Well, he had sown a seed at least. It would do for today.
“Just think on it for now,” he said, and Clara nodded.
Peter came back then, with a large, half-eaten biscuit in hand.
“What happened to your eye, Uncle Kit?” he demanded, noticing Kit’s bruises for the first time. He approached and set his sturdy little fingers gently on Kit’s face, tracing the bruise beneath his eye. “It’s red and purple and blue. Is it sore?”
“A bit,” Kit said, smiling.
“How did it happen? Did you get in a fight?”
“Yes,” Kit said simply, at the exact same moment that Clara said, “Of course not!”
They looked at one another and laughed.
“Sort of,” Kit said, by way of compromise, then swiftly changed the subject. “Do you want to play me at dominoes? I warn you, I’m much better than your mama…”
Needless to say, Peter did want to play.
They had just finished their fourth game when Tom swept in.
“You’ll never guess who it is, Kit,” he said. “Only bleedin’ Jake Sharp!”
Kit wasn’t sure if he should be surprised to see Sharp so soon after the previous evening’s events. And he certainly wasn’t sure what mood the man would be in. On any view, last night had not gone precisely as planned. Sharp had agreed to Kit confronting Bartlett in his club—not to a full-scale brawl.
However, when Sharp was shown into the parlour, after Clara and Peter had left, he seemed perfectly relaxed, greeting Kit pleasantly and declining his offer of tea.
He watched Tom leave the room with undisguised interest.
“Ogling my footman?” Kit said, amused.
“I remember him,” Sharp said, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “That arse is unforgettable. He was selling it up at your club, wasn’t he? What’s he doing here?”
“He wanted a change of direction,” Kit replied.
“That so?” Sharp nodded. “Still, I’m a bit surprised at you keeping a footman. And with all the fancy livery too. Don’t seem like you, Kitten.”
“It’s a temporary arrangement,” Kit said. “Tom is… gaining experience with me before he looks for a permanent position.”
Sharp raised his brows. “If he’s looking for a position, there might be one directly under me”—he cleared his throat—“so to speak.”
“That’s precisely what he doesn’t want to do anymore,” Kit said drily.
Sharp chuckled. “I was only jesting anyway—I’ve got someone else in mind for that post.”
“Have you?”
Sharp’s smile was wolfish.
“How about last night then?” he said after a moment.
Kit felt his face heat. “I’m sorry things got so out of hand. I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t think it would have happened had Skelton not been there.”
Sharp only shrugged. “There was always a risk of fisticuffs. I wouldn’t have let you do it to a good customer, but Bartlett was on his way to being banned anyway. As for Skelton, your duke friend did me a favour with that one. Turned out he’d been using marked cards in my club.”
Sharp leaned forward, his tawny gaze oddly intent on Kit. He looked unusually serious with no hint of amusement or sarcasm in his expression. It was a look that said he meant what he was about to say.
“Don’t you worry about them coves, Kit,” he said quietly. “I’ll be taking care of both of them. You don’t need to give ’em another thought, and neither does your friend, Clara.”
Kit blinked.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised. Sharp had already been remarkably decent about the whole thing.
“Thank you,” Kit said at last. “I appreciate that more than I can say, and Clara will too.”
Sharp acknowledged his thanks with a brief nod. “So,” he said after a pause. “This duke of yours. Avesbury.”
“He’s not my duke,” Kit replied quickly. He might be grateful to Sharp, but he wasn’t about to give him any information about Henry he didn’t need.
“No?” Sharp said, raising a brow. “I heard he was your keeper?”
“That was years ago,” Kit said with a careless shrug. “And he’s not the only keeper I ever had.”
Sharp was silent for a long time, then he leaned back in his chair and said, “Well, that’s good to know, Kitten, because if there’s a position free as your keeper, I’d be very interested in applying.”
Kit laughed softly and shook his head. “There’s no position. As I think I’ve told you before, I don’t do that anymore. And even if I did, I’m too old for you.”
“Bollocks,” Sharp said, grinning. “You’re not much older than me.”
“Whether or not that’s the case, the fact remains I swore to myself a