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Resisting the urge to scowl at the pretty tableau the pair made, Adelaide leaned in as Mary said, “I’m afraid we’ve no free room for the evening, sir.”
“Nothing at all, you say?” He leaned further over, his gaze tracking the notes in the book. “Hmm.” And then, before she could suggest he find a bale of hay in the stables, he turned to Adelaide and shot her a smile warm enough to raise the temperature in the room.
Warm enough that when he reached a welcoming hand toward her, she forgot that she shouldn’t catch it. Shouldn’t let him tug her closer.
Definitelyshouldn’t let him say, “That’s alright. I shall simply have to share with my wife.”
Adelaide’s eyes shot wide at the words. “Yourwhat?”
“Only one room,” he said, the words liquid and doting.“Again, would you believe it?” She ignored the thrill that tumbled through her as he grinned and lifted her hand—the hand that had betrayed her!—to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles.
She absolutely did not like that.
But she did not pull away when he did it a second time, for some reason, and turned that smile back to Mary. “Newlyweds. We’re still getting comfortable with the descriptors. Would you send food and a bath to our room?”
“Ourroom?” Who did this man think he was? Last night had been a special case.
“Quite,” he said, patting down his pockets, fire and irritation flaring in his gaze. “And lucky, I’ll say, as it seems my purse is gone once more.”
“Lucia,” she said with a wicked smile. He deserved that.
He raised a brow. “Your kindred spirit.”
“Light fingers make heavy pockets,” she replied, simply. “It’s honest work.”
“Is it?” He paused. “Her men, Tobias and Rufus—are they—”
“Her men,” Adelaide said, simply. Clayborn’s brows rose in surprise. “Though if you ask me, that is more men than a body requires.”
“Seems Lucia feels differently,” he said dryly.
Adelaide had never heard Lucia complain, that much was true.
“Mary!” Adelaide was saved from the conversation by a too-big, too-loud brute shouting from across the room for the tavern mistress, who started in a way Adelaide knew too well, her spine going straight and her chin dipping to hide the loss of her smile. “Bring me anowwer drink!”
The man didn’t need another drink. Adelaide was certain of that, even as storm clouds crossed the other woman’s face and she made to do as she was bid. Adelaidehad seen this particular play before; going up against the lout did not end prettily for Mary, nor for any traveler who wasn’t rich and powerful and male.
She reached for Mary’s arm, staying her movement and meeting her eyes. A lifetime of conversation passed between them before the other woman pulled away and crossed to the drunk.
“Who’re they?” the man asked, loud enough for the query to carry across the room, but it was impossible to hear Mary’s quiet response. “Stop talkin’ to the toff. You ain’t expensive enough for him.”
His laugh was overloud—the kind men laughed when they wanted attention, and not amusement. Adelaide stiffened, her fingers itching to find a blade. To give the man a warning.
“If you’re to take him on, you’ll need a second,” Clayborn whispered at her elbow, his words sharp as steel.
She didn’t move her attention from the man at the end of the bar. She couldn’t make out his tone, but she didn’t have to. The way Mary’s shoulders drooped a touch, as though she could somehow make herself small—invisible—was enough. Anger flared. “Are you offering?”
“Depends. Are we trying to avoid notice?”
Her heart rate increased. “I’m rarely noticed.”
He made a little disbelieving sound.
She looked to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Someday, Adelaide Frampton, you are going to realize that you are absolutely impossible to miss.”
Before she could respond to that, the man across the bar chucked Mary beneath her chin—an action that could have been playful if it didn’t feel like such a threat. Clayborn stiffened, a fist forming on the bar.
