“Forgive me. Name’s James. Baron of Maidstone.” He extended his hand.
Zeke gave him a firm shake. “Thurgood of Claybourne. My companion, Viscount Sterling Randall.”
“Ah, Lord Thurgood, I’m quite familiar with your name. I believe my predecessor, the late Baron of Maidstone knew your grandfather, Lord Claybourne. An interesting coincidence.”
Zeke inclined his head, not terribly impressed. James. Didn’t ring any bells. Maidstone Struck a familiar chord, however.
“I’ve been residing in London off and on for some months. On a scouting trip of sorts. I’d begun to think my presence here might prove endlessly fruitless.” The baron’s mouth twisted in a oily smile. “But enough about me. Tell me more about this servant.”
Something about this man grated. The way he’d inserted himself into his and Randall’s private conversation, for starters.
Randall slapped Zeke on the back. “Do tell us his name. Maybe it will ring a bell.”
“Name’s Kit,” Zeke said, his eyes fixed on James.
The baron pulled a cheroot from his coat pocket, scraping a match along the underside of the bar. Holding the flame to the cigar, his hand shook slightly. “Kit,” he repeated. The tip of his cheroot glowed red as he took a long draw. “An interesting name. Unusual.” A long plume of smoke punctuated his words.
Breathing in the sharp scent of sulfur mixed with tobacco, two things became clear. Zeke didn’t like Lord James, and he damn sure didn’t intend to discuss his grandfather’s personal affairs with him. “If you say so.”
“Perhaps Lord James will know something of—Ouch,” Randall bent to rub his shin where the tip of Zeke’s boot had found its mark.
“What’s this Kit like? Is he a large boy? Or small? How long has he been on the earl’s staff?” the baron pressed.
“Not sure how as I’ve only just arrived in town myself.” He smiled coolly at James and returned his attention to Randall.
Seeing his friend had done him some good. It had given him time to cool his heels—And to hear how ridiculous he sounded.
“I’m off. I promised the old man a game of gin. Now you’re in town, perhaps we can coordinate a visit to Jack’s.”
Randall snorted. “Last time I sparred with you I came away with a shiner that lasted two weeks.”
“You’re crying off then?”
“Of course not. I could use the exercise, and it’s not as if a slew of ladies are hanging about whom I wish to impress with my good looks.”
Minutes later, Zeke trotted down the steps of White’s. Claybourne was right, he decided. For reasons not entirely known to himself, he’d come down too hard on young Kit, kicking the proverbial dog as it were. Enough was enough.
He smiled, thinking how pleased his grandfather would be to see him arriving home so early. Doubly so when he witnessed Zeke’s new and improved attitude toward Kit. He set his lips to whistling, and headed for the mews.
Chapter Six
Kitty and the earl glanced up as the French doors leading to the courtyard opened. The hour for callers had long-since passed. Still, she expected to see Smethwick’s shiny head. Instead Zeke emerged, all vital and golden. Her chest ached at the sight of him.
Spotting the earl, he grinned, raised a hand in greeting and started on the path toward them.
She shot a nervous glance at the earl. Her hands gripped the cold wrought iron slat of the bench and squeezed till the metal bit into her palms.
As if reading her disquiet, the earl gave her an encouraging nod.
“Good evening, grandfather. Kit,” Zeke said in a friendly tone.
He stood before them, hands splayed on his hips. Lamplight from the courtyard torches spilled over his handsome face. Were her eyes playing tricks, or was Lord Zeke Thurgood smiling?
“Zeke, this is a pleasant surprise,” the earl said.
“I hoped you’d feel that way.”
His eyes no longer burned with rage. A promising start. She pushed to her feet, conscious of the crunch of gravel beneath her boots. Conscious of her too-shallow breath.
