Chapter 19

19

B ill Murdoch considered all he'd discovered today as he set off to meet with Simmons and the others. It was late, almost eleven in the evening. He'd had a busier day than usual, attempting to find proper lodgings for the children Croft had saved. All he wanted now was to relax. But the syndicate needed to know what he'd learned from the boy who'd been brought to see him.

"I don't like having to quit my plans for the evening," Fitzherbert said – the last member to arrive at their designated meeting place this time. "This better be more important than the woman I left in my bed."

Everyone else grumbled their agreement. Bill already knew that a few had been forced away from card play or simply from the rest they'd been looking forward to. They'd made sure he knew they weren't pleased by his late-night summons .

"A groom employed at The Flying Horse found a child in the stables this afternoon," Bill said. "After giving the lad a bite to eat and coaxing some pertinent facts from him, the groom brought him to my house so I could speak with him directly."

"And?" Simmons leaned forward, interest gleaming in his sharp eyes.

"Turns out Toby – the boy that is – was one of Wycliff's children. He was at the house last night when it was broken into. And ," Bill added when more than one of his colleagues raised an eyebrow, "he managed to see the intruder while hiding beneath the stairs."

"Does that mean you know who it was?" Chapman asked.

Bill shook his head. He'd not been quite so lucky. "No, but I can tell you it wasn't Croft. The boy knows him by appearance and insisted the body type didn't match. This was someone else, albeit a man with a cultured speech, judging from the few words the boy heard him say before the shot was fired."

Baffled silence filled the room for a series of heartbeats.

It was Aderlay who spoke next. "In other words, Wycliff got on the wrong side of some upper-class toff."

"It would seem so." Bill scanned everyone's faces. "Anyone know who he might have been dealing with?"

"Not a clue," Fitzherbert said when everyone else nodded. "And it don't really matter as long as it wasn't Croft who pulled that trigger. As I've said before, Wycliff probably got what he deserved. "

Bill couldn't argue. He'd personally done what he could to avoid interacting with the crime lord. Hadn't liked him one bit.

Still, he couldn't quite help but wonder what he might have gotten involved in. Wycliff wasn't exactly the sort of person a gentleman stumbled across by accident. No, he'd have had to seek him out for a very specific and most likely very illegal reason. And this was something Murdoch knew Croft might be interested in, if indeed they could figure out who Wycliff's killer had been.

It was close to mid-morning the next day by the time Adrian and Samantha managed to leave for Orendel House. First, he'd had to speak with Cummings, his secretary, regarding the building Murdoch recommended. Cummings would take a look at it. If he approved, he'd make all necessary arrangements for the purchase.

They travelled along Audley Street, the well-sprung carriage a great deal more comfortable than the hackneys they'd used yesterday. Each bump in the road caused a gentle sway instead of a jarring jolt, the plush upholstery further cushioning them from any discomfort.

A couple of bags sat on the opposite bench. Adrian smiled while considering them and what they would lead to. Samantha had voiced a need for physical exertion lately, so he'd suggested they stop by Reed's after speaking with Orendel. It would finally give him a chance to discover how capable his wife was in a fight, and he looked forward to it tremendously.

When they arrived at Orendel's, the butler, a man with whom Adrian was now well acquainted, invited them into the foyer and went to see if his master was still at home. They had come unannounced, but Adrian was fairly certain the earl would see them unless he was truly indisposed. After all, it was in his best interest.

As expected, the butler showed them into the parlor when he returned. "His lordship will join you shortly. Would you care for some tea or coffee while you wait?"

They'd barely declined the offer of refreshment when Orendel entered. The butler bowed and closed the door as he left.

"I gather you have news," Orendel said, a restless sort of energy about him. He gestured toward the seating arrangement

"To some degree," Adrian said once he and Samantha had made themselves comfortable on the sofa. The earl lowered himself to one of the armchairs. "I've spoken with Mr. Benjamin Lawrence. He pointed me in Mr. Michael Hutchins's direction. Seems like there's a great deal you neglected to mention to me."

"I told you everything I deemed important." Orendel's voice had tightened. "My daughter's acquaintance with Mr. Hutchins ended last year. It's in the past, so I saw no sense in bringing it up."

"There's also Lady Eleanor's engagement to Mr. Lawrence to consider," Adrian pointed out. He'd get back to Hutchins later.

"What about it?"

Adrian angled his head while holding Orendel's gaze. "Seems you and Lawrence stood to gain the most from the upcoming marriage. You never mentioned that he would acquire your shares in North Atlantic Trade or that you would receive ten thousand pounds in return."

"I honestly don't see how it relates. Marriages of convenience are the norm for people like us. Eleanor knew this and she accepted it. She even told me how well she liked Mr. Lawrence, who's not a bad looking man and who made a deliberate effort to court her as she deserved. Had she not…" He paused for a second, broke eye contact briefly, then managed to say, "She was happy with him."

"You're certain of this?" Adrian asked.

"There's no reason for me to doubt it when she gave every indication of looking forward to her wedding day with joy."

Adrian pondered this. Orendel did look extremely certain of himself, which had to mean one of two things. Either his daughter had hidden the truth or Hutchins was lying. It was time to figure out which was more likely.

He glanced at Samantha, a little impressed by her inscrutable expression. She revealed nothing of the conversation they'd had with Hutchins, reminding him once again of how skilled she was at keeping all thought and emotion carefully hidden.

A touch of bitterness curled through his veins. Was he a fool to have faith in her after what she had done? Perhaps. The problem was, he wanted to trust her, longed to believe what she told him was true, risk his heart and his own damn safety because…

She met his gaze, a questioning look in her eyes, and he became acutely aware of the silence. So he shook off the tendrils of doubt creeping in and returned his focus to Orendel. "According to Hutchins, Lady Eleanor wished to elope. With him."

The earl's expression turned thunderous. He balled his hands into fists, the tension in his shoulders pulling his jacket tight. "He's a damn liar. The arrogance of him to suppose he might have been worthy of her and that she, a gently bred young woman, would lower herself to the likes of him is laughable at best."

"Are you telling us she made no request for you to meet with him? That she did not hope you might consider letting her wed him instead?"

"Bah…" Orendel swiped one hand dismissively through the air. "Women have all sorts of foolish notions that don't make an ounce of sense."

"I beg your pardon," Samantha said, a slight but noticeable edge to her voice.

"She described Hutchins as the handsomest man she's ever laid eyes on, adding that he was also incredibly charming," Orendel explained, not deigning Samantha's comment with a response. "There's no doubt in my mind she was smitten by looks rather than substance. Not to mention the fact that the man has no fortune. Her life with him would have been hell, but she was too young and inexperienced to realize as much, so it was up to me to make sure she'd be properly settled and well taken care of. Even if she disagreed with my view at the start. As far as I know, she eventually came around to my way of thinking."

"Not according to Hutchins. He claims she was being forced into doing something she had no wish to do, that she felt used for your and Lawrence's gain."

"I don't believe that for a second," Orendel growled, his expression twisted in anger. "If that were true, then why put in the effort to plan the wedding? She spent hours visiting dressmakers and trying to decide on the floral arrangements and wedding cake with her mother. Had there been a hint of unwillingness on her part, I'm sure we'd have known."

The earl did make a compelling argument. And yet…

"Hutchins mentioned a detail you might want to check. According to him, he and Eleanor used the charity she frequented for their secret rendezvous. Apparently the maid who served as chaperone was offered tea and cake at the bakery next door. This allowed Eleanor the chance to interact with Hutchins without her chaperone overhearing."

Orendel's stony-faced expression appeared to harden further, but he nodded. "I'll speak with the maid in question and see what she has to say on the matter, but even if she confirms that such meetings were possible, I still don't believe my daughter intended to run off with Hutchins. She may have enjoyed his attentions, but she would never have acted in any way that could have brought scandal upon her family. As I'm sure you know, an elopement would have done precisely that. It would have tainted our name and endangered her sisters' prospects for the future."

"I must confess, I agree with his assessment," Samantha said once they'd left Orendel House and returned to the carriage. "If there's one thing everyone we've spoken with thus far agrees on, it's that Lady Eleanor was kind, thoughtful, and selfless. Such a person would in all likelihood sacrifice her own happiness rather than risk ruining the lives of the people she loved."

"In which case, Hutchins makes the most likely suspect. If he tried to compel her to elope and she refused, even going so far as insisting she would go through with her wedding no matter what, he might have snapped."

"Jealousy can be as good a motive as any," Samantha said. "I just…didn't get the feeling he was capable of something like that. He seemed genuinely upset about her death."

"It could have been an act," Adrian said, voicing the thought he'd had while speaking with Murry earlier. "Truth is we don't know him. Our only interaction with him has been one conversation, so who's to say he's not capable of conveying heartache when needed?"

"What we saw might also have been a reaction to what he did. Killing a person for the first time leaves a mark. There's an emotional response right? I mean, when I killed those men I had to fight off thanks to Wycliff, I was incredibly shaken afterward. I cried, Adrian, and they were strangers to me, whereas Lady Eleanor—"

"She was someone Hutchins knew and cared for."

"Precisely."

Adrian leaned against the side of the carriage with a sigh. It seemed the more they discovered and the more they deliberated on it, the more confusing the case became. Most of the evidence pointed at Hutchins. He was, thus far, the only person with motive and opportunity.

Except for two things.

He shook his head. "Hutchins doesn't make sense. He had no limp for starters, though I suppose that could have been faked to create a false trail. But even if that were true, the footman who was killed would have gotten nothing out of blackmailing him. And let's not forget that in order to ask for five thousand pounds in exchange for his silence, he'd have had to recognize the person who fled Lady Eleanor's room that night."

"You're right. That's an excellent point." She worried her lip between her teeth. "I suppose we're looking for someone wealthy. Perhaps another suitor that neither Hutchins nor Mr. Lawrence knew of? "

"It's as good a guess as any." The carriage pulled up in front of Reed's, and Adrian grabbed their bags before helping Samantha alight. "I received an invitation to the Avernail ball a couple of weeks ago. You and I were…having difficulties at the time so I dismissed it, but now I'm thinking we ought to accept. It will give us a chance to speak with Lady Eleanor's circle of friends. See if they might have seen or heard something useful."

"Melody did say Lady Eleanor was in high spirits during the time leading up to her death. I would have thought it was due to her plans of elopement, but maybe it was because of something else."

They entered the boxing club with Adrian no more convinced they were on the right path than he'd been last week. His thoughts were becoming increasingly tangled, so it was a good thing they were here. He exchanged a few pleasantries with Reed, who appeared extremely pleased to see them both again, and went to remove his jacket and waistcoat while Samantha changed into a pair of breeches in the back room reserved for ladies.

A wicked grin curled her lips when she returned, the sway of her hips as she sauntered toward him – that gleam of danger brightening her eyes – instilling a thrill in him unlike any other. Lord have mercy, she was glorious. And he desperately needed to engage in the sort of sparing he believed he'd find with her as his opponent.

"She shouldn't be in here," one of the other club members shouted. Adrian recognized him as Mr. Drost, the owner of several cotton mills. "The women have their own room to practice in for a reason."

"Agreed," Baron Ramstead, who trained here daily, concurred. "She shouldn't get special treatment just because she's your wife, Croft. Wrengate said he made that point clear."

The duke had said a great deal more. Were it up to him, Samantha wouldn't even be here. Adrian stepped toward Ramstead. "It's difficult for me to practice with her if she and I are in different rooms."

Ramstead crossed his arms and stared Adrian down. "Can't you go to the women's room with her?"

Adrian glanced at Samantha. "I suppose that's an option."

She shook her head. "I came out here because there are other women changing in there. Didn't want to bother them by making them rush."

"Nevertheless," Drost said, "it's bad enough that we have to share the building with the fairer sex, but at least we had an agreement about separate rooms. I've got to protest if you plan on changing that."

"Fine. I'll make you a deal. Just for today." Feet planted firmly in a wide stance, Adrian addressed the room as a whole. "Pick your champion – whoever you think most capable of winning a fight – and pitch him against her. If she wins, she stays in here with me, if she loses, she leaves."

Ramstead laughed. "I'll take on that challenge."

"Are you sure about that?" Adrian scanned the room. There were eight other men present, all of whom had stopped their practice in order to listen to the exchange.

"You've always had a reputation for being rougher than most, Croft." Drost shifted his gaze to Samantha and swept it along the length of her body. He shook his head. "Volunteering your wife to engage in a fight with a man, however, is particularly distasteful. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

Adrian turned to Samantha. "Care to share your opinion?"

She shrugged, a careless movement conveying disinterest in the conversation as a whole. "I came here to spar with you. If I have to win another fight first in order to do so, then so be it. My only request is that nobody punches me in the face. I've a ball to attend in a couple of days."

"This is madness," Drost muttered. He threw up his hands and turned away. "If it means so much to you, Croft, we'll let her stay in here for today. Won't we, lads?"

"I don't know," Ramstead said, a flame of excitement burning bright in his eyes. "It's not every day I receive the chance to topple a lady. Certainly not while others get to watch." He smirked in response to his own joke. "Let's see what she's made of, shall we?"

"Come on, Ramstead." Drost turned to him in annoyance. "Don't be an arse."

The rest of the assembled men echoed his sentiment but Ramstead refused to back down. He approached Samantha, determination etched on his face, a haughty grin curling his lips.

She moved toward him with fluid ease, her stance light and springy. "Not the face," she reminded him with a stern look in her eyes.

"Just as long as you don't knee me in the groin."

A nod of agreement and he attacked, his hand reaching for her left arm as though planning to dislodge her footing. She let him do it, her right foot simultaneously sweeping forward and hooking behind his leg while her hands caught hold of his shirt.

Pushing herself off her left foot added momentum. Ramstead began fighting for balance. The pair toppled with him falling backward and her landing squarely on top. But she didn't ease up once he was down. Adrian watched in amazement as she kept moving, hands grabbing and legs finding purchase against Ramstead's body, adding pressure in just the right spot to allow her to turn him onto his belly.

Sitting astride him, she grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, pinned his left arm down with her knee while placing her right leg under his right arm so she could twist it and bend it backward. Just enough for Ramstead to cry out in protest.

"Bloody hell," Drost muttered.

Adrian glanced at him and saw that he was quietly chuckling. Everyone else looked like they'd just seen a dog recite Shakespeare. He returned his attention to Ramstead who sputtered and cursed. "Do you yield?"

"Yes." A hoarse reply that saw him released from Samantha's grasp. She climbed off him and stuck out her hand, prepared to help him up.

He ignored the hand, and stood without her assistance. "The only reason you won is because I agreed not to punch you."

"Just in the face. I made no mention of anywhere else."

He snarled, sent Adrian a scathing look, and removed himself to the opposite side of the room. Adrian gave him a glare of his own, then turned to Samantha. "I can make him apologize if you want."

She arched a brow. "I could have done so myself if I thought it was necessary, but it's not. He's accepted the loss, even if he failed to congratulate me on the win. It's fine. I bear no grudge against him. Shall we?"

He crossed to where she waited and prepared to engage, only for her to leap toward him before he could ask if she was ready. Her fist met his chest with surprising force.

A grunt escaped him and though he'd decided he would not strike her as hard as he would a male opponent, instinct quickly took over. He aimed for her shoulder but she dodged the blow, her body a blur of movement around him. It was difficult for him to guess what she would do next.

Another attempt to strike her saw her grabbing his wrist. She tightened her hold and spun to his right, taking him with her before applying a sudden switch in direction. It was like tripping into a brick wall. He lost his balance and fell on his back .

Stupefied, he shook his head, not the least bit concerned by the laughter rolling around him. "I've no idea how you did that, but I want you to teach me."

Standing over him, a satisfied gleam in her eyes, she offered her hand. He took it, and was on his feet in an instant, ready for round two.