Behind him, Sharp chuckled and began to follow him. “Maybe it’s because you remind me of the tabby kitten I had when I was a boy. He was a lovely thing. Big innocent green eyes, just like you—though, I must say, he was a sneaky little devil.”
Despite his intention of ignoring Sharp, Kit glanced over his shoulder at this, arching a brow. “I hope you’re not suggesting I’m a sneaky little devil?”
Sharp laughed, and Kit couldn’t help his own lips twitching in response. Sharp wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but he had something, that was undeniable. Something that made him seem somehow twice as alive as other men, and far bigger than he really was. In truth he was only a couple of inches taller than Kit and not much broader through the shoulders, but the way he carried himself… he seemed to loom over Kit. And then there was that unsettling spark in his amber gaze that spoke sometimes of merriment and other times of chilling menace.
Kit shivered, and hoped Sharp didn’t notice. He wasn’t entirely sure whether his awareness of Jake Sharp was rooted in attraction or fear, but one thing he knew: he had no intention of investigating further. After all, there was every reason to plump for fear. That would certainly be the rational conclusion.
As the second oldest son of Lenny Sharp, Jake Sharp was part of the city’s criminal aristocracy. His father had reigned over a sizeable empire of thieves, whores, and thugs in the heart of the Rookeries. Sharp’s older brother had taken over that empire when Lenny died, while Jake—more clever and far more adaptable—had spread his wings. Using money borrowed from his brother, he’d opened his first gambling club, not in the Rookeries, but in a respectable part of town, a fancy gilt-trimmed place with an expensive French chef and an impressive wine cellar. A place where serious gamblers played deep.
Very deep.
Since then, Sharp had opened two more places. One, located in Knightsbridge, was patronised by men of the Ton, men who would lose ten thousand in a night without blinking—whether they had the money to meet the debt or not—and who expected to be served the finest French brandy while they did so. The other was just a few minutes’ walk from Redford’s. It wasn’t quite as fancy inside as the one in Knightsbridge, but then, it was a slightly less rarified location, and the patrons there were more concerned with how appealing the whores were than the quality of the brandy.
Sharp moved closer to Kit. “I don’t know whether you’re a sneaky little devil,” he said, his smile growing sly and secret. His slow, careful movements made Kit simultaneously feel that he couldn’t step back and that he desperately wanted to, like he was being stalked by a tiger. “But,” Sharp went on, “you’re certainly a pretty one, I’ll give you that.”
Kit eyed the man curiously. Jake Sharp had been singling him out for attention for some weeks now. Powerful and feared as he was, he didn’t even bother to hide his preference for men. Sharp knew one of the prostitutes who worked in Redford’s and had told him that he very much fancied a tumble with Kit—much to the amusement of Kit’s employees at the club, who teased him relentlessly about it. But though Kit laughed easily whenever the subject was raised, he suspected Sharp's supposed interest was not really in Kit himself—or at least, not only in him.
Kit tilted his head to the side, considering Sharp. “Tell me this, Mr. Sharp. Why were you waiting for me out here?” he said. “I’ll wager it wasn’t to pay me compliments about my eyes.”
Sharp chuckled at that. “Why not? They’re lovely.”
Kit shook his head. “Shall I tell you what you I think?”
“By all means,” Sharp invited, smiling delightedly.
“I think you’d like to acquire Redford’s. Is that a fair guess?”
Sharp’s expression was unreadable. After a moment, he said, “Well… if you were minded to sell, I would certainly be interested in discussing the matter.”
Kit nodded. “Thank you for telling me. However, I have to advise you that I have no wish to sell.”
That wasn’t quite true. Kit was not, in fact, entirely averse to the idea of selling Redford’s at some point. However, the timing had to be right, as did the purchaser. Kit had attracted an enviable list of members over the years, all of whom paid considerable annual fees, thanks to his reputation for