A short walk took Peter Kendrick back to the carriage that waited for him around the corner from Number 5 Portman Square. A discreet hansom cab that wouldn’t attract much attention, if any.
He climbed in and addressed the man who sat on the opposite bench. “It’s done. Only time will tell if she takes the bait.”
“Good work.” Lord Carver glanced out the window. “My agents are in position. I’ll head to the carriage parked near the entrance to the mews, just in case Mrs. Croft leaves through the back entrance. If she’s looking to reach her husband quickly, chances are she’ll be needing a horse.”
“Especially if what she told me is true, about Mr. Croft having gone to Deerhaven Park.”
“Any chance she might have been lying?”
Peter thought back on his conversation with Mrs. Croft. “I’ve no idea. She gave nothing away.”
“Best err on the side of caution then. I’ll tell my top man to send a couple of agents that way. Make sure there’s no chance of escape.” Lord Carver tapped the brim of his hat, opened the door, and leapt to the ground. Turning, one hand braced on the doorframe,he said to Peter, “If all goes well, we’ll reconvene at The Old Bell. Drinks will be on me.”
The door slammed shut. Peter watched Lord Carver’s retreating stride for a brief second, then slid his gaze toward the black front door at Number 5, Portman Square.
No more than fifteen minutes passed before an elegant carriage pulled up. The front door opened and Mrs. Croft made her appearance, her chin dipping as though she were watching for obstacles in her path. Peter tracked her progress across the pavement and frowned. The wide-brimmed bonnet she wore concealed most of her face. Only the tip of her nose was visible from this angle.
A pity since he’d have liked to see her expression. It had been carefully schooled while they spoke. He was curious to know if it might have slipped since then.
Something inside him shifted – a tightening of his gut brought on by the confirmation that she was indeed a traitor. He’d suspected as much for a while now, but to have it confirmed…
He ought to be thrilled, yet he found no pleasure in being correct on this score. Not when she was a product of Harlowe’s making. Not when Peter himself had placed her on the path of her own destruction. Neither of them should have used her so. And now she would pay for their sins with her life.
A shiver raced down his spine. He wasn’t comfortable with Lord Carver’s plan. Murder wasn’t right, no matter how one rationalized it.
Cursing his superiors and the moral dilemma they’d placed him in, he wondered if he’d sleep well at night knowing he’d been a party to this. Probably not. Without the proof he’d been hunting, he’d never be certain if Croft deserved to be killed.
As for his wife…he watched her open the carriage door. Guilt sank its claws deep as she placed one foot on the step. But the moment was broken by observation, by a flaw that didn’t make sense, a shoe that didn’t quite match her attire.
Peter’s heart kicked up its pace, his eyes taking note and assessing every last detail until none was left. He sucked in a breath, still staring at Mrs. Croft’s carriage as it pulled into the street. The hackney in which he was seated, driven by one of Lord Carver’s agents, started forward with every intention of giving chase.
Moving quickly, Peter opened the door on the far side and hopped out. The driver, not having noticed, continued onward while Peter hailed a proper hackney.
Positioned where the horses hid him from view, he spoke to the driver. “There’s a chance a young woman is going to exit that house over there. If she does, we’ll follow discreetly. Until then, we wait.”
“Not exactly the sort of thing I’m paid for,” the driver complained. “Sounds suspicious.”
“Maybe this will appease you.” Peter handed the man his card. “If you’re lucky, you’ll help apprehend a traitor.”
Because the woman he’d watched get into the Croft carriage shortly before was not the woman she’d givenherself out to be. Which convinced him it was just a matter of time before the real Mrs. Croft put in an appearance.
And when she did, she’d prove her treacherous nature once and for all by leading him straight to her villainous husband.
32
Time ticked by slowly, testing Samantha’s patience to the limit. Still she waited, her stomach tight in anticipation, each breath a controlled effort to steady her nerves. She could not afford to make mistakes now by rushing to Adrian’s side.
“Take these with you as well.” Standing below stairs in the hallway connecting the back entrance to the door leading out from the kitchen, she handed the traveling bags to Murry. The files she’d ordered him to collect had been packed into satchels that he, Ward, and Turner would transport out of the City. “I’ll meet you later as discussed. Now go.”
Murry curled his large fists around the handles on each of the bags, his expression grim, assessing, weighing whether or not to follow her orders. “Are you sure this plan will work?”
Failure wasn’t an option, so she gave a quick nod,even though she knew damn well any number of things could go wrong. If she only had to save herself, it might have been different. But with Adrian watching for Lady Eleanor’s murderer and the authorities closing in, the situation was unpredictable.
“Distraction is our only option.” She glanced at her pocket watch, saw the time, and strode for the kitchen door while pulling a cap down over her head. “If you can lead the rest of those bloodhounds astray, my husband and I might stand a chance.”
Her only awareness of Murry’s departure was the sound of the door leading out to the mews slamming shut. She’d watched from her bedchamber window when Emma had left and had seen the two hackneys fall in behind the Croft carriage.
There was no need to check the back entrance to know this would also be watched. Which meant Kendrick knew she would try to protect Adrian. He’d figured her out and would without doubt make her pay the price if he caught her.
