Page 19 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

‘ N o!’ Kit brought his manacled hand crashing down on the table.

The pen stand jumped out of its neat alignment with the inkpot. Thurloe calmly restored it to its rightful place.

‘You have no choice, Lovell. The girl trusts you.’

‘Trusts me? Thurloe, she’s no fool. As soon as I reveal my colours, she will work out who put her in the Tower in the first place. What trust will she have in me then?’

‘It doesn’t matter what she feels about you,’ Thurloe replied, the hooded eyes cold. ‘She has no more choice in this matter than you.’

Kit ran his hands through his hair, causing the chains to clank. ‘Thurloe, she’s a friend.’

Thurloe’s eyes flashed. ‘They’re all friends, Lovell, and yet you have no compunction about turning them in. I’ve told you before, you cannot afford to allow friendships to stand in the way of this business.’

Kit stared at the man, hating him with every fibre of his being.

Thurloe rendered him as helpless as a fly struggling in a spider’s web.

The harder the small creature struggled, the stronger the bonds around it became.

It seemed every time he met with John Thurloe another part of his soul became ensnared by the man.

He wondered how long it would be before Thurloe’s web bound him forever.

Kit’s fingers closed over the bag of coins Thurloe pushed across the table, and he strode from the room without another word.

***

The following morning, Kit lay in Lucy’s commodious bed, reflecting that life did have its compensations.

With the exception of Dutton and Whitely, who remained incarcerated, the conspirators had been cast out into the dank streets.

It would not be long before they reassembled for cards and a continuation of the endless game of trying to restore the King.

Kit would go on encouraging them and turning them in.

Thinking of that miserable band of plotters, he sighed. He despised himself, but Thurloe had left him with little option.

Lucy sat at her dressing table, twisting her hair into the complex pattern of ringlets that suited her so well.

‘I think we shall go shopping this morning,’ she said, ‘if you have nothing else to do.’

Kit went through a mental list of things that required doing and found none that were sufficiently pressing as to delay a shopping trip. His wardrobe had been sadly depleted by his recent incarcerations and he had no desire to seek out Thamsine Granville and impart his nasty little secret.

He could already see the hurt and betrayal in her eyes as she realised that the man who had professed to be her friend had only been waiting for the opportunity to turn her over. She would hate him, but nowhere near as much as he hated himself. She could wait.

He rolled over to watch Lucy finish her toilette.

He liked the way her small hands tweaked and tugged at her hair, forcing it to her will.

Thamsine could learn a trick or two from Mistress Mouse, but then, he reflected, he doubted Lucy’s curls would suit Thamsine.

The untamed chestnut locks would look ridiculous.

As they stepped out into the cold, damp streets, Kit knew that if he played his cards right and endured Lucy’s vacillations, he might end up with some new bit of frippery.

While he did not consider himself a fop, he did like to dress well, and with the current state of his purse and his wardrobe, any contributions were gratefully accepted.

He endured Lucy’s indecision over a dozen pairs of embroidered gloves and a length of Belgian lace, and a long discussion on the merits of apricot satin over green velvet. She rewarded him for his patience and well-chosen comments with a fine pair of embroidered kid gloves.

As they walked back to High Holborn, Lucy tucked her arm into his. ‘It’s so nice to have you all to myself for a little while,’ she said.

He drew her little hand closer. ‘I count myself a very lucky man,’ he said, ‘to have such an undemanding woman on my arm.’

Lucy gave him a coquettish smile. ‘Undemanding, am I? Just wait till we get home, Captain Lovell, and then you will see just how undemanding I can be!’

Kit laughed. The prospect of an afternoon in bed with Lucy stretched ahead of him. Life could be worse.

‘Captain Lovell, is it not?’ A tall, dark-haired man stepped into their path and bowed, sweeping his hat from his head.

Kit acknowledged the bow. ‘Colonel Morton.’

Morton straightened, allowing Kit the first real look at the man’s face in daylight.

Long, thick, coal-black hair, peppered lightly with grey at the temples, curled to his shoulders, framing an oval face.

Kit saw the arrogance in the man’s light grey eyes and the twist of his full lips, and felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Even if he had not been apprised of Morton’s reputation, he knew his type and instinctively disliked it.

Beside him, Lucy stirred as Morton’s eyes turned to her.

‘Mistress Talbot, Colonel Ambrose Morton.’ Kit made the introduction with some reluctance. He did not like the way Morton’s gaze slithered over Lucy’s small but perfect body, lingering on her heart-shaped face.

‘Mistress Talbot, your servant.’ Morton lifted Lucy’s gloved hand to his lips.

Kit felt a shiver run through Lucy’s body, and he put a hand possessively over the small hand that clasped his arm.

‘A pleasure, Colonel Morton. Are you and Kit old friends?’

Morton’s eyes flicked onto Kit’s face. ‘Not so much friends perhaps as casual acquaintances, Mistress Talbot. We share the unhappy circumstance of having wasted our youth in pursuit of a losing cause.’

‘I am not sure I quite share that sentiment,’ Kit demurred.

‘Oh come, Lovell, you must admit that it is time to make a fresh start in life. Or do you still hanker after what cannot be?’

Kit stared at the man’s handsome, smiling face, unsure of how to answer the question.

Lucy interposed before he could reply. ‘Are you staying in London, Colonel?’

He shook his head. ‘At the moment I lodge with friends at Turnham Green, Mistress Talbot.’

‘Oh, a pretty village,’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘I know of someone who lives there. Who is your friend?’

‘Master Roger Knott. He is a lawyer of some repute. Are you acquainted with him?’

Lucy’s face lit up and she withdrew her hand from Kit’s arm.

‘Oh, I know him well. My late husband used his services as a lawyer, and he has been a great support to me since Martin’s death.’

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, so you are Martin Talbot’s widow?’

Lucy’s head bobbed, the feather in her hat rising and falling. ‘Indeed. Did you know my husband?’

Ambrose shook his head. ‘No, but I have heard Knott speak of him … and you.’

Kit shifted his feet. ‘Lucy, it’s getting late and it’s cold … ’

Lucy looked up at him and smiled. ‘Of course.’ She held out her hand to Morton, curtseying as he bowed over it. ‘I bid you a good day, Colonel.’

‘And I you, Mistress Talbot.’ Morton inclined his head to Kit. ‘Lovell.’

Putting his hand under Lucy’s elbow, Kit propelled her forward. Only when they were well past Ambrose Morton did he slacken his pace, allowing them both to fall back to an amble. Lucy tucked her hand into the crook of Kit’s arm again.

‘What a charming man,’ she mused.

Kit grunted.

Lucy continued, ‘And so handsome.’

‘What makes a man handsome in your eyes?’ Kit struggled to keep the irritation from his voice.

Lucy flicked her hand at his upper arm. ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ she said. Kit gave a snort of disgust.

Lucy sighed and leaned her head against his arm. ‘Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Captain Lovell?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Kit scoffed. ‘There is just something about the man I neither like nor trust. It has nothing to do with his handsome face or his charming manners.’

‘If you say so,’ Lucy said, and smiled.