Page 64 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

J em slapped a jug of wine down on the table so hard the ruby contents slopped over the edges.

‘That’s it!’ he declared. ‘That’s the last you’ll have of me.’

Kit raised his head and without responding refilled his cup. ‘You don’t mean that, Jem.’

‘I do, Lovell, and make no mistake. I’ve had two weeks of watching you drinking yourself into oblivion. Two weeks of your foul tempers are all the gratitude we get. It’s time you pulled yourself together and went looking for your wife.’

‘She’s better off without me.’ Kit downed the cup of wine in one swill. ‘I’m no good to her.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Oh Christ, Jem.’ Kit’s mouth twisted. What did the truth matter now? ‘Why do you think Thurloe had me cut down from the gallows?’

Jem shrugged.

‘Because I’ve been in his pay for the last two years. Because I was the one who sent the rest of them to their deaths.’

Jem stared at him. ‘You were the turncoat?’

Kit picked up the wine jug. His hand shook as he tried to pour the wine, slopping some on the table. When his cup was full, he looked up at his old friend, meeting Jem’s incredulous eyes.

‘I was the turncoat. I turned them all in.’

He could almost see Jem’s thought processes as he digested the information. The man he had followed into battle, had respected and maybe even loved, had just confessed to being a traitor?

It didn’t matter. Jem could not hate him any more than he hated himself.

‘You turned her in, too?’ Jem said at last.

Kit nodded.

Jem’s massive fist swung at him without warning. It caught him on the jaw and knocked him off the stool. When he opened his eyes, Jem stood over him, his fist poised to deliver another blow. Kit flinched, bracing himself for the blow or a well-deserved boot to his still-aching ribs.

‘You’re a bastard, Lovell,’ Jem said but there was no anger in his voice.

Kit opened one eye and Jem reached out his hand to pull him up. He returned to his stool, ruefully rubbing his jaw, and Jem sat down with a heavy sigh.

‘I’ve known you these ten years past,’ he said. ‘You don’t do anything without a good reason. Are you going to tell me what it is?’

‘My brother, Daniel … ’ Kit swallowed. After all these years of lies, the truth came with difficulty. ‘I was promised his release.’

‘Lovell.’ Jem shook his head and leaned forward. ‘You told me that the boy is dead.’

Kit shook his head. ‘No. They sent him to Barbados but under Thurloe’s protection. He’s still alive and, God willing, on a ship back to England.’

But even as he said the words, the nightmare that haunted him came back. What if Daniel was dead and it had all been for nothing?

‘Does Thamsine know?’

Kit nodded. ‘She knows everything about me. The very darkest corners of my soul.’ He reached for the jug, pouring himself another cup. ‘It was only a marriage of convenience, Jem. Let her think I’m dead and find someone better.’

‘Someone better? Someone like that Morton, perhaps!’

Kit snorted.

‘He’s back in London.’

Kit looked up. ‘Back from where?’

‘I hear he’s been on the Continent these last few weeks. Come back to find his lady love up to her ears in creditors, he has.’

‘So?’ Kit feigned disinterest.

‘It hasn’t occurred to your wooden head that as far as the world is concerned, your Thamsine is now a widow?’

Kit shrugged.

‘A wealthy widow,’ Jem added.

‘He can’t force her to marry him. Any agreement with her father is nullified. She’s safe enough from him.’

Jem reached across the table and grabbed the front of Kit’s shirt, hauling him up until they were nose to nose.

‘And you think that matters to him? Remember Bedlam? What he did to our May? He can force her to do anything he damn well wants, and you’re just going to sit there and let it happen?’

Kit stared into Jem’s one bloodshot eye.

‘Let go of me, Marsh,’ he commanded in a voice Jem knew well.

The big man’s mouth tightened but he let Kit go and he subsided back on the stool and picked up his cup.

‘How do you know what Morton is up to?’ Kit asked

‘I’ve been keeping an eye on him, these last months,’ Jem said, tapping his one good eye. ‘Don’t want him paying any unexpected calls on me and mine again.’

Kit raised the cup to his lips and set it down without taking a drink. ‘Do you think he’ll go after Thamsine?’

Jem shrugged. ‘What choice does he have? The Talbot woman’s no good for him now, and he’s not a man to survive long without money.’

Kit ran a hand through his greasy and knotted hair. He hadn’t dared to look in a mirror since the day he had “died” and dreaded he would see the face of a hanged man. Little wonder he had tried to expunge his nightmares with alcohol.

He swept the cup from the table, rose unsteadily to his feet and went in search of a looking glass.

Peering into the mottled depths of Nan’s pride and joy, for a brief moment, he didn’t recognise himself.

The eyes of a madman stared back at him, the whites obscured by the red of broken capillaries.

Nearly three weeks’ growth shadowed his chin and his hair, as he had suspected, hung in greasy, knotted, unkempt strands.

Both his beard and hair had streaks of grey where none had been before.

He tugged at the cloth he had tied loosely around his neck to reveal the livid shadow of the noose still marring his skin. He shuddered as his fingers traced the line of the rope, the very twists of the hemp still discernible.

He set the mirror down and leaned his head against the wall. He couldn’t go on pretending to himself that Thamsine was better off without him. The truth was that he was no good without her. He needed her as a starving man needs food.

Jem had been right. The time had come to find her—if she would have him back.