When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,143
was.
He should walk away from her right now.
Instead he lifted his free hand, pulling at the ties of her cloak for the second time that night. The wool slipped off her shoulders and pooled at her feet. He ran his fingers along the edge of her jaw, tipping her chin up. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his hand, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.
Her eyes dropped to his lips, and whatever rational thoughts he was still clinging to scattered. He took a step forward, closing the gap between them. “Adrestia—”
“Adeline,” she whispered. “Call me by my real name.”
His breath caught, and for a wild, insane moment, he wished he could offer her the same. Because she made him feel seen too.
And that realization was terrifying. Even worse, he couldn’t seem to muster the wherewithal to care.
“Adeline,” he repeated, and her shiver as he uttered her name almost brought him to his knees. His thumb drifted over her bottom lip, and she closed her eyes. He backed her up a step against the wall. Desire licked through him, and he—
“Sir?” A door on the far side of the hall creaked open, and light flared. King stumbled away from Adeline and turned to find Elliot gripping a small lantern while rubbing his eyes sleepily. He was still dressed in his livery from the auction.
“What are you still doing up?” King asked. Besides saving me from doing something monumentally stupid. He’d already capitulated to weakness and lost enough control for one night. He could not afford to lose any more.
“Waiting for you, sir.” His bright green eyes slid past King. “Your belongings are in your room upstairs, miss,” he told Adeline. “I collected them from the Four Cocks for you.”
“You did wh—” She stopped. “Thank you,” she replied politely.
“How did you do it?” he asked, his face brightening. “How did you buz the key from Smithers?”
King groaned. “Elliot—”
“Assumptions,” Adeline said, smiling at the boy.
“Assumptions?”
“When Smithers looked at me, he wasn’t looking at a thief. He assumed I was a wealthy, refined lady, there by invitation. Had we been anywhere less, had I been wearing anything less, had I been acting as anything less, his assumptions would have differed, and he would have had his guard up. Costuming and presentation make all the difference, and they’re worth investing in.”
“Where did you work most?” Elliot asked eagerly.
“The Paris cabarets,” she answered easily. “And gardens similar to the pleasure gardens you have here in London.”
“Do you think that maybe you could show me—”
“Go to bed, Elliot,” King interrupted. Because if he let him, Elliot wouldn’t stop talking, judging from the besotted look on the boy’s face.
“But—”
“I have an appointment at the St James’s Church tomorrow afternoon at two. First thing tomorrow morning I need you to make the arrangements to have my carriage ready to ensure I am able to leave on time.”
“Yessir.”
“Now go to bed. It’s late.”
“Yessir.” Elliot’s face fell and he dutifully slipped back across the hall, vanishing back through the narrow door at the end.
“You sent a child to the Four Cocks?” Adeline asked as the door closed behind him.
King kept himself a careful distance from the seductive siren that was Adeline Archambault. He used to sneer at the stories of hapless sailors, thinking them weak and pitiable, without willpower. In retrospect, his naivete suddenly seemed laughable.
“Do not let Elliot’s appearance fool you,” he told her, seizing the safe subject she offered. “He probably has more sharp, pointy blades hidden on his person than you do. He is an opportunistic viper in the guise of a cherub. Worked the Finish for four years before he came to work for me.”
“The Finish?”
“A coffeehouse in Covent Square. It’s popular with gentlemen trying to correct the previous night’s bad choices with coffee. A rich hunting ground for those with clever hands and clever blades. The two of you can compare notes tomorrow.”
“And why does he work for you now?” she asked.
Because boys like Elliot generally died by their twelfth birthday, killed by their prey or fellow hunters. Because Elliot reminded him of Evan, not just in looks but in the way he defended those whom he cared for.
“Because I did not wish to see such talent wasted in the rookeries.” He cleared his throat and started up the stairs. “You should retire. It’s been a long night.”
“I should what?” She was behind him, sounding somewhat incredulous.
“I believe I will retire as well,” he continued brusquely, ignoring her question and reaching