The Queer Principles of Kit Webb - Cat Sebastian Page 0,55

figured that nobody could blame him, what with the way Kit had looked—all rugged and dangerous in the firelight, his enormous hands featherlight on Percy’s skin, his gaze almost soft.

Percy couldn’t remember the last time anybody had looked at him like he was something special, something precious. He wasn’t certain anybody ever had. He didn’t even know if he liked it—he felt rather like a bad penny about to be discovered as counterfeit. But he kept turning the moment over and over in his mind, imagining what would have happened if Kit hadn’t stepped away when he had.

When he met Kit at the appointed place—an inn near Spitalfields—he was surprised to find Kit sitting at a table with a young woman. When he approached, Percy recognized the woman as the redhead who frequented Kit’s coffeehouse. He had known that there was to be some girl they were purportedly escorting to the country but hadn’t expected it to be this bird of paradise. She was done up like a parson’s daughter, covered stem to stern in gray serge and topped off with a bonnet that hid her face in modest shadows unless she chose to look up. She had another, even more demure, woman with her, evidently playing the part of maid.

When they got into the coach that Kit had hired, Percy found himself steered into the forward-facing seat alongside the girl, who went by the name of Miss Flora Jennings. Kit and the maid sat facing them.

It was a good thing the village to which they were bringing Miss Jennings was only a short distance, only slightly further north than Hampstead Heath, because the conveyance that comfortably sat two men of their height had not yet been devised. Percy’s and Kit’s knees bumped together repeatedly, and Percy saw Kit suppressing wince after wince. He imagined that all this jostling was murder on Kit’s leg.

“Mr. Percy,” said Miss Jennings, “what part of the country do your people come from?”

It was an innocuous enough question, but one that Percy did not know how to answer. Cheveril Castle was in Oxfordshire. Farleigh Chase was Derbyshire. Those were the two principal properties of the Duke of Clare, with several others scattered around the country. These facts were of such common knowledge that Percy was almost certain nobody had ever bothered to ask him where he came from. It ought to be straightforward—he had been raised at Cheveril—had been born there, in fact, and had thought his sons would be born there as well. He had thought he’d die at Cheveril, and that one day his portrait would hang in the gallery with all the other dead Dukes of Clare.

But none of that was true anymore. He had known as much for months, but he felt that he had to learn it again and again. Marian seemed to have assimilated the truth into her life in one fell swoop, but Percy was repeatedly shocked to rediscover who he was, and who he wasn’t.

“Oxfordshire,” he said faintly, and felt Kit’s eyes on him. Then he felt the gentle pressure of Kit’s foot against his own. He hadn’t told Kit about the precise nature of his predicament, of course, but perhaps Kit had inferred that a man who wished to rob his father at gunpoint might have a welter of confused sentiments about a good number of things, including his home. Or perhaps Kit simply knew Percy well enough to know when he was distressed.

Percy pressed back against Kit’s foot, to let him know the sympathy was appreciated.

Miss Jennings turned her attention to the Bible she held open on her lap. When she caught him looking, she smiled shyly at him. “This was my mother’s,” she said.

Percy did not know if this passed as normal conversation for commoners, or for prostitutes, or if the girl was attempting to engage him in what she assumed was decent conversation. “How lovely for you,” he said. “One does like to have a memento of one’s mother.”

Miss Jennings looked altogether too pleased with Percy’s answer, though. Percy wondered if this was an attempt at social climbing.

When they arrived at the village, all four disembarked. Percy escorted Miss Jennings and her maid to her aunt’s cottage while Kit arranged for the horses and coachman to be fed at the nearest inn. Miss Jennings safely deposited at the house of her aunt, Percy walked to the inn, where he found Kit waiting for him.

“They’re saddling a pair of hacks for us,” Kit said,