Page 24 of Thief Taker

Given that he couldn’t feel worse, Kit wrapped both hands—they were shaking, he noticed grimly—around the cup and took a tentative sip. He could taste honey and cloves, and there was a sprig of parsley floating at the bottom.

While he sipped, he watched the man move around his room. Their conversation last night came back to him in a rush. Christ, what an idiot. He should never have dropped his guard so dangerously, but yesterday’s news…

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed for a moment by bleak reality.

“Mr. Duvall?”

Cole was regarding him closely. He said, “You should chew on the parsley when you’re finished.” He indicated the drink. “It’s good for you.”

“And you should wear something other than that ridiculous livery if you’re to be my valet.”

“I’ll be glad to get out of this coat,” Cole said, flexing his shoulders against the tightness across his back. “No offence, but I feel like a dog in a doublet.”

It was presumptuous, but Kit couldn’t help smiling. “Liveried servants are a ridiculous ostentation.”

Cole smiled back, his hazel eyes warm.

Astonishing that he could look at Kit—his quarry—with such warmth. Then again, Francis had been just as convincing before he’d fled to the enemy line with all Kit’s secrets. The memory cooled his smile.

“Besides,” Cole went on in a lower voice, “neither of us wants to stand out when we go after your brother.”

“After him?”

“To find out how deep he’s in trouble. That is—” Cole tipped his head, brow creasing. “If you still want my help, sir?”

His help. Kit took a longer swallow of his drink. “I do, yes.” On this point they clearly agreed: it was always better to keep your enemy close. “But surely it’s Hal Foxe we should be going after? He’s the one threatening James.”

Kit had his own dealings with Foxe, of course. Or, rather, with Foxe’s man. Hutchinson always paid a fair price, and Kit had fenced jewellery to him often. That is, Wessex had done so. Kit could hardly appear in St. Giles as himself, and Wessex could hardly enquire about Viscount Rowsley’s debt.

Cole on the other hand…

“For your brother to borrow money from Hal Foxe, sir, he must be under serious threat. More than a few debts of honour, I’d venture.”

“More than a few,” Kit agreed darkly, unable to speak of how James was betraying their family. “Marlborough has a hold over my brother, that much is clear. But do you believe he could be threatening him?”

“I think we both know he’s capable of it.”

Kit considered the idea. Marlborough was a violent man—he’d seen it with his own eyes in Jamaica—but to threaten violence against a person of rank? That would be foolhardy, especially for a West Indian planter seeking a place in society.

Cole certainly believed it though, which made Kit wonder what else he might believe Marlborough capable of. His heart sped up as a new idea formed. “So, what do we do? How do we stop him?”

“First, we gather evidence.” Cole smiled to himself. “Evidence is the key.”

Innocently, Kit asked, “Evidence of what?”

“Of what Marlborough wants from your brother.”

“Money. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Very obvious,” Cole agreed. “Too obvious, maybe. Marlborough is a rich man, I understand?”

“He is, that’s true. He owns a couple of large sugar plantations in the West Indies—I had the misfortune of visiting one some years ago.” He flinched from that particular memory. “Since the war… I believe he had tobacco interests in Virginia, which he’s probably lost, but undoubtedly, he is still a very rich man.”

“Which makes me wonder why he’s pressing your brother so hard.”

Kit could guess. Marlborough might be as rich as Croesus, but the one thing he couldn’t buy with his filthy plantation money was respectability. Kit still couldn’t bring himself to speak of the entail or his brother’s profound betrayal, but if he wanted Cole’s help, he needed to tell him something of the matter. “You’re right,” he said after a pause, “Marlborough does want more than money. He wants Ashbourne Abbey, my family’s estate—I imagine an earl’s ancestral seat appeals to a man whose family was ennobled scarcely twenty years ago.” He took a breath, then admitted, “James intends to stake Ashbourne in a game. One in which he expects to win back everything.”

Cole raised his eyebrows. “Does he indeed.”