Page 12 of Thief Taker

He met Kit’s gaze with bright curiosity. Far too bold for a servant, inexperienced or not.

The hairs rose on the back of Kit’s neck, a soldier’s instinct to fight tightening his limbs. No doubt in his mind now, not in the clear morning light. Cole was the Bow Street man he’d seen two nights ago at The Red Lion Inn.

Kit had seen that face in the doorway of Radcliffe’s room before he’d dashed out the candle and dropped through the hole in the floor. He’d seen it again in the tunnels. Close enough to notice the same glint in his eye that he’d glimpsed in his father’s study last night. Close enough to feel the brawny strength of the man as they’d tussled in the dark.

Kit could have killed him in that tunnel. Perhaps he should have, but he was no murderer. Nevertheless, his mercy may have been a mistake. Now Bow Street was here.

“Cole will attend you,” said Tobin. “If there’s nothing else, sir?”

“No, thank you.” Despite the pounding in his chest, he kept his voice steady. “You must be busy this morning.”

“Yes, sir,” the butler said, and a moment later the door snicked shut behind him. Good. Kit did not want an audience for whatever was to follow.

For a long moment, they stared at each other. Kit’s breathing shortened, his limbs tingling with the anticipation of a fight. But Cole said nothing, just watched Kit curiously. As though he didn’t know what to do next.

Puzzled, and needing a moment to think, Kit moved to the sideboard and reached for the jug of chocolate. “Tobin tells me you’re new.”

After a pause Cole said, “That’s right, my lord. Mr. Tobin needed some help, so here I am.”

“My brother is the only lord in this house, Cole. Save the title for him.” He poured himself a cup of chocolate. “After your experience with Marlborough last night, I’m rather surprised to find you still here this morning.”

Cole gave an amused huff. “If you think that was rough, you should see Clerkenwell after dark.”

Kit had seen Clerkenwell after dark. It was where that wretched fence, Radcliffe, held court. As Cole well knew—was he testing Kit? Looking for a reaction?

Setting down the jug of chocolate, Kit tightened his fingers around its handle. It would make a passable cudgel. But what then? If this man knew he was Wessex, where could he run? How could he run? He’d be leaving his family to a ruin greater than anything James had brought down on them.

“Er, sir?” Cole said. “Should I—? That is, do you want me to fetch you some breakfast or something?”

Not a man prone to panic, Kit relaxed his grip on the chocolate jug. Clearly, Cole was not here to arrest him. If he were, he’d have brought five Bow Street men and a magistrate’s warrant.

Cup in hand, Kit turned to face him.

A few years older than Kit, and a couple of inches shorter, Cole was tawny haired and strongly built. His face was open, handsome and well proportioned. All well and good. But he was also clever, Kit could see that in his bright hazel eyes. And his cleverness was a greater threat than his brawn.

“Toast, a couple of eggs, and one of the smoked herring,” Kit said, and strolled to the table with his cup of chocolate.

He watched Cole as he spooned poached eggs and herring onto a plate. He certainly had never been a servant, but Kit was starting to wonder whether he was a Bow Street man at all. Insinuating himself into Kit’s household like this was inventive for Bow Street. In Kit’s experience, they were too tied to the magistracy to be so bold.

No, it was more likely that Cole was a thief taker in search of a reward. Money, or the need of it, drove men to strange lengths. Kit understood that all too well. And Wessex had a hefty price on his head.

But how the devil had Cole found him? Kit could have sworn he’d given him the slip at the Fleet.

“There you go,” Cole said, and plonked the plate in front of him with all the grace of a tapster. “Sugar for your chocolate?”

“No. I avoid sugar.” Kit eyed him. “You’ll have to work on your manners, Cole, if you want to excel in this new profession of yours.”

He held the man’s bold stare. Daring him. But Cole gave nothing away; he played his part very well. So did Kit.

“Sorry, sir,” Cole said, stepping backwards and folding his hands behind his back.

Mulling this over, Kit took a mouthful of breakfast. If Cole suspected him, his presence here didn’t make sense unless…

Proof.

Of course, Cole would need evidence to take to the magistrate. Nobody would believe the word of a thief taker over the word of The Honourable Christopher Duvall. Which explained why Cole was in his father’s study last night. Marlborough had said he’d found him nosing around. Well, Cole was out of luck if he hoped to find evidence of Wessex in this house. He should have been nosing around Kit’s lodgings in Soho instead.

The fact that he wasn’t suggested two things: Cole hadn’t followed him there from The Red Lion, and Kit now had the opportunity to confound his investigation.