Chapter 24

24

A drian shifted in his seat. Miss Carmichael's touch threatened to sear him. It felt like a branding of sorts – a potent sensation he wanted both to harness and flee. This past week, since he'd last seen her, he'd wondered if the connection he'd felt with her had been imagined. A fabrication of his overactive mind.

He now knew it wasn't.

The effect she had upon him, the need she instilled for something more crucial between them, had only grown stronger.

Of course, it also helped that Murry had found nothing else to report about her. Had there been a scandal attached to her name, he would have discovered it. As for the file his father had gathered on Harlowe, the information there gave no cause for concern either. According to the notes, he was a private man who'd mostly kept to himself since returning from the travels he'd undertaken during his youth.

He'd married late – or later than what was the norm – being already into his fortieth year when he'd spoken his vows. Now, at almost five and sixty years of age, he maintained his duty toward the women he and his wife had chosen to foster.

Adrian had been correct to take an instant liking to him. He was an honorable sort who'd probably make a good friend and ally.

As for Miss Carmichael…

"I can't say I'm in favor of women behaving like heathens. Besides, getting foxed is extremely unpleasant. I doubt you'd enjoy it."

"It's the idea of it that's enticing, I think. Hypothetically speaking. I mean, how would you feel if you were allowed to engage only in feminine pursuits like painting, embroidery, reading, and playing an instrument? If you were forbidden from going anywhere alone, from attending university, from smoking or arguing a case in Parliament?"

He was honestly dismayed by her suggestion. It went against everything a properly bred Englishwoman stood for. And while he might be prepared to make a few concessions, like supporting that she ride astride, he could not imagine involving himself with a woman who wanted to cast aside all things feminine in favor of living like…well…a man.

"Are these things you wish to do?" It was possible he'd misjudged her.

"No." The honesty he saw in her eyes put him at ease. "But the not being allowed to do them frustrates me to no end."

He saw her point and he understood her. More than that, he found he agreed.

The first few notes of Mozart alerted him to the concert's commencement. All other chatter ceased and he turned to face the musicians. But even as he watched the violinist, cellist, and pianist gracefully embark upon a lyrical journey, his awareness remained on the lady beside him.

The warmth she exuded, her fragrance – a sweet floral scent so subtle he wanted to lean a bit closer in order to better examine the heady perfume – had a wonderfully calming effect. In truth, she as a whole was a soothing distraction from all his grief, anger, and hellish existence.

He'd looked forward to seeing her, he realized, for this very reason. Like an opium addict longing for his next trip into oblivion.

It helped that she'd known Evie, if only briefly. "It pains me to know that she's no longer with us," she'd said.

The comment provided him with more comfort than the hollow "I'm so sorry" and "My condolences" he'd received from nearly everyone else.

Because of the careful attention he paid her while notes rose and fell all around them, quieting to a near whisper before climbing to an emotive crescendo, he knew when she straightened and when she leaned forward. The distance between them was so very small. An inch perhaps? It would take so little for him to close it.

His stomach tightened as heat enveloped his body. How had it come to this?

He could not say. No other woman had ever held his interest this way, drawing him to her, instilling in him a need for discovery and conquest.

Everything he'd learned of the world compelled him to fight the temptation, to keep a level head, his wits about him. So he took a shallow breath and glanced to his right, past Marsdale, and away from Miss Carmichael.

His ribs instantly curled their way inward, both hands balling into tight fists when he spotted Lundquist, who sat beside his sister, Lady Lavinia. Adrian had gone to their home twice more this past week, intent on confronting the marquess once and for all, only to be told he'd gone out.

He could think of only one reason why he'd not noticed his presence here yet. His attention had been on Miss Carmichael. Not on the man who'd beaten Miss Fairchild.

Muscles straining against too tight skin, he clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. The marquess sat just two seats over, a look of pleasure upon his face as he listened to the music.

Adrian heard nothing besides a relentless pounding in his own ears. This man, so well connected the bloody chief magistrate let him go, was having a wonderful evening while the woman he had abused rotted away in her grave. A grave he might have put her in.

In which case he would have done the same to Evie.

Throat dry and with each new breath coming harder than the last, Adrian stared through the haze of anger that clouded his vision. He knew he was being irrational. Hadn't he thought the same of Miss Edwina Fairchild when she'd insisted on Lundquist being the killer? There was no proof. Not yet, at least.

Going after a marquess without it would be complete madness.

But letting him get away with murder if he were guilty would be unforgivable.

Someone touched his arm. He registered words but didn't know who'd spoken.

And then Lundquist turned, his gaze going straight to where Adrian sat. A smile followed and the next thing Adrian knew, his hands were at the bastard's throat.

Confusion widened the marquess's eyes. Horror followed as Adrian pushed his thumbs harder against his windpipe. Shouts erupted and chaos descended but Adrian paid it no mind. He had the marquess in his grasp, and he'd make damn sure he paid for what he had done.

Hands grabbed his arms and attempted to pull him away, forcing him to loosen his hold. He swung his arm back, catching the person with a hard jab. A curse echoed in Adrian's ears as he latched onto Lundquist's lapels and hauled him out of his seat.

He was vaguely aware of Lady Lavinia's voice beseeching him to release her brother. For one fleeting second, Adrian thought of revealing he'd seen her enjoying herself a little too much with Mr. Julian Walker a few weeks prior. Not exactly the proper behavior one might expect from a woman being courted by the Earl of Redgrave. But hurting her just to get at her brother wasn't Adrian's style.

Besides, Lundquist's eyes were already wide with shock, forcing a satisfied smirk to Adrian's lips. He wanted the man to suffer for what he'd done to Miss Fairchild. And if he'd had a hand in her murder. If he'd killed Evie, Lady Camille, and Miss Irvine, he'd bloody well put him in the ground.

"What's wrong with you," the marquess sputtered. "Release me this instant."

Adrian's hands refused to loosen their grip. He leaned in closer, disgust scraping his throat as he whispered, "I know what you did to Miss Fairchild."

The marquess paled. He shook his head. "I barely knew her."

"Liar."

"That's enough," a man's harsh voice insisted.

Disagreeing, Adrian pulled his fist back with every intention of rearranging Lundquist's teeth. Even if he weren't guilty of murder, he'd struck a woman so hard she'd had bruises. For that alone, he needed to pay. But strong hands caught him, restricting the movement and pulling him backward.

Adrian struggled to free himself from the unwelcome grasp. "Let go of me, damn you."

"Stop," a familiar voice spoke next to his ear. Edward. "This isn't to your advantage."

"Go to hell," Adrian spat, rounding on his friend in blind fury. All he saw now was betrayal – the person who'd helped deny him his vengeance. Because it wasn't really Lundquist he had been facing, but rather his father.

Even now, as reality rushed in around him, his hands shook as fiercely as they had done two decades prior, when he'd seen the bruises upon Mama's face and realized what had occurred.

Papa had taken him to London after that. The next time he'd seen his mother was right after Evie's birth, at which point she'd been dead.

"Let's separate these men a little." Adrian recognized Eldridge's ducal tone.

"This is outrageous," a woman could be heard saying.

Another agreed. "He's ruined the evening completely."

Adrian tried to shrug off the men who restrained him, but it was to no avail. There were too many now. All, it would seem, intent on preventing the fight he longed to engage in.

"Bloody animal," Lundquist snarled while doing his best to straighten his jacket. He glared at Adrian with contempt. "I want him arrested. Do you hear?"

"I'd rather you issue a challenge," Adrian said, his voice dangerously low, brimming with menace.

"Someone call the chief constable," Lundquist insisted.

Several men leapt into motion, only to halt at the sound of Miss Carmichael's voice. "Gentlemen. Marquess. Let's be rational for a moment. If you please."

"Rational?" Lundquist gaped at Miss Carmichael for a brief moment and suddenly laughed before pointing a rigid finger at Adrian. "He just assaulted me."

"Mr. Croft's sister was recently murdered, my lord." Miss Carmichael's voice was firm. "It's normal for him to look for her killer in every man he meets. Can we not try to sympathize with him a little?"

Uncertain glances flittered around the room as though seeking a place to land. Adrian straightened, his rage fading enough for him to stay still. The hold on his arms and shoulders lessened. He fixed his gaze on Miss Carmichael, anchoring himself to her until the last of the storm had passed.

Only then did he look at the marquess once more. "I am not the one in the wrong here, Lundquist. In fact, I believe there's a good chance you were the last one to see Miss Fairchild alive."

A series of horrified gasps underscored the severity of what Adrian suggested.

Lundquist's brow dipped. When he spoke next, his voice was quiet. "You think I killed her."

Not necessarily, but it was a possibility Adrian had to examine more closely. "You were romancing Miss Fairchild before she died," he stated, the flicker of apprehension in Lundquist's eyes spurring him on. "But you were jealous. You wanted her all to yourself and forced her to cut ties with anyone you deemed a threat. When she refused, you became so incensed that you—"

"No." The sharp word echoed through the still room, so loud it took several seconds for it to fade. Lundquist stood, anger etched in every strained line of his face as he stepped up to Adrian. He leaned a bit closer, just enough to whisper in his ear. "Have a care, Croft. Her parents are here."

"I imagine they'd want the truth too."

"Not the kind you're about to uncover." A pause followed and then Lundquist stepped back, a meaningful look in his eyes. "Miss Carmichael is correct. You deserve compassion after all you've been through, especially since you've not taken the time to mourn. I suggest you do so now. Take a sojourn from Society until you're more yourself."

"The marquess is more forgiving than I would have been," Eldridge remarked when Adrian hesitated. "You should take his advice, Croft."

He was being put in his place. Boxed in. By the very man he'd begun to believe might be guilty.

Unless he wasn't. The shock and confusion with which the marquess responded did not fit a man who'd done as Adrian alleged.

Maybe in his rage, his need to find a target upon which to pin his grief and vanquish his childhood demons, he'd leapt to conclusions, creating connections that didn't exist for the sole purpose of satisfying his own bloodlust.

Adrian stared at Lundquist and as he did so, he became increasingly conscious of his decelerating heartbeats. His breaths slowed, the tension in his shoulders abated, and he gradually unclasped his fists.

This wasn't the kind of justice Evie deserved. There were still too many questions in need of answers. The irrefutable evidence required to send a man to the gallows on murder charges was lacking.

He gave a curt nod of agreement. Stepping back, taking a moment to gather his thoughts was indeed wise. Behaving like a lunatic would only ensure that the rest of the world viewed him as such. It would hamper his investigation, perhaps even make the killer more careful when this was the last thing Adrian wanted.

Shit.

He'd lost control and in doing so he'd revealed too much.

"Forgive me." Without uttering anything else, he strode for the door, not pausing until he'd reached it. Only then did he dare to glance back, just in time to catch Mr. Owen Newton escorting Miss Carmichael back to her chair.

The chatter started to ease, though several scolding gazes remained upon him. Lundquist spoke to his sister, who sent Adrian an uneasy look before glancing away. Low talking could still be heard despite the bustle of people returning to their respective seats. Someone coughed and all remaining sound dispersed.

The music resumed, dragging attention toward the front of the room, and it was as if Adrian hadn't been there at all.

He turned from the scene and went to find his carriage. Time to get the hell out of here before he did something truly stupid, like whisk Miss Carmichael away with him.