Chapter 4

4

S amantha made her way through the Mayfair streets at a moderate pace so anyone who might recognize her would conclude she was out for a stroll. It would be an easy assumption to make in light of the sunny weather.

She crossed King Street to where a series of shops caught her interest. With plenty of time to spare, she paused to admire the display in one of the windows. The shop belonged to a milliner whose craftsmanship was exemplary. Expensive, she supposed, but nothing she couldn't afford with the huge allowance provided to her by her husband.

Her thoughts of him pierced her heart. The rift caused by yesterday's argument hadn't been mended. He'd retired after her last night, choosing to sleep in one of the guest chambers rather than by her side. A message no doubt intended to underscore his annoyance, though her reflection upon the matter this morning had left her baffled. She still believed his response to what she had said was completely out of proportion.

Which made her worry it might have nothing to do with the marriage bed and that something else was to blame. The question, of course, was what.

She'd have to deal with one problem at a time. For now, there was Isak, the boy she'd hired to serve as a messenger while she'd been working with Kendrick. The request she'd received from him that morning when she'd ridden through Hyde Park and a flower girl had approached her insisted she meet with him today.

So she turned down the alley that ran between King Street and Pall Mall, then stepped beneath an archway that led toward an abandoned courtyard. Back pressed against the stone wall, she stood there for a good ten minutes before Isak joined her.

She'd planned to scold him for making her risk being seen with him and then for making her wait, but the angry words died on her lips when she saw his bruised face. The skin around one of his eyes had had turned a deep purple. Blue and yellow tones were found elsewhere on his cheeks and his brow. Fresh scabs sealed the cuts he'd received to his brow and his lips, and his nose was set at a crooked angle.

It hadn't registered until now, when she truly looked at him, that he'd been limping as he'd approached. Her jaw tightened, teeth pressing together so hard they might shatter. "Who did this to you?"

She'd skin them alive.

Eyes that had seen more than most children ought stared back at her without blinking. "Wycliff."

Air hissed down her throat. She'd instinctively pegged the blackguard as unforgiving and callous when she'd sought his help. After all, he ran a criminal enterprise out of St. Giles, where he lorded over a crew of thieves and informants. Of course he wasn't the sort of man one invited out to tea. And if there had been any doubt, it vanished when he'd made good on the debt she'd owed him, forcing her into a situation where she'd had no choice but to kill two men.

But to beat a child without mercy…

"Why?" Nothing she could think of could possibly justify this.

"I told him I'd like to try for a proper job. Working for you made me think, see. 'Twas nice doing something honest for once."

Her eyebrows rose. She supposed it depended on how one defined ‘honest'. Spying on Croft and carrying secret messages back and forth between her and Kendrick probably skimmed the line. Still, she appreciated the boy's willingness to make a better life for himself than what Wycliff offered.

"And he responded with violence?" She balled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms with such force she'd have broken the skin if they'd been any sharper .

"He made an example of me. In case anyone else got the same idea." Isak shifted his weight, leaning more heavily on his right leg. "That's why I wanted to meet, 'cause I need your help getting out from under his thumb."

Given her current situation, she wasn't sure how much she would be able to do without Adrian finding out about everything she'd been involved in, but she still asked, "How?"

"There's only two ways. We can either kill him or buy my freedom."

She stared at him, not seeing him as much as the men whose lives she'd claimed. One with a stab to the stomach, the other with a stab to the throat. It had taken her hours to scrub herself clean afterward when no amount of washing could truly erase the stains from her conscience. Her only justification since was the choice she'd been given between them and her.

It had been a fight for survival, but walking into Wycliff's lair and shooting him dead would be different.

Staring Isak in the eye, she gave her head a slow shake. "I'm not an executioner."

"Then we'll have to give him five hundred and seventeen pounds."

She actually laughed. "Is he out of his mind?"

"That's what I owe him for food and lodging and the clothes he's provided."

There was no way in hell any of those things amounted to such a large sum. Wycliff was just being greedy. Or deliberately difficult. Either way, it didn't matter when her monthly allowance, while substantial, was only a fraction of what he demanded.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have that kind of money. It would take me at least three months to acquire, provided I save every penny."

"Then kill him. Please. I…" Isak's voice finally broke, producing a croak. "I won't survive there much longer."

"You could run away," she suggested, a little surprised he'd not done so already.

A snort conveying pure hopelessness echoed beneath the stone archway. "I'll be gutted alive and tossed in the Thames if he catches me."

"Surely not." Wycliff might be a bastard, but she didn't think him a murderous one.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Isak informed her grimly, the stark comment freezing the blood in her veins. "Others have tried, only for them to turn up dead. Wycliff won't stand for betrayal. As it is, my punishment's far from over. He's already said he'll put me to work in one of his brothels."

Revulsion erupted inside her, burning through her so fast she recoiled. "But you're…you're just a child."

"Doesn't matter." Isak sniffed. "I'll kill myself before I submit to something like that. Thought I'd check with you first though. See if you're willing to help."

She stared at him, nearly paralyzed by the horror she now envisioned for him if she walked away. And yet, she could not bring herself to bloody her hands once more. It wasn't right. Then again, neither was standing by while Wycliff turned Isak into a whore .

"It's not a question of willingness," she murmured, trying to think of another solution.

"I can pay you with information." Voices drifted toward them from one of the streets and he paused, waited until they'd faded before he said, "It's about your husband. Something you might find useful."

Her hand caught his arm, loosening slightly as soon as he winced. She leaned in. "Tell me."

"Promise to help me escape Wycliff's clutches."

Samantha took a deep breath. Truth was, she'd already made up her mind when he'd mentioned the chance of him being gutted. "I give you my word that I'll do so."

"Swear it."

"Of course."

He closed his eyes briefly, his features softening with what was surely relief. A sigh followed and then his eyes snared her, the intensity there surprising in someone so young. "He knows about you."

A shudder went through her. "What do you mean?"

She already knew, but she asked the question anyway.

"We were seen the last time we met. A gruff fellow with dark brown hair and icy-blue eyes caught up with me after. Threatened to have me transported unless I told him what I was doing with you. I tried to lie but he saw straight through me. Locked me in the boot of his carriage and drove me out to a field somewhere. I nearly pissed myself when he hauled me back out and pressed a pistol to my head. "

Bloody Murry .

She'd kill him for this.

"He gave me one last chance to spill every detail and I…I took it."

Her hands started to shake. "The last time we met…" A heavy weight settled upon her breast, making each breath a laborious strain. "That was the day after our wedding." Her voice had grown thin. More than a month, that's how long Adrian had been aware. She blinked. "Why are you only telling me this now?"

"'Cause I knew I might need it one day as currency."

There was tragedy to be found in that statement. The fact that a boy his age was forced to think in such terms revealed the unfairness of the world they lived in. She wanted to scream. Adrian knew she'd forced her way into his life, tracked his movements, and spied on him.

While everything about their relationship had made her worry this might be the case, she'd dismissed it as impossible. Because she'd been careful, discreet, though not nearly enough, and now…

Despite the urge to rail at Isak or break her promise to him for what he'd done, she forced herself to tamp down the anger and biting need to punish him further. What Wycliff had already done was more than enough. He deserved some kindness now for all he'd suffered.

And besides, she was the one who'd been careless in her belief that Adrian's fondness for her would keep her safe, that he'd not have his most trusted servant keep a keen eye on her movements. Foolish, foolish, foolish .

"I'll figure out something," she promised Isak. Harlowe might help if she asked for a loan, loath as she was to fall upon his good graces. "Give me a few days to find a solution, all right?"

He nodded. "Lizzy will be at Hyde Park every morning. When you're ready, you can pass a message to me through her."

"In the meantime, take this." She handed him a few coins. "Get yourself a hearty meal, maybe visit a doctor."

"I'll take the meal but I'll not be wasting good coin just to be told that I'll mend with time."

"Suit yourself." Samantha wished him well, then stepped out from under the archway and checked the street. Finding it empty save for the retreating figure of a working-class woman, she walked back to King Street, her thoughts in turmoil.

Good lord. How was she to return home and face her husband?

He knows about you.

Isak's words rattled around her brain, sending unpleasant jolts down her spine. Apprehension swirled in her stomach. She'd not been the only one playing a part. He'd done the same. The difference was in their timing. She'd quit her role when she'd spoken her vows while he had begun his. Which meant that their marriage thus far was a sham.

Good grief. He must think the worst of her, yet he'd given nothing away. Why?

She reached her address at Number 5 Portman Square and climbed the steps leading to the front door. It was opened by Elks, denying her the need to make use of her key. She entered, her attention immediately snared by Adrian's imposing figure filling the hallway. He stood as though in conversation with Murry.

Both men glanced her way, their gazes assessing. Heart racing with near painful violence, she sent them a smile which neither returned. It felt like running head first into a brick wall.

Adrian dipped his head toward Murry and murmured something she could not hear, then jutted his chin toward his study. The valet vanished and Samantha handed her gloves to Elks before removing her bonnet.

"Pleasant outing?" Adrian inquired, the first he'd spoken to her since their quarrel.

A stale taste filled her mouth. The question, which would have struck her as an attempt at reconciliation before, seemed probing now.

He knows about you.

She wanted to tell him she knew about him as well, get all their cards out in the open, face whatever damage it led to if only to try and move forward. But she stopped herself, afraid a hasty move on her part would not be strategically wise. Everything Harlowe had taught her advised her to think things through – to consider each angle and what the potential outcome might be.

So she forced another smile. "The weather is simply superb, which made for an excellent walk. You ought to come with me next time."

He held her gaze, his expression stony before it transformed into something more welcome in nature. "Maybe I will." His lips quirked – not exactly a smile but a stalwart attempt at one. "If you'll please excuse me. I've an important matter to discuss with Murry, but I'd like to talk to you later. Perhaps over tea?"

"Sounds lovely." Her facial muscles were starting to hurt from the effort it took to affect agreeability.

A stiff nod and then he was gone. The door to his study closed behind him with a firm click. She frowned at it and wondered about the conversation taking place on the opposite side. The research she'd conducted on Adrian while he'd been her mark had been thorough. Though he counted Edward Pryce, the Earl of Marsdale, as his closest friend, Murry remained his most trusted ally.

The valet was privy to everything that went on in Adrian's life. When he'd been attacked by those thugs at Reed's Boxing Club, Murry had been the one who'd come to help cart them off to whatever fate had awaited them. As evidenced by her conversation with Isak, he was also the one who'd investigated her, whether by his own initiative or because he'd been asked to.

With him fiercely loyal to Adrian, she ought to have anticipated the threat he'd pose to her. But she'd been blinded by whatever romantic notions had flittered about her head after Adrian kissed her for the first time. Stupidity was another way of putting it. She'd been unforgivably careless and it had cost her.

The question now was whether or not there was any chance to fix it.

Disappointment pulled at Adrian's muscles. He sent Murry a hard look. The woman hired by Murdoch, an employment agent with a vast network of stealthy informants, had reached them well before Samantha stepped through the front door. Although she'd overheard less than a third of the conversation Samantha engaged in with her errand boy, it was enough to confirm that she knew he'd been on to her for a long time.

He'd actually hoped she'd confront him about it when he'd inquired about her outing. Instead, she'd continued the pretense, nurturing the layer of lies beneath which they'd both been buried. The preposterousness of it was swiftly beginning to grate. It wasn't fair. She'd done this, yet she lacked the courage to face him squarely, choosing instead to leave the confrontation to him.

Well, it wouldn't be long now. He'd made up his mind.

"I can't go on like this." The words were spoken without even thinking. "Or rather, I don't want to."

"You're certain you've no wish to get a divorce?" Murry asked, so careful and quiet .

"Such things can take years. The cost is astronomical, besides which I've no wish to suffer the scandal or the image it would paint of me."

Since one large aspect required in cases of divorcement was proof of the wife's infidelity, it would only make him look weak. The last thing he needed right now was for those who feared him to think him the sort of man who lacked the strength to manage his wife, or even worse, the virility to keep her satisfied.

"There's also the option of sending her off to Deerhaven Park for a long sojourn."

Adrian arched an eyebrow and crossed to the sideboard. "You're full of bright ideas."

"I'm only trying to help," Murry grumbled.

"And I appreciate it. Brandy?"

"No thank you."

Adrian poured a small measure for himself and savored the bite as he took his first sip. He wouldn't get the same advice from anyone else, not even his secretary, Cummings, who was well versed in all the family's dealings both past and present.

But it took courage and grit to be brutally frank with one's employer. In this regard, only Murry would do.

"There's a benefit to keeping her close," Adrian said. "Allows us to see what she gets up to."

"While that may be true, she'd probably get up to less if she were a few hundred miles away from London, cut off from the people she knows."

No arguing that. Mouth flat, Adrian crossed to his chair, sat, and invited Murry to take a seat on one of the vacant chairs. "I think it's time for me to demand an explanation. Anything less is ridiculous at this point."

Besides, he wanted to know what her end goal had been since nothing about her or Harlowe suggested they were anything other than normal citizens quietly making their way through life.

Yes, Harlowe had worked as a naval officer decades ago, later as an emissary traveling with the East India Company, and finally as an investor who'd done well by purchasing shares in steel manufactories and cotton mills. He'd taken in five orphaned girls whom he'd raised with his now-deceased wife, and spent as much time as he could these days on the study of Greek literature.

As for Samantha, he could not fathom what she might have hoped to accomplish by working with Kendrick of all people. It was baffling, to say the least. In his opinion the man defined incompetence, his effort to solve the series of murders that also included his sister unimpressive at best.

"How do you suppose she'll react to the confrontation?" Murry asked.

"I've no idea." It was the truth. She might go on the defensive and try to continue the lie, or she might choose to meet him head first with aggression. It could go either way, he realized.

"Maybe you ought to conduct the interview in the basement. Just to be safe."

The very idea …

"I'll pretend you didn't suggest that," he told Murry darkly. "Whatever the case – whatever she's done – she is my wife. I'll not put her in the same room where I had Newton killed."

"My only thought was privacy. No one will hear you in there. If things get heated."

"Then I'll bloody well send you and the rest of the servants out for a couple of hours." He polished off the last of his brandy. "Make no mistake, I will get my answers, Murry, but I'll do so without disrespecting my vows."

"Forgive me, sir. I meant no insult."

Adrian's gaze remained on his valet until the tightness pulling his muscles taut eased. Only then did he shift his attention elsewhere, to a stack of papers he'd meant to go over later. He began leafing through them, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Elks entered. The butler handed Adrian a sealed letter delivered by courier and took his leave. Adrian tore the letter open and read the short message penned upon the crisp paper by Lady Eleanor's father. "I'm to meet Orendel at the morgue in an hour, after which I think I'll stop by White's. Don't expect to be home until after dinner."

If he were to figure out who Lady Eleanor's killer was, he'd have to speak with people and start paying attention. As feared, the murder weapon had yielded no results thus far. He'd stopped by the manufacturer on his way home from Orendel House to ask about it, had provided the clerk with a thorough description of all the markings. Apparently it had not been a special-order item but rather one of thirty crafted last year.

Which meant this would not be a quick case to solve. There was work to be done if he was to identify Lady Eleanor's killer.

The trouble regarding his wife would have to wait until later.