* * *
As days went, this had been a long one.Adrian looked forward to returning home and relaxing with Samantha.He hoped she’d still be awake so he could tell her of all that had happened.
Assembling men to escort Wrengate had taken time.Turner and Ward had been the obvious choice, but Adrian worried about their loyalty toward Murry and how Wrengate would respond if he learned of it.So Adrian had called in favors from Cummings and Fizherbert.His secretary had a good head on his shoulders, while Fizherbert’s ruthless persona would hopefully convince the duke that Adrian was on his side.
After sending the pair off to Deerhaven Manor with Wrengate, he’d gone straight to Murdoch and asked for his help once more in locating Murry.If one of his informants had spotted him or Lady Edwina at a different location, Adrian wanted to know.He’d even visited all the main coaching inns himself in order to inquire after a couple who matched their descriptions.
As expected, nothing had come of this effort.Murry would have been wiser than to make his movements so easily traceable.If Adrian were to guess, he and Lady Edwina were still in London and would remain here until Murry was sure everyone believed them gone and had stopped trying to track them.But he’d steer clear of the places where he expected Adrian to come looking.
This still left Wrengate for Adrian to contend with.Once the duke returned from Deerhaven Manor empty handed, he’d be all the more furious.
An issue Adrian meant to push aside for now in favor of doubling his efforts to find Finn O’Leary.The Irish bastard’s silence was troubling.It could mean only one of two things: He was either biding his time while planning another attack, or he’d perished by some other means.Considering what Adrian knew of the man, he’d stake his life on it being the former.
The hackney he’d commandeered after making his final inquiries at The George in Southwark drove unhindered through the near-empty streets.Few people were out tonight.
Tilting his head back, he glanced toward the sky as they turned onto Piccadilly.The moon peeked out from behind the edge of a sloped roof.Stars shimmered like silver flecks of dust strewn across a black canvas.
Another turn brought them onto Oxford Street.And to a sharp halt.Adrian slammed against the back of the seat.Someone must have run into the road, forcing the coachman to yank on the reins.It was the only explanation that made any sense.
But when the carriage failed to continue its progress and remained at a standstill for several moments, he opened the slat in the roof and called to the driver, “Why aren’t we moving?”
“There’s traffic,” answered the driver.“Several carriages blockin’ the way.Not sure why, only I reckon somethin’ must ’ave ’appened.An accident maybe.”
“I’ll walk from here then,” Adrian told him and promptly opened the door.
He smelled the smoke before his feet hit the ground.Thicker than usual.More pungent than what was produced by the chimneys.
And there was shouting.Distant, but urgent.He snatched some coins from his pocket and paid the driver, even as his stomach wobbled.The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end.Something wasn’t right.
Setting off at a brisk walk, he passed the stopped carriages lining the street in both directions.They were unable to move on account of the ones that had turned toward Portman Square having come to a standstill.
Increasingly uneasy, Adrian quickened his pace.
He rounded the corner and caught his first glimpse of the horror that would haunt him for years to come.His stomach dropped and his heart stumbled.Time slowed to a crawl.
An orange glow filled the square.Thick plumes of smoke rose toward the pristine night sky.Adrian took a step forward, then another.It felt as though he were wading through mud.Someone shouted his name but he’d no idea who, his entire focus on the building that burned.
His home.
His family.
His family.
Dear God in heaven.
Clarity pierced the fog, allowing the pieces of knowledge assaulting his senses to fall into place.This was real, not imagined.Flames were devouring Number 5.
Terrified for his wife, his daughter, the servants in his employ, Adrian ran.
Toward the burning building.
* * *
Samantha clutched the wet bundle she’d made in her arms and tried the door handle.Warm, but not hot.She eased the door open and entered the hallway, Alexandra’s unhappy wails like a warning to all that they needed to flee.
A sharp noise had startled Samantha a few minutes earlier, snapping her out of her slumber and into a rigid position.The shattering of glass from somewhere below had brought her upright.She’d instantly checked on her daughter and had breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that she still slept.
A brief reprieve, abruptly brought to an end when she’d noticed the ethereal light through a parting in the curtains that covered her bedchamber window.She’d pulled them aside and felt her heart shrink upon seeing the glow that brightened the darkness.
