Page 121 of Heartbreaker

And still, when he repeated his request, she was powerless to resist. “One happy memory. Give me that, at least.”

He made it seem like a barely there thing, impossible to refuse even as they both knew the truth. That every time she peeled off a piece of herself and shared it with him... it was more difficult to imagine letting him go.

Still, she thought for a moment, looking for the kind of happy memories others discussed. Christmas feasts and birthday presents and holidays at the sea. But she’d had few of those things, and the ones she’d had were transactions—payment from her father for a decent haul or a quiet tongue. So none of them was really happy, because they didn’t come free.

So she settled on, “I had a cat.”

He tucked her into his chest and set his chin to the crown of her head. “Did it have a name?”

She smiled. “Tail.”

“A very ordinary name,” he teased.

“He was black, with little white socks and a white bit on the tip of his tail,” she explained. “And a pink nose that looked like a heart.” He smiled at the description—unnecessary to the story and somehow extremely important for him to know. “Once, my father’s boys were hired to steal a shipment of illegal bourbon from a ship on thedocks, and when it arrived, a handful of the cases were not bourbon at all. They were books.”

He made an encouraging sound.

She waved a hand. “Cavendish and Austen and the Norse myths.”

“The shield-maidens.”

“Among others.” She nodded. “My father wanted nothing to do with books; they held no value for him.”

“So he gave them to you?”

“Of course not. He would never gift me with something I might be willing to trade for. Those books—they could have demanded a dozen more purses cut.” She paused. “They were the first thing I ever stole from his warehouse.”

“Mmm,” he said, the sound warming her with its approval. “And that is the happiest memory? Stealing books out from under your father’s nose?”

She gave a little laugh. “It wasn’t meant to be, honestly, but now that you suggest it... I cannot say I did not enjoy it.”

“Of course you did. You were free of him then. Of his rules. Free to take pleasure without having to pay for it.”

She nodded, looking to him.

“Adelaide,” he said, his thumb coming to stroke over her cheek. “Your joy—it should be free. It should come without taxes and tallies.”

She put her head back to his chest then, afraid to face the words. Afraid of the truth—that if she asked, Henry would give her anything she wished. Free of charge.

He sighed, the heavy breath the only sign of his disappointment that she did not face him. There was no hint of it when he asked, “And what of Tail?”

Her fingertips stroked along his arm, playing with the crisp hair there. “Tail is the happy memory. I snuck those books into my bedchamber like treasure—lined the underside of my mattress with them. And at night, I would light a small candle and devour them, while Tail lay onmy chest and purred.” She paused, lost to the memory of those nights, when books had transported her from the real world and its threats and promises.

One of Henry’s large hands slid down her spine, warm and heavy and perfect. “A book, a bed, and a cat is all it takes, is it?”

She snuggled closer. “A duke might do in a pinch.”

The words were out before she could stop them. Before she could stop him from breathing her in, lips at her temple and nose in her hair. “Thank you,” he whispered there. “For sharing it with me.”

She wanted to share more with him. All the rest. Every tiny moment of joy. Every time she’d been the first into a snowfall. The taste of the lemon buns in the bakeshop by Lambeth Palace. The thrill of a successful pickpocketing. Instead, she said, “Those nights with book and cat and bed were the happiest I had. Before I became a...” She paused, the rest of the sentence surprising her.

His hand stilled low on her back. “A...?”

She fiddled with a threadbare spot on the chemise she wore and considered the repercussions of her next words. He had trusted her with his secret, had he not? “A Belle.”

He exhaled, the sound less surprised and more relieved. “So it’s true what the papers say—that this gang of women exists.”

“It’s true. And can you blame us?”

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