The Queer Principles of Kit Webb - Cat Sebastian Page 0,94

many questions about what had happened during the robbery, and Percy couldn’t tell if Kit didn’t want to know or if he guessed that Percy didn’t know how to talk about it.

“Marian was there,” Percy said when the jug of beer was half-empty and his thoughts had begun to take on a gauzy texture. “She was supposed to be in London.”

Kit paused in shaking the hay out of a blanket. “I gathered.”

“I think—” But Percy didn’t know what to think, or rather he didn’t want to know, so he took another drink.

“If there’s any chance she’s going to identify you as the man who shot the duke, then we need to lie low for a while,” Kit said.

This was putting it very generously, Percy realized. Kit had refrained from speculating about whether Marian had set Percy up, even though he surely had to suspect as much. Hell, Percy had let the idea cross his mind as he lay awake, trying to make sense of what he had seen.

Percy’s instinct was to protect Marian. His instinct was to lie through his teeth if it meant shielding Marian.

But there was something else tugging at him, some sense of—duty, maybe, to Kit. He had brought Kit into this predicament, and he owed Kit at least the bare bones of information.

“My father tried to shoot me. Rather, he did shoot me,” Percy said, gesturing at his leg.

Kit nodded slowly. Presumably, he had guessed as much.

“But he recognized me. Before he shot, I mean. I shouldn’t be surprised. There was no love lost between us, and I knew he valued that book over everything else. I shouldn’t be surprised,” he repeated. “I really shouldn’t be.”

Kit was looking at him very closely now, and for a minute Percy worried that Kit planned to comfort him, as if “I’m sorry your father tried to murder you after you pulled a pistol on him” were a reasonable sort of sentiment, but instead he stayed sensibly across the barn.

“What about the second shot?” Kit asked.

Percy passed a hand over his jaw, cringing at the unfamiliar sensation of stubble. “Marian took the pistol from my hand and shot my father.” She had shot the man in the chest at close range, then all but shoved Percy out of the carriage and ordered the coachman to drive on. Those were the facts Percy was certain of, and now Kit had them as well.

“Do you think she planned to kill him all along?” Kit asked after a minute. This, Percy supposed, was a polite way of asking whether Marian had set Percy up.

“I don’t know,” Percy said honestly. “If she just wanted to kill him, she could have done it a dozen different ways. There was no reason to bring me into it.” He didn’t bother saying that Marian would have let him in on any plan she was concocting, because it wasn’t true. He had known for weeks that she was up to something, sneaking in and out of the house in the middle of the night, dressed as she was.

“There was a moment,” Percy went on, “after my father shot me, when Marian looked stunned. I think she saw that my father recognized me. I could be wrong, but I think she realized that if my father could kill one child, then her own daughter would never be safe.” Percy swallowed. This might be nothing more than a fairy story that he had invented to make himself feel better about being betrayed by not only his father but his closest friend.

“She may also have realized that you’d never be safe,” Kit said.

And that was the kindest thing Kit could possibly have said. It settled something within Percy’s chest. “When do you want to leave?” he asked.

“I think you and your horse—and me, really—could do with another day of rest. I’d like to know your leg has stopped bleeding before I put you back on a horse.”

“All right,” Percy said, and for a moment let himself enjoy the novel sensation of being looked after.

When Kit stepped out to talk to the old woman, Percy rooted through his satchel until he found the book. Other than the cover now being splattered with blood, it was exactly as he remembered. He ran a finger over the faded gold leaf on the cover, the worn leather of the binding.

When he opened it, he saw that it was indeed a Bible, as his cousin had insisted, and Percy hadn’t believed. It was a Bible, with