Page 13 of Thief Taker

Relief loosened something in his chest. He sat up straighter, breathing more easily. With a glance at Cole, he said, “I apologise for what happened to you here. Marlborough’s behaviour was inexcusable.”

“Don’t concern yourself, sir.” A flush of colour tinged Cole’s cheeks, bringing out a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose—and accentuating a dusky bruise running the length of his right cheekbone. “It ain’t the first time I’ve tangled with the likes of him.”

Kit didn’t doubt it. “Your face,” he said. “Marlborough did that?”

Cole touched his cheek as if he’d forgotten the injury. “Oh. No, sir. That was… That was someone else.”

“Someone else?”

“Yes, sir.” He offered no more explanation, but Kit didn’t need one. He’d probably been the one to inflict that wound, two nights ago. The ache in his hand reminded him that he’d landed a satisfying blow in the passage beneath the inn.

Suppressing a smile, he kept his expression neutral—he couldn’t risk Cole realising that Kit knew who he was and why he was there. That was his only advantage in this situation, but it was a significant one. And one he intended to use.

Mildly, he said, “You should learn to stay out of trouble, Cole.”

“Sometimes trouble don’t give you a choice.”

“True enough.” Then, cautiously, “And was it trouble you were seeking in my father’s study last night?”

“No, sir. I got lost, is all, looking for the kitchens. It’s like a bloody maze, this house.”

Kit forked up a mouthful of herring and chewed, eyes on his plate. “Marlborough claimed you were prying.”

Cole’s polished shoes shuffled on the fine wool rug. “He was mistaken, sir.”

“Hmm.” He left it at that. Marlborough was a savage, greedy, vicious bastard. Kit had loathed him long before the man had begun fleecing James at the gaming tables. He knew too much about him to do otherwise. No need to tell Cole that, though. Instead, he said, “Well, don’t let me catch you in there again.”

“I won’t, sir. I don’t want to risk my position.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Kit said. “That’s a matter for Tobin, of course, but I imagine your position is secure. I understand the household is somewhat diminished.”

“If you mean it’s as empty as a bawdy house at confession downstairs, then, aye, it’s diminished.” Cole grimaced when Kit raised his eyebrows. “Uh, begging your pardon for the language, sir.”

“No need.” Kit rose. “I set less store by such things than many of my peers.”

Cole frowned, curious. “Are you a radical, sir?”

“I wouldn’t go so far, no. But I prefer to judge a man by his character and deeds, not his rank.”

“Is that so? I dare say it’s an opinion you need to keep to yourself. I doubt Lord Marlborough would agree.”

“Indeed, he would not.” Cole was more right than he knew. In London, Kit had to keep everything to himself. Lord, but he’d been grateful to leave it all behind when he’d sailed for America. Now he was back, he had to don the mask again, in every sense. “Luckily, I care little for that man’s opinion, as I think you suspect.”

He risked a glance at Cole, who returned it with more scrutiny than any servant would give his master. “For what it’s worth, sir, I thought you were in the right last night. Sending them all packing like that.”

Not the response Kit had been expecting. He studied Cole, trying to read the intent behind his words. Was this an attempt at flattery? He’d fallen victim to that ploy before and would not be taken in again. Carefully, he said, “Did you?”

“Of course. All that wasted food. Enough to feed—” Cole snapped his mouth shut, as if remembering too late that he was playing at being a servant.

Kit just nodded gravely. Two could play at this game, after all. And this was a game in which he had the advantage. Cole might think he had the upper hand, but he didn’t know his subterfuge had failed.

Kit controlled the game.

“It’s an obscene waste,” he agreed seriously. “I ordered the excess bread and meats distributed to the parish last night, before they spoiled.”

Cole sounded surprised. “Did you? That is—Er, well done. Sir.”

“Well done?” He allowed his wryness to show. “I meet with your approval, do I?”