Page 75 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
Things weresilent in the hired hackney on the journey home. One of Thorne’s coachmen drove the conveyance in different livery, in an attempt to add verisimilitude to “the Honorable John Smith” being new in town. Kit and Bull hadn’t raised any brows when she’d collected her “sister’s” wrap and hurried them out the door, Bull loudly complaining of a headache, fan all a-flutter.
They’d climbed in the carriage, swung around the corner, and found Thorne lurking in the shadows. Now he sat beside Kit, his hand clutching hers, unusually silent.
Kit didn’t mind. She wasn’t certain she wanted to speak either, and definitely wasn’t ready to face her thoughts about her father. She’d shaken his hand, she’d looked in his eyes…
And she’d known, instinctively, that he was as evil as Thorne said.
Perhaps when she was home, she’d be able to discuss him…
Home. The elaborate house she’d been in tonight, escorting Bull…that might have been home, had her father chosen to accept Kit as part of his family. She might have had cousins and a loving household.
Kit shuddered. No, Thorne’s house was far more of a home to her now.
But would it be in the future? In the future, when he married another and had children running about? When he shared his meals with the wife who loved him?
No, she couldn’t be there for that. More than anything, she wanted him to be happy. She wanted to be the one tomakehim happy, but also knew that dukesmustmarry, must produce heirs with their wives. Since Kit was an illegitimate child of an earl and an American opera singer who’d spent the last months masquerading as a man, she wasn’t fit to be that wife.
She was going to have to leave eventually.
Groaning, she dropped her head back against the squabs.
“Soon, love,” Thorne whispered, tightening his hold on her fingers. “Soon we’ll be home.”
It wasn’t really that late, thank goodness. Titsworth’s reaction to Bull, when the lad swept through the front door, was positively worth it. “Good heavens, Your Grace, you never said you’d be bringing home such a beauty!”
Since the butler had grabbed his chest in shock—Kit suspected it was entirely manufactured, considering he’d been there to see part of Bull’s transformation—she made a show of grabbing for his elbow before the footman could.
“Easy, Titsworth. A man of your advanced years can’t take too many shocks. For the love of God, don’t let herkissyou,” she scolded, as Bull batted his eyes outrageously. “Kisses have been known to kill servants in this house. Here, Titsworth, have a sit down.”
“Yes, Titsworth,” Thorne ground out, locking his hand around Bull’s elbow. “Kit and I are taking ‘her’ upstairs to get her out of this gown.”
The butler moaned theatrically and even the footman looked shocked. Bull, of course, giggled flirtatiously and blew the man a kiss.
Hiding her smirk, Kit latched onto Bull’s other elbow and helped gather his bustle as they hurried up the stairs.
Turned out, it was far easier to get Bulloutof the gown and hair pins than it was to dress him.
It was a chaotic process, and all three were laughing by the time Bull stood there in just his smalls, prancing about in mimicry of some of the nobles they’d seen that night. In exasperation, Kit tossed him his trousers and Thorne waggled the lockpick roll before he shoved it in his jacket.
“At least without pockets, I ken ye’re no’ pilfering anything. I’ll keep these.”
“Thank ye, my good man,” intoned Bull imperiously, as he smoothed down the wool of his trousers. “Ye’ve caught me indishabille.”
“Yer nipples are showing,” Thorne deadpanned. “Put on some clothes so I can take ye home before yer mother kills me.” He turned to Kit, reaching for her hand. “Ye dinnae mind if I run Bull home?”
She squeezed his fingers, strangely relieved not to have to think about the feelings this evening had caused just yet. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
Thorne didn’t even change out of his all-gray “cat burgering” clothing—as Bull called it—before hustling Bull back down the stairs. For her part, she took her time peeling off the fine suit of formal clothes the lad had procured, making certain to hang each piece beside Thorne’s.
Stepping back, she studied her waistcoat. It was as fine as the pale green one she’d helped Thorne choose and purchase for the ball where he’d been expected to woo Lady Emma. Apparently the lady had chosen an earl instead of a duke…or perhaps she’d just seen Thorne’s disinterest.
Kit’s waistcoat was smaller, yes, but the embroidery was finer. From something Thorne had said, she’d had the impressionBull himself had made it, likely for himself at first, then resized it for her. The lad had surprising talents.
She cocked her head as she studied the clothing around her.
A woman who had her own formal waistcoat and suit made by the bastard of a duke wasn’t a fit wife for a duke, no matter how much they both might wish it. If she were merely a bastard, but a well-raised and polite one, then perhaps they could have made it work. But if it was ever known they met because she took a position undressing the man…
Shaking her head, she turned away and continued her ablutions.
