Chapter 31

31

S amantha marched into Harlowe's office as soon as she got back to Clearview. She planted her palms on his desk and leaned forward, her gaze meeting that of the man who'd provided her with a home.

"Did you send those cutthroats?"

"What cutthroats?"

"The men who attacked Mr. Croft at Reed's. I need to know if you were involved."

"Of course not. Why would you think such a thing?"

"Because they wanted his files ." She sank into one of the two leather armchairs that stood across from the desk. "My guess is they're after the same thing as us."

"I swear, I had nothing to do with any cutthroats." He regarded her seriously. "Looks like they might have attacked you too."

"On the contrary, it was the other way around. I tried to help Croft fend them off."

"Not by revealing too much, I hope."

"You needn't worry. It looked like he truly feared for my safety." What she would not confess was that one of the thugs had managed to get the best of her. It shouldn't have happened. And it wouldn't have if she'd been able to use all her skill.

Harlowe chuckled. "Go clean yourself up and have one of the maids bring you a slab of meat for your bruises."

She'd do so as soon as she'd dispatched a message to Kendrick, asking if he was involved.

It was past nine o'clock by the time his answer arrived.

I know nothing about the men you mentioned.

Samantha tossed the note into the fire that burned in her room. She was no closer to figuring out who had ordered those men to attack. But one thing was clear: Mr. Croft was in danger. Not just from her, but from an unknown enemy.

It bothered her deeply and made her feel out of control. So she did what she always did when frustration tugged at her nerves. She stormed to the training room and snatched up a sword, slashing it through the air until her anxiety started abating.

He's just a mission, she reminded herself while moving through a series of attacks. I mustn't care about him.

But she did. In her heart, she knew he wasn't merely a target. He'd become so much more, though she dared not acknowledge how much.

* * *

The afternoon light grew increasingly dim as Adrian's carriage rumbled onward. Leaving the cobbled streets of the City behind, it made its way along uneven country roads, heading west before turning down a bumpy lane. Another half hour passed before they drew to a halt, by which time the sinking sun was casting long shadows along the ground.

"Time to get out," Murry said once he'd opened the door and alit.

Chubbycheeks scooted forward and pushed his head through the doorway, only to jerk back against the squabs, his eyes wide as he shook his head, muttering something against the gag wound tightly around his head. The reaction agitated Scarface, who started to wrestle against his own bindings.

Impatient to have the entire ordeal over and done with quickly, Adrian found the dagger he wore in his right boot and pressed the tip against Chubbycheeks's neck. "Do as he says. Now."

When Chubbycheeks just continued to whimper, his eyes welling with tears, Adrian grabbed him by his arm and shoved him toward the door. He landed knees first on the carriage floor.

Adrian glared at him briefly, then placed the sole of his boot against the man's arse and shoved him forward. "Bloody coward. Grab him in whatever way you're able, Murry. Get Phelps to help if need be."

Together, they managed to get the unwieldy man from the carriage. His friend, who showed the same resistance, received a similar treatment. Adrian sent them both a disgruntled look while sheathing his dagger and thrusting his pistol into his pocket.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Murry asked once they'd dragged both men a fair distance from the carriage.

Adrian turned to him with surprise. "You ask me this now?"

"I simply mean that you don't have to be the one pulling the triggers."

The comment resulted in further distress from the captives, their garbled pleas for help disturbing the peace in this desolate spot. In Adrian's opinion, it was a senseless waste of their final moments since none of those able to hear them actually cared.

"Thank you." He took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of wild grass before extending his upturned palm – a silent request for Murry to hand him his pistol. "It's nothing I've not done before."

"Of course not." The valet handed the weapon over, the weight of it a familiar thing that helped settle Adrian's nerves. Calmed by it, he retrieved the second pistol from his pocket and jutted his chin at the men. "Let's get those gags off so they can speak."

No sooner had Murry done so than both men launched into a series of pleas, each drowning out the other with a degree of eagerness Adrian found disgusting. There was no doubt in his mind he could have made both of them do as he pleased in exchange for their lives.

But nothing was worth the worry of knowing they'd probably hunt him down yet again if he let them go. So far, luck had been on his side. The same might not be true next time.

He raised the pistols.

"Please," Chubbycheeks cried. "We meant ye no harm."

"Didn't you?" No hint of sympathy. "You'd have happily stabbed me if you hadn't been stopped."

"I only meant to threaten ye with the blade, not actually use it."

"Have mercy," Scarface begged.

"For trying to strangle a lady to death?" Adrian scoffed. "Sorry. You'll have to ask that of God, for I am not as forgiving."

The gunshots that followed were quick and precise. They were drowned out by squawking birds who'd been frightened from nearby trees. The deed was done. Adrian glanced at Murry. "Let's go."

Together, they trudged back to the carriage where Phelps waited. Neither spoke a word as they rode back to London, and Adrian was glad of it since he'd nothing to say. What he'd done kept him tied to a past he'd longed to escape, anchoring him to the darkness corrupting his soul.

* * *

The opera was a lively place to visit – a venue where spectators watched each other with equal, if not more interest, than what they showed the performers. Theatre glasses were pressed to everyone's eyes as they sought to discover a new affair, a ghastly choice of attire, or some other detail to gossip about at the next social gathering.

One man, however, sought something different as he took stock of those present, his focus on finding a debutante guilty of wicked behavior. Smiling at those who glanced his way, he kept the dark thoughts that swirled through his mind carefully hidden.

They stood in sinister contrast to the shimmering light provided by hundreds of gilded wall sconces, but they also reminded him of his purpose. A purpose that was becoming increasingly easy for him to fulfill. Hell, his most recent murder had quenched a thirst he'd not even realized he had. The power he'd found in seducing Lady Lavinia right before slitting her throat had been wonderfully thrilling.

He needed to experience that again.

So he kept on scanning the youthful faces of women who prided themselves on being untouched. Somewhere among them were those who were anything but. And sooner or later he would find them. If only to appease his own hunger.