Page 10 of Thief Taker

Ignoring the order, Elias followed the man out of the room. With his greatcoat flaring out behind him, Duvall filled the corridor as he strode along, moving with more energy and purpose than the affected swagger of your average society nob. He was dressed for action, not fashion—unusual for his sort, in London—and to Elias he appeared more like a man than any of the brightly coloured peacocks strutting around the ballroom in their silk breeches and red-heeled shoes.

But when Duvall strode into the crowded ballroom, he stopped dead. Elias slowed too, lurking in the doorway at the edge of the room where he could watch from the shadows, unnoticed.

For a moment Duvall appeared lost amid the wild and revelrous crowd, as if he couldn’t get his bearings. Turning in a slow circle, he stared at the gaping, drunken faces agog at this strange dark figure that had appeared amid the butterflies. “Get out,” Duvall said at last, in a voice so low that Elias barely heard him. He said it again, louder. “Get out. All of you. Get out of my father’s house!”

There was a rustle of confusion, of disbelief. No one moved.

“Out!” Lunging forward, he overturned a side table, sending glasses smashing to the floor and setting a dozen women screaming. “Do you hear me? Get out!”

Elias’s heart began to race—half alarmed, half thrilled. Yes, he thought with a strange kind of triumph. Throw them out! The greedy sods, throw them all out!

Those closest to Duvall backed away, looking around uncertainly. The musicians stopped playing, music staggering to a halt and plunging the room into a tense silence.

“Out!” Duvall shouted again. “Get out of my father’s house!”

People began to move. Even Marlborough took a step back, though his lip curled into a smile as he said, “Oh look, here comes Lord Rowsley.”

“The devil is happening?” A lazy drawl rang out across the room. A beautiful young man stood in the doorway, waistcoat undone and shirtsleeves rolled up, raven hair curling loose around his ears. Yet, despite all that, he was clearly the most powerful man in the room. “Well? Does nobody have an answer? What the hell is—?” Then he saw Duvall and stopped. His eyes widened, some emotion flickering over his face, quickly suppressed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“This is our father’s house.”

“Oh, is he here?” The man—Rowsley—affected looking about as if in search of his father. “I think not. But you’re welcome to stay, little brother, if you unstiffen your cravat and unbutton your coat.”

Nervous laughter rippled around the room, stirring the hair on the back of Elias’s neck.

Duvall didn’t move. “Tell them to go.”

“No.”

“James…”

“I said no. These people are my friends, and my guests.”

“You’ve turned our father’s house into a bawdy house.”

Rowsley’s smile widened. “Isn’t it wonderful?” He sauntered closer, snatching up a drink and downing it in one swallow. “This is what it means to live, Kit. You should try it sometime. You might like it.”

From where he stood in the doorway, Elias could see the drink in Rowsley’s bloodshot eyes, in his blurred expression and pale features. The hand holding his glass shook.

“My God,” Duvall breathed, “what have you done to yourself?”

“Spare me the lecture, Kit.” Rowsley waved at the musicians. “Do what you’re paid for, won’t you? Play something cheerful.”

A hesitant melody started up, but no one was listening. The room was beginning to empty. “I must speak with you,” Duvall said in a lower voice. Elias took half a step forward, straining to catch the rest. “On an urgent matter of business.”

“Business?” Rowsley sighed. “Speak to the damned solicitor then, that’s why we pay him.”

“James—”

“I said no!” His shout echoed in the half-empty room and he cursed. “See what you’ve done? You’ve been here half a minute and you’ve ruined everything.”

“I’ve ruined everything?”

“What do you want from me?” Rowsley spread his arms wide. “An apology? I have none. I won’t apologise for the life I lead.”

“But at what price?” Duvall hissed. “And at whose cost?”

Rowsley’s face tightened, but he didn’t answer. “Marlborough?” he called. “Where the devil—? Oh, there you are. Not leaving too, are you?”