No solution existed. It was simply a period he had to get through, all the while praying his wife would be well. That she and the child would survive.
He shuddered and blocked out that thought as soon as it formed. No good could come from such worry, and with Finn O’Leary…
“I will do my best to be reasonable,” he told her. “To not overreact with regard to what you can and cannot do. I only ask that you don’t leave the house unescorted. Can you accept that?”
She nodded. “I realize the peril I face, both from Wrengate and O’Leary. More so now that I’m showing.”
There would be no denying her condition and that made her vulnerable and exposed his weakness. No question his hand could be forced if his wife and unborn child faced even a whiff of danger. The notion was like an itchy, ill-fitting set of clothing. Made him deuced uncomfortable and wary. But at least Samantha was being sensible, and this eased his mind, if only a little.
“As far as I know, Wrengate has not yet returned to Town, though it’s only a matter of time before he does with the new Season starting next week.”
The duke had left for his estate the day after warning Adrian about interfering in his affairs. He’d figured out it was Samantha who’d broken into his home to steal a handwriting sample, that it was also she who’d killed the men he’d sent after a now-dead crime lord named Wycliff. They’d not communicated since, but Adrian knew it was never good to be on the wrong side of a powerful peer. Least of all when said peer had ordered another man killed.
“I’ll do my best to avoid him,” Samantha said.
“Should your paths still happen to cross, I urge you to remain calm. Chances are he’ll attempt to rile you, if only for sport.” Wrengate was precisely the sort of rogue who’d take pleasure in pushing his enemies to the edge of a cliff and making them jump. “You mustn’t let him affect you.”
“Neither must you,” she said, a grave look in her eyes to remind him of how well she knew him.
He smiled his agreement, then said, “Edward’s arrival took me away from an important matter I was trying to resolve. If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish with it before supper.”
“I’d also like to freshen up after my journey.” She yawned. “Maybe we can have supper brought up to our bedchamber and eat in front of the fireplace there? It would allow me to put on my nightgown and be less formal.”
His fingers caught the edge of her chin, tilting it slightly so he could press a soft kiss to her lips. Her answering sigh was like tonic, a rush of fulfillment and pleasure that spread through each limb. Were it not for her obvious exhaustion, he’d have gladly encouraged taking things farther.
Instead, he moved his lips to her cheek where he kissed her again before withdrawing. “I like your suggestion and will ask Elks to—”
A knock at the door cut him off. He frowned as he glanced toward it and issued the order for whoever it was to enter. Elks appeared, an apologetic look stretching his features into tight lines. “Please forgive the intrusion but Chief Constable Kendrick is here with Miss Hastings. They wish to speak with you if you’re able to spare the time.”
The hour was growing increasingly late so Adrian wondered at Kendrick’s motive for calling. If he’d come, it had to be for good reason, in which case everything else would have to wait.
He sent Samantha an apologetic look before telling Elks, “Show them in.”
6
Peter Kendrick removed his hat, placed his gloves inside, and handed it to Mr. Croft’s butler. Meanwhile, Miss Hastings untied the bow holding her bonnet in place and eased the item off her head. As usual, Peter’s stomach tightened at the sight of her lustrous dark hair. Though it was pulled into the customary tight knot at the nape of her neck, there was every indication that it would be thick and long when unbound.
The desire to know what it looked like falling over her shoulders was as ridiculous as it was distracting.
He tore his attention away from her and offered the butler his thanks on both their behalves before following him to the parlor. The interior of Croft House never ceased to impress him. Not because it was overly opulent but rather because it wasn’t. The décor was simple, elegant, and spoke of better taste than what he’d found in most aristocratic homes.
Nothing in the Croft House foyer boasted of great wealth. There were only two tall vases, white with blue flowers painted on them. Each held a fresh bouquet in soft creamy tones. Beyond this there were four paintings. One on either side of the heavy front door and one on each adjacent wall. All were landscapes — fields of green set beneath blue summer skies. Colors that were echoed in the plush doormat and runner.
The butler opened the door to the parlor, and Peter set the palm of his hand against Miss Hastings’s lower back, encouraging her to precede him inside. Before he had time to reflect on how perfect she felt beneath his touch they were being greeted by Mr. Croft and his wife. A tray with fresh tea things was requested to replace the one that presently sat on a table.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” said Peter, “I would prefer a cup of coffee.”
Mr. Croft sent him a sharp look, the edge of his lips curving just enough to put Peter on edge, only for him to relax his shoulders as Mr. Croft said, “I’ll have the same.”
The butler departed and Miss Hastings took a seat on the sofa facing the Crofts. Sensing a need to stay close to her, Peter sat beside her. She shifted slightly, as though surprised by his choice — as though she’d expected him to claim one of the armchairs and hadn’t made quite enough room.
To avoid pressing against her was an effort in futility, given the narrow space. A miscalculation on his part. Perhaps he ought to move? But that would only draw more attention and—
“How are you faring?” Miss Hastings asked.
Peter’s lips parted. He prepared to respond, only to realize the question wasn’t directed at him.
“Better than at the beginning of the pregnancy,” Mrs. Croft answered. “I no longer struggle with dizzy spells or nausea. On the contrary, my appetite has improved a great deal since Christmas.”
