“Exactly. You can take Gordon with you. Let me know what you find.”
“Will do.” Lewis strode off, leaving Peter to make his way to his office.
It didn’t take long for him to prepare the paper he’d promised Mr. Dunken, or the money required to cover the income he’d be denied for a week. He checked his pocket watch once this task was completed. Just after six. The bakery up the street would have steaming hot buns at this hour.
Increasingly hungry, Peter collected his coat and prepared to head out when the door to his office swung open without any warning. He froze in the middle of closing a button, and regarded the spirited woman who stood before him, her cheeks flushed with color.
“Miss Hastings.” The chief magistrate’s daughter — the bane of Peter’s existence — smiled so brightly he struggled to breathe. Foolish man. You’re old enough to be her father. And yet, there was no escaping the way she made him feel, even though he often wanted to strangle her. “It’s early. You never arrive before eight.”
She straightened, adjusted the spectacles perched on her nose. “I received a missive.”
He didn’t like the gleam in her eyes. “What missive?”
“About the murder,” she whispered with an almost sinister kind of delight. “I ordered Lewis to tell me as soon as we had a new case and we finally do. Isn’t it exciting?”
Peter stared at her. While he would admit things had been calmer around the office these past few months, he hadn’t minded too much since this meant crime was down. That was a good thing. Murders, on the other hand, were a terrible business.
“No. It is not the least bit exciting, Miss Hastings.” He watched as some indescribable emotion crossed her face.
Whatever it was, she shrugged it off and began removing her gloves. “Well, I am looking forward to helping you solve it. I’ve already spoken with Anderson, who has promised to give me a copy of Mr. Dunken’s statement.”
She could not have arrived more than ten minutes ago, yet she already had the pertinent facts. And now she was setting her bonnet aside on his desk, allowing him a good look of her hair. It was tied up as usual, into one of those knots that invariably made him wonder what she would look like with it unbound, hanging loosely over her shoulders.
He clenched his fists. “I’m off to the bakery.”
“Oh. Please bring back a muffin for me.”
She dropped into one of the chairs intended for guests and produced the notebook she always carried in her reticule. Peter gritted his teeth and turned for the door. “Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she called after him as he left.
He muttered a curse and kept on walking. He was going to kill Lewis the next time they met.
2
Adrian pulled his greatcoat collar high against the back of his neck to ward off the frigid air. It seeped through his black leather gloves and the soles of his shoes, leaving him with a burning desire for heat.
Unfortunately, that would have to wait.
He glanced at Murry, his trusted valet and right-hand man, who accompanied him through the grimy streets. A light dusting of snow clung to his cap. Adrian’s hat would be no different. The flakes were already falling when they’d left the house and had since turned the cobblestones slick.
At least here, in this downtrodden part of the City, where packed dirt covered most of the ground, the risk of slipping was lower. Still, they moved ahead at a careful tread while seeking the scoundrel they meant to capture. One of Finn O’Leary’s men.
Adrian had known the Irish bastard would give him trouble. After all, the man had sworn to do precisely that when he’d warned Adrian’s wife four months ago. The message he’d made Samantha deliver to Adrian hadn’t minced words.
Tell your husband Finn O’Leary has come to Town and he’s planning to stay. But there had been other problems to deal with. A physician and his accomplice were killing people. Adrian’s priority had been to take them down in order to save lives. Especially since O’Leary had kept to the shadows. Not an active threat but a future one to be dealt with later.
Adrian flexed his fingers and felt the knuckles crack. He should have remained in London after resolving that case. Instead, he’d chosen to leave for Deerhaven Manor – to abandon his problems in favor of spending time with Samantha. Her pregnancy had clouded his judgment. He’d told himself she needed him, that he had to be by her side to offer protection, to keep her and their unborn child safe.
Utter nonsense.
Instead of leaving, he ought to have made sure O’Leary would not gain a foothold. Samantha would have been fine at their country estate by herself. But given how fragile their marriage had been to begin with and the strides they’d since made to strengthen their bond, he’d not wanted the separation.
As a result, he’d given O’Leary a chance to expand.
Thankfully, Murry had kept whatever thoughts he had about that to himself, but that didn’t stop Adrian from hearing his father’s voice from beyond the grave. He’d have whipped him for this blunder, had he still lived. A few additional scars added to the collection that crisscrossed his back. Unlike the previous times, Adrian would agree on this one occasion that he deserved every lick from that hellish leather.
Because he’d blundered. Badly. He was man enough to admit that.
