The Queer Principles of Kit Webb - Cat Sebastian Page 0,41

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.

“Oh,” said Scarlett, drawing in a sharp breath. “I see. You want me to put you off him.”

“I don’t—”

“You’re in danger of liking the man.” She regarded him with wide, astonished eyes. “Well, I never thought you’d be in danger of becoming fond of a lord.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It had better not be. You want me to put you off him? How’s this. The heir to the Duke of Clare will be one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. How do you think things usually turn out for people like us who get involved with men like them? Hmm?”

“Scarlett, you’re involved with men like them every day.”

“I take their money and their secrets. They take nothing of mine. Nothing, Kit. I’ve known you since you were little more than a boy, and you don’t have what it takes to hold back the parts of yourself that matter. Stay away from Holland and his father.”

Kit opened his mouth to protest and then realized that Scarlett had given him exactly what he had asked for: a reason not to like Percy. The fact that he wanted to argue with her was not a good sign.

Chapter 20

Percy frowned at his reflection in the cheval glass.

“If my lord could explain precisely where he intends to go in this . . . attire,” Collins said, his voice wavering on that last word, as if he couldn’t be certain that Percy was in fact wearing clothing rather than being garbed in the stuff of Collins’s personal nightmares, “then perhaps I could be of some assistance.”

“I’m going to a new fencing studio,” Percy lied. “One that abides by slightly different, ah, règles du combat.” If he was going to spend a few hours getting knocked onto the floor of Kit’s back room, then he wanted an extra layer of fabric against his skin. His buckskin riding breeches would do, but his riding coat wouldn’t allow him nearly enough range of movement in his arms. He raided the attics and came up with a short-waisted sleeveless jerkin made of soft black leather, which fastened with buttons all the way up to the neck. Worn over a plain linen shirt, it would give him more protection than an ordinary waistcoat.

“If I may say,” said Collins, an edge of panic creeping into his voice, “the pairing of brown buckskin with black leather is not a choice I would have expected of your lordship.”

“It’s very bad,” Percy agreed. “And we haven’t even got to the matter of shoes.” He planned to wear his oldest, softest, and least-presentable boots. Paired with the riding breeches and the old-fashioned jerkin, the effect would be bizarre.

Bizarre, but not exactly unflattering, despite the lamentable looseness of his buckskins. He tied his hair into a queue, and remembered the sound of Kit’s voice the other night. I’ve never seen you with your hair down, he had said, as if Percy had been keeping a secret from him. He took the tie out of his hair. Then he put it back again. There was vanity, and then there was lunacy.

Collins whimpered in protest.

“Nobody will recognize me,” Percy assured him. “It’s been years since anybody who knows me has seen me with a bare head and clean face.” Other than Kit, that was. “Your professional honor will not be sullied. However,” he added, thinking that Collins was due a concession, “a new pair of buckskins—fitted this time—and a new pair of boots would not go amiss.”

Collins seemed slightly mollified, and Percy proceeded down the stairs. Then, realizing he had forgotten something, he dashed back up to