Page 67 of Thief Taker

Kit stared, baffled. “That’s what he wants? Why?”

“Because the West India interest is weak,” James said, as if the answer were obvious. He sighed. “I see you still don’t take a newspaper.”

Kit bristled. “I’ve been somewhat busy of late.”

“They’ve lost a great deal of support now the American planters are gone,” James said, as if explaining to a child. “And God knows the government’s trade policy is uncertain. Marlborough wants to shore up his position in parliament, especially with Pitt so weak.” He gave a small, dry smile. “Naturally, he’s particularly exercised by any talk of abolishing the African trade.”

“He would be.”

A brief look of shared sentiment followed, reminding Kit painfully of better times. Then James said, “The point is, Marlborough will settle for nothing but Ashbourne and control of its charmingly rotten borough.”

“And you’re content to let him have it. Good God, James, our father is dying—is he not to die in his own home?”

James threw back another mouthful of brandy, emptying the glass. “What difference does it make to him? He won’t know where he’s dying.”

“Christ, James.”

“You don’t know what Marlborough is capable of!” He seized the decanter to refill his glass, hand shaking so hard he slopped half of it onto the floor. “But if you think I’m going to sacrifice myself for the sake of that rotting pile at Ashbourne, you’re very much mistaken.”

“I’m not asking you—” Kit tried to calm himself. “Please, James, you don’t have to give in to Marlborough. We could go to the law, perhaps, or to—”

“The law! Lord, you’re so far beyond your depth you can’t even see the shore.” Pushing himself away from the sideboard, James shouldered his way past Kit. “Go home, little brother. Do what you can for Father—take him to the lodge in Corvedale; he can die there if he chooses—but stay out of my business. Whatever you might think of me, I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“James—”

“Enough!” Poised at the door, he stopped. “It’s done, Kit, the die is cast. Go home. Go back to the colonies. Go to hell if it pleases you but stay the devil away from me.”

Chapter 23

After dinner, Elias made his way to the library as agreed. Despite telling himself sternly that he couldn’t allow a repeat of what had occurred in the early hours of the morning, he couldn’t help a flutter of anticipation as he made his way along the dark hallway. In dismay, he realised that he was simply looking forward to seeing Kit. What a damned fool situation.

But the moment he stepped inside the library, he knew something was wrong.

Kit was pacing the room with long, angry strides, his face sallow, fingers balled into white-knuckled fists, and his mouth a tense line.

Closing the door behind him, Elias hesitated with his hand over the key for a moment before turning it with a heavy click.

Kit stopped pacing. He stood on the far side of the room watching Elias with taut restraint. Elias looked back at him with equal self-control. He had no idea what they were about here.

After a beat of silence, Elias said, “I take it things went badly with your brother.”

Kit’s attention flickered away from him. “He won’t be dissuaded,” he said, his voice scratchy with things unsaid.

“’Course he won’t.”

“I asked… I pleaded.” He let out a frustrated breath, head turned so that all Elias could see was his sharp-edged profile. “He told me to go to hell.”

“I’m sorry.” Elias took half a step forward, wanting to offer comfort but not daring. That wasn’t what this thing between them was meant to be.

Kit ran a hand through his hair. “And you? Any luck talking to your friends?”

“Not much. Learned Salter has some acquaintances it ain’t worth crossing. But no surprise there.” He frowned as he took a closer look at Kit’s tense face. “You all right? You look poorly.”

“I’m—” He shook his head, his shoulders tense and hunched. “Tired. I’m just tired.”

Or defeated, Elias thought with a pang. Beaten. He nodded to the chairs by the fire. “Sit down. I’ll fetch you a drink.”

“I don’t need—”