Page 29 of Thief Taker

“Good evening, Mr. Duvall.”

“Cole.”

There was a brief silence. It held for a moment too long, and then another for good measure. Cole bit his lower lip and looked away with a shake of his head.

The clench in Kit’s stomach tightened into a knot. “We should walk,” he said. “It’ll draw less attention.”

“Which way?”

“We can wait in the gardens for my brother to leave and then follow. I have a feeling it won’t be long.”

Cole’s eyebrows rose. “You sound like you’ve done this before, sir.”

“I’ve laid in wait for my fair share of people,” he said, catching Cole’s eye again. “I was a captain in the Queen’s Rangers.”

Cole acknowledged the point with a nod and gestured for Kit to lead the way. He fell in at his side as they walked towards the gardens at the centre of Berkeley Square. “I assume that was the Salter?” Cole said in a low voice, walking close enough that his words didn’t travel.

“The owner of the gentleman’s club, yes. If you can call it that; what goes on there is hardly gentlemanly.”

Cole threw him an amused look. “Are gentlemen’s clubs ever gentlemanly?”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded, “but Salter’s is more disreputable than most—much like its owner.” He’d only caught a glimpse of Salter amid his brother’s entourage tonight. As always, he was sober in his expensively tailored suit, eyes gleaming with the avaricious glint of an ambitious man. “He was the son of a blacksmith,” Kit explained, “and made his fortune through his skill at the gaming tables. That fortune he invested in his own establishment, and now Tobias Salter enriches himself from the misfortune of his patrons.”

Cole fell silent, their footsteps echoing in time as they walked towards the dark gardens at the centre of the square.

There was an uneasy quality to the silence that made Kit glance over. “Cole?”

“It’s funny,” he said, “that a working man is called ‘disreputable’ for making a fortune off the indolence and foolishness of gentlemen, when there are a thousand so-called gentlemen who make a living off the sweat and misery of working men and women, and enslaved men and women. And no one calls them disreputable.”

“I—Yes.” He didn’t know how to respond and covered his confusion by opening the gate and leading Cole into the shadows of the gardens. “You’re right,” he said, coming to a halt beneath one of the large trees and fixing his eyes on Marlborough’s house. “There are many so-called gentlemen who don’t deserve the name. Marlborough, for one. I don’t defend them.”

Cole came to stand with him, huffing a sigh.

They fell into a difficult silence. Above, the wind rattled through the leafless branches and Kit shivered, sinking deeper into his coat. “I thought,” he said, when the silence had grown too deep, “that if we could get into Salter’s we could perhaps find out more about this game my brother intends to play. Le Grand Jeu, as he calls it.”

“I’ve heard that name before,” Cole said. “Overheard Tobin and Mr. Sharpe discussing it—the viscount says it’s to happen at Curzon Street.”

Kit’s heart sank. “A final insult, then—my father abhors gaming.”

Cole shifted his feet, stamping them for warmth. After a moment he said, “Will they let you into Salter’s?”

“Not without a sponsor. I was thinking we might sneak in.”

“Ah.” One corner of Cole’s mouth curled into a dry smile. “For which you need someone disreputable, like me?”

“You’re not—” Kit frowned. “What do you mean?”

But Cole shook his head, looking out towards Marlborough’s house.

“I’ve offended you.” So much for winning his trust. “I don’t believe you’re disreputable.”

Cole threw him a sideways glance, his tension loosening. “My father was a blacksmith, that’s all.”

Damn it. “I didn’t mean to imply—That is…” What could he say? It’s exactly what he’d implied. He hadn’t thought twice about the connection between Salter’s birth and his respectability. “I apologise,” he said, “that was beneath me. I do try to judge men by their character and not their birth or profession, and Salter’s character leaves much to be desired.” He caught Cole’s eye briefly. “But I’m sure your father was an honourable man, as are you.”

“Honourable?” A slight smile curled Cole’s lip. “Aye, maybe.”

They stood in silence again for a moment.