One more second of hesitation and he’d be dead, unable to help Mrs. Croft.
Gripping with all his might the piece of broken wood he held, Murry attacked.
Dissatisfied with the state of London affairs, the gentleman crossed to the window in his study and looked out onto the flowerbeds lining this side of the house. Though he enjoyed watching the daffodils grow, not even this joyful herald of spring was able to cheer him today.
Another murder had taken place last night. At Moorland House, no less. And just when Croft had started to pay attention — to aid the investigation — his wife was abducted.
According to the gentleman’s informant at Bow Street, Kendrick had done what he could to help Croft track her during the early hours of dawn. But the chief constable also had a murderer to catch, and doing so would be harder the more time passed. He couldn’t afford to turn his attention to other matters, but without Croft there to lend assistance, would he even succeed in his quest?
The gentleman watched a robin land on the stone path, tracking it as it proceeded to hop toward the back garden.
Mrs. Croft had to be found. Her disappearance and all it entailed was not a distraction London could afford.
21
It took nearly an inhuman effort for Adrian to drag himself back to Portman Square. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t even been home since meeting his associates at The Bearded Vulture. Instead, he’d ridden back with Murdoch, who’d dropped him off on Duke Street where Samantha had been abducted. He’d already walked the length of it once, but it couldn’t hurt to expand his search.
The alternative had been to go home and wait for information to turn up. Unthinkable. To remain inactive while his wife surely prayed he’d find her. The least he could do was try, however futile his efforts.
As expected, there had been nothing new for him to discover, and he was beginning to feel like a shadow of the man he’d been the night before, when he and Samantha danced in the Moorland ballroom. That was roughly seventeen hours ago. He still wore his evening black, now thoroughly rumpled and dirty from trekking about.
His feet ached too. The shoes he’d elected to wear to the ball weren’t meant to be worn this long, but he’d be damned if he’d complain. Whatever discomfort he had to suffer was surely nothing compared with Samantha’s. Or Murry’s.
Adrian prayed his trusty valet was all right too and that he would not do something foolish. He’d nearly died the last time he tried to protect Samantha. It hadn’t helped. All he’d managed to do was endanger himself, though Adrian realized he’d likely have acted in the same way.
Heavy-hearted, he pushed one foot in front of the other, forcing himself to climb the steps leading up to Number 5 Portman Square. Behind him, the City bustled with energy. He’d even spotted a few acquaintances on his way home, but they had wisely chosen to steer clear of his path.
He banged on the door with his fist and it was soon opened by Elks. The butler, seeing Adrian, quickly pulled the door wider and even offered his hand in assistance. A confirmation that Adrian not only felt wretched but also looked it.
The door closed and he sagged against it.
Elks watched with concern, his eyebrows knitted in a rare show of emotion. “Jennings told us what happened, sir. Whatever you need, we’re here for you and Mrs. Croft.”
Adrian swallowed and fought the raw response that would bring him to tears. He couldn’t afford to unravel, but the pure exhaustion and terror that gripped him was making it difficult not to.
He cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and started removing his gloves. A small distraction to help him through this moment.
His hat was…
He glanced about as though expecting to spot it when he’d probably left it at Moorland House. Forgotten in his moment of panic and need to act swiftly.
Elks took the gloves and Adrian started toward the parlor, intent on having a glass of brandy when Elks’s voice stopped him. “I regret to inform you that Harlowe is waiting to see you.”
“What?” Adrian spun toward his butler, an uncontrollable surge of anger going straight to the top of his skull. “How could you think to admit him? You know what has happened, what I am now forced to deal with, and you chose to let that man into my home? What the devil possessed you?”
The butler didn’t so much as flinch in response to Adrian’s tone, which was so harsh it threatened to strip the paint from the walls. “While I am aware that there is some tension between you, he has come to offer his help. Given the situation, I thought it best to accept.”
Adrian gnashed his teeth. He pointed in the parlor’s direction. “He wants her dead, Elks.”
The butler blinked. “My apologies, sir. I wasn’t aware.”
Adrian closed his eyes briefly. In retrospect, it might have been wise to share that information. He’d just never expected to find himself in a situation where Harlowe would be admitted without him or Samantha having a say.
“Should I tell him to leave?”
Adrian sighed. “I’ll do it.”
“I’m guessing you haven’t eaten lately. If you like, I can have some food sent up.”
