Page 29 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
She wanted Thorne.
She’d tried to make that clear.
The only reason he hadn’t taken her up on it was that he thought her too young. He thought her a mere lad.
Or maybe not. Maybe he likes youbecauseyou’re a lad.
Or did it not matter to him?
“Thorne,” she whispered.
He blinked and jerked away. “Shopping!” he cried, holding the waistcoat between them. “To the tailor!”
As she followed him from his chambers, Kit realized she was grimacing.
If she wanted Thorne, she needed to tell him the truth about who she was. But would that chase him away?
He wasglad he’d ordered the town coach brought round. The enclosed carriage was stuffy and dark, even with the windows open, but it afforded a bit of privacy to the occupants.
And Thorne wanted that privacy. He didn’t want Kit feeling uncomfortable, gadding about town with him.
On the way to Savile Row, Thorne had kept up a steady dissertation on the talents and benefits of different tailors. Luckily, a friendship with Bull—who seemed to understand fashion better than anyone else Thorne knew—had been enough of an unwanted education to keep his tongue flapping.
Although Thorne suspected the babbling was merely to keep from thinking of doingotherthings with said tongue.
Oh, for fook’s sake, make up yer mind!
Aye, he’d thought Kit a mere youth, but his words last night—and the knowledge those words were based on—told Thorne his valet was more than mature enough to understand what was happening between them.
Not only that, Kit hadinitiatedit.
Christ, why was he bothering to be so noble? Clearly Kit was no innocent. And that meant...
The town coach pulled up to his tailor none too soon.
Surprisingly, the outing was…comfortable. Thorne was used to being charming; it was how he’d been able to make so many friends in so many walks of life. But what surprised him wasKitwas equally affable. The lad teased Thorne and the tailor alike, until they were all chuckling.
Kit asked intelligent questions, proving he had an understanding of Society’s fashions and whims, and listened to the answers thoughtfully.
Not for the first time, Thorne was reminded this valet was the child of a lord and an accomplished, talented woman. Kit had been raised with every advantage, and had only taken a position as a footman to further his own goal of meeting his father, whoever he was.
And Thorne? He was taking advantage of that goal, wasn’t he?
Bah.
The reminder ruined Thorne’s good mood, even with the teasing and camaraderie—and Kit noticed, damn his eyes. The lad kept sending him concerned looks. Eventually, it was Kit who reminded them all Thorne had a social engagement to prepare for, and suggested they return to the coach.
For fook’s sake, the lad was avalet. Aye, a talented one who Thorne wanted at his side, his music soothing the headaches Thorne battled…but a valet nonetheless. A Duke wasn’t supposed to take his valet shopping, wasn’t supposed to laugh with him, wasn’t supposed to lean on the poor bastard because he was afraid what would happen if he was alone with his thoughts.
Aye, Thorne was afraid of crumbling.
And Kit was becoming an addiction.
Clambering into the coach, he sighed and tipped his head back against the squabs. Kit climbed in and took the seat beside him, so they were both facing forward.
Sitting in silence as the coachman cracked the horses into motion, Thorne couldfeelthe body beside him. How easy would it be to reach out, to stroke Kit’s cheek? To confess the way Thorne felt, what he wanted?
To confess that he needed Kit.
