Page 78 of Thief Taker

And yet he was walking down the steps to the servants’ entrance, he was peeling off his greatcoat and hanging it by the door, he was lifting a hand in acknowledgment of Tobin’s barked telling-off.

“Cole? There you are! Mr. Duvall has been asking for you these last two hours together. Get yourself up there, man.”

And then he was climbing—almost running—up the stairs and walking fast along the hallway to the familiar door to Kit’s room. His heart was racing, drowning out his good sense as he let himself in without knocking.

The room was dimly lit, only a table lamp and a candle on the mantelpiece. Kit sat on the edge of his bed, head in hands. He still wore his dirty boots and coat, his fingers pale where they clenched into his messy dark hair.

Heart pinching, Elias pushed the door shut with a click. “Kit.”

His head jerked up. “Oh, thank God!” He was off the bed and across the room in two strides. “Elias, thank God.”

“Kit—”

Without preamble, Kit hauled him into a crushing embrace. “I thought—” His voice choked off and he buried his face against Elias’s neck. “When you fell, I thought—”

Helpless, Elias held him close, stroking his back, his hair. “Aye,” he murmured. “It’s all right.”

It’s impossible.

It was impossible to let him go.

“Did they hurt you?” Kit said, pulling back enough that he could see Elias’s face. “Are you hurt?”

Elias shook his head. “Not badly.” One hand was still in Kit’s hair, trailing down across the stubbled line of his jaw. “And you?” There was darkness in Kit’s eyes, something despairing. “Kit, what happened?”

He gave a little shake of his head, dismissing the question. “I thought you were dead.” He leaned in and touched his mouth to Elias’s lips, speaking the words into the kiss. “When you fell, it looked like you were dead.”

He was shaking, Elias could feel it. He pressed his palm to Kit’s cheek, smiled against his lips. “It’ll take more than a tap to do for me, don’t you worry.”

“But I did,” Kit murmured. “I did worry. I thought—” He drew back enough to look at him. “I couldn’t stand it,” he said. “Elias, I couldn’t stand it.”

“I know.” The truth was in his eyes, alongside the warmth Elias craved. More than warmth. He saw that now, and it frightened him.

“Oh God,” Kit breathed, with an edge of desperation.

Elias drew back, but Kit pushed forward. Seizing him by his coat, Kit kissed him again, hard—a man chasing oblivion.

Closing his fingers around Kit’s wrists, Elias pulled his hands away. “Tell me what happened,” he said. “You ain’t yourself.”

“What does it matter?” Kit’s eyes were dark and wild, but not only with passion. There was something else there, something Kit didn’t want to admit.

“Kit.” He took him firmly by the shoulders. “What happened?”

“I can’t—”

“Kit.”

He looked away, the fire in his eyes half anger. “It’s over,” he said, jaw clenching. “It’s done. Salter has the deeds to Ashbourne Abbey—they’ve already been accepted as James’s stake in Le Grand Jeu. And he’ll lose. Marlborough will make sure of it.”

“Salter told you that?”

A curt nod. “The deeds were delivered to him late last night. I asked the solicitor not to release them, but Marlborough must have pressured him.”

“Shit.” Elias’s stomach dropped. “Where’s your solicitor’s office?”

“Chancery Lane. Why?”

“Chichester Rents?”