Page 57 of Thief Taker

But inside, everything was overturned. And not just because of the lingering heavy-limbed pleasure, familiar even though it had been a long time since he’d tumbled anyone so bloody thoroughly.

He still wasn’t sure why he’d done it, why he’d pushed Kit—he could only be Kit now—over the desk and taken him like that. It wasn’t what he usually enjoyed, but… His heart moved when he remembered their kiss, the tender way Kit had said his name as they stood close together, face to face. In that moment, Kit had revealed exactly what he was—young, reckless, trusting. And Elias had put an end to it; he’d had to. He’d made sure Kit was under no illusions about what they were about. Just a tumble. Nothing more.

He hoped he’d done a better job of convincing Kit than himself.

But, no matter, it was done and done for the best. The dam had burst and the tension had eased: Mr. Duvall had tumbled his valet and that was the end of it. When the truth came out, when Kit realised who Elias was and why he’d been posing as a valet, it would be better that things were kept simple between them. Perhaps it would feel less like betrayal.

For now, Elias had to focus on getting the evidence on Rowsley so that he could leave, put all of this behind him, and not worry about what Kit would think of him when it was done. Not worry that he’d assume Elias had bedded him just to keep his position, just to further his investigation into his brother.

Not worry that it was true.

He closed his eyes against the image of himself staring back from the mirror. And he tried not to imagine seeing Kit across the courtroom when he gave evidence. Or, worse, seeing him at Tyburn when his brother was hanged…

His stomach churned queasily.

“Just tired,” he told himself as he turned away from the mirror. After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d done this, imposed on someone’s trust and lied his way to the truth. It was just the first time he’d felt so bloody dirty about it, the first time he’d lied to a man he—

Sod it.

Pushing the thought aside, he left his room. The household was stirring and he’d be expected to pull his weight. A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss either.

On his way down to the kitchen, he passed two footmen hauling hot water upstairs—Mr. Duvall wished to bathe. Elias’s stomach fluttered with the thought that he, and only he, knew why.

He scrounged tea in the kitchen with a wink for the scullery maid, smiling in a way he didn’t really feel, and tried to push the memory of Kit’s body out of his mind. God, but the velvet heat of him, the long arc of his tanned and muscular back—

He wondered, again, how he’d got so tanned. In the colonies, he supposed; he’d mentioned having visited one of Marlborough’s plantations in the West Indies.

“Cole,” Tobin loomed in the kitchen doorway. “What are you doing down here, man? Get up to Mr. Duvall’s room. He’s asked for a bath.”

Elias downed the rest of his tea too fast, scalding the roof of his mouth. “Yes, Mr. Tobin.”

“And Cole?” Conscious of the kitchen staff, he lowered his voice. “I trust Mr. Duvall was well when you found him last night?”

“Uh, yes.” He hoped the guilty flush didn’t show on his cheeks. “Very well, Mr. Tobin.”

Satisfied, Tobin nodded and shooed him on his way.

When he reached Kit’s door, the last footman, red faced from the effort of hauling so much water, was just leaving. He threw Elias an eloquent look about the sort of man who’d demand this much water heated and hauled upstairs so early in the day. Elias returned it with a sympathetic shrug and hoped the footman didn’t notice his unease.

If Kit expected him to scrub his bloody back, he’d be tempted to drown the man in his own tub; this was hardly conducive to easing the tension between them.

As he closed the door behind him, he saw Kit wrapped in a banyan and standing in the doorway to his dressing room where the bath was waiting. He turned when the door clicked shut, not quite meeting Elias’s eyes. “Cole.”

“Mr. Duvall.”

Kit’s eyes tightened as he gave a slight nod. “I thought it would seem strange if I didn’t ask for you, but I don’t expect you to assist. I can bathe myself.”

He felt a sag of relief and, beneath it, a hard line of disappointment. “Probably a good idea, sir.”

“I thought so.”

And then they were just looking at each other and Elias found himself absorbed by the bare skin at Kit’s throat, visible where his banyan parted, and by his conviction that the man was naked beneath it.

Elias cleared his throat, averting his eyes. So much for settling things between them. “I’ll, uh, see to your clothes,” he said, and moved further into the bedroom.

“Cole?”

He stopped. “Yes?”