Chapter 43

43

A thin morning fog crept over the damp London ground. Hunched in an effort to ward off the chill, Kendrick entered St. Bartholomew's churchyard and cast his gaze upward, toward the top of the church tower.

It was exactly as the curate had described. Kendrick had brought the shaken man back to the church with him, along with a couple of Runners. He'd need them to help get the hanged man down.

Bloody nuisance .

Whatever his thoughts might have been when he'd tied one end of the rope around a parapet and the other around his neck before jumping over the side, they had not been on the people tasked with having to fetch him.

"Any idea who it is?" one of the Runners asked.

Kendrick shook his head. "Not from this angle. I'll need a closer look. Maybe search his pockets for clues."

Half an hour later, thanks to a series of calling cards and one hell of a damning letter, he had his answer. It was Clive Newton, one of Viscount Stanton's boys.

Blast it. This news would not go over well, but at least it helped put an end to the most puzzling investigation of Kendrick's career. The Mayfair Murderer was, according to Newton's own admission, found.

Already dead, he'd saved his family the embarrassment of a trial and the pain of enduring his execution. His self-murder was neatly accomplished.

Kendrick regarded Newton's face, a twisted expression of anguish still straining his features, and felt a brief pang of regret. Hanging, in his opinion, was far too easy a way for a man such as him to go.

* * *

It was nearing eleven by the time the special license Adrian had requested, or rather purchased, from the Archbishop was ready. Having tucked the document into his jacket's inside pocket, he returned to his carriage and ordered the driver to take him to Clearview House.

When he arrived there some forty minutes later, he spotted Kendrick, who appeared to be on his way out. Adrian, who'd alit from his carriage, kept his expression neutral while greeting the man with a nod. "Didn't expect to find you here. I trust all is well?"

"Indeed. The Mayfair Murderer was identified earlier." Kendrick cleared his throat. "I'm doing the rounds, informing those who put in requests for immediate updates."

"You finally tracked him down? I suppose apologies are in order then. I underestimated your abilities."

A high color rose to Kendrick's cheeks, turning them slightly ruddy. "I'm afraid I can't take credit. He killed himself, you see. A confession was found on his person."

"Lucky you," Adrian murmured. He followed the comment with a wry smile. "Will you tell me who it was?"

"Of course. I was actually planning to call on you next since your sister was one of the women killed, but now that you're here…" Kendrick gave him a sober look. "It was Viscount Stanton's son, Clive Newton."

Adrian held the constable's gaze for a long, drawn-out moment, then nodded. "Thank you for letting me know."

Concern creased Kendrick's brow. "I've done so as a courtesy, Croft. You're not to go anywhere near Lord Stanton or his family. Is that understood."

"Yes."

"Do I have your word on that?"

"Without question," Adrian promised, dismissing the constable as he turned his attention to Clearview's imposing fa?ade and approached the front steps.

* * *

Kendrick went straight to Sir Nigel's office after returning from Clearview. "Harlowe doesn't think Newton hung himself from the top of that church tower."

"Oh?"

"At the very least, he believes he was encouraged to take his own life." Kendrick dropped into the vacant chair that stood across from Sir Nigel's. "Croft had him within his grasp last night, but something went wrong and Newton escaped. Or so Croft claims."

"But Harlowe doesn't believe that?"

"No, and neither do I. Croft would never have let that happen."

Sir Nigel steepled his fingers, his expression pensive. "So he got Newton to write that letter somehow, then killed him and made it look like self-murder?"

"There's no way to prove it."

"Of course not." Sir Nigel grunted. "One has to admit it's rather clever."

"Providing he got the right man." If Croft had indeed been involved, he'd played both judge and executioner. Viscount Stanton had lost a son. It was no small matter.

"Time will tell, I suppose. For now, we'll consider the case closed and pray no other murders occur."

"And Croft?" The deadline he'd given Samantha was in two days. If she didn't deliver, he'd need Sir Nigel's approval to follow through on the threats he'd made her.

"You're to leave him be until further notice."

Kendrick stared at his superior in disbelief. He couldn't be serious. "Our agent is finally in the perfect position to take him down. She's going to marry him for that exact purpose."

"And she'll be informed if she is to move ahead later. For now, a request has been made for her to desist."

This couldn't be happening. Not when they were so close. "By whom?"

Stern-faced, Sir Nigel told him crisply, "The highest authority."

Kendrick sank against his seat in a state of deflated stupor. The Prince Regent would not have given this order without someone else advising him to. The question was who.

It had to be someone who stood to gain from Croft's freedom.

The problem was no such person within the Prince Regent's circle came to mind. But Kendrick vowed in that moment that he would figure it out. He'd worked too damn hard on backing Croft into a corner. There was no way in hell he'd give up when victory was so close at hand he could practically taste it.

To Sir Nigel however, he simply said, "Duly noted."

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Adrian asked Samantha as the two of them strolled along one of the paths behind Clearview.

"The wound still aches. From what I gather that will be true for several more days. Besides that, I am well."

"I'm pleased to hear it."

She sent him a smile. It finally felt as though the events of the last two days were beginning to settle. His coming here as promised reassured her of his intentions. He'd not changed his mind as she'd continuously feared he might. The special license had been obtained. At six o'clock this evening, she would become his wife.

Before then, she had one pressing question.

"Last night, you told Harlowe the killer had gotten away. Why?"

His expression was grave, his words more so when he answered. "Because anything else would complicate matters tremendously. Why didn't you correct me?"

"Because that would have been disloyal." An honest response.

He stopped walking and faced her, his gaze assessing. "I never would have asked you to be my wife if I didn't believe I could trust you. That said, I should be completely forthright. My past is filled with dark corners. If you look hard enough, you'll find things you'd rather not see, things that will make you think the worst of me."

"Adrian, I could never."

"Listen to me, and listen well. I've done things – terrible things – some on my father's orders, others of my own volition. Newton was…" He shook his head as though struggling with a decision. His jaw hardened and when he met her gaze next, it cut straight through her like shards of glass. "I couldn't leave his punishment to others. Not after what he did to Evie. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I do." He'd taken matters into his own hands, just as she'd known he would. Newton's death had not been self-inflicted. She reached for Adrian's fingers and wove them between her own. "It doesn't change the way I feel about you. Nothing else you've done will either, for if there is one thing I've learned these past weeks, it is that you are a just man, not a cruel one."

If she were to place a bet, she'd stake her life on the fact that Adrian Croft would only harm those who deserved it. He was like an avenging angel in human form, punishing wrongdoers for their sins. For that reason alone, she could not be the one who destroyed him – not when she didn't believe he was guilty of half the things Kendrick insisted upon.

His father might have forced women to whore themselves, just as Harlowe had tried to force her, but Adrian could never be so unfeeling.

"You still want to marry me then?" An unexpectedly uncertain plea from a man as harsh as he.

"Yes."

No words of love had been spoken between them, not that she minded. In her heart, she knew she felt something deeper than friendship and sensed he might too, but it would be foolish of either of them to make declarations unless they were spoken without any shadow of doubt.

For now, the bond they'd managed to build would suffice. Beyond that, their marriage would be practical for them both. He would give her a way out from under Harlowe's control while she would guard him against any further attempts made against him.

So she did not hesitate later when asked if she would take Adrian as her husband. Nor did she feel any guilt over choosing to keep her directive a secret. All that mattered was what she did moving forward. No sense in giving Adrian cause to doubt her when marrying him was essential to his own safety.

Already, Harlowe had issued a stark reminder, that she was expected to locate the files and discover the names of the people they mentioned. He'd given her three days. Kendrick's orders.

Samantha sipped her celebratory champagne, her thoughts already on all the lies she'd deliver to keep Kendrick busy. The wedding was a small affair. Marsdale was there along with Harlowe and Hazel. A delicious dinner had followed and then the cake, hastily prepared and yet an incredible marvel of chocolate and cream.

She took another bite and chased it down with more champagne. So good.

"It's strange to have no urgent tasks to attend to," Adrian said once the others had taken their leave and it was just the two of them in the parlor. He sent her a mischievous smile before taking a seat beside her on the sofa. "With the murders resolved, I almost wonder what I will do with myself."

"I think it will be nice to have some peace and quiet for a change. It should give us a chance to get to know each other better. For instance, I've still no idea of what time you rise, what your daily schedule looks like, or what might irritate you."

He stretched his arm out behind her and stroked the back of her neck with his thumb, making it hard for her to think. "I'm up before eight. Whatever my daily routine was until now, it's likely to change to accommodate you. We'll figure it out together. And finally, I hate being interrupted while reading. Unless it's urgent of course."

"I'm of a like mind."

The warmth in his smile darkened his eyes. His thumb stilled at the edge of her neckline. "You've not yet received a tour of the house."

"There's hardly been any time."

"There is now." He tilted his head, his boyish grin making it nearly impossible for her to equate this man with the brutal one who'd hunted Newton down and forced him to pay with his life. "Shall we?"

She placed her hand in his, happy to follow, not the least bit afraid. They were so similar he and she. In due course, she hoped she'd be able to show him how much, but for the present, she had to take care. However jovial he might be right now, he wasn't a man to be trifled with, and she'd be wise not to forget that.

They started with the music room – a colorful place with difficult memories since it had been his sister's favorite spot in the house. They entered his study next. The large wood-paneled room she'd seen through her spyglass had a view of the street to one side while overlooking the garden to the other, though it was too dark beyond the beveled windows for her to get a good look at what lay beyond.

She considered the golden lion that sat by the fireplace before taking in the rest of the room's decor.

"It's masculine and yet I don't feel as though it suits your personality." The space was too austere, suffocating in a way with a large wall to wall carpet and various rugs placed on top.

"It was my father's. I've not had a chance to redecorate since he died."

No mention of not wanting to. Seeing the fierce look in his eyes, as though he were seeing unpleasant ghosts from the past, she chose not to comment.

They moved on to the dining room, then the ballroom, before taking a look below stairs where she received a quick tour of the kitchen, the butler's pantry, and the housekeeper's room. The servants, she noted, followed her every movement with sharp alertness. It would take time to win their loyalty.

"What's through there?" she asked, gesturing toward what looked like a dungeon door. It appeared ancient.

"Storage," Adrian told her, his hand at her elbow guiding her back to the stairs. They returned to the foyer and started climbing the stairs to the first-floor landing where Adrian paused.

He gestured toward the door to the right but made no attempt to open it. "Please don't go in there. That room belonged to Evie, and I…I've not yet mustered the courage to enter it since she died."

Unsure of how to respond without saying something inane, Samantha rose up onto her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Adrian's cheek. "I won't overstep. I promise."

The sadness that welled in his eyes was enough to shatter her heart. A silent nod was his only response as he led her away from the haunting memories, past a private drawing room, and toward the door on the opposite side of the hallway.

He opened it and ushered her into a space warmly lit by three strategically placed oil lamps. It was familiar yet different from when she'd studied it from a distance, the intimate atmosphere filled with promise.

Adrian was also fully clothed this time, the terrible scars on his back concealed beneath layers of fabric. Bile rose in her throat at the memory of it, at the horror he had endured. Anger started to work its way through her body, straining her muscles until she feared it would soon reach her face.

It took more effort than usual to bank the emotions. She managed to do so with pure force of will while watching the fire that burned in the grate.

A four-poster bed dressed in rich damask silks dominated the room. At the foot of the bed was a space, separating it from the two velvet-clad armchairs located before the fire. A dresser stood to the right of the doorway but there was no wardrobe. Instead, Adrian pointed out an adjoining door that led to another room where their clothes could be stored.

"I'll make more space for you tomorrow. And we can have a vanity table brought in if you like."

Samantha turned. "You're sure you want me in here, interfering with your private space?"

He gave her a hesitant look. "Would you rather have separate rooms?"

"No. This is marvelous. I just don't want to impose."

"You couldn't possibly." He dipped his head and kissed her, the tenderness in the sweet caress so achingly perfect she wanted to hold onto it forever. But then it ended and he led her forward.

Samantha glanced at the bed once more and drew a shuddering breath. As if sensing her unease, Adrian turned her toward him and told her gently, "Whatever you think might happen between us tonight, please set it from your mind. You are still wounded and I'm not a beast. We have time – a lifetime worth. Our wedding night can happen later. For now, we'll simply enjoy each other's company. As you pointed out, it's a good opportunity for us to get to know each other better. Tell me, are you also an early riser or do you like to sleep in?"

It was the first question of many. One that led to countless others.

For the next three hours they talked, sharing information about themselves, their interests, and life experiences. Sitting in front of the fire, an open bottle of port on the table between them, Samantha savored the comfort she found in Adrian's company.

Their conversation flowed with a natural ease. It was filled with moments of humor as well as more serious reflection. What counted most was the growing kinship she felt with him, like an unbreakable thread forming between them. It extended beyond the close friendship she'd known with him until now, laying open a series of wonderful possibilities, including what promised to be an incredibly strong marriage.