The Queer Principles of Kit Webb - Cat Sebastian Page 0,72

ruins the beans,” Kit said automatically, as he had every other time they had had this argument over the years, and then looked away so he wouldn’t see whether Rob was smirking.

Rob peered inside the kettle, presumably to check that there was enough water for two cups of tea, then hung it on the hook over the fire. “I was injured on that last job.”

“You were shot in the chest. I saw you fall.” There had been so much blood. The last thing Kit had seen before losing consciousness was all the blood. After Kit escaped from jail, Janet and Tom explained that they had fled the scene as soon as shots were fired, and that when they went back, there was no sign of Rob’s body. They had all assumed their friend was in a pauper’s grave.

“It went through my shoulder. A remarkably clean shot, and it doesn’t bother me in the least anymore. I see you weren’t as lucky,” he said, frowning at Kit’s walking stick. “I had to lie low for a few days, though, and when I returned to London, there was a message waiting for me from my mother. It took me several months to, ah, deal with that.”

“Your mother knew?”

“No, God no.” For the first time, Rob looked distressed. “I was furious with her. Trust me when I say it was better for me not to be in the same country as her. I didn’t plan on faking my death and vanishing for a year, Kit.” His jaw set. “Believe me when I say I had to leave. I hope you know me well enough to trust that I wouldn’t have done it unless I was left with no other choice.”

Kit wanted to believe that, he truly did. “Exactly what did this letter say?”

“I wish I could tell you.” Rob sounded sincere, damn him. “There are some things I don’t want to saddle you with, my friend.”

Kit ran a frustrated hand through his hair and sat in one of the chairs by the fire. “You’re going to need to say something, all right? I thought you were dead.” Kit had grieved this horse’s arse. “Betty cried.”

“Well, that’s horrifying. I dare say the plants beneath her feet withered and died. Tears of pure vitriol. So who’s this fellow with the yellow hair, and how long has that been going on? I have to say, I’m offended that you never tried to have one off with me. You know perfectly well that my tastes are expansive. I’m wounded, I tell you, wounded.”

“Are you coming back from the dead to complain that I’m fucking men who aren’t you?” asked Kit in disbelief. “Are you serious, now?”

“Well, yes. It does need to be addressed.”

“No, it bloody well does not. I can go to bed with who I please, without having to explain myself to you.”

“You seldom go to bed with anybody. Is that because you don’t care for women?”

“No,” Kit said, striving for patience. “I seldom go to bed with people because I seldom meet anyone I really want to go to bed with. The fact that he’s a man isn’t what matters.” Too late, Kit realized he had said too much.

Rob let out a low whistle. “You’re . . . fond of him, then?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it, but based on the look on Rob’s face, that would be pointless. And Kit had spoken dismissively of Percy once tonight and didn’t want to do it again. “Yes, not that it’s any of your business. And that’s all I wish to say on the matter. Now, if all you’re going to tell me is that your mother left you a mysterious message that required all your friends and your mother to think you were dead, then I suppose I’ll just take myself off to see your mother.”

“I wouldn’t do that, old friend. She might not be feeling particularly hospitable. You’re taking the news much better than she did.”

Kit took a sip of the tea that Rob had placed beside him. As always, Rob had added too much sugar. Kit winced.

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t mean for you to think I was dead. Not at first, at least. It was just that I thought you were dead. The broadsheets got that wrong, if you recall.”

“Bugger.” The broadsheets Kit had been shown while in prison had been a confused jumble of hearsay. A few days after Kit’s arrest, another robbery had