The Queer Principles of Kit Webb - Cat Sebastian Page 0,40

having taken over from her father, liked solving the puzzle of how to dispose of stolen goods without them ever being traced back to her, the thief, or the original owner, and liked being at the center of things. It made him miss his old work more than ever. Maybe it was good, he thought, that Percy had come to him when he did.

Even as he formed the thought, he knew it was nonsense. He was getting different kinds of want mixed up in his mind—the old urge for revenge, the need for excitement, the seeds of desire he felt for Percy. All those wants were met in this one job, and that was making it hard to think clearly. That was all. The stirrings of—it was distressing to realize that tenderness was the only applicable word—he had felt the previous night were only the wisps of desire that clung to everything he forbade himself.

But perhaps it was time for some insurance. That evening, after bringing Betty home, he went to Scarlett’s. The door was opened this time not by Flora but by another girl. He was shown to an unoccupied parlor, where he waited several minutes for Scarlett to arrive.

“Twice in as many weeks,” Scarlett said when she entered. “I’m a lucky woman.”

“You’ll soon change your mind, because I’m here for another favor.”

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 mild pleasure. 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?” Kit dearly 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.