The Queer Principles of Kit Webb - Cat Sebastian Page 0,73

occurred in roughly the same part of the country and which ended in the highwayman being shot dead. Details of the two incidents got jumbled, and as always, nobody seemed able to keep highwaymen’s identities straight, so the papers had reported that Gladhand Jack had died. At the time, Kit assumed that Rob was dead and decided that Gladhand Jack would die with him.

“It wasn’t until much later,” Rob said, “that I realized you were alive.”

“Where did you go?” Kit asked. “You can tell me that much, surely.”

“France,” Rob said, wrinkling his nose. “If I never set foot on a fishing boat for the rest of my life, it’ll still be too soon.”

“Did you finish whatever you set about to do?”

“No, I have not,” Rob said, staring at the fire. “But I’m afraid I’ll need to.”

There was a grim determination in his tone that took Kit back to the first months they had spent on the road after their lives went to shit and neither of them could even see straight for the anger and sorrow. It made the hairs on the backs of Kit’s arms stand on end.

Rob let out an abrupt laugh. “You’ve really fucked things up with your gentleman, though. My God, it reminds me of when Jenny threw all your linens into the garden. What did you do that time?”

“I let the dog into the house, and he ate an entire ham,” Kit said, smiling despite himself. “I still don’t know whether Jenny was more upset about the lost ham or the sick dog.”

Rob laughed again, and the firelight shone onto his face. There were lines that hadn’t been there a year before, and it looked like it had been a long while since he had a decent night’s sleep or a full meal. He looked rawboned and weary.

“Your old rooms on the third floor are empty,” Kit said. “I boxed your things up and put them in the attic, but I’ll help you get them down tomorrow.”

“Are you still letting every vagrant and vagabond in greater London have a bed for the asking?”

“Only vagrants and vagabonds I like and trust,” Kit said, smiling into his tea.

“Does your gent count in that lot?”

“Do I like and trust him? I like him,” Kit said. “Can’t trust him.”

“Good.”

“He came to me a month ago and asked me to do a job for him,” Kit said. “I couldn’t, because of this bastard”—he patted his leg—“but I’ve been showing him how to do it himself.”

“A gentleman?” Rob asked in apparent disbelief. “Shagging him is one thing, but—”

“What did you think I’d do while you were off playing dead? Did you think I’d be happy to spend all day pouring out coffee? Or did you think I’d carry on like before, just without you?”

“I tried not to think about it,” Rob said. “Why are we having this conversation sober?” He took out a flask of what Kit knew would be gin and poured some into his tea. Kit covered his own cup with his hand. “Really?” Rob asked, but corked the flask and returned it to his coat. “Sober, bent, friendly with toffs. Anything else I ought to know about how you’ve been spending the past year?”

“Don’t forget crippled,” Kit added lightly, and then felt bad when Rob looked stricken.

“Is it that bad?”

Kit realized Rob hadn’t seen him walk more than a few steps. “Yes,” he said. “It’s that bad.” He realized that the words hadn’t come out bitterly, though. A month ago, he couldn’t think about his injury without feeling as if he had lost a part of himself. But now he was starting to feel like he was still Kit Webb, just with a leg that didn’t work.

“What in hell is that spider doing?” Rob said, getting to his feet and striding to the stairs. “Have you gone blind as well?” He reached up, as if to sweep away the cobwebs.

“Don’t you dare,” Kit said, getting to his feet. “Just duck your head under it as you go upstairs.” Rob turned and stared at him. “It’s just living its life, all right?”

Rob continued to look at him like he was speaking in tongues but held his hands up in surrender, and then poured them both new cups of tea.

Chapter 34

Kit woke with his entire body in outright revolt. Yesterday’s traipsing around town had done his leg no good, and he must have leaned badly on his walking stick, because his shoulder and back were in a pitiful state. He