Page 22 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

‘I would be delighted,’ Thamsine said.

Lucy smiled and held out her hand to Thamsine. ‘Shall we say two in the afternoon? Talbot’s Wine Merchants in High Holborn; you can’t miss it. Now, I have an appointment with my tailor. If you will excuse me, Mistress Granville.’

The women curtsied with punctilious politeness.

‘Kit, I shall see you this evening.’ Lucy smiled and held out her hand. Kit bent low and kissed it.

Lucy gave Thamsine a last, triumphant look before pushing her way through the crowd, her high pattens clattering on the cobbles. ‘So that is your Lucy,’ Thamsine said.

Kit looked defensive. ‘She is not my Lucy, any more than I am hers. I assure you, our relationship is one of pure mutual convenience, not ownership.’

‘I am not sure that she shares that sentiment,’ Thamsine observed.

‘What do you mean?’

Thamsine shrugged. ‘I’m a woman, Captain Lovell. I know these things.’

‘Then you are mistaken,’ he replied, ‘and as for this ridiculous notion of music lessons, I am asking you, as a friend, not to do it, Thamsine.’

She gave him a quick sideways glance. His mouth had set in a thin, hard line, the brows creased.

‘I am hardly in a position to refuse work when it is offered, Captain Lovell.’

‘Well, you will refuse this!’

She brought her chin up and looked him squarely in the eye. ‘I’m sorry, Captain Lovell. This is a private matter between Mistress Talbot and me, and if it causes you awkwardness then I make no apology.’

‘Causes me awkwardness?’ Kit’s eyes widened. ‘I try very hard to keep my private life just that, private!’

‘And your private life is entirely your concern, just as my right to accept a commission is my concern!’ Thamsine said. ‘Do you still wish to partake in coffee?’

Kit brought his attention back to her. ‘Yes. That was the purpose of this excursion.’

They walked in silence. Kit glowered and limped beside her, his hands behind his back. Thamsine, unrepentant, straightened her back and ignored her surly companion.

The smell emanating from the coffee house hit them even before the door opened. Thamsine stood still, breathing in the heady aroma. ‘Oh, I have never smelt anything like that. Do you suppose it tastes as good?’

Kit’s face lightened and he closed his eyes. ‘It does have a pleasant smell. After you, Thamsine.’

They secured a small table, in a dark corner away from the crowd, and a servant brought them two small cups filled to the brim with the dark, steaming brew. Thamsine sniffed it suspiciously and took a tentative sip. The smell belied the bitter taste. She wrinkled her nose and set the cup down.

Kit watched her. ‘Is it bad?’

‘It’s an acquired taste!’ she said, watching as Kit took a sip.

He frowned. ‘I must agree with you. I can’t see it replacing a good ale.’

‘So, tell me how you met Lucy Talbot,’ Thamsine asked.

He gave a heavy sigh. ‘Am I to get no peace on this subject? Very well! I bumped into her, or should I say, she bumped into me. She was not watching her step owing to the number of parcels she carried. Lucy and the parcels went flying. What more could a gentleman do than assist her?’ He set the cup down and looked at her.

‘Now, tell me how things are with the French Ambassador.’

She shrugged. ‘There is nothing to tell. His mistress is pleasant but rather dull. Bordeaux himself is charming, and then there is this odious little man called Baron de Baas … ’ She broke off as Kit looked up. ‘Do you know him?’

‘I … ’ Kit grimaced and looked out of the window for a moment before turning his attention back to her. He sighed. ‘I think it is time for honesty with each other.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Thamsine, when you were in the Tower, I believe you met with a man called John Thurloe.’

Thamsine felt her heart skip a beat. Did he suspect her of being a spy? She bit her lip and replied slowly. ‘I was questioned by a man of that name. What of him?’

‘I know why you’re working for Bordeaux. Thurloe put you there.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her heart skipped a beat. She must be bad at this game if he had already guessed. Best to try and brazen it out , she thought.

Kit’s shoulders hunched and he looked away. ‘Thamsine, this isn’t easy for me.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We are in the pay of the same employer. Thurloe told you he would provide you with a contact. I … I am to be your contact.’

‘What!’

‘Keep your voice down. You heard what I said.’

‘You mean you are in his pay?’

He looked over her shoulder and swallowed. ‘Yes.’

She stared at him as the implications of his words sank in. ‘You’re a turncoat?’

He flinched. ‘Keep your voice down, woman! I take no pride in it, but it pays well and I do it.’

Thamsine stared at him in disbelief. ‘All your professions of loyalty to the King’s cause and all the time you take Cromwell’s shilling?’

He returned her gaze, his green eyes flashing. ‘Before you start throwing stones, Thamsine Granville, may I remind you that you have sold your soul to the same Devil?’

‘I … ’ she began but realised she couldn’t deny it. ‘I had no choice.’

‘Well, neither did I!’

‘Why? What does Thurloe hold over you, Lovell? What possible reason could you have other than the money? Tired of scraping a living in exile so you returned to trade your friends’ confidences for Cromwell’s shilling?’

She had hurt him. She could see the pain in his eyes. ‘My reasons are my own,’ he said in a low, flat tone.

‘I suppose it was you who betrayed The Ship Inn Plotters?’

He swallowed. ‘Yes.’

Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. ‘And me? You betrayed me?’

His momentary silence was all she needed. She rose to her feet and struck him across the face with all the force she could muster.

‘ Tais-toi !’ Kit grasped her wrist and pulled her downwards. ‘Sit down and stop making a spectacle of yourself,’ he continued in French. ‘You have to trust me. You have no choice.’

She recognised the tone of command in his voice and sank to her seat, glowering at him. The man she had thought had saved her had thrown her into the Tower of London for his own reasons, and now he wanted her to trust him?

‘You hypocrite. All those solicitations, all that concern for my wellbeing. I was just a prize to be handed over to Thurloe when the time was right,’ she said in a low, angry voice.

Kit rubbed his stinging face, his eyes flashing. ‘I am not going to deny it. Now,’ he said, his mouth a thin, angry line, ‘put the slanging to one side, Thamsine. We have work to do.’

She glared at him. ‘What work?’

‘I am your contact. Is there anything I need to know?’

She looked away, fighting back the stinging tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes. The first rush of anger slipped away, to be replaced by hurt and betrayal.

‘I thought you were my friend,’ Thamsine said in a low, uneven voice. She looked up at him, searching for the man she thought she knew, the man she had thought of every day since they had met.

‘I don’t have friends,’ he said.

She looked into the face of a man who had commanded men, men who would have followed him to Hell if he had asked. They were both bound for Hell, and she had no choice but to follow him.

‘How do I know you’re telling me the truth?’ she asked, summoning the last edge of defiance.

He shook his head. ‘You have no reason to trust me, but ask yourself – how would I know that you are in Thurloe’s employ unless he had told me?’

She lowered her head. ‘I am repaying a debt.’ She looked up at him. ‘But you were always a King’s man. What has Thurloe got over you?’

A muscle in Kit’s cheek twitched as his mouth tightened.

After a long moment, he said, ‘I owe you the truth. I’ve already told you I was wounded and taken prisoner after Worcester.

The choice Thurloe offered me was simple – take his coin or I died in a stinking hellhole.

’ He looked away and she sensed that she had not heard the whole story, but before she could question him further, he brought his hands down on the table.

‘Enough idle chatter, Mistress Granville. It is of no matter to me whether you hate me or not. The fact remains we must work together on this. Thurloe has placed you inside Bordeaux’s house for a reason. ’

‘He wants to know about the man de Baas.’

Kit nodded. ‘And what can you tell me about him?’

‘Nothing!’ She looked up at him, hoping he could see the hurt in her eyes. ‘I have met him once and all I can tell you is that he has just returned from France, a fact your Master Thurloe is probably well aware of.’

There was a moment of profound silence, while Kit took a sip from the cup. He set it down and looked at her, a humourless smile on his lips. ‘That wasn’t so very hard, was it, Mistress Granville?’

She looked down at her cup. ‘He talked of steps being taken to restore Charles Stuart.’

‘Names? Dates? Plans?’

She shook her head.

‘Never mind. Next time you will have something tangible for me.’

‘I like your confidence,’ she scoffed.

He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. ‘You will have something for me.’

Her eyes widened at the order. ‘I can only do my best. I have limited access.’

‘It is de Baas I am interested in. I am sure you can find a way to … ingratiate yourself with him.’

She stared at him. His meaning was plain and she loathed him for it with every fibre of her being. She rose to her feet and looked at him contemptuously. ‘I hate you.’

‘Fine.’ Kit stood up and tied his cloak. ‘You can hate me. Now, do you wish to be escorted back to the Ship?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I can find my own way, Captain Lovell.’

A flicker of a smile twitched at Kit’s lips. ‘Very well, Mistress Granville. I will bid you good day until we meet again, which will be soon.’

Thamsine gathered herself together and walked away from him with every shred of dignity and outrage that she could muster, but as her steps took her further from him, her show of bravado began to ebb away from her.

She stopped and leaned against a mounting block outside an inn, her breath coming in short gasps as the extent of his duplicity sank in.

The man she had considered her friend, had maybe considered to be slightly more than her friend, had betrayed her.

He had taken her off the street for one reason only, and that was to use her as a card in his own private game with John Thurloe.

Thurloe had outplayed him. He had turned the game on Kit Lovell, making him her contact. If he had not done so, would she ever have known? Would Kit have gone on using her, lulling her with false blandishments?

She drew a heavy, uneven breath and walked on.

She despised him for his deceit. The hurt he had caused her would probably never heal.

She wanted to hate him, but as she turned her face to the leaden sky glimpsed between the crooked buildings and felt the rain on her face, she knew that what she felt for Kit Lovell was not hate.

She had hated a man enough to kill him, and somewhere in these dark, narrow streets Ambrose Morton still stalked her.