He sent her a wicked grin and she laughed.This was where her focus should lie.Not on Wycliffe or Wrengate or the men who would have killed her had she not killed them.
There was no point in mourning their loss or in letting the incident shake her nerves.For the sake of her mission, she’d do well to steel herself against it.
So she took a deep breath and considered her handsome companion, a principled man who’d stop at nothing to see justice served, who made sure women received the training required to fend off assailants, despite it going against social standards, who saw to a lady’s comfort and punished those who preyed on the weak.The fresh bruise marring the edge of his jaw reminded her of the latter.
Did she suspect him of killing the men who’d attacked him at Reed’s yesterday?Without doubt.She’d seen the murderous look in his eyes when he’d helped her into her carriage.
Could she fault him for it?
No.She would have done the same had she been in his position.
But what of everything else Kendrick claimed Mr.Croft was a part of?The forced prostitution, the aid he provided criminals and foreign agents, the information he supposedly used for blackmail?
She wasn’t entirely sure, so she glanced at him and was instantly struck by the softness currently framing his eyes and mouth.He’d always looked tense during each of their previous encounters.Driving the curricle seemed to offer a welcome escape.It seemed like it helped him relax.
A pity she’d have to ruin that, but since she’d no idea when she’d see him again and time was of the essence, she had to make the most of it.“I’ve been thinking…”
He shifted slightly beside her, his upper arm brushing hers.“About what?”
She took a deep breath.
“How to discover the killer’s identity.”Hard lines instantly gathered upon his brow.His mouth firmed and his grip on the reins seemed to tighten.As much as Samantha regretted the shift, she had to press on.“It might be useful to bait him.”
The horses cantered onward, their hooves pounding into the firmly packed dirt.Air swept past Samantha’s face, cooling her skin.The curricle bounced, perhaps because of a stone, and Mr.Croft pulled the horses into a gentler trot.
He glanced at her with interest.“The idea has merit, but how do you propose to do so?”
“There’s a meadow up ahead,” she informed him, avoiding the question for a brief moment.“If you turn between those trees right there, we can stop to talk while we stretch our legs.”
The spot was lovely – a welcome retreat she’d visited often over the years.Surrounded by trees and blackberry bushes, it also offered a lovely display of wildflowers with the added benefit of a small lake.
It was also secluded and wonderfully private.
She’d never shared it with anyone else.Until now.
Having reached the trees she’d indicated, Mr.Croft steered the horses off the road and toward the meadow as she suggested.
“It’s the perfect subject for a landscape painting,” he remarked as soon as he’d pulled the horses to a standstill and allowed himself a moment to take in the view.When he glanced at her next, his eyes were filled with equal amounts of interest and curiosity.“A bit hidden away though, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s the benefit of it,” Samantha explained while hoping her purpose was not too transparent.If Mr.Croft suspected her of encouraging him to take their relationship to the next level, he’d probably suspect her of a great deal more.She shoved the concern aside and gave him a serious look.“Chances are you won’t like what I am about to suggest.In fact, I believe you may wish to shake some sense into me once you hear it.In which case I thought it best if you were to do so without the risk of encountering anyone else.Or while attempting to drive.”
He stared at her, then firmed his mouth and gave her a hesitant look.“What do you have in mind?”
“Just remember that you yourself agreed my idea to bait the killer has merit.”
His eyes narrowed.“Miss Carmichael.”
“Well, my plan involves me playing the part of the—”
“Absolutely not.”A thunderous expression darkened his gaze.“Are you out of your bloody mind?”
“No.I—”
“Do you honestly think I would ever place you in that sort of danger?”He grabbed her upper arms and held her firmly in place, his fingers digging into soft flesh while searching her gaze.“What sort of man do you take me for?”
“The sort who would walk through hell to do what is right.”Inspired by the fierceness with which he’d spoken, the raw emotion that burned in his gaze, and their close proximity in this moment, she set her palm against his cheek and whispered, “The sort who would come to my aid as soon as the murderer shows his face.”
He stared at her, his posture rigid, each breath a ragged reminder of how close he was to losing control.She licked her lips and his mouth collided with hers in a feverish kiss for which she was utterly unprepared.
