Page 31 of Thief Taker

Elias kept to the shadows as much as possible, Duvall close behind. They didn’t speak much, ostensibly to keep from drawing attention from the men in the carriages, but mostly because there wasn’t much to say. That is, not much beyond everything that had—and hadn’t—been said in Berkeley Square.

Rowsley’s carriage crossed Bruton Lane and kept on down Berkeley Street towards Piccadilly. It was busier there and Elias stayed close to Duvall, not close enough that their shoulders brushed but close enough that Elias could feel warmth building between them.

Friends, Duvall had said. But there had been more than friendship in his looks, and in the warmth of his eyes. Enough to dry Elias’s mouth, enough to make him look at the man’s sensual mouth and wonder what it would feel like…

Friends, indeed.

“They’re turning,” Duvall said in a low voice, nudging Elias’s shoulder.

The touch sent a ripple of awareness through him.

“I see,” he said, watching the carriages turn left onto Piccadilly. “Come on.” He broke into a run, grateful for the distraction. “Don’t want to lose them if they make another turn.”

They crossed Piccadilly with caution, the rutted and half-frozen mud treacherous, and then ran on with Green Park a mass of wild darkness at their back. As they turned the corner onto St. James’s Street, the carriages were stopping outside an imposing modern building of grey stone and many windows.

Elias drew back into the shadows of the building opposite, pulling Duvall with him. “Salter’s?”

“So much for secrecy,” Duvall huffed, as if offended. “It’s practically next door to White’s.”

As they watched, the carriages pulled away and Marlborough ushered Rowsley through the front doors of the building, the others following. Salter lingered a moment on the steps, lean and hawk-like as he scanned the street before following the others inside.

“That’s a man on the look-out for trouble,” Elias said. “He certainly ain’t no respectable gent.” At Duvall’s awkward frown, Elias touched his arm to show he wasn’t being pointed. “It means Salter’s dangerous—we should be careful.”

“I see.” His eyes flickered to Elias’s hand resting on his arm and then back to the building. “Do you think we could find a way in?”

“Tonight?” It would be dangerous, without studying the place first. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s just the thought of—” Duvall shook his head. “How much more will he lose in there tonight, Cole? Ten thousand pounds? More?”

Elias’s jaw slackened. In one night? He tightened his hold on Duvall’s arm. “That ain’t no reflection on you.”

Duvall’s gaze lingered until Elias looked away, nodding towards the narrow alley at the side of the building. “We could try around the back.” He looked anywhere but at Duvall’s face. “See if we can find a way in.”

A beat, then: “Yes, thank you. I’m in your hands, Cole. I mean—” He cleared his throat. “You should lead the way.”

Dropping his hand from Duvall’s arm, Elias considered the street. It was busy enough that they could hide in the crowd, so Elias crossed the road at a leisurely pace and walked past Salter’s with feigned indifference. He noted the footmen on the door—burly boys, both. Nobody got in uninvited. At his side, Duvall was staring at the building as though he might be able to see through its walls and Elias had to use a sharp elbow to keep him from being so conspicuous.

“This way.” Elias ducked into the narrow alley that ran down the side of the building. It was thick with mud and refuse, and the further down it they crept, the more it stank. In the sudden dark, Duvall’s face took on a decidedly pallid hue. Elias grinned. “Next time you’ll need to bring a nosegay, sir.”

He huffed out an objection, almost a laugh. Then said, “You don’t have to call me that when we’re…doing this. It sounds ridiculous.” After a pause, he added, “My friends call me Kit.”

A treacherous spike of excitement tightened Elias’s stomach, ruthlessly crushed. “It’s probably for the best, sir,” he said. “All things considered.”

Duvall didn’t answer and Elias didn’t look around to see the expression on his face.

Towards the end of the alley there was a door, closed. Elias tried it but it was bolted. Next to it was a soot-darkened window through which sallow light bled, and he reached up to see if it would open, but the grimy frame was stuck. He shoved, grunting with effort, but nothing happened. “Let’s take a look around the back,” he decided.

Duvall nodded and Elias led the way. They’d just rounded the corner into the mews behind the building when he heard a shout.

“Oi, you! What’re you up to?”

Elias spun around, almost slipping in the filthy mud. One of the footmen stood silhouetted in the mouth of the alley.

“Damnation,” Duvall hissed.

Elias grabbed his arm. “This way.”

It was even darker in the cut that ran between the back of the building and its stables, but that was all to the good. Darkness was their friend. He kept hold of Duvall’s arm so as not to lose him and ploughed on down the alley. There was another door ahead, standing ajar and spilling a dangerous slice of light. No choice but to go through it, even though he could hear the laboured breathing and cursing of the footman behind them.