Chapter 10

10

A drian winced when he nicked himself with the flat blade. Trying to shave while a satisfied grin curled his lips was no easy feat. But it was hard to avoid the expression after the night he'd shared with Samantha.

His wife was a brazen fox. He'd enjoyed showing her what her body was capable of. And how he liked being touched in return. The memory of it made him grip his blade a bit harder.

When she'd brought up the scars, his instinct had been to retreat. When she'd told him how she knew of the scars, he'd wanted her out of his sight – the reminder of why she'd come into his life reigniting his anger.

But then she'd kissed him, her soft lips trailing over his ruined flesh, and he'd been wrecked, the beast intent on fleeing brought under restraint. Tamed. Soothed in a way that caused fresh desire to rise, the need to claim that sweetness for himself so intense it had driven him out of his mind.

Doing his best to school his features, he scraped the blade along the edge of his jaw. Despite hating the marks his father had left on his back, there was relief to be found in Samantha's response toward them.

She'd not shied away but had rather forced the issue, encouraging him to be open with her in a way that had bound them more closely. He was grateful to her for that.

"I'm guessing Mr. Jones saw something," she murmured.

Adrian glanced at her, male pride surging as he took in the sight of her lithe body stretched out across the bed. She lay on her belly, legs bent at the knees, her ankles crossed and gently swaying while she examined the list of names Orendel had jotted down in the notebook.

He dropped his shaving supplies, wiped his face with a towel, and went to retrieve a clean shirt. Last night had been the most spectacular night of his life. He'd woken with a smile and had found Samantha eager for more carnal pleasure.

Satisfaction flowed through his veins. And yet…

His fingers closed around white linen, a sliver of caution wrapping around his chest. She had deliberately tried to destroy him. He could not, must not, forget that. In case the confessions she'd made – the information she'd offered – were but a device intended to lull him.

She'd broken his trust, so until she proved herself worthy of it once more, he had to remain on guard. However much he wished it could be otherwise.

"Adrian?"

He looked toward her, this woman who had the power to be his undoing. If he allowed it.

"I believe you're correct," he told her while he proceeded to dress, his thoughts returning to her comment about Mr. Jones. "Evidence suggests he was shot from above. My guess is by someone on horseback. It seems unlikely that he would be at the water gate without good reason. The fact that the killer found him there indicates they intended to meet."

She sent him a glance. "And something either went wrong, or the killer planned on doing away with him there all along."

"The latter, I suspect." He mentioned the paper he'd found. "I've not had a chance to analyze it in greater detail - that's one of my tasks this morning. After you and I have had a substantial breakfast. Come on. I'll help you dress."

Laughter danced in her eyes as she pushed up into a sitting position and climbed from the bed without any scruples. Gloriously naked, her long blond hair cascading over her shoulders, she padded across the floor, hips swaying, as she entered the dressing room.

He stifled a groan, secretly wishing they could engage in just one more round of bedsport. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that would not be an option. It was already well after nine and they'd not yet eaten. If they were to accomplish anything today, they'd have to get started.

"I'll go have a word with Wycliff," he told her when they finished breakfast. "Maybe you can try taking a closer look at that paper I showed you, see if you can decipher additional words."

"Wouldn't you rather I come with you to Wycliff for support?"

It was nice of her to offer, but unnecessary. "This will be more efficient. I'll be back in under two hours."

A quick kiss in parting and he took his leave. He banged on Wycliff's door roughly half an hour later and found himself facing the man less than five minutes after that. He looked exactly the same as when Adrian had last seen him. Like a flamboyant prick.

"Didn't think I'd ever be welcoming you to my humble abode." Blasé words that didn't quite manage to hide the apprehension lurking within Wycliff's gaze.

Adrian stepped forward, his gait calm and fluid. "I trust you haven't forgotten the power I wield." No sense in mucking about.

"Of course not. You're the King of Portman Square." Insolence dripped from each word.

"Precisely." Adrian gave him a cool look. "Unlike my father, I'll not ignore the abuse of women or children. Is that clear?"

Wycliff's expression hardened. "Define abuse."

Knuckles cracked as Adrian flexed his fingers. " There will be no beatings for starters, and no more whoring out of those who don't want to be used in that way."

"The brothels are my livelihood," Wycliff growled.

"So is stealing."

"Yes, but I don't make as much doing that."

Adrian tilted his head. "Are you saying you'll thwart me?"

"Of course not." Spoken with pure venom.

"So then?"

Wycliff glared at him as though he had murder on his mind. "I'll not strike women or children, and I'll no longer force them to work in the brothels."

"Good. Integrity matters. Even in our line of work." Adrian turned, prepared to leave, but paused on a thought. "And stay away from my wife, do you hear? Or else I'll be forced to reconsider whether or not you deserve to live."

Honestly, he ought to kill him right now for what he'd already done, but that would defy the principles he'd sworn he'd adhere to when he'd accepted his birthright. He'd done so in front of the city's ten most powerful criminals, after Evie's body had been discovered and he'd given up on walking away from the life he'd stood to inherit.

Assurances had been made during that meeting. He'd promised each of the men that he'd leave them in peace as long as they didn't cause trouble for him.

It was a quid pro quo agreement. His acceptance in exchange for their loyalty. The same deal that had been struck through generations – a rite of passage to make his position official.

But he'd be damned if he would let anyone turn into monsters.

"You have my word," Wycliff said, his assurance hitting Adrian's back as he strode for the door.

Murry, whom Adrian had asked to remain in the carriage, gave him a questioning look when he climbed in. "How did it go?"

"Well enough, but I'm not sure I trust him to keep his promises." He knocked on the ceiling, informing the driver that they were ready for home. "Let's have a word with Murdoch, see if his people can keep an eye on Wycliff's dealings, just to be sure he stays in line."

"I can meet with him on your behalf if you like."

"Do that and let me know how it goes." Adrian propped his elbow on the edge of the window, his thoughts returning to Lady Eleanor and Mr. Jones.

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping," Murry said, his gruff voice interrupting Adrian's attempt to figure out where Mr. Jones might have been on the night of Lady Eleanor's murder.

He grunted. "Go on."

"Your mood seems much improved this morning. So does your wife's. Which made me wonder if the two of you might have…settled your differences?"

"Indeed." Adrian slanted a look in his direction. "We spoke at great length yesterday. A lot was uncovered."

"Do you trust her?" Murry asked after Adrian gave a quick overview of the most pertinent details .

"I do." He shifted his jaw, not quite comfortable with how that might be perceived. The last thing he wanted was to appear weak. So he told his valet darkly, "I'll kill her myself if she ever betrays me again."

Murry nodded and nothing more was said on the matter, though the topic did leave a bitter taste in Adrian's mouth. It didn't abate until he entered his study and found Samantha. She was sitting in his chair, a magnifying glass in her hand as she studied the paper he'd left her with.

Hearing him, she raised her gaze, her expression transforming from fixed concentration to absolute joy. His heart swelled and the grimness Murry had caused disappeared.

"Making progress?" He closed the door and strode toward her. She started to rise but he motioned her to stay seated.

"Our suspicions were correct. Mr. Jones did see the killer leave Orendel House on the night in question. He wanted five thousand pounds in exchange for his silence."

Having reached her, Adrian nudged her chin upward and dipped his head in order to kiss her – nothing overly heated – just a tender press of his lips against hers to remind her of his adoration.

Straightening, he glanced at the piece of paper she'd been studying along with the notes she'd made, then shook his head. "He sealed his own fate with that foolish demand. How could he not have realized that? "

"I suppose the chance at making a fortune clouded his judgement."

"If he'd only revealed whom he saw, this case would already be solved."

She leaned back in the chair, a pensive look in her eyes. "Maybe it's not that simple."

"How do you mean?"

"Mr. Jones was a footman. What if the person he saw was a high-ranking peer? Someone so powerful he could have quashed the claim? Maybe even cost Mr. Jones his job? Or worse."

Adrian considered her idea a moment. "I'm not sure that makes sense. Bow Street would still have brought the accused in for questioning. They would have investigated further and might have managed to pin the deed on him. But what if Mr. Jones himself had something to hide? We still don't know where he was when he saw the killer or what he was doing. Maybe that's his real reason for not stepping forward."

"You think he feared being questioned?"

"I don't know, but I'm planning to interview Orendel's family tomorrow. If I'm lucky, I'll learn something more while I'm there." He collected his notebook, which he'd left inside his desk drawer. Opening it, he then placed it on the desk in front of Samantha. "There's also this list of Lady Eleanor's circle. Orendel put it together for me. I'm not sure how complete it is, but it's something for us to consider."

Samantha perused it. "Most of these are women, but I suppose they might be privy to information Lady Eleanor may not have shared with anyone else. Her fiancé…" She tapped her finger against Mr. Benjamin Lawrence's name. "If I recall, he was maimed in a riding accident a few months ago, yet neither side has broken off the engagement."

"To do so would have resulted in scandal, regardless of the circumstances."

"There would have been an undeniable stain on Lady Eleanor's reputation if she'd been the one to end the betrothal. She'd have looked like a heartless, uncaring, shrew. But I think it would have been natural for her to have had some doubts, and with Mr. Lawrence absent from Society for so long, it's possible somebody else had a chance to make an impression. Maybe promises were made and…I don't know…I'm just thinking out loud here."

"It's as good a theory as any. The would-be suitor who finds himself enraged when he learns that the woman he wants will never choose him because of what that would entail." Adrian turned to look out the window. "It all depends on her feelings for Mr. Lawrence. Maybe she actually loved him, in which case something else is at play here. What I simply don't get are the eyes."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hmm?" He glanced over his shoulder at her and saw her puzzled expression. "Oh. I may have neglected to mention, the killer removed Lady Eleanor's eyes."

Samantha stared at him, the same horror he'd experienced materializing on her face. "You can't be serious."

"Very much so, I'm afraid."

"But that's…that's…barbaric." She pushed herself upright and started to pace in agitation. It looked like she was in a great hurry to reach an imaginary destination. Until she stopped short, skirts swirling around her legs. A hint of panic flashed in her gaze. "You realize this isn't a person you're chasing."

He forced a laugh to lighten the mood. "Is this where you tell me monsters are real?"

"You know they are." She gave him a hard look, so piercing he had no choice but to nod in agreement. "Whoever did what you've just described is capable of anything, Adrian. I won't let you face him alone. It's too risky."

"I'll be careful. I promise."

"You'll take me with you wherever you go."

It was his turn to stare at her. "I hardly think—"

"He probably already knows you're attempting to sniff him out, which makes you a target."

Fair point. "I'll have Murry accompany me on my investigative outings from now on."

"I'm coming too," she repeated.

"The hell you are." Frustration pushed between his shoulder blades. "You were shot trying to save me last time."

"Yet here I am, alive and well. Had I not been there that night, you would most likely be dead. I'm coming with you, no matter what. "

"Samantha—"

"You can either agree or let me shadow you from a distance. Your choice."

Stubborn female. He growled at her in annoyance but she merely arched a brow. "Fine."

"And don't even think about trying to lock me away in a room somewhere. I'll just get out and beat you senseless."

His pulse spiked. "I might enjoy that."

She rolled her eyes. "Annoying man."

Grinning, he poured himself a brandy, then shared the details regarding his meeting with Wycliff. When he was done, he noted her grave expression and quickly suggested, "Let's visit the theatre tonight. It's been a while since you and I enjoyed a diversion."

Her expression softened. She relaxed, her body melting against him as he pulled her into his arms. There was still a good deal of work to be done today. He had to prepare a list of questions for his visit to Orendel House tomorrow.

But first he was going to stand here and simply enjoy kissing his wife.

Comfortably seated in anticipation of that night's performance, the gentleman surveyed the Theatre Royal with interest. Guests were filing inside with greater frequency now. Soon the lights would be dimmed and Beethoven's fourth piano concerto would start.

A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He shifted his gaze to the right and watched Mr. Croft enter his box with his wife. It was a while since he'd seen them together. Rumors had already started making the rounds. Some thought Croft had gone along with the wedding purely because his wife had forced his hand by making a public announcement of their engagement.

But he knew better. Adrian Croft was not the sort of man who could be coerced so easily. Which meant he'd wanted to wed her. Most likely because he cared for her deeply.

Anyone who doubted as much need only observe them now as they took their seats, pressing themselves close together and dipping their heads in intimate conversation. It bordered on inappropriate, and was sure to make the headlines tomorrow.

The lights were turned down and his own attention shifted toward the front of the theatre. He had one final thought about Mr. Croft before the musicians walked onto the stage. It looked like marriage was good for him. Hopefully, his wife would help him move past the death of his sister.

An unfortunate loss, he mused, as everyone started clapping – a cacophony of noise to drown out all else. However necessary Evelyn Croft's death had been, his part in it would weigh on his conscience forever.