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“No, he does not.”
She surprised them both with the quick answer. “When did you realize that?”
“Yesterday, at Havistock House.” When she’d realized Jack, Lord Carrington, had turned to bareknuckle fighting for The Bully Boys to keep Lady Helene safe. A decent man doing his best to protect the woman he loved.
Decent, like his brother.
“Yet you chase them, still. To break this match.”
Not for that reason. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Because a terrible man was after an innocent girl. And the Belles needed to keep her safe. And the Matchbreaker was the best tool in their arsenal. But those were secrets that were not hers to tell. The best she could do was, “Because your brother is not the most important piece of this.”
His body stiffened and his lips pressed together, his arms crossed over his chest like armor as he leaned against the door.
“And so we are to be at odds.”
She lifted her chin, ignoring the way the simple words, devoid of anger and full of truth, felt. “It is neither the first nor last time I will be at odds with powerful men.” She should have left it there. There was no more for him to know. Except she added, “I have spent a lifetime at odds with powerful men.”
She waited for him to argue. To tell her that his brother was different. That he was different. That they were to be trusted. To press her for more. It was a play she knew well.
When he finally spoke, however, it was with a new script. “Not tonight.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“Tomorrow, we begin again. Tonight, we are not at odds.”
Impossible. “Why not?”
“Because we are here, in this room, together. And whatever unnerved you downstairs. Whoever unnerved you. Tonight... they shall have to come through me.”
If she’d been given a dozen guesses as to what he would say, that wouldn’t have been on the list. And she could not deny how much she liked the promise in the words, a promise that no one had ever made to her before.
To protect her. For no other reason than because he could.
Pleasure bloomed in her breast, unbidden. Unwelcome. Who was this man? What was this game? “I am no damsel in distress.”
“I do not disagree. I’ve seen the blade you keep strapped to your thigh.”
The weapon in question grew heavy in its holster. “And still you stand sentry, as though I am.”
Another long silence, long enough for Adelaide to wonder if they were through for the night. To rise and head for her bag once more, eager to busy herself beneath his watchful gaze.
“My father liked puzzles.”
Four words, like a revelation. A gift from the Duke of Clayborn, who even when he spoke of love, revealed nothing of himself.
She stilled, looking to him. “He made the box.”
He did not have to reply. She was right, and it explained a number of things, not the least of which was why the Duke of Clayborn had ventured into South Lambeth in shirtsleeves. Whatever was inside the box held value beyond riches. It was as he had said—private.
“I like puzzles as well,” he added, and she nodded again. He came off the wall. “It’s why I followed you from the warehouse. To the docks. To Covent Garden. Why I followed you to this inn at the edge of the earth.”
“We’re a day’s ride from London.”
“But the rules here are different, aren’t they?” The words were a quiet rumble as he drew closer. “We might as well be on the other side of the planet.” She was beginning to regret urging him from his place by the door, his movements, smooth and sure, setting her heart pounding, heavy and quick, a mere change in his proximity enough to send her spinning. It was nonsense, of course.
