Page 49 of The Duke of Lies
Cuddy’s dark eyes narrowed as he regarded Kit with disdain. “None of your business how I spent it.”
Now Kit was starting to grow irritated. “It’s entirely my business. Because it’smymoney. Frommyestate.”
The edge of Cuddy’s mouth quirked up as he stalked forward. He was a large man with shoulders wider than Kit’s and a barrel-shaped abdomen. He was a bit shorter, however, with squat legs that didn’t look as if they could run very far—or very fast. But it didn’t look as if Cuddy was going to run. And anyway, Kit wasn’t going to let him.
Cuddy removed his jacket and tossed it to a chair, then did the same with his cravat, leaving him garbed in a plain waistcoat and wrinkled shirt. His dark hair was matted against his scalp, and from the smell of him, Kit guessed he hadn’t bathed in a few days.
“Yourestate? Is that right?” Cuddy’s confident tone and smug expression made Kit’s skin prickle with apprehension. “I have it on good authority you aren’t really who you say you are.”
Fuck.How the hell did this cretin know that? “Someone has been feeding you lies.” Kit needed to know who.
“Maybe I puzzled it out all on my own.” He tapped his fingertip against his temple. “I’m smart enough to swindle a decent sum of money for a long period of time without getting caught.” He chuckled low in his throat. “Seems like we both have things we’d prefer to keep hidden, so why don’t you just go on back toyourcastle, and we’ll forget this conversation ever took place.”
Kit donned the haughty, glacial smile he gave the captain of an opposing ship just before he seized his goods. “Or, you’ll give me the money you stole, and I won’t have you transported across the world. That’s your only choice, Cuddy, and you’re running out of time to make it.” Kit lifted his waistcoat to reveal the pistol tucked against his side.
Cuddy launched quickly, aiming straight for Kit, who just managed to pull the gun out and cock the hammer. Cuddy ducked low and shoved his shoulder into Kit’s stomach as his hand wrapped around Kit’s wrist, squeezing viciously until Kit dropped the pistol.
Kicking the weapon away, Kit focused on the brute, who drove his fist into Kit’s cheek. Kit pushed him hard, sending Cuddy flailing backward. But the man didn’t fall.
Kit took advantage of the moment’s reprieve and reached into his boot for his knife. Cuddy came at him, also wielding a blade. Kit arced his hand out, slicing the blade across Cuddy’s chest and catching a bit of flesh as he cut through his clothing.
Cuddy’s free hand rose to his chest as he leapt back. “Son of a bitch.”
They circled each other a moment before Cuddy lunged again, aiming for Kit’s chest and then changing his direction at the last moment. He brought the blade up to slice Kit’s face, but Kit managed to correct and pull—mostly—out of the way. The knife scraped into his flesh from his temple to down in front of his ear before he managed to remove himself completely from harm’s way.
Blood trickled down his jaw as Cuddy’s eyes took on a feral sheen. The man grabbed a bottle from a table and smashed it against the wood. He held up the broken bottle with a taunting sneer and came at Kit swinging both arms, but leading with his knife. Kit met Cuddy’s knife with his, and as the blades clashed, Cuddy swiped with the broken bottle. Kit flung up his hand in a defensive gesture, and the glass bit into his palm. He kicked out and hit Cuddy in the thigh instead of his intended target—the groin. Still, Cuddy stumbled back, and Kit pressed his advantage, kicking out again, this time aiming for Cuddy’s knife hand. His boot connected with Cuddy’s flesh, and the man cried out as the knife fell and spun across the floor.
Cuddy brought his hand up and wrapped it around Kit’s wrist, squeezing tight while he brought his jagged bottle up toward Kit’s head. Kit chopped his hand into Cuddy’s wrist hard enough to make him drop the bottle. All the while, Cuddy twisted Kit’s wrist mercilessly until his knife clattered to the floor from his useless grip.
Unarmed, they came together again with fists and fingers and elbows and knees. They crashed into a chair, sending it skidding into the wall. Kit barely managed to keep his balance as Cuddy reached for his leg to try to pull him down.
Kit struggled to draw a breath. “This doesn’t have to end badly.”
“It doesn’t end any other way—for you.” Cuddy sneered as he scanned the room, clearly looking for a weapon. His gaze landed on Kit’s knife and turned murderous. Kit realized this was a fight hehadto win.
Kit saw that Cuddy’s blade wasn’t far. Lunging for the blade, he picked it up and turned it in his hand before sending it flying into Cuddy’s chest just as the man turned toward him after plucking up Kit’s weapon.
Eyes wide and the color draining from his face, Cuddy sank to the floor in a heap, falling backward against the edge of a threadbare carpet.
Dammit, Kit hadn’t meant to kill the man, just keep himself from being killed. Kit saw Cuddy’s coat hanging from a hook by the door and grabbed it before rushing to the man’s side. He pressed the garment to the man’s chest around the knife. Kit didn’t dare remove the weapon.
Cuddy’s smile was ghastly, his face pale as blood drained from his body. “Don’t have to do that. Won’t matter. I’m a dead man. Don’t try to tell me you’re a duke. Dukes don’t fight like that.”
“Who told you I’m not Blackburn? Tell me, and I’ll fetch you a doctor.”
Cuddy’s smile widened, and blood leaked through the gaps between his teeth. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you? But no, I think I’ll go to my grave thinking of you looking over your shoulder for the rest of your miserable life, wondering who knows your secret. I’ll be waiting for you on the other side. Men like us don’t get to rest.”
Men like us.
Kit wanted to argue that he wasn’t like Cuddy, that he wasn’t a thief, which was about the most hypocritical thing in the history of hypocrisy. Kit was a liar, and a fuckingpaidand sanctioned thief. No, men like them wouldn’t find eternal rest.
Curling his fingers around the bloodied edge of the man’s waistcoat, Kit growled, “Tell me!”
Cuddy only smiled again before going limp, his eyes shuttering for the last time.
With an oath, Kit let the man go and sat down hard on the floor, scooting away from the body. What a fucking disaster. He hadn’t retrieved the money. He hadn’t discovered how Cuddy had known he wasn’t the duke. And the man was dead.
And someone was knocking on the door.
