Chapter 5

5

D espite his superior ordering him to stop his investigation of Adrian Croft, Peter Kendrick gave the door at Number 5 Portman Square a hard knock. A smartly dressed middle-aged man with white hair opened the door – the butler, Peter assumed.

"I wish to speak with Mrs. Croft," Peter said when the butler inquired about his business. He handed him his card. "The matter pertains to an ongoing investigation. I believe she may prove helpful."

"Please come in."

The butler stepped aside and Peter entered the foyer where the most exquisite crown moldings he'd ever seen adorned nearly every part of the ceiling. A chandelier hung from the central point and a couple of Roman columns, set against half-walls extending from both sides of the room, created a partition between the entry way and the rest of the house .

All was painted white save the walls, which were done in a soft grayish blue tone that encouraged the molding and pillars to pop.

No sooner had he made this observation than the door was pushed shut behind him, as though the butler feared what people might think if they saw the chief constable paying a visit.

"Please wait here while I find out if Mrs. Croft is accepting callers."

The butler departed, climbing the marble staircase that swept toward the first-floor landing. It, too, was a work of art, its boldness a reflection of the Croft family's power.

Though not for much longer, Peter mused, if he had anything to say about it.

He glanced around, his gaze roaming across what he perceived to be very strategically placed works of art. Landscapes, mostly, that seemed to convey a collector's fondness for simple expression. There were two tall vases as well, white with blue floral patterns. Filled with understated bouquets of cream-colored flowers, they added to the overall elegance of the space, conveying more wealth and better taste than what he'd seen in most other upper-class homes.

Approaching steps sounded and he looked to the stairs where the butler was now descending. He made his way to where Peter stood. "I can take your hat and gloves before showing you to the parlor. Mrs. Croft will see you there shortly."

Peter removed the items and handed them over, then followed the man into a room that was brightly lit by the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. He thanked the butler and positioned himself near the fireplace. It didn't take long before the woman who had the power to serve Croft to him appeared.

She closed the door without acknowledging him. Her gaze slid toward the fireplace poker that stood in its holder. She gave him a chilling glare, and there was no doubt in his mind she'd like nothing more than to skewer him at that very moment.

"Elks tells me you wish to discuss an investigation." Her voice was sharp but even, like a lethal blade. She moved toward him with a predator's pace, her eyes locked with his.

"I needed a reason to see you."

Her gaze hardened. "I'm not sure how I'm able to help. You'll have to elaborate further – provide me with details and such. What sort of case is it, exactly?"

She would not make this easy. Fine. He could be difficult too. "Coming to you directly was my only option since you decided to stop making use of the errand boy. It makes it harder for us to share information regarding your husband."

Fire burned in her eyes. "You shouldn't have come here."

"As I've explained, I—"

"There's nothing more to discuss." Her hand went to the poker's handle, curling around it.

Peter's heart slowed. He knew what she was capable of, the sort of training she had received under Harlowe's guidance. Perhaps coming here had been stupid. And yet, he could not stop from pursuing legal action against Croft. Allowing him to get away with his criminal dealings was wrong, regardless of what his superior thought.

"Despite what you may have heard, this isn't over." He clenched his jaw and narrowed his gaze, ignoring the frenzied beat of his pulse. "Keep digging. Get me the proof I need to destroy him, or I'll have you arrested right along with him when the time comes. And it will come, Mrs. Croft. With or without your help. It'll simply take a bit longer than what I'd hoped."

She drew the poker with one fluid motion and held it between her hands. Every line on her face had tightened as though with carefully controlled rage. "Get out."

That was all she said but it was enough, the venom with which she spoke a warning of what she might do to him in return. He swallowed, gave a quick nod, and went to collect his hat and gloves. Not until he'd left Portman Square behind did he dare breathe again.

Samantha remained exactly where Kendrick had left her for a good ten minutes after his departure. Her hands still trembled from the shock that had gripped her the moment Elks had informed her of the constable's presence in her home.

How dare he come here ?

After everything she'd initially done to help him build a case against Adrian, this was how he repaid her? By asking Adrian's butler if he might speak with her directly? As if her husband did not have enough cause already to kill her.

She dropped her gaze to the poker and almost regretted not having used it. Her life would be so much simpler without Kendrick constantly there to make demands and stir up trouble. He wasn't even supposed to be pressing her for information any more. According to what Harlowe had told her, the chief magistrate wanted her to step back and let Adrian be until further notice.

So what the hell was Kendrick doing?

Defying orders, it seemed.

She ought to report him. Maybe she would for her own peace of mind. His visit had shaken her more than it should have. He'd caught her off guard, which was utterly unacceptable. Nothing ought to surprise her. It was her job to be fully prepared for all eventualities. Yet it seemed she'd been off her game since Adrian came along and muddled her brain.

Damned nuisance.

A few months ago he'd been a mission she carried out with detached focus. But that had since changed. She'd allowed the pretense to become real and had fallen for him harder than she would admit even now.

A mess, though one she was determined to work her way through. The fact that he hadn't shipped her off to some remote island somewhere when he'd found out about her involvement with Kendrick gave her hope even though having his butler know about Kendrick's visit today made her wary.

Adrian would only think the worst when he learned about it, which meant that salvaging their marriage had just become so much harder.

It was a challenge for Adrian to look at Lady Eleanor's body without thinking of Evie. So many aspects reminded him of his previous visit to this awful place, from the hollow sound of footsteps echoing through the halls as he'd walked toward this room with Orendel to the stench of death that hung in the air.

An estimated thirty-six hours had passed since Lady Eleanor had been killed, and her corpse was not the only one present. Two others filled nearby tables and though they were covered by sheets, blood stains suggested they'd been cut open for examination.

This was not true of Lady Eleanor. Her body remained intact, though brutalized in ways that made even him – a man who wasn't a stranger to death or torture – want to avert his gaze. It was no wonder that Orendel hadn't accompanied him all the way, deciding at the last moment to wait outside while Adrian went to greet Doctor Fellowes, the coroner.

A steady beat drummed through Adrian's chest, a point upon which to focus so he could gather his thoughts and distance himself from reality. Keen observation separated from all emotion was what he required.

He took a breath, expelled it, and surrendered himself to the impartial study of Lady Eleanor's body.

Bruises encircled her neck, the coloring dark, an almost purplish black. Countless stab wounds had been delivered to her, and most horrific of all, her eyes had been cut out, like pits scooped from a pair of peaches.

Adrian raised her limp hand to better study her fingers and nails. No cuts were present there, but one of the nails appeared slightly chipped. He glanced at Doctor Fellowes and raised one eyebrow in question.

"I cleaned the nails earlier in the day and found fragments underneath several of them. Some skin and blood too and even one strand of hair."

"May I see?"

The coroner brought him a small ceramic dish in which he'd placed his findings. Adrian pinched the strand of hair between his fingers and held it up so the light falling through the window could catch it.

Dark brown. A common color a few shades lighter than his own. He returned it to the dish. "Is it correct to surmise that she was strangled before she was stabbed?"

"That is the conclusion I have arrived at."

"And do you believe she was fully dead by then?"

"Her windpipe was crushed."

In other words, yes.

Adrian frowned, his attention returning to her empty eye sockets, the butchered flesh there a violent shade of red. "This was more than an act of hate. "

It had been personal. Whoever had done this had wanted to keep a memoire. And her death alone had not been enough to satisfy his rage. He'd needed to stab her repeatedly after.

Another unpleasant thought entered his head. It was the same as the one he'd had about Evie – the sort that arose only when one was dealing with beasts rather than humans. "Do you know if she was violated?"

"It doesn't appear to be the case."

Adrian expelled a breath and gave the doctor his thanks before reconvening with Orendel. "I'll need a list of your daughter's contacts – everyone she was acquainted with and her relationship with them. I've a notebook you can use when we return to the carriage."

Orendel merely nodded and turned for the exit, his footsteps swift as he made his way back through the dreary hallway and out into the London street.

"Hopefully this will prove more helpful," Orendel said after jotting down several names. He'd been understandably disappointed by the lack of information gleaned from the murder weapon.

"It gives me a way in which to continue my hunt," Adrian told him. He dropped Orendel off at his home first before continuing to White's, the list of names carefully tucked away in his jacket pocket.

The club wasn't too busy when he arrived. Most of its members would likely stop by a bit later. Especially if they were family men expected to eat their suppers at home with their wives.

Well aware of his reputation – made all the worse by Lawrence's story about him having caught Newton – Adrian settled into a quiet corner from which he was granted a wide angled view of the lounge. A servant brought him a cup of coffee and a plate containing two ham and cheese sandwiches. He picked one up and proceeded to eat while pretending to read that day's paper.

Attention sharp, he registered those who came and went, all the while waiting for someone with dark brown hair who also limped. Or if not that, then a regular patron with dark brown hair who failed to put in an appearance at all, due to an injured leg or foot.

"Terrible business regarding Orendel's daughter, wouldn't you say?"

Adrian glanced up in response to the voice that addressed him. While he generally enjoyed the Duke of Eldridge's company, he'd hoped to avoid him this evening. Partly because he wanted to concentrate on helping Orendel solve his daughter's murder, but mostly because the duke wasn't alone. He was accompanied by the Dukes of Moorland and Wrengate, the former far more pleasant than the latter.

"Indeed." A brief response and a bland expression that didn't invite them to fall into conversation with him.

And yet, Eldrige continued. "Seems like we can't quite rid ourselves of evil monsters. As soon as one is brought down another one rises."

"Perhaps you can help catch him too?" The question, brought by Moorland, was spoken in a hushed tone .

Adrian's posture went rigid. To offer even a partial hint pertaining to his involvement could send him straight to the gallows. So he kept his expression neutral and reached for his coffee, took a slow sip. "You must have mistaken me for the chief constable. I don't get involved with that sort of thing."

Eldridge smirked. "Of course not."

"We never suggested you did," Moorland told him, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes.

Eldridge dipped his head. "I do hope to see both you and your lovely wife again soon."

Adrian forced a smile. "I'm sure an occasion will present itself."

"Well," Moorland said, "We'll not take up more of your time. Good evening, Mr. Croft."

He and Eldridge began walking away but Wrengate lingered. Adrian sent him a hard stare, demanding he either say what was on his mind or get lost.

The duke narrowed his gaze. "I want your wife and the rest of the women she brought into Reed's gone from there. Several other members share my opinion."

An unsurprising demand. The duke had made no secret of being opposed to the boxing club allowing the fairer sex to attend. An initiative Samantha had encouraged and achieved with Adrian's support.

"Had you started by congratulating me on my wedding I might have been willing to take your request into consideration." A wide smile intended only to annoy his opponent. "Looks like my wife was correct in her assumption. You do lack manners. "

"Croft." A dangerous note clung to the name.

Adrian hardened his jaw. "My position remains unchanged. Those women need to know how to defend themselves if that is their wish. The room they use is private enough that it ought not disturb you or anyone else."

"I'll end my membership if you don't make this change."

While the boxing club wasn't technically Adrian's, he had provided the funding for it and was therefore free to make all the decisions. He considered Wrengate. Considered Samantha too. He wasn't on great terms with either one but between the two there was no question as to whose side he would choose, if only to preserve the outward appearance of a happy and trouble-free marriage.

"Go ahead," he told Wrengate, returning his attention to the paper. "There are others who would welcome the chance to take over your membership."

"Damn you to hell and beyond, Croft."

Adrian gripped the paper so hard the edges fluttered. He wanted to shove the duke's teeth down his throat for his lack of respect. Instead, he pretended his attention was gripped by a riveting piece of news and waited until Wrengate was gone before requesting a large glass of brandy.

Honestly, he hoped the man kept his membership at Reed's since this would allow him to punch the bastard without anyone thinking twice about it.

He shook his head, annoyed by the distraction the three men had caused. Any number of gentlemen could have come and gone while they'd blocked his view. Rising, he made a show of stretching his legs, which allowed him to give the room a quick sweep with his gaze.

Only Viscount Ottersburg had departed, but his hair was red, not brown. He also seemed too old to be scaling walls and climbing through bedchamber windows. Besides which, he did not have a limp.

It was nearing two in the morning by the time Adrian left, no wiser than when he'd arrived. Several of the club's members had hair that might have matched the shade of the strand found underneath Lady Eleanor's nail. But he'd watched each one as they'd stood from their chairs and walked. None was impaired in any way, which could only mean that the murderer hadn't been present.

Not much to go on, but enough to strike a couple of gentlemen from the list Orendel had provided. Of course, White's wasn't the only gentlemen's club. There were also Brook's and Boodle's. He'd have to look into the men who frequented those establishments too.

For now, however, he'd head on home where he'd hopefully get some sleep before dealing with his wife.