Percy wanted to kill his father, I don’t think he’d choose such a roundabout way,” Kit said. “And I don’t think he could—” He broke off. He had been about to say that he didn’t think Percy could feign affection for him, but Percy could probably feign anything he pleased. And yet, Kit didn’t think Percy was doing so.
When Kit told Percy that he adored him, he had been speaking the truth. And Percy’s only response had been that Kit shouldn’t. But that hadn’t sounded like a warning so much as the protest of a person who didn’t believe he deserved to be loved. It could all be an act, and Kit’s refusal to believe so might just be because his prick—or, even worse, his heart—was not reliably rational.
He couldn’t have said exactly when it happened, or why, but Kit found that he had come to trust Percy, had come to have faith in the man. He knew there was more to Percy’s scheme than Percy had confessed: he had seen the way Percy measured out his words when speaking of his father’s bigamy, weighing each one to make sure it wasn’t too much. There was a good deal the man had left untold, but Kit felt certain it wasn’t anything that would harm him.
“My mother told me someone was asking about you,” Rob said. “I’d bet it was your lordling.”
“Your mother was as surprised as I was to discover that I was doing a job for the Duke of Clare’s son. She tried to persuade me not to,” Kit said.
“If you think my mother isn’t an accomplished actress, you’ve gone even softer in the head than I had thought, and believe me, I already think your judgment is frighteningly impaired,” Rob said. “Have Tom do the job. Stay away from it.”
“I need to be there.”
“Oh, of course. You need to see Clare punished.”
“No,” Kit said immediately. “I do want Clare punished, and I’ll be glad to see it happen with my own eyes. Of course I will.” He felt his face heat as he spoke, knowing how much he was revealing. “But I need to be there to make sure Percy’s all right.”
Rob raked his hands through his hair and groaned. Betty swore and got up from the table.
Thinking he’d just as well give his friends time to complain about him behind his back, Kit reached for his walking stick and hauled himself up the stairs and into his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, his heart racing and his stomach churning.
Even through the closed door, he could hear Betty and Rob talking. About him, no doubt.
Kit absently patted his hip in search of a flask that hadn’t been there for a year. Instead, he stretched out an arm for the jug of water that sat on the washstand and swallowed a mouthful.
It was a long while before he heard footsteps on the stairs. It was Rob, of course.
“Mind if I come in?” Rob asked, cracking the door open. He had a cup in his hand.
Kit gestured for him to enter, and Rob sat on the bed beside him and handed him the cup of tea. “Betty made it, so it’s all right.”
“Thanks,” Kit said.
“So,” Rob said. “What do you need me to do to help you with this job?”
Kit didn’t ask whether Rob was agreeing to help as an olive branch to Kit or as a way to ensure Kit didn’t meet any trouble. “Only the usual things. Make sure something happens at the coaching inn to delay any other carriages in the duke’s party—a loose axle or a horse needing to be reshod. Check the carriage for any pistols stowed under the cushions. The drunker you can get the coachmen and any outriders, the better. If they have any weapons, see if you can pinch them. After the duke’s carriage leaves the inn, ride ahead to where Percy and I are waiting.”
“Percy is he now?”
“I’m hardly going to call him Lord Holland.”
“I suppose not,” Rob sighed.
“I know you and Betty think I’m being foolish, but I’ve planned this job as well as I planned any other job. Better, even, because it’s amazing how much more clearly you can think when you aren’t foxed half the time. I’ve spent time in the duke’s stables and know that his horses are skittish and his servants are a close-mouthed group. He’ll travel with his own horses, even though that slows his pace, because he doesn’t trust them