Only the slightest twitch at the edge of his lips informed her he wasn’t as serious as he sounded. She chuckled and nudged his arm with her elbow. “You’re insufferable sometimes. Do you know that?”
He pressed his hand to his chest, his expression encompassing all the drama one might find at the theatre. “Oh, how you wound me, when all I aim to do is ensure your wellbeing.”
“Your concern has been noted,” she said as they reached the cloakroom where footmen assisted the guests with their outerwear. “If it eases your mind, it’s greatly appreciated, even though I know it’s probably just an excuse for you to make sure no other men catch a glimpse of what I have to offer.”
He drew to a sharp halt, his hand catching her elbow. “Hold on. Are you suggesting I might be jealous?”
Matching his theatrical efforts from earlier, she told him emphatically, “I wouldn’t dare.”
A wicked grin informed her he’d rather sweep her away to a secluded corner than mingle with other members of society. She promised herself she’d try to find time to indulge in that sort of mischief later. Fornow, however, additional guests were arriving behind them.
She removed her cloak and handed it to one of the footmen while Adrian took off his hat, gloves, and greatcoat. Together, they then joined the assembly line, greeting their hosts, the Marquess and Marchioness of Avernail, before proceeding into the ballroom.
“Champagne?” Adrian asked, offering Samantha a glass he’d snatched from a tray as soon as they’d stepped through the door.
She thanked him and took a sip of the bubbly beverage while he followed suit. It didn’t surprise her in the least that most of the guests showed a determination to keep their distance from them. She’d noticed the way most people behaved toward her husband long before he’d asked her to be his wife.
It made sense. People talked. Gossip travelled. Until Clive Newton’s death, most of it had likely been nothing more than pure speculation. Now, however, with word going around that Adrian had managed to apprehend Newton – that he was likely responsible for his death – there was a new sense of careful respect directed at Adrian, the sort one showed toward a wild beast, like a wolf or a bear.
No one believed Adrian would have allowed his sister’s murderer to slip through his fingers. Only Samantha, however, knew for a fact that he hadn’t.
“Keep your wits about you tonight,” she whispered, catching his eye. “Whatever problem Harlowe posesaside, we mustn’t forget that we’re still attempting to catch another killer.”
A firm nod confirmed how seriously Adrian took this. He’d gone straight to Bow Street that morning after reading about Mr. Hutchins’s arrest in the paper. There was no doubt in his mind Hutchins was innocent, but Kendrick had refused to listen.
In Adrian’s opinion, the chief constable simply wanted the matter closed, and Samantha was inclined to agree. After failing to apprehend Newton, Bow Street needed to prove its worth more than ever. Especially after the papers had printed critical articles on the subject. Some had even placed caricatures of Kendrick on the front page to illustrate just how incompetent they thought him to be.
It was probable the public shared this opinion. This added pressure ran the risk of encouraging him to close Lady Eleanor’s case too quickly.
“Let’s take a turn of the room,” Adrian suggested, his hand already at Samantha’s elbow, nudging her forward. “If we’re lucky, we’ll happen upon a few of the people named on Orendel’s list.”
Lady Eleanor’s friends and acquaintances, including men she’d danced with at social events. “We can start with Birchwood. He’s right over there.”
They greeted the viscount, which involved interrupting a conversation he was having with an older gentleman, who was introduced to them as Mr. Johnathan Lawrence, the Marquess of Avernail’s younger brother.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Samantha informed him.
“Indeed, I am honored to finally meet the young woman my nephew, Nigel, keeps talking about. Your attempt at catching the Mayfair Murderer made quite the impression on him.”
“He’s very kind to say so, even though my husband and I made a grave mistake in believinghewas the villain we sought.”
Mr. Lawrence’s lips twitched. “He did mention that, though I gather the error was understandable under the circumstances. Had it not been, I’m sure my brother, the marquess, would have filed charges against you.”
“Happily, he did not,” Adrian drawled, his voice a touch dry.
“He did, however, consider cancelling tonight’s event.”
“We were just discussing how right he was not to do so,” Birchwood said. “Though he may have considered it in bad taste to host a ball so soon after Lady Eleanor’s murder, there’s much to be said for carrying on.”
Samantha tilted her head. “You danced with her, I believe, a few evenings prior to her death.”
A startled laugh escaped Birchwood. “I hope you’re not implying I might have had something to do with that.”
“Did you?” Adrian kept his expression as grave as the subject they were discussing.
Mr. Lawrence’s eyes widened but Birchwoodmanaged to hold Adrian’s gaze without appearing remotely offended. “Of course not.”
“Didn’t think so,” Adrian muttered, “but I had to ask.”
