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Long enough.
“Come!” Sesily grabbed Helene’s hand and pulled her into the cloud of smoke that lingered, toward the back door to the church—the one Adelaide knew well would make for quick escape, as she’d used it herself, years earlier.
“After this, Lady Helene, we shall have to discuss your father,” Sesily said.
“After this,” Lady Helene said, unexpected steel in her tone as she followed Sesily from the church, “I shall very happily discuss my father.”
Meanwhile, Jack ran straight for the marquess, pushing the weapon out of the way and bringing him to the ground. His pistol discharged as they fell, reverberating throughout the dark, now smoky church.
“Adelaide!” Henry turned to her instantly, the moment he heard the pistol’s retort, pressing her firmly to hischest, shielding her from the violence. When silence fell, he loosened his grip, and they reached for each other, their concern matching. “Are you—”
“—hurt?”
Their hands raced over each other, searching for blood, for fresh wounds. “Christ...” Henry leaned down and kissed her, quick and hard. “Stay here.”
And then he disappeared, back into the fray, where Alfie’s half-dozen brutes had descended from outside, summoned by the explosion along with a handful of others—who presumably banked on Danny’s triumph. Henry threw a punch and dodged a fist aimed for his broken rib.
Adelaide was filled with indignation that someone would think to harm him. Her duke. “I absolutely am not staying here!” she pronounced, palming her blade and following him.
“Dammit, Adelaide!” he shouted, knocking another one out with one punch. “There are weapons everywhere and your friend has exploded the church!”
“Not reallyexploded,” Imogen called happily from a distance. “It’s notharmful. It’s just a little one that”—the smoke cleared and she brushed a thin layer of dust off her dress—“made quite a delightful mess!”
“I look forward to debating the particulars of your explosives at another time, my lady,” Henry said, tossing a pew aside to get to another fight. “But at some point, these brutes are going to remember that, though this skirmish is between them, the war involves the Hell’s Belles.”
That much was clear, and Imogen nodded. “They’re already going to be quite put out when they discover...”
Henry’s attention snapped to her. “Discover what?”
Adelaide was distracted from the answer by movement in her periphery—Alfie, using the melee to make his way toward the door. She met his eyes, as brown as hers, but far less honest, and said, “Plan for the fight, prepare for the flight, is it, Da?”
He didn’t even look chagrined. “Not worth dyin’ for. That boy won’t stop till he marries you, so I get what I want, either way.”
Two bruisers barreled into Adelaide from behind, pushing her into Alfie’s chest. Grabbing onto his coat, she righted herself. “Not if your bruisers take him out.”
“Bah.” He waved a hand. “They’re on your side tonight.”
Her brows rose. “Bully Boys, fighting for my girls?”
“I saidtonight, Adelaide. Call it a weddin’ gift.”
A shout came from over her shoulder, and she turned to see Henry knock one of Danny’s men back. When she looked back... her father was gone. Of course.
“Imogen!” They all turned toward Duchess’s sharp summons, to discover her crouched over Havistock, aiding Jack in binding the murdering marquess, who continued to bluster. Duchess looked down at her captive and said, “Any chance you brought some of that lovely concoction you use to stop men from talking?”
“Oh, I don’t leave the house without it!” Imogen pronounced, and off she went to render the odious man unconscious.
Henry raised a brow in Adelaide’s direction. “Should I worry?”
“Only if you ever cross us,” she replied happily as he gave a little nod and returned to his fight.
“Why would I cross you?” he asked. “I’m part of the crew now, aren’t I?”
In that moment, as chaos reigned around her, and Henry’s words settled, lovely and honest, Adelaide realized that, brawl or no, she was really very happy with the way things were going. Lady Helene was safe, Lord Havistock was about to be quite captured, and somehow, impossibly, the Duke of Clayborn was by her side. A partner.
And perhaps she could be a South Bank cutpurse and a duchess, all in one.
Family was what you made it, she’d told Henry when he’d revealed the truth about his father. He’d chosen love, so why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t she claim it as hers and hang the consequences?
