Chapter 40

40

W ords of warning, barely perceptible, whispered somewhere beneath Adrian's quest for vengeance. A shift in his body as somebody shook him broke through the haze. He blinked, absorbed the demand to cease his actions.

Confusion descended upon him like murky fog. He shook his head, attempted to focus on his own breathing – a series of strained sounds wheezing through him with every tense muscle and tendon.

"Release him."

Again, that solid voice ordering him to comply.

He had no wish to, but something in the sound – a spellbinding sweetness – halted his movements.

"Adrian." A firm press of a hand against his shoulder. "Let him give you the letter."

He shook his head. "What letter?"

"The one I supposedly wrote, inviting him here."

It could be a ruse, an attempt at gaining the upper hand. Adrian forced air into his lungs while staring at Lawrence's battered face. Multiple bruises were starting to form, his left eye was swollen shut and blood dribbled from a cut on his lip.

The wrecked individual sprawled beneath him could easily be overpowered again if need be.

With this in mind, Adrian braced his knee against the floor and prepared to let up, but doing so was no simple feat.

Fingers locked in position, it took a near insurmountable effort to pry them free from the neck he was squeezing. Extreme force of will and determination were required, a relentless struggle against every instinct driving him to end the man who'd murdered his sister.

But what if it wasn't the right one?

Adrian's fingers unlocked, his hand opened, and he drew back. Lawrence gulped down a series of breaths, then proceeded to cough and sputter while desperately fumbling for something inside his jacket pocket.

Adrian prepared to knock him back onto the floor in case he produced a weapon. Instead, a crumpled piece of paper was thrust in his direction. It bore a broken seal and was indeed signed with Samantha's name.

He read the rest of it – the impassioned longing for Mr. Lawrence to meet her at this location. Words intended to lure him with the promise of bedsport.

Now that I'm ruined , the letter said, I no longer need to pretend. I'll seek the pleasure I crave, indulge in whatever desires I please, and welcome whomever I choose to my bed .

It went on, suggesting Mr. Lawrence would be but one of her lovers.

Crafty, since this would have stopped him from questioning why she had written to him alone. According to this, she had not. She was merely accepting auditions.

* * *

The Mayfair Murderer cursed beneath his breath as he watched the scene unfold from across the alley. He'd paid the occupants handsomely for the use of their lodgings under the pretext of needing them for a very important home office assignment.

Croft should have killed Nigel by now. Instead, he'd stopped his attack to examine a piece of paper. The Mayfair Murderer gnashed his teeth. It looked like it might be the blasted letter he'd used to lure Nigel here – the one that proved Nigel wasn't the killer.

Additional hesitation followed. Tension worked its way through the Mayfair Murderer's body. The plan to get rid of Croft and Miss Carmichael wasn't working. If they didn't kill Nigel, then there would be no grounds to step in as witness and have them arrested for murder.

Instead they would leave the inn and continue their hunt. Croft's obstinance would not let him stop. He'd review every detail and expand the list of possible suspects until he eventually identified his sister's killer. Now, with the additional clue of Nigel being used as scapegoat, Croft's attention would soon find its mark.

The only way to prevent it would be to remove Croft and Miss Carmichael from the playing field.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the pistol he'd brought along for this eventuality. He'd kill Croft first, then wait for Miss Carmichael, the weaker opponent of the two, to leave the inn. She'd be distraught, he'd happen upon her as if by chance and offer her comfort, then slash her throat.

His pulse leapt in response to the pleasure he knew he'd soon find in spilling her blood. Lips curving in anticipation, he opened the window and aimed his pistol.

* * *

Furious with the additional stain Mr. Lawrence's letter caused to Samantha's reputation, Adrian crumpled the page in his fist. "It's a trap."

He started to rise, extended his hand to help Lawrence up, was almost fully upright, when Samantha glanced at the window. She didn't utter the slightest sound before flinging herself in front of his body. Glass exploded in the next instant, shards flying in every direction, like sharp pieces of frozen rain in a storm.

Lawrence cried out and Adrian dropped, catching Samantha as she fell. His knee struck the floor, the jarring impact no more than a minor nuisance compared with the dread sliding through him.

"Samantha." A plea trapped in emotional torment, the knowledge of what had occurred sending chills down his spine. A series of feverish shivers rushed through him. Hands trembling, he felt for her wound, a patch of wetness soaking her gown at the shoulder. "No. No, no, no."

"Adrian." Her voice was surprisingly calm. Steady. Insistent.

Raising his gaze, he looked at her, and caught the flint in her eyes. Fury burned in her veins – a savage need to punish whoever had done this – a merciless thing born from so much hate he almost recognized it as his own.

Taken aback, he stared at her, at the woman who'd captured his heart and mind with her sweetness. He shouldn't have involved her in any of this. He should have done it alone. He—

"I'm shot," she said, "but I'm not mortally wounded. I'll be fine as long as you don't let that murdering scoundrel escape."

"How do you know?" His attention returned to her wound, experience gauging the severity of it.

A small grin. "I've no essential organs there as far as I know."

True, but there were important veins nearby. She'd been lucky. Damn lucky. He blew out a breath. "You're right."

"Which means you can leave me. Go after him. Catch him."

He gripped her hand. "You're sure?"

"Yes." She gave him a shove. "Hurry."

Despite his reluctance, Adrian stood. It was true that she would survive a shot to that part of the shoulder as long as she got proper treatment later. He just didn't feel right about leaving her when she was wounded. Then again, with the killer so close, it made sense to give chase.

He spoke to Lawrence. "Keep her safe until I return."

Not waiting to gain the man's agreement, Adrian ran from the room and clattered down the narrow staircase leading toward the tavern's front entrance. He shoved his way past some men blocking his path, ignoring the protests that followed him into the dimly lit street.

Turning toward the building from which the pistol was fired, he spotted the swiftly retreating silhouette of a figure no more than fifty yards farther along the pavement. Adrian broke into a run, his booted feet heavy against the ground. Intent on catching the bastard who'd sliced Evie's throat, he pushed himself faster.

A street light cast a hazy glow, allowing a clearer glimpse of the man he chased as he darted around a corner, but the distance was still too great and with his back turned, it was hard to note significant details besides a hint of golden hair.

Conscious of the fact that failure to catch him now might mean he never got caught, Adrian dashed after him, weaving and winding his way through increasingly narrow streets.

Until he erupted onto Weymouth Street and nearly crashed into Clive Newton as he came the opposite way.

The younger man leapt from Adrian's path, pulling what looked like a snuffbox close to his chest, shielding the contents with his hand while trying to calm his breaths. Shock showed on his face. "What the hell, Croft? You're the second person to nearly collide with me in under a minute."

"Might the other person have been the man I'm chasing?"

"I'd say it's likely. He looked like he was fleeing a fate worse than death." Newton gulped down a breath and jutted his chin toward Thayer Street. "He went that way."

Adrian nodded and turned, was about to take off once more when a crunching sound drew his attention. Stiffening, he glanced at Newton who was already strolling away. A lingering scent of orange blossoms hung in the air. "Is that by any chance sugar glass you're eating?"

Newton stopped. The gaslight overhead brightened his teeth as he grinned. "Indeed. The man you're after almost caused me to spill the box."

Guided by an instinct he'd garnered from nearly a lifetime of dealing with rotten scum, Adrian stepped toward him.

He considered their empty surroundings, the length of the street, and the fact that he should have spotted the man he was chasing as he ran off into the distance. Though Newton's hair was a dark shade of blonde instead of the much fairer color belonging to the man whom Adrian had been chasing, the gaslight made it glow in much the same way.

Add to that the treat Newton chewed – the very same kind enjoyed by the man Mr. Adams had mentioned – and it all started coming together.

It was an easy ploy, pretending to be out and about for a walk, heading toward the person chasing instead of away, stopping to talk and then misdirecting. Feigning shock to account for the unsteady breaths.

A bold move.

Adrian met Newton's gaze. The edgy look in his eyes betrayed the calm he tried to convey.

He took a step closer.

Newton extended his hand, offering him the box filled with sugar glass treats. "You want one?"

A predatory stillness descended on Adrian's body. He tilted his head and studied his prey. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" It genuinely sounded like he didn't know, but Adrian would not be so easily fooled.

"Don't pretend ignorance, Newton. I know you murdered those women."

"A harsh accusation, Croft." Anger began to pull at Newton's expression. "I should call you out for the insult."

"Come now." Adrian stalked toward him and snatched the box from his hand before tossing the thing aside. It clattered against the pavement, the contents flying in every direction. Teeth bared in a smile he hoped would strike terror, he leaned in. "We both know you'd take more pleasure in killing an innocent woman than you would me."

A slight pull at the edge of Newton's mouth proved the remark struck a nerve. "Everyone knows why the killer targeted them. They weren't innocent, Croft."

"I beg to differ," Adrian snarled. "My sister was virtuous and pure, the very embodiment of goodness."

Newton's jaw tightened. His breaths deepened. Irritation flickered within his cool gaze. "A tragic loss that had nothing to do with me."

"Stop. Lying." God help him, he'd rip the man's tongue out if he didn't start confessing.

"I'm not. You're casting blame on someone who doesn't deserve it. Just like you did with Lundquist."

Adrian didn't believe it. He wanted to smash Newton's skull against the ground, beat him until he begged for his life, and then slit him open so slowly he'd have time to feel death creeping in.

A fantasy he knew he couldn't afford if he wished to avoid getting messy. He'd have to resort to other means. But not before Newton admitted his guilt.

"You're wrong." A slow whisper, so confident it forced a brief look of unease to fill Newton's gaze. Adrian smirked. "I know you're the man I was chasing. There is no one else. The street is empty, besides which I managed to glimpse you in detail when you passed beneath the streetlight earlier. It took a moment for it to register, but there's no denying it now. You're dressed exactly the same."

A laugh of disbelief. "Brown jacket with trousers to match? I'm sure I'm dressed the same as half the men in London."

"Your clothes and hair are also messier than usual. As would be the case if you've been running."

"Or leaping out of the way of two men."

Fair point, but not enough to dissuade Adrian from his increasing certainty.

Additional steps brought them closer. Newton moved as though to retreat but Adrian caught him by the arm. He leaned in, drew a deep breath, and acknowledged the lingering hint of smoked wood combined with the acrid smell of rotten eggs. It was faint, so much so he'd initially missed it due to the sweet scent from the sugar glass.

Straightening, Adrian dropped his hand and prepared to attack if need be. "You're right. Everything I've mentioned so far is hardly enough to stand as proof. Combined with the stench on your person, however, it's fairly solid. You've recently fired a pistol, Mr. Newton, or will you deny that as well?"

Newton dipped his chin, shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. A snort followed. When he looked back up, a malicious grin was pasted upon his face. "Bravo. You finally figured it out."

Adrian held himself perfectly still. If he moved, he'd tear Newton to pieces right here. "You realize I plan to avenge my sister."

Not a hint of remorse showed in Newton's expression, even as he said, "I'll admit I may have made a slight error where she was concerned."

It took every ounce of control Adrian possessed not to murder Newton where he stood. But no, he had to resist. If only for a while longer.

"But the rest of those women," Newton continued, "were nothing more than manipulative liars taking advantage of unsuspecting men. Someone had to put an end to their wicked deceptions. I merely did what was necessary."

"By murdering them?" Adrian curled his fingers into a fist.

"By making sure no other man would fall prey to the sort of woman Miss Fairchild turned out to be. Like so many others, she played the innocent debutante, but she was a whore in disguise – a despicable creature and a disgrace to her–"

Adrian's fist landed squarely against Newton's jaw, replacing his words with the cracking of bone. His head snapped back, knees buckling as he crumpled into a messy sprawl.

Adrian flexed his fingers, then bent to check Newton's pulse. It still beat where his neck met his jaw, thank God.

Shifting into a crouch, Adrian hauled Newton's body up over his shoulder and stood. It was a good ten-minute walk from here to his house, longer when he had to carry what felt like eleven stone.

He shifted the weight and kept an eye out for a hackney. None appeared until he turned onto Bulstrode Street, the horses' hot breaths misting in the cool air as they approached. Adrian raised his hand to signal the driver, and the carriage drew to a halt, wheels grating against the axels.

"What's with him?" asked the driver, a hunched over man with heavy jowls and thick bushy brows dipping low over shadowy eyes. He gripped the reins and jutted his chin toward Newton.

"Too much drink led to a brawl. I'm trying to get him home so he doesn't wake up in a gutter."

"Right then. Whereto?"

"Number 5 Portman Square." Adrian pulled the door open and shoved Newton's body inside, leaving him on the floor of the cabin while he himself took a seat on the bench. He yanked the door shut and knocked on the roof. The vehicle lurched into motion, rocking Newton's head from side to side as they travelled west.

Adrian glared at the limp body. Never before had he hated someone as much as he hated this man. He'd taken Adrian's sister from him and forced him to further darken his soul with the punishment he would now have to enact.

There was no choice but to harden himself against the inevitable. If he was to satisfy his need for vengeance, he'd have to embrace the demons he'd hoped to banish. Forgiveness wasn't an option.

It didn't take long before the carriage arrived at its destination. Five minutes at most. Adrian alit, told the driver to wait, then yanked Newton out of the cabin and left him on the pavement while he went to fetch Murry.

"Get him inside and dismiss the servants for the night," he told his valet. "I don't want any of them involved in what happens next."

"Of course." Murry accompanied Adrian to Newton's body.

"There's something I've got to do before dealing with him," Adrian added. "Shouldn't take more than an hour."

"I'll see to our guest in the meantime," Murry promised, already squatting to pick Newton up.

"One other thing." Adrian stared at Newton's limp face. "See if there's a file on Clive Newton. If not, find the one on Viscount Stanton. I'd like to review it when I return."

"Of course."

Satisfied with his valet's assurance, Adrian instructed the driver to take him to The Toothless Cat. It was imperative he check on Samantha before anything else. He needed to make sure she was all right and that she got the care she required.