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His hand in hers, his fingers laced through her own.
Had that ever happened to her before? Had she ever felt so protected?
Of course not, and it was fine. She was perfectly capable of protecting herself. It washewho required protection, anyway. Why, if she hadn’t been there, he would have been robbed by Lucia and her men, or worse, at the hands of Danny Stoke, Alfie Trumbull’s trusted lieutenant, who’d been looking for her the night she’d stolen from The Bully Boys’ warehouse, still looking for her, here.
Which meant The Bully Boys were involved, and she had to stay out of sight.
She was slightly surprised that Alfie sent Danny outside of London to find her. Adelaide didn’t make a habit of leaving the city, and when she was there, she wasn’t impossible to find. But being hunted here, two days north of the city, meant one of two things: either she’d stolen something extremely valuable, or Alfie Trumbull was angry.
With the way Danny had looked at that coach—the way his gaze had traveled over the Duke of Clayborn’s crest, like a hungry fox at a henhouse—she had a feeling it was both. And while most of The Bully Boys were hired guns with little between their ears, Danny was different. Danny was her father’s right hand for a reason. He knew what he was doing, and he was far closer than she liked.
She pushed the thought away, sliding her finger beneath the wax seal and reading the brief message within, amazed, as always. Mere mortals required rest but Duchess employed a vast network of messengers who appeared to need no such thing. When combined with Mithra Singh’s vast network of taverns and posting inns, there was nowhere on the island of Britain that the Belles could not access within forty-eight hours.
Adelaide closed the message. Helene and Jack were safe. For now.
“My brother, I assume?”
“An hour north,” she said. “Even with your detour to a roadside ditch, we’re not far behind.”
“They had a six-hour start on us,” he said. “Why are they moving so slowly?”
“Couples headed to Gretna have a tendency to linger if they believe there is time to do so.”
“Why? Wouldn’t they want to get it done?”
She met his gaze, heat flaring in her cheeks. “They want to get... other things done, as well.”
His eyes went wide with understanding. “Ah.”
She adjusted her spectacles. “We should change horses and go, once we’ve had food and a rest.”
Clayborn’s lips flattened into a thin line. “You still intend to break the match? Leave the girl unmarried and ruined?”
“I intend to return Lady Helene to London.” Adelaide did her best to avoid the question.
“To her unpleasant parents’ home? When she might return to that of her loving husband?”
If all went well with the Belles’ plan, Helene and Lord Carrington would live out their days in romantic bliss, with her father deep in the bowels of Newgate Prison. But if Helene was lost, so, too was the plan. “To London.”
He let out a sigh. “At some point, you are going to have to tell me what you are up to.” It was impossible. She couldn’t tell him anything without revealingeverything. Havistock’s murder. The threat to Helene and Jack. The Belles’ plan.
When she did not reply, he made a sound deep in his chest—pure frustration. A growl that ceded absolutely no ground.
She looked to him, his face light in the glowing candlelight of the tavern, and winced. “You’re...” She hesitated, reaching for him, stopping just before she touched him. There was a scratch high on his right cheek. A scrape along his left jaw. His hair was in disarray.
“A mess?” he offered.
She nodded and said, softly, “You lost your hat, as well.”
He ran a hand through his dark hair, his gaze trackingover her own, which she’d hastily repinned when they’d left the scene of his accident. Something flashed in his eyes—something half dangerous and half exciting—and Adelaide forced herself to look away. Clearing her throat, she considered the room, cataloguing each occupant, searching for Danny.
Danny, who she knew, without question, was searching forher, wherever he was.
“He’s not here,” Clayborn said, the words low and harsh, his blue gaze serious and urgent. “You think I would not have looked? You think I would have let us linger if he were here? You needn’t look so surprised, Adelaide. I would never let him near you.” He paused, then added, soft and firm, “Has no one ever kept you safe before?”
She was saved from having to answer when Mary returned with the key to the Belles’ room.
Clayborn leaned over the bar in an entirely unducal manner. Was hecharmingthe other woman? The barmaid tittered from her side of the scarred mahogany before making a pretty show of looking at the reservation book.
