Chapter 42

42

S atisfaction was draped across Adrian's shoulders like a cloak woven from pure pleasure as he climbed the front steps of Croft House later. Samantha would soon be his. She'd agreed to become his wife.

But first…

He entered his home and shut the door on the outside world. The foyer was cast in shadow, the longcase clock next to the stairs filling the stillness with sharp ticks. A broad-shouldered figure appeared in the parlor doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim light behind him.

"I've locked him in the basement room," Murry said while Adrian pulled off his gloves and removed his hat. Nothing more needed saying. There was no questioning which room Murry referred to since it had been used for similar purposes in the past, including his own punishments growing up.

"And the files?"

"I located Stanton's. It's on top of your desk in the study."

Adrian flipped it open as soon as he found it, scanning the pages until the notes started to mention the viscount's children. Four sons in total. Owen, Randolph, Philip, and Clive. The heir, the barrister, the physician, and…the disappointment.

According to the information compiled on Stanton and his family, Clive had been encouraged to join the clergy, only to fail his examination with the bishop due to his lacking knowledge of Latin and scripture. He'd had a brief stint in the army after, but had found the training too difficult, the discipline too demanding.

After that, he'd appealed to the foreign secretary, the Marquess of Londonderry, who'd managed to acquire a position for him as an aide to Henry Goulburn, the undersecretary at the War and Colonial Office.

Adrian flipped the page and read what followed. Remarks made by Clive during last year's Season suggested low self-esteem on his part, along with the need for his father's approval.

"Would you like a glass of brandy before we head down there?" Murry asked when Adrian finished reading.

"No." He straightened. "Just grab the oil lamp."

The valet lit the way and Adrian followed into the hallway, past the library, then down the servants' stairs. The soles of his boots scraped the tiled floor as he stepped off the bottom step.

They turned left, away from the store rooms, the butler's pantry, and the kitchen, and toward the room that still made his heart lurch in ways nothing else could.

This was where nightmares were made. The scars crisscrossing his back had been dealt here by his own father.

Dank and miserable, the space had introduced him to pain and to death. It had molded him into the man he'd become, enabled him to mete out punishments under his father's rule.

Now, with his father gone and Evie's killer confined to this place, the responsibility of ensuring justice was served fell squarely on him. He would determine what happened to Newton. There would be no one else for him to pass the blame onto. He was in charge and the weight of that knowledge made every cell in his body pulse with alertness.

They reached the arched door leading in. Crafted from a knotted dark wood, it was held in place by thick iron hinges. The large key protruding from the keyhole kept it securely locked.

Murry turned it and pushed the door open so Adrian could enter.

He stepped across the threshold and a chill crept through his bones. How long had it been since he'd last set foot here? He couldn't recall, but he'd be damn glad if tonight was the last time he did so.

Murry followed him in, the light from the oil lamp filling the space and bringing their prisoner into view. He sat in a wooden chair, his forearms bound to the armrests, ankles tied to the chair legs, hatred burning in his eyes. A length of white fabric, an old cravat perhaps, had been used to gag him, though it failed to stifle his grunts of protest.

Ignoring him for a moment, Adrian glanced at the table that stood near the wall as Murry set down the lamp. A glimpse of the past stiffened his spine – his father's hand closing around the whip he'd selected, the anguish that followed.

He blinked, focused on all the tools Murry had gathered, made a mental note of each one, and went to undo Newton's gag.

"You'll be arrested for this," Newton seethed. "My father will make sure you hang."

"You're assuming your father will take your side in all this," Adrian murmured. "I've got my doubts. When he learns of what you've done, there's a good chance he'll cast you off. Not just because your actions repel him, but because you'll have shamed your family once you make the newspaper headlines."

Teeth bared, Newton jerked his arms against his restraints. "You're a bloody bastard, Croft."

Adrian tilted his head in quiet reflection. "You're not wrong. I can be harsh and unforgiving, but I also have a clear understanding of right and wrong. You, on the other hand, are a monster."

"Because I tried to prevent trusting men from being deceived?" A snort of disgust followed. "I'm not the monster in all this, Croft. The whores are."

"Those young women's actions may have been selfish, immoral even, but that didn't give you the right to kill them. Their sins did not warrant death. In Miss Fairchild's case, the only victim who affected you directly, social ruin would have sufficed. No other man would have touched her had her behavior been revealed. But that wasn't enough for you, was it? Because deep down, this is who you are, a madman looking for any excuse to spill the blood of others." Adrian crossed to the table and slid his hand over a length of rope before picking it up and testing its strength. "Be honest, Newton. You enjoyed it."

"You're wrong." Newton's gaze tracked Adrian's every movement with pure contempt. "It was unpleasant, but necessary. I merely did what had to be done."

"So you found no thrill in knowing they came to you with the expectation of finding pleasure?" Adrian circled the room slowly, until he stood at Newton's shoulder. "Tell me, did they mistake you for their secret lovers?"

A rough bit of laughter escaped Newton's throat. "Always."

Adrian's grip on the rope tightened. He sent Murry a quick glance and saw his own fury reflected in every tight line of the valet's face. "But not my sister."

"No. She met with me for a different reason."

"What was it?"

"As if I'd tell you."

Fueled by the rage that had taken root at The Toothless Cat Inn, Adrian wound the rope around Newton's neck and pulled it tight. A gasp and a strangled sound followed along with a series of spasmic movements.

This was just the beginning.

Adrian loosened the rope and Newton wheezed as he drew in some air, upon which he started to cough as though he were choking.

"I'll ask you again," Adrian told him, his hand pressing down against Newton's right shoulder. "How did you lure my sister?"

"Go to hell, Croft."

The rope was tightened once more, then again, and a fourth time, until Newton sputtered and swore when Adrian let it go slack.

Red-faced and watery eyed, with each breath scraping his throat, he surrendered. "I…I told her I'd…give her the name of the person…who'd spread the rumor about her."

The comment was like a stab to Adrian's chest. He'd promised Evie he'd find that information for her, but rather than wait, she'd accepted help from another source.

How could she have been so careless with her own safety when he'd warned her against going out on her own? It was hard to comprehend as he stood there, a mixture of loss and failure spearing his soul.

"Whose name did you sign to the letter you sent her?"

One corner of Newton's mouth rose. "My own."

Of course. Evie had known him well. They'd moved in the same circles, danced at various balls. He was a viscount's son, for crying out loud. If he'd told her he had information to give her, what reason would she have had not to trust him?

Despite his every intention to leave Newton's body unmarked, Adrian's gaze slid over the tools that lay on the table. The temptation to use them was irresistibly strong. "You despicable son of a bitch."

"Your sister didn't think so." Newton managed a hoarse laugh. "She was more than happy to pay for what I'd promised. Hell, I can still taste her sweetness upon my tongue."

Adrian lunged.

Fingers curled around Newton's jaw in a rigid hold, every muscle locked with the effort it took not to bury his fist in the bastard's face. But that wouldn't do. He had to hold back if he was to make sure none of what happened here got linked to him. "Liar."

"Or maybe you didn't know her as well as you thought."

A red haze was swiftly descending on Adrian's vision. The instinct to lash out pulsed with urgent need at the base of his skull. Intent on regaining control, he closed his eyes, drew his attention inward, focused on slowing his breaths and bringing his heartbeats back to an even rhythm.

A predatory sense of calm wrapped itself around him, shielding him from the impulse to strike without thinking. He shoved Newton's face from his hand and took a step back.

Tossing the rope aside, he turned to Murry. "I need some writing supplies."

Murry nodded and went to collect the items. Adrian crossed his arms to prevent himself from grabbing a dagger and shoving it through Newton's throat. "I'm going to give you two choices. You can either confess your sins to your father in writing and face his wrath, or I can slit your throat right now and let you bleed out. It's your choice."

Newton narrowed his gaze and leaned forward as much as he could. "You would honestly let me go?"

"Make no mistake," Adrian told him darkly. "Your father will know what you've done. There will be no escaping that if you pick the first option."

"But I'll live." Not a question but a deduction.

Adrian picked up the dagger and studied it briefly before glancing at Newton once more. "What will it be?"

The door opened and Murry returned. He swept the tools on the table to one side and set down the writing supplies. Adrian thanked him then shifted his attention back to Newton. "Well?"

Body hunched as he stared at the floor, Newton curled his fingers around the ends of the armrests. His breaths were ragged and loud, filling the space with a saw-like sound. When he finally raised his chin, an involuntary need to comply was imbedded in his murderous gaze. "I'll write the confession."

"Make sure to mention all your victims," Adrian said once Newton began. "And don't forget to describe how you lured them or why you did what you did."

The tip of the quill scratched over the paper, the words flowing with notable swiftness. Adrian glanced over Newton's shoulder and read a few lines. No hint of remorse could be found in the matter-of-fact account he gave.

"Showing regret and begging forgiveness might soften your father's response, don't you think?"

Newton paused, finished the sentence he was working on, and followed Adrian's advice before signing his name to the bottom.

"Blot this please," Adrian told Murry while he himself went to collect the rope he'd been using earlier.

Roughly ten yards long, it would serve his purpose nicely. He proceeded to casually loop and twist one end, enjoying the soothing effect of the process and where it would lead.

"Wha…what are you doing?" Newton asked. His attention had been on Murry before, but was now directed at Adrian.

"What does it look like?"

Newton shook his head, dread showing in his stricken expression. "You said you'd let me go if I wrote a confession."

Finished with the noose he'd been making, Adrian climbed onto a stool and slipped the rope over a hook in the ceiling. He jumped down and secured the end of the rope to an iron ring embedded in the wall.

"I don't negotiate with curs who murder women." Arms crossed, he considered the noose that would hang the bastard. "Let's get him over here, Murry."

Screaming for help, Newton struck them with fisted hands, landing blows that were sure to bruise as they dragged his chair backward. When they reached the right spot, Murry untied the rope from the iron ring, lowering the noose.

Adrian dropped it over Newton's head and pulled it tight, all the while fighting Newton's every attempt to free himself from his fate.

A sideways swipe put Adrian briefly off balance, but when Murry drew the rope taut, Newton's attention shifted toward his own neck.

He grabbed the noose with desperate hands, tried to create a gap between it and his neck – some room in which to breathe.

Lowering to a crouch, Adrian untied Newton's ankles then gestured for Murry to pull a bit harder. "Let's get him up."

Sputtering, Newton continued to grip the noose while his feet began scrambling for purchase. Lifting him slightly, Adrian helped him gain his footing before yanking his hands away from the noose.

Grim faced, Murry pulled the rope until Newton stood on his tiptoes then retied it to the iron ring.

"You'll burn in hell for this," Newton croaked.

Adrian didn't doubt him for a second. He'd compromised his soul a long time ago, but it had never felt more worth it than now. "In that case, we'll see each other again."

With nothing more left to be said, Adrian kicked the chair away with violent force.

Newton's body dropped, his eyes bulged and his lips parted. He clawed at the rope with desperate fingers while small gasps of air were squeezed from his lungs. His body jerked, like a fish dangling at the end of a fisherman's line. A choking sound followed. His legs twitched and then his body went limp.

Adrian took a deep breath and expelled it. Had he been free to do as he pleased, he'd have carved Newton into a thousand pieces, starting with his fingers. Instead, this would have to do. The vile creature who'd brutally murdered Evie was finally gone.

Satisfied, he turned to Murry. "Let's get him into the carriage."