somehow managing not to faint or shriek while doing so. “All right, madam, away you go,” he said, carrying it over to the bookcases. “You’ll make your home on the very top shelf, over where the proprietor sees fit to keep Mr. Hume. Nobody is in the least likely to disturb you there.”
That accomplished, he dusted his hands off on his breeches and found Kit looking at him oddly, but escaped into the street before he had to figure out why.
Chapter 40
“What’s this?” Rob asked when Kit and Betty were sorting through the contents of the parcel Percy had left with them. The shop was closed, and they worked by the light of an oil lamp, separating out the items that could be sold immediately from those that would need to have monograms or other marks polished off.
Kit didn’t answer right away, because it was more than obvious they were receiving stolen goods. The objects on the table were a motley assortment of silverware, handkerchiefs, earbobs, and buttons. Kit hadn’t been surprised that Percy wanted to raise some quick money—in his circumstances, selling off a couple of shirt studs was honestly something he ought to have done quite a while ago. What surprised him was the sheer assortment of silverware on the table: Kit had counted spoons with at least eight distinct monograms. This could mean that Percy had been busily pilfering from every dinner table he visited, but given the earbobs, Kit rather thought he had help from the mysterious Marian.
“What did your mother want?” Betty asked Rob.
“To scold me, which is all anybody wants from me these days.”
“Poor you. Imagine, people being upset with you after the stunt you pulled.”
“I keep telling all of you that it was unavoidable. Consider how much it hurts my feelings not to be believed.” Bending over the table, Rob picked up a spoon and held it up to the light. “Monogrammed,” he said disapprovingly. Then he looked at a silver hairbrush. “And so is this. This is the Duke of Clare’s coat of arms. Do you want to tell me what you’re doing with the Duke of Clare’s hairbrush?”
“More likely the duchess’s, I should think,” Kit said, his mouth dry. He had known he’d need to come clean to Rob at some point but had put it off time and again. “You know the job I’ve mentioned? The Duke of Clare is the mark.”
Whatever Kit had expected from Rob, it wasn’t total silence. It wasn’t Rob putting a shoulder on Kit’s arm and taking the seat beside him. Kit kept his attention on an ornate silver soup spoon. He didn’t want to look at Rob, and he certainly didn’t want to look at Betty.
“I would have told you before the job,” Kit said. “It’s only that the situation is a bit complicated.”
“You’re going to hold up the Duke of Clare’s carriage. Yes, I’d damned well say it’s complicated, especially since you’re fucking his son.”
Kit dropped the spoon to the table with a clatter. “I—what? You recognized him? You knew?” Kit’s mind reeled. Rob and Betty were looking at one another, and Kit glanced between them. “What am I missing?”
“I told him not to involve himself in this mess,” Betty told Rob. “But do you think he listened?”
Rob buried his head in his hands. When he looked up a moment later, he seemed to have come to some kind of decision. “You’re in love with the Duke of Clare’s son.”
“I didn’t say—” Kit began, but Rob cut him off.
“And together you’re going to hold up his father. And why, exactly, is the duke’s pretty son so eager to steal from his papa?”
“There’s an item he wants. I believe it belonged to his mother. He says we can have everything else in the carriage.”
“You idiot. He means to kill his father and let you hang for it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You would if you were thinking straight. He’s used some combination of lust and knowledge of what the duke did to completely addle your senses. This scheme ought to be obvious even to a baby.”
“When he first came here, he didn’t know I had any particular reason to hate his father,” Kit said, the excuse sounding feeble to his own ears.
“Where did he get your name, Kit?” Rob demanded. “Is there anyone who knows you’re Gladhand Jack who doesn’t know that the Duke of Clare had your wife transported? Because I can’t think of any. He knows who you are, and he’s setting you up.”
“If