Page 50 of The Duke of Lies
“Mr. Strader, are you all right?” The voice was soft and feminine.
Shit.Kit coughed and lowered his tone to a gravelly rasp. “Fine, thank you. ’Night!”
He waited, breathless, for a response. At last came “Good night,” and the sound of receding footfalls.
He expelled his breath and looked at the body. Regret coursed through him. He hadn’t wanted to kill the man, but Cuddy hadn’t given him a choice. In truth, Kit had underestimated him. He’d presumed Cuddy to be a thief, not someone intent on violence. That had been Kit’s mistake, and one he wished had turned out quite differently.
Kit considered wrapping the body in the dingy carpet and hide it somewhere, but he wanted the man to be found and to have a decent burial. What he ought to do was inform the constable, but that would draw attention to himself, and he knew his ruse couldn’t last much longer. Particularly since there was someone else out there who knew he wasn’t the duke.
No, what he ought to do was leave Blackburn immediately. But the thought of abandoning Verity and Beau, of never seeing them again, was more painful than any injury he’d ever sustained.
Wincing, Kit pushed himself up. He hurt just about everywhere from the fight, and at some point he’d lost the ledger from the back of his waistband. The blood on his face had dried, but his hand was still bleeding and hurt like hell. He’d have a variety of bruises come morning and wondered what the devil he’d tell Beau.
Thinking of that innocent boy as a man lay dead in front of him forced Kit’s eyes closed. He took deep breaths and pondered how far he’d come and how different his life was now compared to just a few weeks ago. He’d killed men before, dozens during the war, but this was somehow different.
Because he was different.
Weary and aching, he opened his eyes and pushed himself up. He took his knife from Cuddy’s hand and slid it into his boot. Then he located his pistol and the ledger and tucked both into his waistband.
He went back to the desk and stuffed the letter from Kingman into his waistcoat. A quick search of the desk didn’t reveal anything else of note.
Rather than risk the landing and the stairway given the presence of others in the building, Kit decided to take the leap to the bushes below. Branches poked into him as he landed, scratching at him and adding to his pains.
After finding his coat, he shrugged into the garment, grimacing. On his way back to the castle, he became even more aware of his injuries. He was also aware that the moon was sinking, and he hoped to make it home before the guiding light disappeared.
Home.Was it really? He’d begun to think so, but Cuddy’s words tonight had reminded him that he was an imposter, and this was supposed to be a temporary game.
Hell, he could return to the castle, take any number of items from silver to weapons to Verity’s jewelry and be on his way without a backward glance. His chest ached at the thought.
And yet that would be the right thing to do.
No, the right thing would be to take nothing and just leave. In fact, he could divert his path right now and go toward the coast. Just the thought of the ocean lapping the shore, of the salty air coating his skin, of the sound of seabirds calling him…Thatwas home.
His feet kept propelling him toward the castle, however.
It took nearly twice as long for him to get back, and the moon had vanished by the time he reached the lower gate of the courtyard. He’d avoided the main gatehouse, which was staffed with a gatekeeper. However, Beaumont Tower had been built as a fortress, and there was only one way into the castle. The underground escape route had apparently collapsed and had never been rebuilt. Perhaps Kit ought to add that to his list of improvements should he require another clandestine trip from the grounds.
Which he might.
He had to find out who else knew—or at the very least, suspected—his secret. Perhaps the ledger would provide a clue.
Praying he wouldn’t run into a retainer at this hour, he hurried across the courtyard and into the upper gateway. The door to the stairway that came out next to his bedchamber was still unbolted, just as he’d left it. Once inside, he slid the bolt, then climbed the stairs as quickly as his aching limbs could manage.
Light from the sconce in the corridor made him blink as he adjusted from the darkness. He grazed his shoulder against the doorframe from the stairs with a thud. A moment later, the sound of a door opening made him freeze. It was just ahead. Not his door. Beau’s.
Shit.
How was he going to explain the blood all over him to the boy?
But it wasn’t Beau. Verity came into the corridor, shutting Beau’s door behind her. She came toward him, her brows low. Then her eyes widened as she neared. “Rufus?”
“I’m sorry I disturbed you. Is Beau all right?” He wanted to deflect attention from himself, but even more, he wanted to know why she was in Beau’s room at this hour.
“He’s fine, just woke up and asked for water. He’s asleep now.” She edged closer, her gaze fixed on the cut on his face. “What happened to you? Where have you been?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. I’m just going to get cleaned up and go to bed.”
“Come with me.” She turned and started along the corridor toward her chamber.
