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She couldn’t tell him the truth. He did not seem the kind of man who would stand for fleeing an enemy when he might fight. Indeed, she’d seen him fight men stronger and stouter than he, and without hesitation.
That, and the single scout searching for a girl who was safe in the arms of her love two hours up the roadin a rainstorm was not the reason she’d invited him here.
I should have taken better care of him.That story—the way Clayborn shouldered the burden of his brother. Responsible. Thoughtful. Decent. There’d been something noble there that Adelaide had liked. Something honest.
But he wasn’tallhonest. He did have a secret, and it was dear enough to have been stolen by Alfie Trumbull and chased by the duke himself.
Setting her plate on the table, Adelaide crossed to her carpetbag, on a low bench at the end of the bed. Aware of Clayborn’s intense focus, she opened it and searched within, until she found what she was looking for.
Turning toward him, she set his brother’s file on the table. On top, she placed the oak cube, before lifting her plate. Resuming her seat, she took another bite of pie and watched him resist the urge to race for his prize.
He found her eyes. “You brought it back to me.”
She tilted her head. “Perhaps.”
Suspicion flooded his face. “For a price.”
“The sheer goodness of my heart is not a possibility?”
He gave a little huff of air. Not enough to be a laugh, but enough for her to wonder what his laugh would sound like. “Not even a bit.”
She pointed her fork in the direction of the cube. “Open it, and the dossier is yours.”
The humor disappeared from his gaze immediately. “No.”
Her brows shot up. “Interesting. So whatever is inside... it is more precious than your brother’s file?”Fascinating.
He hesitated at that, clearly loathing that he had given her more information than he’d intended, simply by refusing her request. “What is inside isprivate.”
The second time he’d used the word to describe the contents of the cube. She set down her plate and liftedthe box, inspecting it, allowing satisfaction into her words. “And itcanbe opened.”
“Yes.” The word was pulled from him, as though by force.
She turned the box over and over in her hands, searching for something. “Then there must be a key.”
He watched her for a long time, until he was unable to remain at a distance. Crossing to sit across from her, he asked, “Would you like a hint?”
“I know better than to think you’ll give me one for free.”
He inclined his head. “What’s the fun in that?”
“There isn’t any.” This, she understood. A trade. “What then? Name your price.”
“Answer my questions.”
Thatcould be extremely costly. Still, she brazened on. “That’s it?”
“Yes. For each question you answer truthfully, I shall give you a hint to open the box. And when you open it, I get everything. What’s inside and what’s in the dossier.”
She tilted her head. “And what do I get?”
“The satisfaction of knowing how to open it.”
Desire thrummed through Adelaide at the smug answer, delivered as though there was no doubt in the man’s mind that he’d offered her a prize beyond measure.
He couldn’t possibly be serious, unless the questions would be the kind she would not answer truthfully. But Adelaide had gone before the magistrate on more than one occasion in her short life, and knew well how to spin a yarn. “How many questions?”
“As many as you need.”
