He opened his mouth. Then closed it. I did.
Gemma read the answer in his eyes. "Malloryn, I like your wife. And once upon a time, it amused me to see how easily she could get beneath your skin. No woman has ever riled you the way she has. I thought there might have been something there on your behalf—"
"You hoped."
"I hope," she replied boldly, staring him in the eyes. "But if there is not, then you need to make that very clear to Adele. Because I don't want to see you break her heart."
I have no intentions of hurting her.
"Are you finished?"
Gemma tipped her chin up. Only she could get away with speaking to him thusly. "I think I've said what needs to be said."
"Then perhaps we can focus on what hasn't been said: What happened with Mowbray?"
"I was too late. He was dead by the time I got to him. Either Dido or Jelena must have met with him, and Sir George was the distraction."
"So we have nothing."
"Mowbray did manage to confirm it has something to do with the automatons. He said London will burn."
"Damn it."
Gemma watched him with considering eyes. "Your ploy with Devoncourt may yet bear fruit."
"Despite the fact you disapproved of it?"
"I never disapproved of it. I disapprove of the way you handled it without informing me. Here are Adele's pearls," she said, handing over a bloody handkerchief knotted around a bulging lump. Turning with a flounce, she grabbed a fistful of her skirts. "Perhaps you can return them when you remind her there's nothing going on between the two of you."
He clutched the bloody things.
Adele wasn't the only one who needed the reminder.
"Here," Malloryn murmured, holding open the door to his bedchamber after Adele had obediently drank her tea. "You can stay with me again tonight. Just let me know if I need to remove my boots."
Adele slipped inside. "You're never going to let me forget that night, are you?"
"Considering the sad state of my boots... no."
Adele tried to smile, but she was simply too tired. Ava had tended to her wounds, and Malloryn assured her she wouldn't scar—he'd managed to swipe his saliva across her cheek—though she'd most likely be missing a piece of her earlobe.
His room at the manor was cold, crisp, and austere in its elegance. You couldn't enter the bloody place without being reminded that you were dealing with His Grace, the Duke of Malloryn. The enormous four-poster bed positively loomed, and she was quite grateful he'd never consummated their marriage in the monstrosity.
But this was... nice.
She'd been too ill the other morning to truly take note.
A handsome quilt stretched across the foot of the bed, and there were papers strewn across the small writing desk in the corner, as if he'd been working upon something when he'd been called away. Books were piled haphazardly on the side table, scraps of paper marking several spots in each. He liked to read. Even at their house, he was usually in the library at all hours.
Adele took a hesitant step forward, her slippers sinking into the soft rug. It felt like she was taking a peek inside the mind of Auvry Cavill, and not merely the Duke of Malloryn. She'd never realized until now that there were two of them.
A copper bathtub stood in the corner, filled with steaming water that smelled like lavender. Herbert, she presumed. The butler seemed to cluck over everyone in the house as if they were his personal tribe of ducklings, and had extended the notion to her, it seemed.
Malloryn turned her head from side to side, examining the purple bruises welting her throat. "Society's going to think I did this to you." His lips thinned as if he'd tasted something unpleasant.
They wouldn't be the first bruises she'd had to cover. "You'd be surprised. Diamond chokers hide all manner of sins. Nobody will suspect anything untoward."
He helped undo the buttons down her spine as Adele stood with her head tilted forward.
"You looked beautiful tonight," he murmured. "You understand I couldn't say it? I couldn't let the world know."
"You mean Balfour?"
"Yes." Malloryn eased the silk down over her hips, and it pooled around her ankles. He knelt behind her, starting on the tapes of her petticoat and the mesh cage of her bustle. "It's safer if he doesn't know how far our truce extends."
Adele stepped out of the mess of petticoats and froth of skirts. "I understand."
All she wore was her corset and chemise.
Malloryn's gaze dipped, caressing her figure with a heated look before he started on the strings to her corset. "That being said, I don't wish to give you the wrong impression. You are beautiful, but what lies between us cannot be pursued."
Adele stilled. The discrepancy between the look in his eyes and the words on his lips threw her for a second. "Ah. So even in the privacy of your bedchamber, nothing more is to come of this."
"Correct."
"He's not peering through every window, Malloryn. He's not hiding under the bed."
The next tug came a little sharper. "Maybe what I'm talking about has nothing to do with Balfour. I cannot give you more than I am."
Of course. "You think your skills in bed will turn my head?" What was it he'd said? "It's just a kiss, Malloryn. Just a moment of passion."
"I think this is becoming dangerously complicated between us."
"And you don't want any further complications."
The silence thickened, broken only by the whisper of his hands on the silk of her corset. "It wouldn't be wise," he finally said.
Adele closed her eyes. She shouldn't have expected anything else. Malloryn didn't like messy situations, or complex emotions. Push him, Lord Barrons had said, but she was so tired and her heart felt a little bruised by his declaration.
"I appreciate your straightforwardness," she whispered.
It didn't mean she wasn't going to torture him with the promise of everything he'd denied.