Page 90 of Thief Taker

“At the time, it was. But others suffered much worse—fathers and sons, mothers, brothers, sisters, all turning against each other. And recently”—he squeezed Elias’s fingers—“I’ve begun to doubt whether my feelings for Francis were more substantial than any man’s first violent passion.”

“Even so, to be deceived like that…” He trailed off, lips tightening. “You, um, know any of ’em here in London? Americans?”

There was a feigned indifference in his voice that made Kit smile. Was he jealous? The idea warmed him. “No,” he said, which was almost honest; he couldn’t tell him about Hartwell, of course. “No, I don’t know any Americans in London—certainly no former lovers, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

Elias smiled tensely, still poking around at the pastry crust. “Well, that’s—I’m glad to hear it.” Then his expression grew more serious, and his hand tightened on Kit’s. “What will you do? About Ashbourne, I mean.”

“I don’t know yet.”

That was untrue; he knew exactly what he would do. He just couldn’t tell Elias.

He’d given it a great deal of thought in the hours since the game ended. Marlborough would be travelling to Ashbourne Abbey, to claim possession of his prize, and that meant he’d be traversing Hounslow Heath. It was too good an opportunity to miss. Kit had failed in his attempt to stop Marlborough claiming the estate, but on the wild and dangerous heath Wessex would have the advantage. And Kit had nothing left to lose.

“I know the situation seems desperate,” Elias said quickly. “Your brother squandering your family’s fortune, losing the estate. But just remember that there’s plenty of men who make their way in the world without any of that.” He fixed Kit with a steady look. “There are ways to make a living, is what I’m saying. No need to do anything rash. And maybe now you’re less flush in the pockets, you’ll understand what motivates a man to do…to do what he must to earn his keep.”

“Elias.” Kit took his hand and brought it to his lips, turning it over to press a kiss to the palm. “Trust me when I say that I perfectly understand what motivates a man to do what he must—”

Elias drew his hand away. “Just remember it, is all I’m saying. Just remember.”

Something had shifted between them. Frowning, Kit rose and set the tray on the table by the bed. When he turned back around, Elias was on his feet and reaching for his breeches.

“I should go,” he said.

Kit’s stomach sank. “Don’t.” He put a hand on Elias’s arm, on his wrist where his shirt sleeve fell away. “Stay until morning.”

The muscle of his forearm was taut, but Elias’s eyes softened. “That ain’t wise.”

“Nothing about this is wise.”

He laughed ruefully. “That’s true enough.”

“Tomorrow will be hard,” Kit said, and tugged Elias closer, putting their foreheads together. Tomorrow, Marlborough would ride to Ashbourne and Kit would stop him on the road. What the outcome might be, he didn’t dare imagine. “Stay, tonight. Please.”

With a sigh, Elias pulled him into his arms. “Tonight, then,” he said, making it a promise. “All right.”

And so, Kit put out the lights and they climbed into bed, into each other’s arms. It felt glorious to hold Elias, and to feel his arms around him in return. Kit tried not to fall asleep, fought to keep his eyes open and his mind focused on this moment, on the sensation of holding and being held—on the full and tender weight of his heart.

When he woke it was to the sounds of the early morning criers hawking milk. And Elias was gone.

Chapter 32

He was still wearing Kit’s shirt.

Elias stood in the blustery morning, in an alley off Shepherd Market, waiting for Groves to show up. Dawn was nothing but a sooty smudge above the roofline, but at least the fog had cleared, blown away by a damp breeze chasing downriver from the west. He shivered and sank deeper into his coat, the linen of Kit’s shirt warm against his back.

It was fanciful to imagine he could still smell the caraway scent of Kit’s soap on his skin, especially bundled under his greatcoat. Yet the fine lawn shirt he wore was so soft, such a tender reminder of the man he’d left sleeping less than an hour ago, that it was impossible not to think of him. Impossible not to smile, even though it hurt.

The truth Elias had almost admitted tortured him now. He’d spent the night in the man’s bed, in his arms, and still hadn’t told him the truth about who he was and why he was in Kit’s home. And now here he was, about to do worse.

“I hope there’s a bloody good reason for all this.”

Groves growled the words from the far end of the alley, and Elias lifted a hand in greeting. It was difficult to see Groves’s face in the gloom, but his tone was enough to express his irritation. He didn’t like to be summoned. He especially disliked it on cold winter mornings before dawn.

“It’s worth it,” Elias said as he took a couple of steps towards him.

Groves wore his round hat pulled low over his eyes and a long muffler wrapped around his neck, his face colourless in the dim light of the cloudy dawn. “You have a lead on Wessex, I take it?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Elias said, and forced a smile. “I’ve a plan to test a theory tonight.”