Chapter 25

25

"W hat in blazes were you thinking?" Harlowe demanded as he and Samantha were on their way home from the Midhursts' house. He scowled at her from the opposite side of the carriage. "We could have accomplished our goal this evening and gotten Croft behind bars. Hell, he did the work for you when he attacked Lundquist. It was perfect. Until you chose to defend him. Makes me wonder if you might have started believing the role you're playing – convinced yourself you're actually falling for him."

Samantha bristled. "I could never care for a man who encourages women to pay back the debts they owe him by whoring themselves."

But she could care for one who would hunt down his sister's murderer and make sure he paid for his crime, who'd quietly left a single rose of remembrance, and whose loss was felt in every fiber of his being.

She tried not to think too long or hard on that point and where it might lead, while holding Harlowe's gaze. "Had I not interfered, Lundquist might have done as you suggest. Mr. Croft could very well have been arrested on grounds of assault. But it would have been a brief arrest, not the sort that would keep him locked away for good or possibly hanged."

It took some effort to fight the tremor that threatened to jolt her entire being as she envisioned a rope being tied around Croft's neck. He did not matter. He could not matter. This was her job – what she had been trained to do. There could be no room for doubt or personal attachment.

"Kendrick was clear," she added. "He wants Mr. Croft gone for good, one way or the other. That means we'll need more than him grabbing a man by the lapels and throwing insinuations at him."

"You're right," Harlowe said, his voice thoughtful. "With the sort of barrister Mr. Croft has at his service, he'd be home again within hours."

Relief settled firmly between her shoulder blades. Harlowe understood. She would not have to make any further excuses. A soft exhalation soothed her tense muscles and let her relax. "Trust me in this. I know what I'm doing. Gaining Mr. Croft's confidence gradually is the best way forward – the surest way for me to establish a close relationship with him."

"The ball we're hosting was meant to help with that, but after what happened tonight, Mr. Croft is unlikely to attend."

Samantha knew he was right. "I realize this might look like a setback, but maybe we can use it to our advantage."

"What are you suggesting?"

"We invite Mr. Croft to join us for luncheon instead." It was a risk, one that could end up going horribly wrong.

Aware of this, Harlowe said, "Since we've never done so before, he might wonder about the reason, and that could lead to suspicion on his part."

"It could. But in light of all I have learned thus far, I believe Mr. Croft will be far more likely to let down his guard and open up if he knows I'm doing the same. When I confided in him about riding astride dressed in breeches, a bond formed between us. Telling him something I'd not want others to know, sharing my secrets and letting him think I'm being completely open and honest, is the right way to go. By letting him see where I live, I'll be granting him a glimpse behind the curtain, an intimacy that I'm sure will aid in our cause."

"You make a compelling argument." Carriage wheels crunching gravel accompanied Harlowe's statement. "An invitation will also indicate that what happened tonight changes nothing. You and I support him. We are his friends and as such, we're on his side. Nothing to fear."

"Precisely," Samantha agreed even though she disliked Harlowe's phrasing. He made it sound as though they were setting a sinister trap, and in many ways they were, she just… A shake of her head banished the thought and then the carriage drew to a halt.

Harlowe set his hand on the handle, then glanced her way. "Send the invitation, Samantha. The sooner the better."

She exited the carriage behind him and entered the house that had been her home for the past fifteen years. There was no sense in wondering where her current path would lead her, so she did her best not to. What scared her the most was the question of whether or not she'd be able to follow her orders in the end.

Only time would tell.

* * *

Adrian berated himself the entire way home. He was furious. How could he have lost control so easily? It was embarrassing to think of. He'd resorted to baser instinct in front of half of London. In front of Miss Carmichael, no less. Had his father still been alive he'd have whipped him for the stupidity of it.

Never lose your cool.

Always keep a level head.

Don't resort to violence unless you yourself are attacked.

He'd ignored those words of wisdom completely this evening. All because Lundquist had dared to smile – because Adrian had needed a target for all his anger and pain.

It wasn't fair and it sure as hell wasn't wise.

He had to do better.

With his jacket rumpled and his shirt still slightly askew from the altercation, Adrian entered his home where he handed his hat and gloves to Elks.

"Please see to it that a bath is prepared and that Murry is ready to attend me," he told the butler before heading into the parlor. There he poured himself a large glass of brandy from which he proceeded to sip while staring into the fire that burned in the grate.

He needed additional clues – something more substantial – but finding them was proving a chore. All he had was a button, a man who might or might not have been eating sugar-glass, and Miss Fairchild's connection to Lundquist.

None of it amounted to much. It wasn't enough to prove a damn thing.

Frustrated, he downed the remaining contents of his glass and re-filled it. A visit to Lady Camille's family might be in order next. Hell, he'd not even discerned if she'd been involved with Lundquist somehow. Or if Miss Irvine had been acquainted with him as well.

If not, then it was unlikely he'd somehow managed to lure them to their deaths. Unless he'd accomplished the feat by applying his rank and some sort of threat or promise or…

Adrian scrubbed his palm over his brow and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bloody mess."

Instead of making headway, the paltry bits of information he'd managed to gather left him more confused and uncertain than he'd been last week.

"Sir?" Murry interrupted from the doorway. When Adrian glanced at him he jutted his head toward the stairs. "Your bath is ready."

Adrian nodded against the sudden weight of exhaustion that clung to his shoulders. He set his glass aside and made his way toward his bedchamber with Murry following close behind.

"Rough evening?" Murry inquired while untying Adrian's cravat. The slackening of the piece of linen eased the constriction around his neck.

"I went after Lundquist," Adrian said, his voice strained with self-deprecation.

"Did he deserve it?"

"Possibly, but it was too soon to know for certain. I ought to have waited."

"You snapped." Murry didn't fuss over the word. He stated it matter-of-factly while helping Adrian off with his jacket and waistcoat.

"I did," Adrian admitted. He shucked his shirt and handed it to Murry.

"Can't say I'm surprised." Murry tossed Adrian's shirt and cravat into a basket for the maid to collect. "Tragedy can take a terrible toll on even the most self-controlled individual. It would be strange if the nature of Miss Croft's death didn't add to the strain."

Adrian scoffed. "My father would have been appalled."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Let's not forget that Miss Croft was his daughter."

Of course she was, and had his father still lived, Adrian knew he'd have embarked on his own path of vengeance. The difference was, he would have been more subtle. He would not have allowed emotion to rule him.

Instead of having an outburst in front of the London elite, he'd have done substantial research, checked that research, and then made the guilty blighter disappear off the face of the earth.

It would have been slow, carefully planned, thoughtful.

"Miss Carmichael came to my defense," he said, eager to shift the subject of their conversation away from himself.

"How so?"

Adrian stripped off the rest of his clothes and tossed them aside while thinking back on the whole ordeal. In the midst of the chaos, he'd not had time to reflect on the part Miss Carmichael played in smoothing things over.

"Lundquist called for my arrest," Adrian said as he settled into his bath. "Miss Carmichael appealed to his conscience and managed to convince him against it. In the end, I was simply asked to leave and to stay away until I'd finished mourning."

"Not terrible advice, I should think." Murry padded about the room to collect clean clothes. "You should know that all your employees are as eager to find your sister's killer as you are. We cared for her, but we care about you as well, and if I may speak as your friend instead of your valet, I would tell you that it will take time for you to come to terms with what happened."

"Figuring out who killed her would help," Adrian muttered, allowing himself to sink lower into the soothing warm water.

"She cares for you by the way," Murry said, a pensive note to his voice. "Miss Carmichael, that is. Having found nothing dubious about her, I see no other motive for her to defend you. Especially not given all that we know. Considering her recent entrance into Society, which has been made at a rather advanced age for a woman, her lack of pedigree, and her personality which you've described as politely reserved, it must have taken courage for her to speak up."

Knowing she'd chosen to do so for him made his heart beat slightly faster. Warmth spread through his veins, fanning out through his body until he felt wrapped in a comforting blanket.

It pleased him immensely to know Miss Carmichael liked him enough to stick up for him even when he'd gone too far. Where most other people would turn away, sever all ties, and save their own hides, she'd chosen to stay by his side and speak up. Had it not been for Murry assuring him she wasn't a threat, he would have been certain she must have ulterior motives.

The fact that she didn't was an immense relief.

* * *

Lady Lavinia knew she ought to be climbing into her bed instead of out of it. But the note she'd received that afternoon encouraged her to be just as reckless as she'd been last night when she'd finally learned what it meant to be kissed.

Not chastely, but in a wild way that brought her alive. It was the oddest thing ever. She'd always been active and ready for a bit of fun. Yet that one kiss – electrifying and sensual – had jolted her out of a slumber she'd not even known she'd been in.

So she dressed and slipped from her room, heart racing with the eagerness of exploring more kisses. She knew it was highly improper, but her body craved Julian's touch – craved it in a way that risked seeing her ruined.

Not that she cared. What did it matter when she hoped to spend the rest of her life with him? He had to feel the same way or he'd not have sent her the note.

This certainty amplified her excitement as she left the house, exiting through the kitchen door and climbing the steps to the pavement. The cloak she'd put on helped ward off the nighttime chill while the hood she'd pulled over her head provided the anonymity she required.

Walking with purpose, she made her way to the Hyde Park end of Green Street where Julian said he would meet her. They would have privacy there, he'd assured her. This promise alone made her speed up her pace, quickening her breaths.

There, just up ahead, was the entrance to the alleyway where they could find some time alone. For her safety, he'd told her not to enter it unless she found a red rose tied to the drainpipe of the first building she reached.

She grinned the moment she saw it, both from relief and exhilaration. Pleasure seized her as she untied the ribbon and raised the bloom to her nose, allowing its sweet scent to brighten her senses.

This was more than an illicit meeting. This was romantic and thoughtful. It proved that Julian cared for her and that he'd embarked on their courtship in earnest.

Eager to prove her own affection, she entered the alleyway, her anticipation rising with each careful tread.

"Julian?" she whispered when she failed to spot him.

"I'm here," he murmured, his voice directly behind her as he wound his arm around her middle and pulled her back firmly against his chest.

The tie at the front of her cloak was swiftly undone, the bulky garment removed immediately and promptly discarded. His mouth found the side of her neck and she leaned into the caress – leaned into him as the same need she'd felt the last time they'd kissed began to consume her once more.

"Miss me?" he asked, his voice a notch lower than what she was used to.

"Yes."

He caught her earlobe between his teeth, the gentle tug producing a cascade of shivers that only made her crave more. She tried to turn in his arms, to seek his mouth with her own, but he held her in place and something about that possessiveness increased her physical need.

So she didn't complain when he tugged at her bodice. This was what she'd dreamt of since their last encounter – his hands on her body, soothing each ache he created while driving her want to new heights.

"Please," she whimpered when he moved his other hand over her thigh.

"I wonder if you would return the favor."

Again, his voice sounded off, but Lavinia dismissed it, deciding their scandalous meeting and where it could lead affected him as much as it did her.

"Would you?" he pressed, his touch fogging her mind with endless pleasure. "If I satisfy your desire, will you do the same for me?"

"Yes. Of course."

His answering chuckle was low and hollow. It shrouded her in sudden unease. More so when his grip on her tightened, the fingers he'd used to caress her now digging into her flesh.

Lavinia gasped. "Julian. Please stop. You're hurting me."

"Am I?" He pulled his other hand free and gentled his hold while kissing the side of her neck.

The effect was wondrously calming, encouraging her to tilt her head back and relax while praying he'd soon return his attention to where she wanted it most.

Her breath hitched in response to him nipping her skin. The cool night air drifted across her face. From a few streets over, came the clatter of carriage wheels rolling over uneven cobblestones.

Julian lifted his head. An icy shiver brushed Lavinia's neck where his lips had just been. One second later, a cat's screech from somewhere nearby gave sound to her muted scream.

* * *

Seated at the breakfast table, Adrian smiled at the invitation Elks had delivered to him a few moments ago. Miss Carmichael wanted to see him again. At her home, no less. For luncheon. The day after tomorrow.

His chest expanded with pure pleasure. A sigh of relief followed. Last night's incident didn't deter her from spending additional time in his company. She'd not been put off by his beastly outburst. On the contrary, her missive stated that she dearly hoped he'd be able to join her.

Adrian tucked the invitation into his jacket pocket and stood. He reminded himself not to get too excited. Perhaps all she wanted from him was friendship. Thus far, she'd given no other indication.

It was too soon for that anyway he decided as he went to fetch his horse from the mews. Best take things slow while laying the groundwork for a potential romance. Rushing headlong into something like that would be unwise.

For although Murry had assured him there was no cause for concern when it came to Miss Carmichael, Adrian had to be sure she would accept him the way he was, that she would stand by him when his darker side chose to rise from its slumber. That she would still care for him even if the blood of his sister's killer stained his hands.

A life at his side was not for the weak. It required strength. Whether or not Miss Carmichael had enough remained to be seen.

And yet, despite all this he chose to have hope as he swung himself into his saddle and trotted toward Hyde Park. In all the years he'd spent navigating one social season after the next, she was the first woman who'd made him stop to think of his future. Surely that had to mean something.

He gripped the reins and steered his mount onto Park Street. The morning light was slightly hazy today, the temperature already pleasant despite the early hour. It wasn't yet nine, which suggested Miss Carmichael must be an early riser. Her home was a good half hour away without any significant traffic, yet her invitation had reached his home before eight.

Choosing to take the quieter route, Adrian rode onto Green Street and was nearing Park Lane when a group of people milling about up ahead caught his notice. He slowed his horse when he spotted Kendrick.

The chief constable chatted with one of his Runners, the grave look in his eyes putting Adrian on alert. He dismounted and walked his horse through the small crowd of people who'd gathered near the entrance to an alley. Another Runner kept them back, but he couldn't silence their comments about the woman someone had found.

Throat dry, he walked straight up to the Runner while equal parts dread and hope raked his skin. He had no wish to look at another victim – feared he might not be able to do so without seeing Evie – but knew that the chance of finding the killer increased every time a new victim was found.

Eventually, he'd leave behind more useful clues than the ones Adrian had discovered thus far.

"What's going on?" he asked the first Runner he reached.

"That's not for me to say."

Impatient, Adrian started to push his way past him, but the Runner was quicker than he'd expected and blocked him with his arm. "You've got to stay back, sir. We can't have all of London interfering in our crime scene."

Adrian glared at the fellow even though he was only doing his job. "Get out of my way."

"Can't do that, I'm afraid. Now take a step back or—"

"Kendrick!" Adrian didn't even bother with looking toward the chief constable while he shouted his name. Instead, his cool gaze remained on the man who blocked him.

"It's all right, Jackson. Let him through."

Adrian offered Jackson his reins. "Hold these, will you?"

"That's not my job," Jackson protested.

"Shall we see about that?" Adrian challenged.

Jackson scowled at him but took the reins, allowing Adrian to cross to where Kendrick stood. The chief constable jerked his head at the Runner with whom he'd been chatting, sending him away.

Crossing his arms, he gave his attention to Adrian. "I suppose you want to know what's happened."

Adrian held his gaze with steely resolve. "One of the onlookers said that a woman was found. Murdered, I'm guessing?"

"Same as the previous victims," Kendrick confirmed. He glanced toward the alleyway. A frown puckered his brow. "It's slightly different this time though."

"How so?"

"The woman's bodice was pulled down, leaving her more exposed than the others."

Adrian swallowed past the increasing aridness in his throat as he too glanced toward the alley. "Do you know who she is?"

"I've never seen her before, but her clothes are quality and her hands without calluses. She has to be upper class."

"Mind if I take a look? See if I can identify her?"

"It's not an easy sight, Mr. Croft." Kendrick looked genuinely reluctant to push him. "Considering your sister, I imagine you'd rather avoid the scene."

"Not if it helps us track down the villain." Adrian turned, his long and even strides taking him into the alley before he could second guess his decision.

It didn't take long for him to spot the body, bile filling his throat the moment he did so. She lay on her side, a rumpled discarded mess pressed into the wall of the building that stood to Adrian's left. Her blank eyes stared straight through him, and the blood…

However awful it had been for him to see Evie after, this was somehow worse. The coroner hadn't yet had the chance to clean this woman up. Dark red, nearly black, splotches stained the gash at her throat. Stained her breasts and lilac gown too.

As with his sister, a note had been pinned to her crumbled bodice, accusing her of being a whore. Kendrick was right. This wasn't an easy sight in the least. It made his eyes sting, knowing what Evie must have looked like when she had been found. Before the blood had been washed away.

Even then, it had been a hellish experience.

"Well?" Kendrick asked, his voice apprehensive as he came to stand beside Adrian.

"I was wrong to suspect Lundquist." Adrian stared at the woman who'd made her debut last year together with Evie. The rosy tinge to her cheeks was now gone, hidden beneath a pale mask of death. "It seems unlikely to me that he'd kill his own sister in such a way."

A sharp hiss alerted Adrian to Kendrick's surprise. "Are you telling me this is—"

"Lady Lavinia." Adrian took a step closer to her, his gaze now searching her body, noting her posture, looking for anything that might be useful. A question began taking shape, the sort he'd no wish to ask, much less know the answer to. But given the state she was in, it seemed important. "Was she…"

God, he couldn't get the word out, so he gestured with his hand instead.

"Raped?" When Adrian nodded Kendrick told him, "We won't know for certain until the coroner takes a look, but I don't believe so. Such an act would have required force. The perpetrator would have had to get her onto her back, lift up her skirts, and do the deed while holding her still. This would have left at least one of her hands free at some point or other, allowing her the chance to fight. Yet her gown isn't torn and her nails appear clean."

"So he came at her from behind and seduced her?" Adrian tried to imagine how it could have happened but found it a challenge. "How the hell does a murderer lure a young woman out of her house late at night?"

"Judging from what we know of the previous victims, I expect he's taking advantage of their desires."

It took extreme restraint for Adrian not to round on Kendrick and slam him into the nearest wall. He took a few breaths to slow his pulse, then told him, "I trust that statement doesn't apply to my sister."

"Of course not. I know she was killed by mistake."

And yet, Evie's death had been very deliberate. He could only hope that solving this case would help him figure out who was behind it.

"When will you tell the marquess?"

Kendrick clasped his hands behind his back. Another couple of Runners brought a stretcher for the body and a sheet to drape over it. "As soon as we're done here."

"I think I'll resume my ride then." Adrian didn't bother extending his hand, but he did thank Kendrick for sharing the crime scene with him.

Staring straight ahead, he suppressed the shiver stealing across his shoulders as he walked away. Lundquist's world was about to change in the same tragic way his own had a few weeks ago. Adrian owed the man an apology and planned to stop by his house tomorrow to pay his respects.

Had their positions been reversed, he'd have welcomed the distraction. Not to mention the chance to speak with someone who understood his pain.

What he wouldn't share was what he himself had witnessed at the Ottersburg ball when he'd gone for a bit of fresh air. Seeking privacy, he'd exited one of the parlors and stepped onto a secluded balcony so he could be alone with his thoughts.

The private moment he'd glimpsed had been none of his business, although he had filed away a few details in case he required leverage later.

He'd deliberately kept that piece of information from Kendrick. After all, he'd had his go at Mr. Walker already, and had chosen to set him free. It was Adrian's turn now. And if Walker turned out to be the killer – if he'd somehow managed to double back and murder Miss Irvine on that September evening in Vauxhall – then he would be the one to end him.