“A devil in disguise,” he murmured.
The lady who’d posed the question, a pretty red-head with a flirtatious smile, fixed her eyes upon him for one second longer than what was deemed proper.
His muscles twitched as he slid his gaze over her supple body, allowing it to come to rest at the base of her throat.The sudden desire to find out whether or not she deserved to live quickened his pulse.
Although he’d embarked on his mission with purpose and took no pleasure in taking Miss Fairchild’s life, each subsequent killing had helped him acknowledge the thrill he was able to find in wielding such power.Not to mention the pure excitement that came from hunting his victim and luring them into his trap.
It was intoxicating – a feeling he longed to know again soon.
* * *
Sitting at his desk, Adrian returned his seal to its case and blew out the candle he’d used to melt the red wax.There was nothing pleasant about destroying somebody’s source of income, but Mrs.Thackery ought to have known better when she decided to write about Evie.
Adrian couldn’t allow such dangerous behavior to slide and had, therefore, gone back toThe Morning Postafter meeting with Mrs.Riley, to demand the woman’s immediate termination.
He’d since written letters to all other newspaper companies in the City, explaining the situation and warning them against hiring her if she came to them in search of employment.His signature would hopefully add enough weight for them to follow through so he could return to the more important matter of tracking down Evie’s killer.
Having the Croft files available would have been useful.He regretted the decision he’d made to order their destruction.The meticulous notes were part of a collection that detailed every piece of information gathered on members of Society, all Croft family associates, and anyone else they needed to know about, including their enemies.
Filled with dirty secrets and illegal endeavors, it was the key to obtaining favors.In his haste to put that life behind him, he’d foolishly had the entire thing burned – centuries worth of intelligence gathered by six generations.
Those files would have been helpful now, considering the answers he might have found between the pages.Unlike Debrett’s, which only contained the basic facts about peers, the Croft files might have provided information about Mr.Harlowe, perhaps even on Miss Samantha Carmichael too.
Worst of all was the awful awareness that they would have given him valuable data on the Fairchilds, the Earl of Hightower and his family, as well as the Irvines.Not to mention what he might have learned about everyone else he and his sister had interacted with in the days leading up to her death.
Furious with himself for being so bloody shortsighted and foolishly impulsive, he waited impatiently in his study for Cummings to arrive.The man, who’d been employed by his father, had his own residence and came to the Croft home on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at nine o’clock in the morning, departing once more at noon.
Adrian stood as soon as he heard the front door open and close.A muted exchange between Elks and Cummings ensued.The soft tread of footsteps upon the hallway runner followed.Cummings appeared in the doorway.In his mid-forties with dark blonde hair and light brown eyes, he was smartly dressed as usual and with that fresh look about him that always suggested he’d gotten a good night’s rest.
“Good morning, Mr.Croft.”The secretary crossed to one of the armchairs and set the satchel he always brought with him upon the vacant seat.“Is there any urgent correspondence you’d like me to see to before I proceed with the ledgers?”
Adrian glanced at the pile of condolence letters still sitting on the corner of his desk.He’d handle those himself once he had a minute to spare.“No.There is however a matter I’d like to address.”
Cummings gave him a curious look.“Yes?”
“The files I asked you to burn…” Adrian scratched the back of his neck, not quite able to meet the other man’s eyes.“I don’t suppose you might have ignored that order.”
The edge of Cummings’s mouth twitched, almost with humor, despite every other part of his expression conveying regret.“I wouldn’t dare to defy you.”
“So then…they’re truly gone, not just boxed away somewhere in the attic.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Shit.”Adrian paced toward the bookcase where several gaping shelves seemed to mock him for his stupidity.
“Of course,” Cummings said, “the files kept here were merely duplicates.”
Adrian spun on his heels, almost tripping himself in the process.He caught his balance and stared at Cummings.“Duplicates?”
“Something so precious would not exist without safeguards.”A slow smile pulled at Cummings’s thin lips.“Another copy – the original – is located at Deerhaven Manor.”
An incredible sense of relief poured through Adrian at those words.All was not quite lost then.He could still obtain whatever information the files contained.“You kept them up to date?”
Cummings snorted and raised an eyebrow.“Of course.”
“In that case, I think you deserve a bonus of say…twenty pounds?Make a note of it in the ledger and have a cheque from Barclay and Tritton prepared for me to sign.”
The secretary thanked him and Adrian went to find Murry.Arrangements would have to be made now.The Moorlands’ ball would be held in five days – a social function that promised to lure every high-ranking member of Society to it.So Adrian planned on ignoring the state of mourning he ought to be observing, in favor of attending.
