Page 35 of Heartbreaker

The man asking questions below—whether he worked for Alfie or not—had unsettled Gwen, and when she’d mentioned they were asking the same questions Adelaide had, the message was clear. The man in the tavern was hunting Helene and Jack, just as Adelaide was. What he did not have was Adelaide’s network of scouts, and the knowledge that the pair were two hours north.

Adelaide, on the other hand, now knew that she and Clayborn weren’t simply racing each other to Gretna; they were racing Havistock’s hired men. Any tracker worth his salt would know that Helene came packaged with John Carrington, brother to the Duke of Clayborn.And so Clayborn had to stay out of sight, too, lest the men chasing Helene sniff him out.

That, and if he were found with her, it would be too easy to connect her to the Matchbreaker.

Honestly, aristocrats made everything more difficult.

Especially aristocrats like the Duke of Clayborn, who drew all attention with his broad shoulders and the way he carried himself—as though the entire world would bend to his will if he ordered it.

Gwen would feed the scout, water him, and tell him the truth—that there hadn’t been a free room at this particular inn since the morning, and she’d seen no couple come through, hurrying to Gretna Green. In the stables, the seal on the duke’s carriage had already been muddied, ensuring that no one would notice it in the dark.

Good Lord. The man couldn’t even travel discreetly.

And he thought he couldblend.

Her heart again, thumping in her chest as she reached the top of the stairs and turned toward her room, tucked away from the rest of the guests. This time, Adelaide told herself, it was likely due to exertion. She hadn’t eaten much that day, and she was tired from the drive.

It most definitely was not her companion.

Nor was it the fact that, when the door closed behind them with a quietsnick, they were completely alone, with no fear of being discovered.

At first glance, the room appeared ordinary, ready for any passing traveler who happened by. But as in all inns supported by Duchess, there was little ordinary about it, directly above the posting inn’s dining room, complete with a large window that offered a clear view of the drive.

The room, like twenty others in taverns across Britain, was never offered to passing travelers, unless that traveler arrived with the introduction of The Duchess herself... or the traveler was one of Duchess’s trusted lieutenants.

Adelaide could have arrived long after the Duke of Clayborn darkened the door of the Hawk and Hedgehog, and he still would have been left to the stables.

As he should have been that night.

Alone, she would have stayed in the taproom, invisible. And even if she were noticed, she had no doubt that she could hide—stay to the safe places, trust that tavern owners deep into Scotland would happily throw anything that came for her—even The Bully Boys—off her scent, keeping her unseen.

The Duke of Clayborn could not hide, however. He was a stallion in a herd of sheep. The moment he was noticed, anyone looking for Lady Helene would know they were on the right path, which would make everything else more difficult, and so Adelaide had no choice. She had to keep him close.

That was the only reason she’d invited him up.

Inside the room, she removed her cloak, hanging it on a hook on the far wall, taking the plate from his hand as he moved to do the same. After setting the food on a nearby table, she turned to find him standing back to the door. “Are you not hungry?”

“No.”

She shrugged one shoulder and lifted a roasted parsnip from her plate. Biting into the delicious vegetable, she chewed for a bit. “I would have thought you’d prefer privacy for a meal.”

“Not like this. Not with you.”

She was a mistake.

Adelaide tried not to be offended by the words. “By all means, then, Duke. You may return to the taproom.” He remained silent and unmoving, and she added, “I, for one, am going to eat. It’s been a long day—longer even, for you. I suggest you do the same.”

Lifting her plate, she perched on the bench at the window behind the table, looking through the rain-streaked glass to the drive, empty of stable boys and travelers.They’d be lucky if the roads were passable in the morning. “If you think to insult me with your lack of companionship, I assure you, it is not possible. I have made a lifetime of eating alone, and on the fly.”

And with that, she returned to her pie and took an enormous bite, wondering if the duke had ever seen a woman eat outside of a formal dining room before that evening.

“Why?”

She swallowed the delicious food and spoke to her plate. “It speaks!”

“Shelley again,” he grumbled.

She did look at him then, curious. “Again?”

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