Choosing to round the far side of the desk that would not require her having to brush past Peter, she cut a path straight for the door.
Curious, Peter moved toward the spot she’d vacated, and glanced down at the top-most page that seemed to form a small pile of additional pages. A Formal Agreement of Consideration and Conduct. Both their names were printed below.
He shot a glance toward the door and found her there, carefully watching him. Befuddled, he returned his attention to the papers. There were three, the final one containing a spot for both of them to sign.
Peter’s pulse leapt. His mind began racing. It couldn’t be, yet it very much looked like… “Is this what I think it is?”
“Probably not,” she said, confusing him even more. As though she realized he needed clarification she said, “It’s not a marriage contract.”
“Then what…” He shook his head.
“It’s precisely what it says it is. An agreement between the two of us.” Her face brightened once more but she held her chin high. “Sign it, and I’ll marry you, Peter.”
She departed then, leaving him standing by his desk.
Paralyzed by the impact of her words, he stared at the empty spot she’d left behind.
If he weren’t mistaken, the world he knew had just been turned on its head.
19
The drizzle that had started up before Adrian reached Murdoch’s home had since become a light shower. The drops tracked down the windows of the hackney they’d hired to take them to The Bearded Vulture, creating a distorted view of the slick city streets.
Seated next to the employment agent’s bulky figure, Adrian stared off into the distance. His greatest challenge right now was suppressing the temper that simmered behind the neutral façade he’d erected. Allowing it to take over would be of no use to Samantha. Only careful calculations, logic, and strategic choices would do so.
In other words, the fit of rage calling to him would have to be ignored. For now. Nothing could be permitted to cloud his judgment when his wife and Murry both depended upon him.
The carriage rumbled onward, through the northeastern part of the City.
“It’s bloody cold this morning,” Murdoch grumbled. “Probably seems worse because of the wet air. I’m starting to wish I’d brought a blanket to wrap around my legs.”
Adrian merely grunted his response. He hadn’t noticed the cold seeping into the cabin until Murdoch brought it up, and even then it seemed like such an insignificant problem compared with everything else.
“I expect we’ll have to wait a bit before everyone else shows up,” Murdoch said once they’d headed onto the country road that would take them to The Bearded Vulture. The tavern wasn’t far. Just a couple of miles. “It all depends on how fast the messages find them and how quickly they’re able to be on their way.”
This was why Adrian hadn’t minced words when he’d called for the rest of his associates to join him for an emergency meeting. Demanded, might be a better description. He’d kept it brief and had promised each one an extended visit to Newgate Prison should they fail to show up.
Murdoch had warned him against that part, suggesting it might be unwise to threaten those whose help he meant to acquire. Adrian hadn’t cared. He’d burn down the whole bloody city to get Samantha back and damn anyone who dared resist him.
The carriage bounced through a series of potholes, then continued onward for another ten minutes before pulling into the open space in front of the tavern. Adrian shoved the carriage door open and leapt to the wet ground.
Murdoch followed at a slower pace, his weight rocking the carriage as he set his foot on the step. Adrian paid the driver and promised him one pound per hour to wait, then made his way to the tavern’s private back entrance. Murdoch followed behind.
“It’s Croft,” Adrian told the woman who opened the slat in the door. “Portman Square is on fire.”
Metal ground against metal as several bolts were slid back and then the door opened. Maud, a plump middle-aged woman who never took nonsense from anyone, met Adrian’s gaze. “I hope yer problem’s not too grave, Mr. Croft, and that ye resolve it quick. Anythin’ I can do to help?”
“Neither of us has eaten today.” Adrian glanced at Murdoch, the relief in his eyes at the promise of food slackening his features. Returning his attention to Maud, Adrian said, “We’ll have some eggs and whatever meat you’re serving.”
“Will bacon do?” she asked. “I can put buttered toast on the side if ye like.”
Adrian nodded. “Add some coffee to that and I reckon it’s perfect.”
“Right ye are. If ye want to get settled, I’ll bring it all down once it’s ready.”
Maud lighted a candle, gave it to Adrian, and opened the trap door hidden beneath some empty crates in the pantry. She waited while the two men descended the stone steps to the tunnel below before closing the trap door over their heads. Darkness swept in, held at bay slightly by the glow from the candle. Adrian stepped forward and used the flame to light a series of torches that hung in sconces along the wall. They would help guide the rest of the men toward the rickhouse at the end of the tunnel.
The vast space had served as the secret meeting place for the Croft family syndicate through generations. Adrian recalled the first time he’d come here with his father. The purpose had been to introduce Adrian, who’d just turned eighteen, to the family’s associates. And to make sure they would all accept his position as the next King of Portman Square.
