Page 73 of Thief Taker

He found himself being watched by a pair of steely eyes in a sharp, assessing face. The man was dressed in an understated but beautifully tailored coat, and Kit recognised him immediately as the owner of this place. “Mr. Salter.”

“Mr. Duvall.” With a curt gesture, Salter dismissed the footman and stepped fully into his office, allowing the door to close behind him. “I’m honoured that you’ve called this morning, sir.” His accent was that of Billingsgate with its edges knocked off. “But I’m afraid membership at Salter’s is by sponsorship only.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?” Kit had no patience for the charade. “I’m not a stupid man, and I warrant you’re not either. We both know why I’m here.”

After a pause, Salter walked around Kit to sit behind his desk. “Very well,” he said, hands folding in front of him. “I assume you’re here with regard to your brother’s debts.”

Kit cursed the wash of angry shame that heated his face. “You know what he plans to stake at Le Grand Jeu?”

Salter spread his hands. “I’m not privy to the business of my club’s members, sir.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t give a damn.”

Through gritted teeth, Kit said, “I will not leave here without the disentailment deed, do you hear? James has no right to—”

“I understand that Viscount Rowsley has every right, in law. Your father’s incapacity…”

“Hang the law!” Kit lurched forward, bracing his hands on the desk. Salter didn’t flinch. “How do you live with yourself, sir? The men you have ruined here—their families, the innocent victims of the vice you propagate? How do you damn well sleep at night?”

“Very well,” said Salter, his face unreadable. “My belly is full, the bed is very comfortable, and the fire is warm. I sleep very well at night, Mr. Duvall. I might say I sleep a lot better than most of those who live in our fair city.” He cocked his head. “Do you think of them, sir? Do you ever think of the innocents shivering and hungry in St. Giles when your valet turns down your covers at night?”

“Do you?”

Salter’s face remained impassive. “Have a seat, Mr. Duvall, you appear likely to rupture something.”

“I’ll rupture you, you thieving—”

“Sit down!” His bark had the ring of iron-on-iron about it, something of the smithy bleeding through.

Kit found himself sitting without realising he’d made the decision. His jaw clenched in irritation, but he remained silent.

Salter let out a controlled breath, the sudden anger smoothing out of his face. “It’s too early in the day for confrontation, Mr. Duvall.” He leaned back in his chair, pressed his fingertips together and tapped them against his lips in thought. “The man here with you today… Who is he?”

The question took Kit off guard. “He’s my…valet. And if your man has harmed him, there’ll be the devil to pay.”

Salter’s eyes narrowed. Kit had the uncomfortable sensation of being pinned out like a butterfly for study. “Your valet’s name is Elias Cole.”

Kit’s heart stumbled over a new, sudden fear. Did Salter know Elias’s true profession? If he did, it could put him in real danger. Much more than Kit faced. What a fool he’d been not to think about that before!

Swallowing, he said, “What of it? He’s here on my order, that’s all you need to know.”

“Is that so?” Another long look followed before Salter said, “It would suit me well to have you and your ‘valet’ found by the watermen tomorrow morning, washed up somewhere near the Tower. That would suit me very well.”

Cold, dry fear clutched at the back of Kit’s throat. “Not Cole,” he said gruffly. “I swear to you, he has no interest in any of this save for helping me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Salter’s grey eyes were as cold as the morning fog and the knowing look he gave Kit convinced him he knew the truth about Cole. “I would swear to it,” he said, pulse thudding. “Bring me a bible.”

“A bible,” Salter scoffed. “I think I’d rather hear what Mr. Cole has to say on the matter.”

With that, he stood and crossed to the door.

“Wait!” Kit called after him. “Wait, Cole doesn’t know—”

The slamming door cut him off.