Page 25 of Thief Taker

“I’ve no doubt Marlborough has persuaded him he will.”

“Aye, no doubt.” Cole frowned, taking a step closer. “Can your brother really stake your estate in a game? I don’t know how this sort of thing works, but doesn’t it belong to your father?”

“It does. I intend to speak to my solicitor about the legality of…the arrangement.”

After a moment’s thought, Cole said, “And where does your brother game?”

“At his clubs. White’s on occasion, but I believe he does most of his gaming at Salter’s.”

“I ain’t familiar with Salter’s.”

“No, it’s…a golden hell, I suppose. Marlborough sponsored my brother, I understand. Only members are told its location. And I’m not a member.”

Cole’s expression grew canny, perhaps even excited. “Then I reckon we’ll have to find it ourselves. How about we follow the viscount and see where he goes?” He cocked his head, as if assessing Kit’s mettle. “If you’re game, sir?”

It was an invitation to conspiracy, to an arrangement that would bind them together in the shadows. So very similar to the way Francis had wound his way into Kit’s life under the guise of allying against a common enemy. Only, this time Kit was prepared. This time, he knew Cole was acting a part. And this time, Kit was controlling the game.

“As it happens,” he said, “Lady Marlborough is holding an evening party tonight. I was planning to attend.” Because it will provide a firm account of my whereabouts when Sir Gideon is robbed in Hyde Park. “No doubt James will be there, too. We could follow him when he leaves. I imagine he’ll go to Salter’s.”

“That’ll do the trick, sir.” Cole’s smile grew speculative as his gaze ran over Kit from head to toe. “You’ve a talent for mischief, I think.”

Kit smiled, recognising the compliment for what it was—Cole handing him the opportunity to betray himself. Sidestepping the trap, he simply said, “I’ll leave the mischief to you, Mr. Cole. I’m sure your talent far exceeds my own.”

Cole’s answering smile was indecipherable.

Chapter 9

“You understand what it is you’re to do?”

They were standing on the corner of Charles Street and Berkeley Square, lamps from the great houses lighting the dark well enough that Elias could clearly see Duvall’s face. More or less recovered from the previous night, he was dressed for the evening and looking entirely too well turned out for Elias’s comfort.

He was a handsome man. It was difficult not to notice that, especially when Elias had slipped that slim-fitting coat over his shoulders, smoothing the lines over his back. It was a fine back, lean and muscular, and probably as golden as the rest of him. He could imagine from the feel of—

“…and find out any other names from them,” Duvall was finishing and Elias had to shake himself to refocus on the conversation.

“That’s right,” he said, fixing his eyes on a passing carriage. “Find Marlborough if you can, note who he’s talking to, remember any names you don’t already know. I’ll see what I can dig up from the servants’ quarters, and we’ll meet on the corner of Hill Street at twelve. Unless the viscount leaves earlier.”

Duvall tugged at the neckcloth Elias had spent twenty minutes attempting to perfect. “What a tedious bore of an evening.”

Elias found himself smiling as he reached out and straightened the neckcloth again. “I thought you nobs liked flashing the gent at these society affairs.”

Duvall’s gaze dipped to Elias’s hands and then skipped away towards the street. “Yes, well, I’m not a typical ‘nob’. As you’re no doubt aware.” There was an odd pause before he added, “Because I employ such an impudent valet, I mean.”

Elias’s smile widened. “Yes, sir.” He stepped backwards, hands behind his back. “Well then, until later?”

“Indeed. May we both be successful.”

Elias answered with a nod and gestured for Duvall to precede him. When they reached the corner of the house, Elias headed for the mews and the servants’ entrance. But he couldn’t help stopping to watch Duvall, long legged and broad shouldered, stride along the street towards the front door with an irritating sensation of if only …

“Cod’s head,” he muttered, making his way to the back of the house.

There was work to do tonight. The tongues of Marlborough’s servants wouldn’t loosen themselves, after all. It was time for the application of a little Elias Cole charm.

Kit found Hartwell waiting with Nero at the appointed place, dismounting his own steed as Kit entered the trees just a hundred yards from the lights of Rotten Row.

Hartwell stabled Nero for him in Marylebone, and though it pained Kit not to ride each morning, it was safer this way. The fewer connections between him and Wessex the better. Therefore, he met Nero with pleasure in the shadowy Hyde Park copse, nuzzling at his soft nose. “There’s my beautiful boy. You’ll run fast for me tonight?”

“The horse gets a greeting and I don’t?” Hartwell’s breath plumed in the frosty night.