Malloryn might not want her involved, but perhaps she could help in some small way.
With a sigh, Adele collected her pages and headed for the door. Who was she fooling? Whether he wanted her insight or not, at least she felt like she'd contributed.
As if to spite her, Malloryn was just making his way up the stairs when she strode into the hallway. For a second their eyes locked, and she was right back there in his study in Hardcastle Lane, staring into his eyes as he slowly kissed her.
A rush of heat went through her, and curse her treacherous body, but a shiver of tension curled deep in her abdomen.
"Duke," she said coolly, to cover the reaction.
"Duchess." He paused, his gaze sliding slowly over her. "You look like you've been up to some mischief."
"I wouldn't dare."
"Somehow I find that difficult to believe. You live for such mischief."
The teasing way he said it hearkened back to the flirtation of the previous couple of days.
Adele did not take the bait. "If you'll excuse me, I have matters to see to. You want to find your SOG?" She slammed the pieces of paper against his chest. "Then I suggest you start here. It's a list."
Swishing past him, she summoned the nearest housemaid for her hat and day jacket.
"Where are you going?" Malloryn demanded, following her down the stairs.
"I'm fairly certain I have some jewelry to purchase. Maybe a little mindless giggling on Bond Street with some of my friends? Or if I'm really lucky, a thrilling encounter with the milliner."
"For a second I thought you were referring to your new modiste," he mused. "The one you spoke of the other day."
Adele paused in the entry as the maid slipped her day jacket over her shoulders. Was he referring to—?
He was.
It was as if the yesterday hadn't happened.
Flirt with other men, he'd told her. Make a disparaging comment or two in public. But right here, right now, he was the one flirting with her, as if nothing had changed. As if they could both pretend in private there was something more between them.
She was growing so tired of playing pretend.
Malloryn lounged on the stairs, his hands in his pockets and no sign of the papers she'd given him. His eyes glinted with challenge, but what was the point, really?
"You thought wrong," Adele told him, tipping her chin up. "I canceled my order. It seems there was no point in it. And I thought it was what you would want."
And then she smiled at the maid and accepted her hat as the door opened before her.
Adele did not look back.
It was what he wanted.
But as the door closed behind her, Malloryn realized he was staring at it. And both the maids had noticed.
He tilted his head in recognition to them, then turned and moved toward his library.
Adele's perfume filled the air. It always did. No matter where he went in this damned house, she haunted him.
Slowly, he drew the papers she'd given him out of his waistcoat pocket and smoothed the crumples from them.
The second he started down the list he realized she might just know what she was talking about. There were columns detailing the most likely candidates. Little notes decorated each name, scathing indictments of each lord and what they liked to get up to in their spare time.
Lord Higginbotham—liked to bathe in blood to keep his skin youthful for the never-ending stream of handsome young footmen he replaces each month. Is currently being investigated by the Nighthawks for the disappearance of at least two of them.
The Earl of Carstoke— frequently rants about how one used to be able to toss a handful of coin to a girl on the street as repayment and nobody would dare bleat.
Lord Abriel—cannot attain "permanence" without putting his hands around his mistress's throat. Resents the fact bruises upon one's thrall are now frowned upon.
How the hell did she know that?
That Society of Roses project she'd started. It had to be. The girls must all talk, and Adele kept track of everything. If she'd been of a mind to resort to blackmail, she could most likely bring the entire Echelon to its knees. He suddenly wondered just what was discussed in the powder rooms of a ball.
Keeping her out of this was for the best.
But he couldn't help crossing to the window and watching her ascend into the carriage.
She'd surprised him more than once in the last few days.
"Well, that's enough about me. What have you been up to?" Hattie asked, finally running out of things to say.
Making war and then love with my husband. And now it seems we're back to war.
"Nothing in particular," Adele replied, granting her sister the same vapid smile she'd mastered when she was twelve. "Trying to decide what to wear to Lady Haynes's ball."
The distraction worked. Hattie instantly started babbling about her newest silk gown.
Hattie's cheeks had lost their smooth plumpness of youth, and at seventeen, she was starting to truly blossom into a stunning young woman. Adele might have been as vibrant and innocent at that age. She honestly couldn't remember it. Instead, she felt like she'd been cursed with cynicism from the day she was born, her exterior hardened by her first bloodstained glimpse of the world around her.
Adele glanced down into the depths of her hot chocolate.
She wasn't the only one who'd noticed the way Hattie had bloomed. Several blue blood lords had asked Hattie to waltz at the last ball they'd both attended, and she'd seen them circling the young girl like vultures.
Hattie had even begun to mention Lord Seymour's son in the sort of voice that left her slightly breathless.
She didn't, however, mention Lord Corvus.
Adele wondered if that was to spare Adele's feelings, or whether her sister honestly wasn't aware of his lordship's interest in her. Lady Hamilton had been paid more than handsomely this month, which meant she had to hold up her end of the bargain and refuse to let the bastard anywhere near Hattie.