In which case he meant to use her in order to bend Adrian to his will.
Dorian Harlowe entered the modest church located on Roupell Street and approached the altar. The information Croft had provided was priceless. It was imperative not to squander it. For if Harlowe could locate Samantha first and save her, it might repair the rift between them. More importantly, she’d be in his debt.
Right now, with Croft exhausted and in need of rest, time was on Dorian’s side.
He approached the altar, where Vicar Belfrage was in the process of lighting candles. The clergyman was a trusted friend. He’d served with Dorian in the army decades ago, and had since helped set up a spy network that employed former soldiers.
Belfrage registered Dorian’s arrival and glanced his way. A nod of acknowledgement followed before he resumed his task.
“I’ve a message for your parishioners,” Dorian said once he reached the vicar’s side. He fell silent and watched while a spill was used to transfer the flame from one candle to the next, then added, “There’s an Irishman in Town named Finn O’Leary. He’s captured one of my operatives so I need him found.”
Belfrage finished lighting the last few candles, then snuffed out the spill and turned to face Dorian. “Do you have a general idea of where to look?”
“Considering his line of work and what he’s up to, he’ll have picked a spot where no one’s going to ask many questions.”
“An abandoned location or a place full of other criminals.” Belfrage met Dorian’s gaze more fully. “I’ll put the entire team on it and have them alert their men. That should cover most of the City. If we’re lucky, we’ll have the information you seek by tomorrow afternoon.”
Murry’s head pounded. In fact, his whole body ached.
Lying on his side, he dragged air into his lungs and coughed, then flicked his eyes open.
Darkness bore down upon him. He tried to recall what had happened. Had he not managed to free himself?
Yes, but the man he’d attacked had been prepared. Worse, he’d not been alone. Together, the pair must have knocked Murry out.
He prepared to sit, only to feel a cutting sensation against his wrists. His ankles were bound as well. The two restraints were joined behind him, forcing his spine to arc.
Standing would not be an option. Hell, he couldn’t even get onto his knees.
All he could do was lie there and wait to discover what happened next.
22
The carriage that brought Melody and Lady Heathbrooke back to London slowed as it entered the city. The familiar sight of Vauxhall Garden as they drove past on their way to Westminster Bridge no longer beckoned to Melody as it once had. The lack of vibrancy, accentuated in daylight, made it pale when compared with palace gardens she’d strolled through in Naples.
The Italian seaside town had taken a little over a month to reach. Since they’d departed for it in late September, they’d managed to make the journey before winter made travel difficult. Melody had enjoyed their lovely retreat but Lady Heathbrooke had grown increasingly restless since Christmas and claimed she’d no wish to miss the start of the new London Season. Despite Melody’s concerns about heading north before spring arrived, her employer had been determined to leave at the beginning of February.
Thankfully, they’d made their return without incident, though Melody wasn’t sure she was glad to be back. She breathed a sigh of relief as the carriage rolled onward
Dressed in a velvet gown Lady Heathbrooke had ordered for her, she stared out the window and found herself deflated by the dull weather and uninspiring streets. Even when it rained, Italy was somehow brighter by contrast. The atmosphere had been livelier. Less oppressive.
It was strange to think back on how much she’d missed England when she’d left. France had been horrendous. She’d hated every second of her journey through that country where mass executions had taken place only twenty-five years before. There was a good chance many of the people they had encountered had played some part in the atrocities. Which was simply more than Melody could stomach.
But then they’d reached Naples and it was as though a happier sun illuminated the world. Color was everywhere, bursting across the dazzling blue of the Mediterranean Sea and splashing onto hillsides in lush shades of green. Brightly painted houses tucked against the hillside above the harbor matched the spirit of the people who lived there. The city was a place unlike any other. An oasis where it was impossible not to be happy.
By comparison, London seemed like a bucket of dirty dishwater.
For although it had been winter, rainy days had been few and far between in Naples, the temperatures as mild as a late summer day in England. Melody had spent hours strolling through the narrow streets together with Bianca, the maid Lady Heathbrooke’s friend, Contessa Louisa, insisted she take along on every excursion.
Lazy days had been spent on the terrace where bougainvillea continued to bloom in a wide array of pinks and purples. She’d read an assortment of books while Lady Heathbrooke napped. But she’d also attended a number of soirees and balls. During one, she’d met Alessandro Marino.
Her flirtation with him had been so very different from what she’d experienced with Edward. Unlike Edward with his British reserve, Alessandro made no attempt to hide his interest. He’d been so blunt about it, her cheeks had burned on several occasions. But he’d made her feel beautiful and desired. He’d made her forget. And he’d shown her what it meant to let go and simply exist in the moment.
She’d carry the memory of their impassioned encounters with her forever.
“Any regrets?” Lady Heathbrooke murmured.
Melody blinked and turned from the window to face her employer. “About coming home?”
