The marquess’s gaze met Adrian’s. Grave yet sympathetic. “I hope you find her quickly.”
Not knowing what to say besides the obvious, Adrian turned for the door which Kendrick was already pulling open. Only a quick backward glance made him privy to the look that passed between Lundquist and Mrs. Shelby.
Affection. That’s what it was.
Perhaps the explanation for why no one else was about?
With more important matters to deal with, Adrian dismissed all speculation as soon as the door closed behind him.
Addressing Kendrick, he said, “Based on what Mrs. Shelby has said, O’Leary has already managed to build a bigger operation than I was aware of.”
Jackson agreed. “One that runs with incredible smoothness” When both Kendrick and Adrian turned to him he said, “They managed a challenging feat, abducting your wife without anyone being able to stop them. And without any clue as to where they’ve gone.”
The truth in the younger man’s words forced additional tension to coil around Adrian’s ribs. “I need a brisk walk to clear my head.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Kendrick promised. “We already know O’Leary means to negotiate with you. To do so, he’ll have to keep Mrs. Croft safe.”
Adrian swallowed past the uncomfortable knot in his throat. Despite the insult he’d spoken to Kendrick earlier in the carriage, the chief constable was both willing to help and offer reassurance. A lesser man would not have been as kind.
“Thank you,” Adrian said, suddenly eager to be on his way — to think and process — to plot and plan. “I’ll stop by Bow Street later today as agreed.”
“If you’re able,” Kendrick told him. “Your situation has since changed. I understand that you’ve other priorities now.”
Again, the mark of an honorable person.
Adrian shook both men’s hands and left, his long strides taking him to Oxford Street where he turned left. He worried that Kendrick was wrong about O’Leary needing to keep Samantha safe if she were to be a bargaining tool.
Alive, yes, but there was no guarantee he’d treat her well.
In all likelihood, everything that had happened so far, from the stolen crates to this, was part of a trap O’Leary was building. Shoulders hunched against the wind, Adrian shoved his hands in his pockets. Were he in O’Leary’s shoes, he’d lure Adrian in and make sure he never escaped.
In which case, there was no deal. Just an illusion intended to make him come to Samantha’s rescue. Which he’d do in a heartbeat as soon as he knew where he had to show up.
What concerned him was the possibility that neither he nor she would survive what followed. That O’Leary would execute both to enact his vengeance and make sure no rival existed. Now or ever.
His heart turned heavy as it hardened, transforming into a lump of lead, every muscle a band of iron encouraging him to fight.
To do so, he needed answers. If he could pre-empt O’Leary – gather information — launch an assault of his own, his chance of saving Samantha and the baby would be so much higher.
Aware of what had to be done, he hailed a hackney and ordered it to Upper Thornhaugh Street. Not caring that it was six in the morning, he stepped up to Number 8 and banged on the door with his closed fist.
Almost five minutes passed before a bleary-eyed Murdoch pulled the door open. He stared at Adrian, who promptly shoved his way past him.
“Greetings to you too, Mr. Croft.” Murdoch closed the door and faced Adrian. “To what do I owe this—”
“My wife’s been taken,” Adrian said. “I need your help.”
18
It was nearing seven by the time Peter walked into the Bow Street offices after dropping Jackson off at his lodgings. A light drizzle had started by then, the misty water droplets infusing the chilly air with the kind of dampness that tended to settle deep in the bones.
A strange combination of disappointment and relief gripped his chest when he glanced toward Gabriella’s desk and found her absent. It was a bit too early in the day to expect her presence, he reminded himself. Besides, it had felt as though they’d been circling each other with wary uncertainty since their discussion at the barracks. Neither had broached the subject regarding their mutual attraction for each other again. Instead, they’d settled into a highly professional partnership that only involved discussions pertaining to work.
As much as Peter enjoyed the insight she offered, he hated the awkward void wedged between them. It was a point he’d repeatedly thought of addressing, but that would only force them both to voice their conclusions pertaining to marriage.
Peter had already made his choice, but feared hers might be different. Or maybe she was struggling with her decision, which didn’t improve his spirits. If she felt as he did, it ought to be simple.
Either way, he’d no wish to press her.
