“A bakery.”
“Which bakery?” Percy asked, impatient.
“That’s my secret. You’ll just have to let me get you another cake sometime soon.”
“If you haven’t figured out by now that I’ll let you buy me as many cakes as you please, as often as you want, you’re stupider than you look.” That, from Percy, was as good as a declaration, and Kit drew in a breath.
“Me too,” he said.
Percy turned away and smoothed his horse’s mane. “If my mother knew I was acting like this, she’d roll over in her grave,” he said, avoiding Kit’s eye.
“What about this situation would bother your mum? Is it that I’m a man or that we’re about to rob your father? No shortage of causes for worry.”
Percy snorted out a very ungentlemanlike laugh, and Kit bumped their shoulders together. And then, because the fog was thick and Percy’s face was bleak, Kit tucked a loose strand of hair behind Percy’s ear. Percy shuddered, as if the contact were too much for him, but he didn’t step away.
“One of her earliest lessons was never to act like one needed the approval, company, or affection of any earthly being,” Percy said.
Kit hadn’t been expecting that. “Everybody needs those things,” he said.
“Yes, but one isn’t supposed to let on. That’s what’s dangerous. And she was right, you know.”
With anyone else, Kit might have argued that not only was it not dangerous, but it was the only way to live. But he could see that Percy believed it as a basic tenet of his existence. “Aye, but you like danger.”
Percy laughed. “No, I do not. You are badly misinformed.”
“What would you call sword fighting, then? And don’t tell me you’re too talented to get injured, because I’ve dressed your wounds.”
“Wound, singular,” Percy corrected him.
“And what would you call carrying on with men if not dangerous?”
