She went on. “But men like that . . . they don’t stop at what’s legal. And our work is to meet them there, when they overstep. At least when our justice is meted out, we are able to protect the innocent bystanders.”

  “Wives and children,” he clarified.

  “Children, often. Like Helene. Wives . . .” She inclined her head. “They’re trickier.”

  “Proximity to power is a heady drug.”

  “Too many of them cannot see the truth.” She nodded. “It is not unheard of that a wife might work in tandem with a wretched husband. Against her best interests.”

  “The long run will never hold sway the way the short run does,” he said. “You’re talking to a parliamentary reformer.”

  “I read a speech of yours once. In the News. About Newgate.”

  “About closing it. For good.” He paused, lost in thought. And then he said, “I would take it all away if I could; I would spend my life erasing the memories, if you would let me.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want them erased.”

  “No?”

  “No. Henry. Don’t you see? They are fuel.”

  He hadn’t seen, but in that moment, as she spoke the words, he seemed to.

  “They forged me,” she said softly. “A girl from Lambeth who should have married a brute and raised a generation of them. And instead . . .”

  “A new path.”

  “A strange one,” she said. “Without country—half on one side of the river, half on the other. And because of it, always untethered from both. No longer a South London nipper, not yet a North London darling.”

  “You’re my North London darling,” he said softly, stealing a kiss.

  She grinned, and allowed it. “It’s odd. Logically, I know that I have a place with the Belles. They’re my crew, my family. And yet sometimes in my heart I fear that at any moment, they might decide I am not worth their time or energy. As though they might remember I do not belong.”

  Just as you will notice someday. She hated the thought—the way it paced through her, like a wild beast.

  Silence fell between them—long enough that she finally looked to him.

  Henry looked thunderous.

  “Not worth their time? Adelaide—” He bit back whatever he was about to say. “You are a marvel in a dozen ways. A hundred of them. Your worth—it cannot be quantified. Not in time. Not in energy. The sheer enormity of it . . . My God, Adelaide, that you cannot see it makes me want to raze the whole of your father’s empire to punish him for not showing it to you every day.”

  “I’ve heard worse ideas,” came a voice from the doorway. “And it can certainly be arranged. But we’ve a larger, more pressing problem.”

  Adelaide and Henry snapped to attention, turning to the doorway to find the Duchess of Trevescan there, tall and blond and beautiful, her lush mauve skirts showing barely any sign of the days-long travel she must have endured to find them here.

  Shocked, Adelaide made to stand, but Henry held her close and did not move. “I’m not sure you don’t deserve a bit of punishment, too, Duchess.”

  The other woman looked to him, surprise in her eyes. “I confess, I am pleasantly surprised by your ferocity. I did not think you had it in you.” Her cool blue gaze tracked over his bruises and bandages. “Though you have looked better, Clayborn.”

  She swept into the room, revealing that she was not alone. Imogen and Sesily followed her inside.

  “Oh!” Imogen’s brows rose and Adelaide imagined what her friends saw—her clad only in a chemise and spectacles, on Henry’s lap.

  “Ooh!” Sesily tossed her a delighted grin. “Well done, friend!”

  Ignoring the excited pronouncement and her own flaming cheeks, Adelaide spoke directly to the unflappable Duchess. “What pressing problem?”

  Duchess crossed the room and lifted the now open puzzle box, inspecting the mechanism within. “Lord Carrington and Lady Helene.”

  “I expect they are returning as Lord and Lady Carrington now,” Henry said. “As I’ve been abed for five days.”

  “I imagine you have been,” Sesily retorted from her place by the door.

  Duchess slid a look at Sesily before saying, “They are not, in fact, returning.”

  Adelaide stilled, concern rioting through her. “What happened?”

  “They are missing.” She clapped her hands together once, firmly. “I think you ought to be properly dressed for this.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The last time Henry had been in the kitchens of the house, Adelaide had knocked him out. Standing there again, surrounded by a collection of women he’d always thought fearless and now knew also to be fearsome, he was not certain unconsciousness was not a possibility once more.

  It did not escape him that Adelaide had been ready to run from the room on numerous occasions since opening the puzzle box, and he knew without question that the trio of women who’d arrived would not hesitate for a moment to help her leave him if she asked.

  Indeed, in the ten minutes it had taken him to dress and make his way down the stairs to the kitchens, her crew had situated themselves to protect her—she was at the far end of the room, by the stove, with the Duchess. Between there and the door, Lady Imogen and Lady Sesily sat at the large table. At his entrance, the women turned like a battalion of warriors protecting a prize. Shield-maidens, ready to thin the battlefield.

  Adelaide might not understand the message they sent, might not believe it was on her behalf, but Henry did: If he wanted anywhere near her, he would have to go through them.

  Which he would.

  But first, he would be grateful that she had them by her side.

  That, and he had questions that needed answers.

  Addressing the foursome, he said, “Where is my brother?”

  “It is not the first time you have misplaced him, is it?” the Duchess of Trevescan said, her icy blue gaze on his. “Nor is it the first time he’s gone missing with Lady Helene in tow.”

  “Duchess—” Adelaide said, her tone sharp with warning. “Need I remind you that Henry was unconscious for the last four days and does not deserve your censure?”

  “What of you then, Adelaide?” Duchess retorted. “Do you deserve my censure? After all, it was you who let the girl go to stay behind and protect Henry . . .”

  Adelaide narrowed her gaze on the other woman. “I thought they were safe. It was an error in judgment.”

  Well. Henry didn’t like that.

  “You do not make errors in judgment,” the Duchess replied, her cool words setting Henry on edge.

  “Don’t speak to her that way,” he said.

  Silence fell, and all four women looked to him, a range of emotions in their gazes.

  Finally, the Duchess said, “Do not mistake me, Duke. Adelaide chose to stay back and keep you alive. My question is this: Are you worth it?”

  “Likely not,” he said, raising a brow in the direction of the woman all of London worshipped. “And yet, here I am.”

  “So we return to Adelaide’s error in judgment.” She paused, then added, “Dammit, this is what happens when we let men in.”

  He should have been annoyed. Instead, Henry rather imagined he was being initiated. And that wasn’t annoying at all.

  “That’s enough, Duchess,” Adelaide said, sending a searing look at her friend, who did not flinch.

  “My brother is many things,” Henry said, unable to keep the frustration from his tone. “He’s a halfway decent fighter, absolutely terrible at cards, and far too trusting of the world at large. Lord knows he’s made a fair number of mistakes, but he lacks artifice, and if he was headed to Gretna with the lady, he was headed to Gretna for marriage. Are you saying that they never arrived?”

  “They arrived,” Duchess said. “We’ve a half-dozen witnesses that say so, including the blacksmith who married them himself. Your brother and his bride spent the night at the inn there, only to begin their return journey the following morning, three days ago. They changed horses and had luncheon not five miles from here, and then . . . disappeared.”

  Henry’s heart began to pound. Jack had been five miles away, under threat, and Henry had not been able to help. He’d failed to protect him.

  “I should have been there.” Adelaide’s words echoed those in his heart, and he turned his attention to her, meeting her brown gaze across the room. There was sadness there, in her eyes. “I made a calculation that they’d be safe once they were married. I stayed here, when I should have followed her.”

  “And what,” he replied. “Been taken with them?”

  The anger and frustration he felt at his brother’s disappearance would have become panicked rage. Already threatened to become so at the very thought that she might be gone, and he might not know where she was.

  “No one would have taken me. Even if I were worth taking—I’ve a blade and I know how to use it.”

  There it was again. Even if I were worth taking. As though she weren’t worth everything.

  “Goddammit, Adelaide—”

  “As much as I would enjoy watching whatever this show is about to become,” Duchess interjected, “we must find Lady Carrington. And her lord, I suppose.”

  Around the room, the women got to work, their words coming in quick rhythm, as though they had played this particular game a hundred times before. Adelaide began. “Who’s got them? The Bully Boys?”

  “That is our guess, yes,” Sesily replied, turning away to search the cupboards. “Is there food?”

  Henry shot Adelaide a look at the question, and she waved a hand. “Ignore it. She’s always hungry,” she said before returning to the discussion. “Danny was here.”

  “So we heard,” Duchess replied. “He was delivered quite delightfully to Alfie’s warehouse, tied up like a prized hog, alongside a very large brute who Mary asked us to handle.”

  “That’s Billy,” Adelaide said. “He stabbed Henry.”

  “Ah,” Imogen said, looking to Henry. “Well, he won’t be a problem. He’s on his way to Australia, as I understand it.”

  Henry blinked. “Excellent.”

  “Danny did report something quite interesting before Alfie gave him a public dressing down, though. Aha!” Sesily spun back to the group, triumphantly holding a tin of sardines aloft. “Apparently, you’re the duke’s mistress.”

  Henry shifted at the word, reported from the outside world. From London, via that weasel of a man he should have sent to his maker. He didn’t like the way it sounded, salacious, like what they had done was to be whispered about and traded like gossip, as though she were a stop on the way to something else, that the world considered more valuable.

  And he did not like that he had done that to her—put her name and what they had done in the mouths of criminals who made it seem they were in the darkness, when being with Adelaide only ever made him feel like he was in full sun.

  Like she was his equal in all ways.

  He was about to tell her that. To apologize for the mess he had made, when she spoke. “I’m not.”

  “You’re not his mistress?” Imogen clarified.

  “I’m not,” Adelaide repeated. “It’s not—”

  As a group, the women’s brows rose.

  “It certainly looked as though you were . . .” Imogen waved a hand to indicate the bedroom abovestairs.

  “We were,” Adelaide said, the words slightly panicked. “But . . . we’re not . . .”

  Whatever she was about to say, they absolutely were, and he didn’t like the suggestion that whatever was happening between them was not forever. If there was not a word for it, they would invent one. Partner. Companion. Love.

  He was never letting her go, did she not see that? Shit. He didn’t want it this way. Didn’t want all of London knowing about them before he’d had his chance to convince her to live in the light with him. He didn’t want secrets. Or a mistress, or a secret lover, or whatever half-light she’d offered him. He wanted her. With him. Now. Forever.

  And he would do whatever it took to get it.

  The words from his father’s letter whispered through him—You may have all that is mine if only you wish it.

  All I wish is a future that we might together call ours.

  Whatever she wanted. He would give it to her.

  Before he could send her friends from the room and tell her as much, Adelaide said, “I’ve no need for a sponsor or a benefactor. I am not his mistress.”

  “Then what,” the Duchess asked from her place at the far end of the room. “Is he yours?”

  Adelaide gave a little laugh. “I can’t afford him.”

  Sesily had also found a box of hard biscuits and was munching on one. “Do you require a loan?”

  “No!”

  Sesily looked to Imogen. “Maybe the kiss on the dock has inspired her to . . . do a bit of sampling.”

  It was Henry’s turn for raised eyebrows, and he couldn’t resist a firm look at Adelaide, whose pretty ears were turning scarlet. “There will be no sampling.”

  “Hang on!” Sesily announced, as though she’d just invented the wheel. “You were the man on the docks! I didn’t recognize you without your beard—that’s a very nice shave, by the way. So. You’re not sampling, and she’s not your mistress . . . are you planning to make an honest woman of our Adelaide?”

  A little groan escaped Adelaide. “Sesily.”

  “Someone has to play the older brother, Adelaide.”

  “And you think you’re the one for the role?” Imogen interrupted. “You? Sexily Talbot?” Henry’s brows rose. He had heard the name bandied about in men’s clubs and smoking rooms, but was shocked to hear it aloud with the woman in question.

  “Are you lot always like this?”

  “Always,” Imogen replied.

  “You’ll get used to it when you make an honest woman of our Adelaide,” Sesily said with a grin.

  “No one is making an honest woman out of me!” Everyone in the room stilled, turning to look at her. “I’ve no intention of marrying, and neither does he.”

  A fact from earlier that suddenly did not feel so true. He filed the realization away.

  “Fair enough, but it does beg the question, Adelaide—” Lady Sesily began, teasing delight in her tone.

  “It does not, in fact, beg any questions,” Adelaide interrupted.

  “Is the duke taking advantage of you?” Imogen finished the question.

  There it was. The opening he required. “I am.”

  Everyone in the kitchens looked to him, each with a different expression. Admiration. Delight. Surprise . . . and on the face of the only woman who mattered . . . the only one who would ever matter . . .

  Abject horror.

  “You are not.”

  “I am,” he said. “There’s only one solution.”

  “There is no solution!” she insisted.

  “Then you admit there is a problem.”

  “With your senses? Yes. You’ve taken leave of them.” She turned to her friends. “There is no problem. He is not taking advantage of me. If anything, I am taking advantage of him.”

  What? He didn’t like that. “Hang on.”

  “I am. It’s clear to the whole world.” She adjusted her spectacles. “I am me and you are . . . you. And you look . . . like you . . . and I look . . . like me . . . and you were good for a . . .”

  “Brisk walk?” Imogen suggested.

  “Yes. Fine. Yes. Whatever.” Adelaide waved a hand at Imogen. “A brisk walk. So yes, I’m taking advantage of him.”

  Everyone went silent at the words, and if he’d been able to look away from the infuriating woman he loved, he would have noticed that they were all staring at him, watching wide-eyed as he crossed the room, ignoring them all, to stand in front of Adelaide.

  Tall and beautiful, she lifted her chin defiantly, a challenge in the velvet eyes behind her spectacles when she said, “Someone ought to free you from my clutches.”

  “Hear this Adelaide Frampton,” he said, quiet steel in his words. “You are the most remarkable person I have ever known. Strong and brilliant and with more courage than I’ve ever seen in another. And more beautiful than any one person has cause to be. I’ve no interest in being freed from your clutches.”

  And then, in full view of these women who were her partners and friends, who clearly loved her as much as he did, Clayborn pulled Adelaide close and kissed her, fast and lush, until she was clinging to him and there was no question as to his intentions.

  When he lifted his head, he met her gaze and whispered, “You may clutch me anytime you like, love.”

  “Oh, that’s very romantic,” Sesily said happily.

  The words unlocked Adelaide, who stared at him with a dazed look that made him feel big as a house. “Don’t encourage him. It’s nonsensical,” she said, stepping out of his embrace. “And irrelevant to our current situation.”

  He bit his tongue, tempted to put the whole conversation on hold and take her back to bed for a bit, even knowing that Jack and Helene were more pressing.

  But the moment they were found . . . he was taking her for a brisk walk until she was too weak with pleasure to deny him what he asked.

  Which would be forever.

  She looked to Duchess. “So, The Bully Boys have them.”

  “We believe so. But they haven’t sent word to Havistock,” Duchess said. “Which is . . . odd.”

  “Why not?”

  Henry looked from woman to woman. “Are you suggesting The Bully Boys are expected to ransom Helene and my brother to her father?”

  Duchess turned to Adelaide. “You didn’t tell him.”

  She gave a quick shake of the head. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

  “What secret?” he demanded. In the silence that fell, things began to sort into place. “Havistock. You said he had a file.”

  Adelaide nodded.

  “Thick as your thumb, you said. I thought you meant the factories.”

  “As if that isn’t enough,” Imogen interrupted. “But we’ll take care of them.”