Wycliff glared at him as though he had murder on his mind. “I’ll not strike women or children, and I’ll no longer force them to work in the brothels.”
“Good. Integrity matters. Even in our line of work.” Adrian turned, prepared to leave, but paused on a thought. “And stay away from my wife, do you hear? Or else I’ll be forced to reconsider whether or not you deserve to live.”
Honestly, he ought to kill him right now for what he’d already done, but that would defy the principles he’d sworn he’d adhere to when he’d accepted his birthright. He’d done so in front of the city’s ten most powerful criminals, after Evie’s body had been discovered and he’d given up on walking away from the life he’d stood to inherit.
Assurances had been made during that meeting. He’d promised each of the men that he’d leave them in peace as long as they didn’t cause trouble for him.
It was a quid pro quo agreement. His acceptance in exchange for their loyalty. The same deal that had beenstruck through generations – a rite of passage to make his position official.
But he’d be damned if he would let anyone turn into monsters.
“You have my word,” Wycliff said, his assurance hitting Adrian’s back as he strode for the door.
Murry, whom Adrian had asked to remain in the carriage, gave him a questioning look when he climbed in. “How did it go?”
“Well enough, but I’m not sure I trust him to keep his promises.” He knocked on the ceiling, informing the driver that they were ready for home. “Let’s have a word with Murdoch, see if his people can keep an eye on Wycliff’s dealings, just to be sure he stays in line.”
“I can meet with him on your behalf if you like.”
“Do that and let me know how it goes.” Adrian propped his elbow on the edge of the window, his thoughts returning to Lady Eleanor and Mr. Jones.
“Forgive me if I’m overstepping,” Murry said, his gruff voice interrupting Adrian’s attempt to figure out where Mr. Jones might have been on the night of Lady Eleanor’s murder.
He grunted. “Go on.”
“Your mood seems much improved this morning. So does your wife’s. Which made me wonder if the two of you might have…settled your differences?”
“Indeed.” Adrian slanted a look in his direction. “We spoke at great length yesterday. A lot was uncovered.”
“Do you trust her?” Murry asked after Adrian gave a quick overview of the most pertinent details.
“I do.” He shifted his jaw, not quite comfortable with how that might be perceived. The last thing he wanted was to appear weak. So he told his valet darkly, “I’ll kill her myself if she ever betrays me again.”
Murry nodded and nothing more was said on the matter, though the topic did leave a bitter taste in Adrian’s mouth. It didn’t abate until he entered his study and found Samantha. She was sitting in his chair, a magnifying glass in her hand as she studied the paper he’d left her with.
Hearing him, she raised her gaze, her expression transforming from fixed concentration to absolute joy. His heart swelled and the grimness Murry had caused disappeared.
“Making progress?” He closed the door and strode toward her. She started to rise but he motioned her to stay seated.
“Our suspicions were correct. Mr. Jones did see the killer leave Orendel House on the night in question. He wanted five thousand pounds in exchange for his silence.”
Having reached her, Adrian nudged her chin upward and dipped his head in order to kiss her – nothing overly heated – just a tender press of his lips against hers to remind her of his adoration.
Straightening, he glanced at the piece of paper she’d been studying along with the notes she’d made, then shook his head. “He sealed his own fate with that foolish demand. How could he not have realized that?”
“I suppose the chance at making a fortune clouded his judgement.”
“If he’d only revealed whom he saw, this case would already be solved.”
She leaned back in the chair, a pensive look in her eyes. “Maybe it’s not that simple.”
“How do you mean?”
“Mr. Jones was a footman. What if the person he saw was a high-ranking peer? Someone so powerful he could have quashed the claim? Maybe even cost Mr. Jones his job? Or worse.”
Adrian considered her idea a moment. “I’m not sure that makes sense. Bow Street would still have brought the accused in for questioning. They would have investigated further and might have managed to pin the deed on him. But what if Mr. Jones himself had something to hide? We still don’t know where he was when he saw the killer or what he was doing. Maybe that’s his real reason for not stepping forward.”
“You think he feared being questioned?”
