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“Why have you made a lifetime of eating alone?”
Adelaide did not like the tone of the question. She might have been alright with it if it had had some kind of pity in it, as though he thought less of her for it. That might have activated her pride and preservation. She wouldn’t have blinked if it had been full of distaste, as though being alone were a failing. But instead, it was without judgment at all. Just... a question.
And it activated something that Adelaide loathed.
Shame.
“I don’t mind it,” she said.
“Alright.”
“I don’t,” she insisted, as though she had something to prove. “I am used to doing things alone. I prefer it, honestly.”
He was watching her carefully, and though she searched for it, she could not find judgment in his attention.
She shrugged and forked another bite of pie. “Eating alone is preferable to sharing a meal before being cast out in the cold. Alone, there is no transaction. You never fear you will not measure up.”
A long silence fell—long enough for Adelaide to grow embarrassed, so she busied herself with her food. Afterwhat seemed like an eternity, he came off the wall and crossed the room, joining her, taking several bites in silence before he said, “I find it difficult to believe anyone would think you do not measure up.”
The heat of embarrassment turned to heat of a different kind. “You have to say that. It is my room or the stables for you.”
When he smiled, she liked it too much. Enough to stop whatever this was in its tracks. “At any rate, I have plenty of meals with other people. With friends. I’ve been to dinners with you, even. Though you likely do not remember.”
“Of course I remember.”Thatwas a different tone altogether. Affront. Irritation. Offense.
“I—” she started and stopped. “I am surprised. You were not exactly polite to me.”
“Miss Frampton,” he said, and she couldn’t help her scoff at the formality, considering they were in a bedchamber at a posting inn miles from anywhere. Formality had rather flown out the window. “I stopped you from making yourself a powerful enemy—Lord Coleford was a dangerous man.”
She laughed. “You think I did not know that?”
“I know you knew it. I have always suspected you are the reason he will spend the rest of his days in Newgate.”
“The man murderedseveralof his wives.Thatis why he will spend the rest of his days in Newgate.”
“Thanks to you and your... What do you call yourselves?”
She hesitated, not liking the way he noticed her. She wasn’t used to it. “I don’t know—to whom are you referring?”
“I’ve seen you,” he said. “That night, at the dinner, there were only three of you. Lady Imogen was not there. But often, there are four of you. And then, last night, it occurred to me there might be more.”
There were more. Duchess. Imogen. Sesily. Maggie.The others. “My friends.” Scotland Yard called them the Hell’s Belles. The papers had any number of names for them. The gossamer gang. Crinoline chaos. Muslin mayhem.
“They aren’t like any friends I’ve ever met,” he said. “They seem like more. The kind of friends who can end an earl on a whim.”
“It wasn’t a whim,” she said, knowing she shouldn’t get close to acknowledging his theory. Knowing she risked more than was reasonable—more than herself.
“No, I don’t imagine it was. I imagine it was well planned. Quietly,” he said. “No pretty parliamentary speeches necessary.”
“Quiet until we must be loud enough to make change,” she agreed. She met his gaze. “Loud enough for you, though.”
This man, who saw everything. Who noticed everything.
Who noticed her.
“Your secret is safe with me,” he said, something like admiration in his eyes, and she believed him. Even though she shouldn’t.
He was dangerous.
