“As do I.” Adrian held that stubborn stare. “We’ve both got our fantasies though.” When Kendrick failed to respond, Adrian said, “I dream of carving O’Leary into small pieces and feeding him to a herd of pigs while you envision climbing between Miss Hastings’s thighs.”
Jackson produced a sputtering sound while Kendrick went utterly still.
Adrian knew what he was about to say might be cruel, yet he didn’t care. In fact, he felt nothing but anger accompanied by a bone-deep need to hurt others.
So he didn’t hold back when he added, “Unfortunately, neither of us has a chance in hell of getting what we’re after.”
“You’re wrong,” Kendrick said, surprising Adrian with his response. The fact that he would remark on such a crass comment at all was shocking. “One of us is more likely to realize their dream than the other. Furthermore, you are the one who’ll be carved into pieces and fed to a herd of pigs if I ever hear you disrespect Miss Hastings again.”
“Apologies.” Adrian dipped his chin. It was the expected response rather than any reflection of guilt he might feel.
He didn’t. Couldn’t. His body and brain, his overall emotional state, was entirely numb. Save for that wrathful storm raging inside him. That was all he had. The only thing that was real at the moment. A vicious poison consuming him to his core.
No one uttered another word as the carriage drove on. It shook in response to every pothole and jerked to the side when they rounded a corner. The hoofbeats accompanied the uneven ride, like a mangled piece of music where the coachman’s whip set the tempo.
Another rough turn and they started to slow. The horses whinnied, wheels grinding on stone as the coachman pulled on the reins. Adrian opened the door and leapt out, his gaze sweeping the street from one end to the other before he was joined by Kendrick and Jackson.
Duke Street.
Only two streets away from Portman Square. Samantha had nearly been home. The thought, the contemplation of what she might be going through now…
His leather-clad fingers curled into his palms. Frigid air brushed the nape of his neck as a gust of wind passed. No one else was about, save for a lamplighter making his rounds in order to snuff out the gaslights. Unsurprising, given the hour.
“Jackson, go question that man if you would,” Kendrick said before telling Adrian, “I see no trace of your carriage.”
“It’s worth a fine price,” Adrian muttered. He started walking, his attention on the ground as he strode toward the far end of the street. “It would have been foolish of O’Leary to abandon it here.”
“What I mean to say is that it could lead us to him.” Kendrick kept pace with Adrian, slowing, halting, or resuming his stride accordingly. “Carriages are large. Not so easy to hide. Least of all when they’re flashy. My point is if someone saw it driving about, they must have noticed.”
“That would likely depend on the route that was taken and the destination.” The last thing Adrian wanted was to become overeager and confident on account of a possibility. He couldn’t afford to waste time on false leads.
As of yet, they knew nothing. That was the harsh truth.
To Kendrick he explained, “No one would bat an eye if they saw such a carriage drive about Mayfair where they’re as common as holes in a street-urchin’s socks. The only way it would draw attention is if it appeared somewhere unexpected. Like St. Giles. As much as I wish it were otherwise, O’Leary wouldn’t be foolish enough to allow that to happen.”
They reached the end of the street and Adrian stopped to study the crossroad before heading back on the opposite pavement. Nothing he saw suggested Samantha had been here. There was no indication of an altercation which meant neither she nor Murry had put up a fight. This tallied with Jennings’ account about them having been so outnumbered they’d not stood a chance.
But which way had they gone? Where had they gone?
Though he knew this part of town inside out, he’d never felt more lost than now. He scrubbed his forehead while trying to figure out how to proceed from here without any clues.
The approaching sound of shoes against the pavement had him glancing sideways. Jackson jogged toward them and Adrian turned to better face him.
“I’m sorry,” Jackson said. “The lamplighter had nothing to report. He didn’t see or hear anything.”
“Up there,” Kendrick said. He jutted his head toward a window and Adrian followed his line of sight to a slightly parted curtain. “A woman was there a second ago. We can ask if she saw something.”
Adrian braced himself. The building they were now headed toward belonged to the Marquess of Lundquist. Adrian had deliberately avoided the man after wrongly accusing him of murdering Evie. The allegation had been made at a musicale. In front of half the peerage. If that weren’t bad enough, Adrian had also attacked the marquess physically. Edward and Eldridge had finally managed to restrain him.
In hindsight, it was a miracle Lundquist hadn’t pressed charges or challenged Adrian to a duel on account of the insult.
Hanging back, Adrian allowed Kendrick to take the lead. If they were lucky, the marquess had gone straight to bed after returning home from the Moorland House ball. In any event, his butler would answer the door.
Kendrick knocked and took a step back. They waited. Three men, pulling at straws. Even if the woman in the window had taken note of what had occurred, it was unlikely she’d have more to share than Jennings.
The door swung open and Adrian’s heart dropped. Why the hell would a marquess come to answer a call himself?
Lundquist gave the assembled group a swift once over and pulled the door wider. “Get in so I can shut out the blasted cold.”
