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“I believe my brother is in love with Lady Helene, yes.”
“And that is enough?”
“As the lady loves him back, I shall do all in my power to ensure that they live happily ever after.” He said it with a firm certainty, as though it were a simple fact.
It was the kindest thing she’d ever heard anyone say,and perhaps that was why she asked, “Why do you believe in it?”
He returned to his food, speaking to his plate. “Because I have witnessed it.”
The honesty in the confession summoned her reply. It was the only explanation for her asking, “And you do not wish it for yourself?”
Silence fell between them, heavy with something Adelaide could not identify. Something that made her hot with discomfort, as though she had overstepped. Which of course she had. Whether or not the Duke of Clayborn wished for love was absolutely not her concern.
“Well,” she said, when it became clear he was not going to answer. “I’m sure any number of pristine, perfect misses would happily marry you and produce an absolute gaggle of heirs.”
“I should prefer to remain out of the Matchbreaker’s sights.”
The slight tease in his words released her from her nerves, back to normal. Whatevernormalwas when she was with him. “Is there something I should know about you, Henry Carrington, Duke of Clayborn, impeccably educated, wildly erudite, handsome enough to send the young ladies of Mayfair to their smelling salts, and a proper hero for the common people?”
His brows shot together. “Don’t call me that.”
“Handsome?”
“A hero.” There was distaste in the words.
“The newspapers call you that,” she said. “They love your pretty words. You’re to change the world, they say.”
“A worthy goal, no?”
“Absolutely,” she allowed. “But you can’t do it from Parliament.”
“You don’t care for politics.”
“I am a woman alive in the world, Your Grace. My existence is politics, whether I care for it to be or not. It is not the politics, but the politicians.”
He nodded. “You do not think we can make change.”
“I think large groups of powerful men have little reason to make change.” She paused. “Though I daresay your speeches are pretty.”
And they were. Once, she’d been in the gallery at the House of Lords when he’d spoken on child labor, on those born without silver spoons and titles, and he’d nearly sent her to her feet with his righteous anger. She’d recognized it, akin to her own.
Not that she would admit it.
“Pretty,” he said, “but not enough.”
She shrugged one shoulder and forked another bite of pie. “Why talk when there is action to be taken?”
“I confess to feeling that way myself on most days.” He leaned back in his chair. “Then your file contains plenty about me, after all.”
“I don’t need a file to know about you,” she scoffed. “I simply need a subscription to theNews.”
“And if you were hired to matchbreak me? That would be enough?”
Who would wish to matchbreak you?Another bite, needing the moment to tamp down the immediate response. Chewed thoughtfully. Swallowed. “Everyone has secrets. Even heroes.”
Something flashed in his dark gaze. Something that sent triumph coursing through Adelaide, because you could take the girl out of South Lambeth, but you couldn’t take the thief out of the girl. And the Duke of Clayborn was hiding something. A secret.
“Why did you offer to share this room with me?”
