Chapter 23

23

S amantha arrived at the Midhurst musicale together with Melody and Lady Heathbrooke, with whom she'd enjoyed a lovely dinner prior to the engagement. Harlowe, who'd had a business meeting to attend to, would meet them there.

She swept the room with her gaze, searching for him until she realized he'd yet to put in an appearance. Instead she spotted the Earl of Marsdale, who stood in conversation with the odious Duke of Wrengate. The Ottersburgs and Glendales were also present, along with several other peers, including the Duke of Eldridge and Viscount Birchwood.

A cluster of younger men, from whom she recognized only the Newton brothers, were having what looked like some sort of debate, judging from their vigorous gestures.

The debutantes were gathered in a separate corner, whispering and tittering in a manner Samantha found highly annoying. All while sending coy smiles toward the young men.

"Thank goodness we're not like them," Samantha told Melody under her breath.

"What's that?" asked Lady Heathbrooke.

Samantha sent the dowager marchioness a dazzling smile. "It seems we're in excellent company this evening, my lady."

The dowager marchioness snorted and swept past Samantha, cutting a path directly toward a couple of women of similar age with whom she immediately struck up a conversation.

"I must confess, I sometimes wish I were able to be just a little like them," Melody murmured. She nodded toward the debutantes. "Or at the very least able to enjoy the excitement of courtship, with marriage and a family of my own still waiting upon the horizon."

Samantha glanced at her in surprise. "I'm sorry. I never realized you might have such longings."

Wishing for such things had never occurred to Samantha. She'd only ever focused on what she knew her life would be, instead of dreaming of something that couldn't be hers. Seemed rather pointless really, if not a direct path to unhappiness.

"I try to keep these dreams buried," Melody said. "But I do wonder what it might have been like to gain a suitor's attention, to plan for a future with him and… Forget it. I'm being terribly silly."

Samantha placed her hand on Melody's arm. "You could still have those things if you truly wished it."

An unhappy smile caught Melody's lips. "How? None of the gentlemen of my acquaintance will have a tradesman's by-blow, and I cannot imagine tying myself to the sort of man who would."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm better off with Lady Heathbrooke. Everything else is just fanciful nonsense. I beg you not to spare it another thought." Melody turned and her eyes brightened. "How marvelous. Violet Greene and Octavia Burley are also in attendance. Come, I'll introduce you to them."

Samantha prepared to follow her friend but paused when the Earl of Marsdale stepped to one side and a dark, familiar gaze met hers. A slow smile followed as Mr. Croft acknowledged her presence. She took a slow breath, accepted her stomach's fluttery response even as she explained it away as the thrill of the hunt.

He was here. She'd known he would be, but Melody had distracted her with her comment and… She caught Melody's hand. "You go ahead. There's someone I need to greet first."

Melody turned her head, her line of sight aligning with Samantha's. "I'd want to greet him too if he looked at me that way."

"And what way would that be?" Samantha asked, her heart skipping a beat.

"As though he'd like to whisk you away to a private corner somewhere and kiss you senseless," Melody whispered.

"Hush," Samantha chastised, but it was too late. Heat was already consuming her face. She knew she was blushing profusely despite her effort to keep her mind sharp and focused – on everything she disliked about Mr. Croft.

Melody gave her a pointed look before walking away with a chuckle. Samantha took a deep breath and told herself not to worry. Blushing was a good thing. It would help her look less of a threat while also suggesting an interest in Croft – an interest she needed for him to reciprocate since it would aid in her plan.

Cultivating a bit of romance was paramount to the next step.

But she mustn't rush things.

She started forward, moving through the crowd with only one goal in mind. Him. He watched her with bold overtness, his gaze heating with each step she took. Samantha's stomach tightened. The air around her crackled. An almost feverish feeling washed over her skin. She told herself the reaction was normal – an inevitable part of the act.

And then she reached him.

"Miss Carmichael," Mr. Croft murmured, the low hum of his voice making something distinct yet foreign vibrate inside her. Holding her gaze, he took her gloved hand in his and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. "It's lovely to see you again. I believe you must be acquainted with my friend, the Earl of Marsdale, since you were at the ball he hosted."

Samantha withdrew her hand from Croft's, annoyed with herself for missing the warmth of his touch, and faced the earl. "It's a pleasure to see you again, my lord."

"Indeed, the pleasure is entirely mine," Marsdale said, a boyish smile contrasting the somber look in his eyes. "Croft has spoken of you at great length. It would seem you've made quite the impression on him."

There was no need for Samantha to feign the smile that followed. It was real and full of appreciation, to say nothing of eager excitement. If Croft had mentioned her to his friend, then surely that meant he had more than a passing interest in her.

For the sake of her mission, she prayed this was true.

As far as her own wants and desires went, she dared not consider why Marsdale's comment had filled her with so much pleasure.

"A positive one, I hope," Samantha said, infusing her voice with amusement.

Marsdale laughed while Croft merely offered the sort of slow smile that reminded her of a cat who'd just spotted its prey. He dipped his head. "The best, Miss Carmichael, I can assure you."

Sensing an opportunity to strengthen their bond, Samantha gave her attention to Marsdale. "Your friend and I had a wonderful time together at the Moorland ball recently. We danced and when I complained of my feet aching afterward, he sought out a spot for me to rest. He's very considerate."

"Seems like he made quite the impression on you as well then," Marsdale said with a touch of mischief.

"Without question." She sent Croft a subtle smile and added softly, "I enjoy his company immensely."

"You do me great honor, Miss Carmichael." Croft gestured to someone behind her, and a footman quickly appeared with a tray filled with glasses of bubbly champagne.

Samantha took one and sipped the fizzy drink before leaning closer to Croft so she could discreetly ask, "What happened to the corner of your eye? That's quite the cut you've sustained."

"A minor accident with a low hanging beam," he told her, his eyes twinkling even as his jaw tightened. "It's nothing, though I appreciate your concern."

"Of course." A slow heat curled its way through her like smoke. She didn't believe him for a second. A man of his caliber wouldn't let such a foolish thing happen. The lingering signs of a bruise on his cheek would suggest he'd engaged in a fight.

With whom? she wondered. When they'd last spoken, he'd been preoccupied with his sister's murder. Given the wound and the bruises' appearance, they'd been dealt shortly after. Could it be that he'd gone to confront a suspect?

"It might be prudent of us to start taking our seats," Marsdale said, scattering Samantha's thoughts. "They're already filling. In a few more minutes we'll be stuck with what's left."

"Come," said Croft. He grabbed Samantha's hand and pulled her behind him, straight toward the fourth row where three vacant chairs remained. A young man was just preparing to occupy one when he glanced their way. His eyebrows rose and then his face paled as Croft jerked his head to one side.

The young man retreated and Croft directed Samantha to the farthest chair. He took the next one, positioning himself between her and Marsdale. It wasn't until she was comfortably seated that Croft's high-handedness registered with her. He'd not asked if she wished to sit with him. He'd made it so by grabbing her hand and shooing that young man away.

She frowned at the seat back in front of her. She'd never doubted that Croft was the sort of man who made the rules intended for others to follow – that he enjoyed taking charge and getting his way. This trait was well described in the file she'd gathered on him and made perfect sense when considering all that he was suspected of.

But how did she feel about it?

As someone who'd always balked at being ordered about or of having her thoughts on a matter dismissed, she couldn't deny her simmering anger. Briefly, she thought of addressing the matter, then promptly changed her mind. It wasn't her job to argue with him but rather to entice him.

Butting heads would hardly accomplish that. And besides, she reminded herself, his possessiveness did prove that things were heading in the correct direction. She ought to be pleased, not put out.

A smile surfaced.

Leaning toward him she aimed for a note of sweetness while asking, "What does a man such as yourself enjoy doing when he's not otherwise busy reading Greek plays, engaging in boxing matches, or attending social events?"

"Target shooting is a favorite pastime of mine."

Her annoyance with him from seconds ago vanished. "What's your best distance?"

"Fifty-five yards."

Hers was sixty.

"Impressive."

"And much like you," he added, his voice so low she could barely hear him, "I also enjoy riding astride while wearing breeches."

She actually snorted with genuine humor. "How unfair of you to use the confidence I shared with you against me."

"You mistake me, Miss Carmichael. I have nothing but the greatest admiration for you, I assure you. Most young ladies would shy away from something so daring."

"It's easier, sturdier, and consequently a great deal safer in my opinion."

"You're likely correct. Sidesaddles have always struck me as rather precarious contraptions."

She agreed and told him as much right before Marsdale drew his attention. The two men spoke for a couple of minutes before Croft addressed her again.

"Tell me about the rest of your interests. Perhaps we'll discover more that we have in common."

"I enjoy shopping, especially at some of the markets where all manner of curious items can be purchased. Archery and swimming are both favorite hobbies of mine when the weather allows. In winter, I eagerly wait for the lake to freeze over so I can go skating."

"It seems you're the active sort," Croft said, his voice thoughtful.

You have no idea.

"Very much so." She flattened her mouth. "I'm horrendous at most of the things young ladies ought to excel at."

He studied her for a moment, his gaze briefly finding her mouth before sliding away. "I suspect that's because you've no interest in them."

It was her turn to study him, this man she was meant to destroy. In some ways, it felt like he saw her better than anyone else ever had.

She cast that thought aside and touched his arm before telling him conspiratorially, "I often wish I'd been born a boy, able to hunt, spit, curse, and get foxed. Such things are surely more fun than needlepoint, watercolors, and learning how to put together a menu."

He flexed beneath her hand, a slight movement that drew her awareness to his muscled physique. Adrian Croft was a powerful man and she was merely an inch away, close enough to lean in and kiss him.

Or slash his throat if she chose.