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Lucia considered him for a moment. “And the crest?”
“Especially the crest.”
She smiled broadly. “Five quid for the carriage. Another ten for the crest.”
A fortune. “I suppose I’m getting the best of service.”
“The very best, Your Grace.”
He reached into his pocket to pay Lucia. “I’m taking the horses. And my bag.”
She handed the bag off happily. “What do I want with a sack of cravats and a pot of shaving soap, anyway?”
He turned to Adelaide. “How far to the inn?” He was sure she’d knew precisely where their race ended. Was sure, too, that the people there would welcome her with open arms.
“Thirty minutes.”
He nodded, holding back a groan. He needed a bath and a bed and possibly a needle and thread after the leap he’d taken. He did not want another hour on these roads. But he wasn’t about to give these four the satisfaction of acknowledging his weakness.
“I assume it is rife with people well paid by the Duchess of Trevescan and full of secret passageways for your escape?” At least she had the grace to look chagrined. “Excellent. I shall be right at home. Not to mentionpreparedfor whatever is to come.”
Having had enough of whatever this madness was, he turned back to Lucia with a quick nod. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Lucia.”
Her brows rose with an amused smile. “Any friend of Adelaide...”
“He’s not my friend,” she protested.
“Absolutely not,” Clayborn agreed. “We are at odds.”
“There, you see?”
“I’m simply the man she came back to save when she could have disappeared into the night and won the day.”
Her jaw dropped, and if he weren’t in pain, he might have enjoyed it more. “That’s not—”
Filing the memory away for later consideration, he hefted his bag over his shoulder, and looked to the men at a distance. “And you two. Thank you for not stealing my horses.”
Tobias tipped his cap.
That sorted, Clayborn looked to Adelaide. “Your carriage, if you will, Miss Frampton.”
There was a beat while everyone realized that the Duke of Clayborn had taken control.
“I’ll say this—” Lucia began.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Adelaide cut her off.
“—he might be the first duke I’ve ever liked.”
Chapter Eight
Thirty minutes later, they entered the Hungry Hen to discover a tavern full of people and another lady barkeep. Mary Bright wasn’t quite as openly friendly as Gwen, but she poured a long pint, made a lovely bed, and happily held messages for Adelaide and others as they made their way north to the border. Messages like the one she set on the bar when Adelaide and Clayborn arrived.
Mary was a new addition to the Hell’s Belles network, having only recently inherited the management of the Hungry Hen from her aunt, a longtime contact of Duchess. But she was quick to leap into action when Adelaide introduced herself, heading off to fetch the key to the Belles’ reserved room.
The drive had been silent, Adelaide playing over the events of the afternoon, the pleasure of their race, the terror of watching Clayborn’s carriage disintegrate in the road.
Not because he might have died, of course. He could do whatever he wished. She wasn’t warming to this handsome man who was less and less the straitlaced aristocrat she’d thought him to be, negotiating with highwaywomen and sleeping in chairs by the door to feed a wild instinct to keep her safe.
