Page 75 of Thief Taker

Salter gave a sly smile. “No, I didn’t think so. Neither does Duvall, by the way. Unless he’s particularly fond of your stiff…cravats, he’s bloody worried about the fate of his valet.”

Elias kept his eyes on his cooling cup of tea. Steam twisted up into the room, aromatic and comforting. He’d let things go too far with Kit and didn’t know how to wind it back; he didn’t even know where to start.

Salter rose. He moved with the grace of a fighter, quick and light on his feet but full of hard lines. Quick to temper, Elias would bet. As he circled behind his armchair, Salter let a hand trail across the top and said, in a casual tone, “I assume it would be inconvenient should Duvall discover the truth about your occupation.”

It took all the restraint Elias possessed not to react to that threat, for threat it certainly was. “It would,” he said, lifting his eyes to Salter’s. “Bloody inconvenient, and not only to me. Bow Street have an interest.”

“Do they?” Salter didn’t sound impressed. “I imagine they’d also take an interest in you buggering the Earl of Ashbourne’s son…”

“And Hal Foxe would take an interest if you made such a slanderous allegation.”

Salter spread his hands, acknowledging a hit. “Then, to avoid any inconvenience, perhaps you can tell me why you were cracking my house this morning like a common sneak?”

“I told you, it’s a job.”

“That don’t do me no good if I don’t know what kind.”

“Then you’ll just have to trust me,” Elias said. “As an associate of Hal Foxe.”

Irritated, Salter tapped his fingers on the back of the chair. “I can’t trust you when you’re lying.”

“I ain’t lying.”

“You are!” He barked the word and then took a breath and clamped his jaw shut. After a moment, he went on more calmly. “You tell me this is a job. You tell me you’re deceiving Duvall. But I saw his face when he thought you hurt, and vice versa.” His fingers tapped on the chair back. “And so, I’m wondering how a thief taker like yourself, and a nob like Duvall, came to be taken so violently with love that they’re each bargaining for the other’s safety and heedless of their own. And don’t tell me it’s a bloody job.”

Love? His throat knotted. “I don’t—” It wasn’t that; it couldn’t be that. “That ain’t the way it is, I swear it.”

“And that, Mr. Cole, is why I don’t believe a word leaving your lying gob.” Salter turned towards the door. “Perhaps Mr. Duvall will be more honest.”

Kit jumped when the door behind him flew open again.

“Well,” Salter said, as he strode back into the room, “Mr. Cole is remarkably loyal for a valet. Very reluctant to tell me what the bloody hell is going on.”

“I’ve already told you!” Kit protested. “I’m here to prevent my brother ruining our family, and Cole is here at my direction.”

Salter scowled. “The tragedy is, you appear to believe that. Christ, I should have you both dropped into the river.”

Kit regarded him steadily. “But you won’t?”

“Dead sons of earls tend to attract attention from the wrong kinds of people, and I’d rather avoid that kind of attention.”

“Then let me take what’s mine and go,” Kit said. “Give me the disentailment deed and—”

“And then I’ll be the one found in the bloody river! Or pieces of me, at least.”

Kit swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Salter said, “that there are powerful men in London. Your brother has become ensnared by one and, like a fox in a trap, he’s chewing off his own leg to escape. I do not intend to join him in that trap.” For a moment his steely eyes softened. “Nor should you.”

A beat of silence fell between them, the fog-muffled traffic noise the only sound in the room. Kit licked his dry lips. “I’m already ensnared, Mr. Salter. My brother will ruin us all and I must stop him.”

Salter waved a dismissive hand. “It’s only money,” he said. “There are worse things to lose.”

“So says the son of a blacksmith.”

Salter lifted an eyebrow. “And who better to know?”

Kit didn’t answer beyond saying, “I will not back down. I cannot.”