Page 64 of Thief Taker

“Since you know neither man,” Elias snapped, “I’ll rely on my own judgement. It’s never steered me wrong before.”

“That it hasn’t,” said Groves.

Nettled, Elias handed the gunsmith’s statement back to Groves. “Have some faith in me, Groves. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Groves slipped the file back into his bag and swung it over his shoulder. “But have a care, Elias, if you’re poking into Salter’s affairs. He’s a face like stone, that one, impossible to read. And I’ve a notion there’s more behind him than shows.”

“In what sense?”

Groves shook his head. “I’ve no names, nothing solid. Just a sense that he’s a man with powerful allies. And I don’t mean your old friend Hal Foxe.”

“Hal Foxe ain’t my friend, I told you.”

Groves didn’t argue. “Just be careful, lad. I’d hate to find you face first in the filth behind Salter’s club.”

“That’s not likely, is it? I know my trade.”

Groves’s grunt of dismissal told him exactly what he thought of that idea.

Chapter 22

Once Cole had left him, Kit took a few moments to compose himself enough to speak to his brother.

Yesterday, Hartwell had said tup him and be done. Kit was fairly certain that wasn’t what had happened last night; he feared he was anything but done with Elias Cole. Even so, he couldn’t regret his decision. His body was still humming with the joy of release and, however things might end between them, he did not regret his choice.

He had made it with his eyes open, at least. In that regard, this was very different from his friendship with Francis. Everything about that had been deception, but what had happened with Elias had been true.

He felt it deep down in his bones.

And Elias’s attention appeared to be turning towards Marlborough, which was exactly what Kit had hoped. Marlborough may not be Wessex, but he was a robber nonetheless. No better than a highwayman, Elias had said—and made clear his views on both.

Kit decided not to dwell on that.

So much of what Elias said, and how he said it, felt honest—as if his suspicions of Kit were fading. It was a relief, but with it came a growing guilt. When he’d begun this masquerade, he’d been fighting for his life and felt no compunction about deceiving a thief taker. But the closer they became and the more deeply Elias was involved in Kit’s problems, the harder it was to hide the truth from him.

Not that Kit had a choice. But the deception was knotting his heart in unexpected, unpleasant ways.

For the first time since leaving New York, he wondered whether Francis had ever felt the same weight of lies on his conscience. It was something he’d never even imagined.

Casting that unsettling thought aside, Kit left his room and headed downstairs.

He was not looking forward to confronting James. Selfishly, he wished Elias could be with him, but that was impossible for any number of reasons. And James had no scruples about using Kit’s preferences against him.

So, no, this was something he must deal with alone.

After Kit’s last attempt to speak with James at White’s, he had no desire to invade his bedroom. He wanted him fully awake for this. So he dispatched Tobin to fetch his brother to the library instead.

“Kindly inform Viscount Rowsley that if he doesn’t come down I shall be forced to speak with him publicly.” Hopefully James cared enough about his reputation not to want their ruin laid bare to the world. If nothing else, he’d still want to secure credit at Salter’s or White’s.

Kit waited for a full half hour. He tried to distract himself with the newspaper—the Ministry, the dissolution, Mr. Pitt’s majorities—but had plenty of time to pace, stoking himself to a cold fury by the time the library door opened and his brother strolled into the room.

Wrapped in his dressing gown, he was unshaven, hair curling loose almost to his shoulders and his eyes dark-rimmed. Always the handsomer of the two, James wore his debauched appearance like a weapon. Full of accusation.

“Damnable thing,” he grumbled, “rousing a man before noon. I hope at least that someone has died.”

Kit swallowed down a moment of pity at his brother’s appearance and reminded himself that he’d brought this ruin upon himself—and upon them all. “I need to talk to you, James.”

“Fraternal concern?” He tipped his head, narrowed his eyes. “No. Didn’t think so.”