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He bit back a shout.
“Still a bitch,” Danny said. “You know, it will be good to take you with me. Teach you a lesson I should have taught you years ago. You always thought you were better than me.”
“Iwasbetter than you. I just forgot how much.” He gripped her tighter. “There are things I did not forget, however.” Before he could reply, she spat directly into his face, then lifted one long, lithe leg and drove her knee directly into Danny’s groin. No quarter.
Good girl.
Clayborn was moving even as she grasped Danny’s head while he doubled over in pain and put her knee into his nose.
The man screamed and fell like a tree.
Adelaide was already turning. “We have to go.” She crossed the room, lifting his box from where it had tumbled to the floor the night before, tossing it into her bag. “Now. We have to get to Helene.”
“Adelaide,” Danny called after her from his position, curled in on himself on the floor. She turned back. “Your girls can’t protect you everywhere.” There was no mistaking the threat in his words. “And your duke ain’t going to protect you much longer, either. Will he? Boys from Mayfair don’t end up with girls from the South Bank.”
Without a moment’s thought, Clayborn stepped over Billy and headed for Danny.
“No,” Adelaide said, reaching a hand out to him. “No.”
He ignored her.
“Henry,” she said. “There’s notime.”
There would be time for this. He would make time for this. He wouldstoptime for this. He leaned over and lifted the other man by the shirtfront, staring down into his eyes, barely open. “You tell herda”—he spat the word into the other man’s face—“and anyone else who asks, that Adelaide Frampton is under the protection of the Duke of Clayborn—and that anyone who comes near her shall face me.”
A heavy silence fell in the room. One second passed. Two. And then Adelaide said softly, in a way that indicated that he had done the exact wrong thing: “Clayborn.”
“Oooh,” the ass crowed.“Protection.”Henry resisted the wince that came at the emphasis. At the realization of what the word could mean. That Adelaide might be paid for her company. And then Danny turned back to Adelaide and said, “You must be better in the sheets than I expected.”
Fuck this man.
With no hesitation, Henry knocked him out cold.
“I don’t believe I shall ever tire of watching you do that,” Adelaide said, pulling several long ribbons out of her skirts from the day before and extending them to him. “Take these.”
“Clever,” he said, looking down at the brightly colored ribbons. “Remind me never to disdain haberdashery.”
She flashed him a quick smile, there then gone. “If we must follow the rules of proper dress, we might as well use them to our advantage.”
Efficiently, Henry bound and gagged the pair, stripping them of their weapons, Adelaide watching through the spectacles she now wore, dressing with quiet efficiency.
When he was done, he went to her, pulling her close and tilting her face up to his, staring deep into her eyes. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”
She pressed a hand to his. “No. I am well.” She lifted a chin in the direction of the villains’ blades in his free hand. “We should take their shoes, too.”
His brow furrowed. “Their shoes?”
She dipped her head in chagrin. “Old habits.”
“What kind of habits require stealing an opponent’s footwear?”
“The kind that make it harder for the opponent to chase you down. And ensure that you’ve got a new pair of shoes if you need them.”
For all the doubt and uncertainty Henry had experienced over his lifetime, he’d never worried about shoes. The words, a harsh reminder of the world where Adelaide had grown, made him feel like he deserved every ache and sting and pain that he’d collected that evening.
And there were many of them.
He lifted a hand to his nose, aching from the bout. “I think you might have gotten what you desired.”
