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“It is not for sale.” She paused. “Especially not to you.”
A beat, as he checked his irritation. “You said you wished to race me.”
She did not blink at the change of topic. “I did. And I daresay I am already the frontrunner.”
“If I win, you return it.”
“I only compete with worthy opponents.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Prove yourself, and we’ll see.” He waited for her to continue. “Win the first leg.”
Satisfaction crossed his face. Arrogant man. “Done. Name the location.”
Maggie laughed then, already connecting the dots. Orthe posting inns, as the case might be. They shared a look before Adelaide returned her attention to the duke. “Where’s the challenge in that?”
The Duchess of Trevescan watched Clayborn over Adelaide’s shoulder. “Wicked bruise you’ve got there, Clayborn,” she said, her attention moving from his face to Adelaide’s as she asked, “Where’d it come from?”
Adelaide raised a brow. “Are you surprised someone wanted to knock the toff back?”
Maggie coughed to cover her laugh and Duchess smiled. “I don’t know a single duke who doesn’t deserve a knocking back, come to think of it.”
“Yes, well... this one got his today.”While fighting alongside her.
Adelaide ignored the thought and the sliver of guilt that came with it, instead making a show of looking over her shoulder at him, noting that his cool gaze revealed nothing of his reaction to her words. She didn’t like that. It made her want to rattle him. She met his eyes—startlingly blue in the dim light. “I’d best be going, Duke. Your brother isn’t going to find himself.”
She turned her back on him, nodding to the driving block, where Marcus, the coachman who would drive the first leg of the journey, keeping her from watchful London eyes, was already seated, ready for distance and speed. When they changed horses, Marcus would return to the city, and she’d be alone in a fast, light carriage... unbeatable.
Still, Clayborn watched her.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said.
“I shan’t hold my breath.”
He rocked back on his heels, sliding his hands in his pockets, and suddenly, for a moment, the man from the docks was returned. Casual, graceful, and tempting.
No. Dukes were not tempting. Certainly not this one.
Not even when he said softly, “We’ll see.”
Not even when he turned away and made his way backdown the alleyway, fading into the darkness, making her feel, wildly, as though she was the one who was left behind.
After a long moment, Maggie’s low whistle sounded. “I wouldn’t mind that man stowing away inmycarriage.”
Adelaide scowled and Duchess laughed, the sound punctuated by the roar of distant chatter and laughter from inside the tavern beyond. “I’ll say this,” Duchess added, wry. “Those lips... they’re not like any ducal lips I’ve ever seen. It’s no wonder you were kissing them in broad daylight this afternoon, Adelaide.”
Adelaide’s cheeks flamed. Dammit. She should have known they’d sort it out. Adelaide cut her friend a look. “Did you two come out here for a reason?”
“In fact, we did,” Duchess said, turning serious. “You’ve riled The Bully Boys, Adelaide. You were seen and you escaped, and Alfie doesn’t like being made a fool of. Danny is already sniffing around. Looking for you.”
Adelaide curled a lip. Danny Stoke was Alfie Trumbull’s right hand—sent to sort out dirty business important enough that it required a modicum of finesse. He was Adelaide’s age, and the boy Alfie regularly referred to as the child he’d never had.
Which had never bothered Adelaide, as she’d regularly wished she had also been the child her father never had.
Danny’s appearance wasn’t a surprise. She knew she’d been recognized as she’d fled the warehouse—Clayborn’s fault. And Alfie wouldn’t be able to stand even a whisper of his long-lost daughter—already whispered about in Lambeth—returning to steal from him.
“Alfie is lookin’ to punish me,” she said, letting the South Bank edge into her words.
