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“Which place?” Maggie asked—her favorite question.
One side of his mouth lifted in amusement. “Your place, if I had to guess, Miss O’Tiernen.”
Maggie lifted her chin. “You’ve the better of me, Duke.”
“Maggie, meet the Duke of Clayborn,” Adelaide said.
“Charmed,” Maggie said when he offered a bow in her direction.
“Don’t be so sure,” Adelaide said, adding, “I don’t care for people knowing my secrets, Duke... and you’ve learned too many of them too quickly.”
He approached, movements long and easy, different than they’d been that afternoon. This was not the same man, of course. He was not on his back foot any longer. Now, he was leading the charge. “The feeling is mutual. I don’t care for the secrets you have, either.”
“And what secrets are those?” Duchess asked, too casual.
Clayborn’s attention flickered to the other woman before he repeated, “I don’t care for people knowing my secrets.”
“Don’t worry, Duchess; I shall tell you later,” Adelaide said, not looking away from him.
Clayborn’s gaze went stormy as the Duchess said, “Mmm,” as though she expected nothing less. And she did. The woman made a business of collecting information on London’s most powerful men. She’d be particularly interested in the fact that Adelaide believed the Duke of Clayborn was the owner of the box she’d thieved that morning.
Though why The Bully Boys would be in possession of such an odd thing, Adelaide had not yet divined. She considered him in the darkness—nothing like the type of man who spent time with The Bully Boys. Toostraight. Too pristine. In the year since she’d begun noticing him, she’d never seen him looking anything but a duke. At least, not until that afternoon. Bearded and throwing punches like a docklands prizefighter and kissing like one, too.
He shouldn’t care to find her. Shouldn’t think of her at all. And still, he said, “You’ve something that belongs to me.”
The box.She tilted her head in his direction. “And what is that?”
His gaze glittered in the lamplight, irritated with her. This man who did not lie would either have to reveal the existence of his stolen property, or lie. And he did not like it.
Good. She did not like him much, either.
“Your dossier.”
Duchess made a little sound in the back of her throat at the words, even as Adelaide gave a little triumphant laugh. “There’s absolutely nothing about that file that belongs to you.”
“It is information aboutmyfamily.”
“Ah, but haven’t you heard? She that finds, keeps.” His gaze narrowed at the echo of her words from earlier in the day. She made for her carriage and tossed another bomb. “Even when the item was previously owned bya duke.”
A hit. The barest flinch at the emphasis on his title, as though he was ashamed of the way he’d wielded it like a weapon earlier in the day.
“You cannot think I will simply allow you to keep it,” he said, moving toward her, stopping only when Maggie and Duchess stepped between them.
All toffs were exactly the same. “There’s noallowingabout it. It’s mine now.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “How much do you want for it?”
“What makes you think I would sell it to you?”
“This is your job, is it not? Collecting this information and delivering it to the highest bidder? You don’t matchbreak out of the goodness of your heart—if you did, you wouldn’t set foot in Havistock House, as Lord and Lady Havistock exemplify the worst of the aristocracy, don’t you think? So much for saving the women of the world.”
He meant to insult; it did not work.
Few ever noticed the true strategy of the Matchbreaker. On the surface, she seemed to choose her clients without thought—available for all circumstances, all scandals being equal. But scandals were not equal, and neither were the homes she accessed. Instead, she chose the scandals most impacting theton’s most powerful families, led by powerful men with too much to lose. Through her work, she could access a network of wives and daughters and sisters, who always knew more than men imagined, and often wished to share it, to atone for the ultimate sin... connection to a bad man.
The Belles were there to help them atone. And to bring the worst of those men down.
The Marquess of Havistock was one of the worst of the worst—unkind to his family, cruel to the world, and a murderer to boot. Adelaide would delight in the man’s demise.
