Page 77 of Thief Taker

Salter studied him. “Do you have a name?”

“I do.”

“And you think he’s here.”

“Yes.”

Salter walked to the window, turning his back on the room. “Do you suspect me of involvement?”

“If I did, I’d hardly have said as much. But Hal Foxe’s protection runs both ways—he don’t associate with men of violence.”

That was true. At least, for the most part.

A sliver of Salter’s face was visible in the foggy light, enough to reveal a sardonic smile. “Then perhaps we both have something to thank him for today.” He turned around. “In exchange for your honesty—finally—I’ll tell you this. You’re barking up the wrong tree. There ain’t no highway robbers here.”

Elias raised his eyebrows. “As far as you know.”

“I know.” But then he frowned. “Unless… Do you suspect Duvall? Is that why you—?”

“No.” The idea sat all wrong, so uncomfortable he laughed. “Not him. I’ve strong evidence says otherwise.”

“Surely not his brother?” Salter said. “It’s not Rowsley, that I can assure you.” His lips tightened. “Marlborough makes sure James can hardly walk in a straight line, let alone ride a bloody horse.”

Elias spread his hands. “You look like a fly cove, Salter, so you’ll know that the less you hear of it the better it’ll go for you if Bow Street comes calling.”

Salter’s eyes were suddenly very sharp. “And is that likely?”

“Care to make a wager?”

Another assessing look followed, and then Salter said, “I’ll tell you what I told your lover… Oh, come on, don’t glower like that; I know what I saw even if you don’t.” He pushed away from the window. “You both leave today at my discretion, but if you come back again, I won’t be so gentle.”

Elias scowled, considering his aching head and bruised shoulder. “I’ve no beef with you,” he said, unsure whether he was angrier at the menace or the allusion to the situation with Kit. “And it’ll stay that way unless you’ve messed around with Duvall.”

Salter smirked. “If anyone’s messed around with Duvall,” he said, “I’d say it was you.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“The chance,” Salter muttered as he stalked towards the door, “would be a very fine thing indeed.”

Chapter 26

By the time Elias reached Curzon Street the dank afternoon was sliding into a gloomy evening, the fog heavy and getting heavier. It promised to be a foul night, and Elias was glad to see the oil lamps outside Kit’s house, even if their yellow glow illuminated little but a golden halo over the steps to the front door.

He paused, hidden in the fog as he leaned against the iron railings and took a moment to collect himself. His mind was full and the walk back from Salter’s hadn’t helped to clear it. There was frustration that they’d been thwarted, and that he’d not had time to search for evidence against Rowsley. There was anger that he’d been hurt, his bruised shoulder aching in the damp cold. But most of all there was a baffling confusion, a breathless beat in his chest when he thought about Kit.

Love, Salter had called it. His sharp gaze had cut the word out of Elias and presented it like his own beating heart on a platter. Love.

Elias knew something of love, but not a great deal. He’d loved Will and near broken when he’d found him close to death in the filthy street outside their lodgings. He’d loved his ma, he supposed, though she’d died when he was little more than a babe and all he remembered now was the loss. And, in his way, he’d loved Hal Foxe—needed him, at any rate, when he’d taken them in after his father’s death and taught them the skills to survive.

But this…? This fascination with Kit, this troubled yearning, was something different. When they were apart, he felt dissatisfied, but when they were together, he felt worse. He’d thought that, if they fucked, it would release the tension, but it had only made it worse because it was never enough. He always wanted more, craved more. Needed more.

And Kit did too, that was the devil of it. Kit hid nothing. It was all there in his eyes. He undid Elias with a look, with a touch of his hand—aching with affection and need and all the words they couldn’t speak.

And he wanted more of it. Even now, wrapped in the cold night, he could feel himself being drawn into that golden light, into the golden world Kit inhabited. Back to the wonderful impossible thing he craved.

And that was the truth: it was impossible. Salter had been right about that.

Men like them didn’t make lives together. Not even honest men with no deception between them. What hope did he have, he who’d deceived Kit from the start? No, this nonsense between them could never be more than a diversion. He knew that, and yet…