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T he surgeon took great care adding the exact amount of wolfsbane into the vial. A little less than what he’d given Miss Griffin, but hopefully enough to ensure Mr. Booker would be rendered unconscious for the next hour.

As with the previous patients, the young man had sought medical help. Since he matched the necessary criteria for the most important medical study in history, he’d been referred here. To the only surgeon willing to do what had to be done for the sake of medical advancement.

Finished preparing the sedative, he added a few notes to the journal used for documentation. The available tools were considered next. Newly polished, they lay on display, gleaming in response to the light from the four oil lamps placed in each corner of the room.

There would hopefully be an opportunity to use them this time.

Miss Griffin had unfortunately perished before there had been a chance to open her up. The same had been true of Miss Jones, the first patient who’d been a part of this study last year. Of the six others since, besides Mr. Booker, just one survived the surgery itself, only to die later that night.

Having come so close to success, the surgeon had grown obsessed with fine-tuning the procedure.

But finding the right sort of patient took time.

It had to be someone in need of medical help, who could also go missing without it leading to a thorough investigation, and who trusted physicians enough to take their advice.

This explained why Mr. Booker had willingly walked into this room without coercion. Why he’d undressed and climbed onto the operating table. Why he’d allowed his ankles and wrists to be bound. Because he trusted the medical practitioner who promised to help.

Of course, such assurances meant nothing unless the surgeon in question was skilled.

Many only entered this profession out of need, not because they loved their studies or because they were willing to dedicate themselves completely to their field.

To such people, practicing medicine was merely something to do – an education forced upon them by a parent.

For years he had felt as though no one else shared the belief that advancement required risk and dedication. That in order to succeed, one had to make sacrifices.

Fortunately, this opinion had since been amended. He’d found a small group of people with similar views and had formed an inner circle consisting of very select members.

He took a deep breath and a sense of calm flowed through him. Steady fingers closed around the vial. “Are you ready to begin, Mr. Booker?”

Mr. Booker nodded as best he could. “The rope is chafing my wrists. I wonder if you can loosen the knots a little bit first.”

“It’s best if I don’t. Considering what we’re about to do, it’s imperative that you remain completely immobile. Understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good.” He provided a reassuring smile. “In a moment, whatever discomfort you feel will be forgotten. This tincture I’ve prepared will ensure a deep sleep. When you wake, the cause of your pain will have been removed.”

He pressed the vial to Mr. Booker’s lips so he could drink and silently prayed the concoction would not kill him.

* * *

“Please tell me we’re going to speak with Preordian,” Samantha whispered to Adrian as they left the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court arm in arm.

She sent him a meaningful glance as they stepped down onto the pavement.

Experience told her she’d be a fool to depend on the conclusion Kendrick had made about the physician.

“Of course,” Adrian said. They crossed to their carriage where he opened the door and handed her up. Directions were given to the driver before he climbed in beside her. “I’ve been anxious to learn more about him ever since Kendrick mentioned the name.”

“It is possible Preordian told the truth about Miss Griffin not showing up,” Samantha said.

“Agreed.” Adrian took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “Kendrick’s point that Miss Griffin could have run into trouble anywhere between Ottersburg House and Floral Street is not misguided. He’s even correct to suggest that the three missing servants could be unconnected. I just…”

“Have a feeling?” Samantha said. When he met her gaze, a baffled look in his dark brown eyes, she closed the distance and pressed her lips to his, then murmured, “So do I.”

His arm swept around her to draw her closer, the next kiss he gave her singeing her all the way down to her toes. This man, with his powerful body encased in superfine wool and that earthy scent that clung to his skin, could make her insides shiver with merely a glance.

And when he’d shaved several hours ago and his jawline was slightly abrasive?

He was her greatest temptation and weakness.

“How long do we have?” The breathless question proved how desperate he made her.

His hand was already working its way beneath her skirts. “Long enough.”

Her lips quirked. Brilliant.

Unwilling to waste one second, she helped close the blinds then climbed right into his lap. He caught her in a strong hold and secured her in a position that left one hand free to assist her with all the logistics involved in this kind of tryst.

Her petticoat caught beneath her, forcing her to shift a little, and a couple of buttons holding his placket in place chose to tease them. But they worked through it together and then…

Sweet unity stole her breath. Her fingers curled over his shoulder, gripping him hard as he moved against her.

Heaven help her, she’d never get tired of sharing such intimacy with her husband, of watching flames dance in his eyes as they strove to find bliss together.

Of knowing they were united, not just in this but in their life’s purpose.

Two bodies, one soul, ready to tear down anyone posing a threat to innocent lives.

“I love you.” Words that had to be spoken lest her heart burst with emotion.

“As I love you,” he said before crushing his mouth against hers and making sure every second that followed would leave an impression.

By the time the carriage pulled up in front of Number 13 Floral Street, Samantha feared her legs might collapse beneath her when she alit. Even catching her breath proved a challenge. Annoyingly, Adrian looked completely serene and slightly smug, like a lion who’d just had a tasty meal.

Having slid back onto the spot beside him, she smoothed her skirts, then patted her flushed cheeks. “I think I need a moment.”

“Take as long as you wish,” he purred, lounging against his corner of the cabin, his legs stretched out at an angle, ankles crossed.

She sent him a look of warning, in response to which he caught her hand and pressed an adoring kiss to the inside of her wrist. Naturally, the only possible response to this was to melt on the spot.

“Ready?” he asked a few seconds later, his voice softer than he would ever allow it to be with anyone else.

“Yes.” She followed him out of the carriage and joined him in front of the townhouse, plainly constructed of red brick that looked exactly the same as the houses on either side. The only difference was the number on the door, along with a plaque on the wall that read: DR. F. S. Preordian.

Adrian stepped forward and made use of the knocker. When no one answered, he tried again. Still, no one responded.

“He could have gone out,” Samantha said, though she doubted the possibility even as she made the suggestion. If Preordian was the respected physician Kendrick believed him to be, it made more sense for him to be seeing patients at this hour.

However, considering the chief constable had spoken with him a couple of hours earlier and he now appeared to have vanished, she suspected there to be a connection. That Preordian might have fled.

Adrian’s grim expression informed her that he thought the same. “Let’s check the back entrance.”

They walked to the end of the street and turned onto a service road that gave delivery men access to each of the homes.

All had a small walled-in parcel of land in the back that provided a space for growing vegetables and hanging laundry.

Several loud thumps drew Samantha’s attention toward a mostly obscured woman at one of the neighboring properties, who was in the process of beating a rug.

A wagon parked outside another home told them coal was being delivered.

They found the gate leading onto Preordian’s property, opened it, and slipped inside. Once at the door, Adrian tried the handle. Locked. He glanced toward the other homes before asking Samantha, “Can you get us inside?”

“I think so.” She pulled a couple of needle-sharp pins from her hair and stooped in order to work the lock. It didn’t take long for it to click as the tumbler was pushed upward, releasing the bolt. When she tried the handle next, the door eased open, granting them entry.

Adrian went straight to the front of the building while Samantha decided to check the rest of the house.

It was sparsely furnished and lacked all hints of a feminine touch.

Judging from the dining room and parlor, this wasn’t a family home by any means but rather a place in which to simply exist when one wasn’t working.

She frowned on that thought as she entered the kitchen.

A quick sweep of the room told her no one had cooked here in quite a while.

If ever. There weren’t even any utensils or crockery.

Just a lone kettle left behind on the stove, a jar of tea, two cups with matching saucers, a bread knife, a butter knife, and one plate.

Just enough for a single person to get by.

Holding on to that thought, Samantha went to find Adrian who was busy searching cabinets in what looked like Preordian’s consultation room. She paused in the doorway. “Find anything?”

“A few receipts but nothing that tells us if he was involved in Miss Griffin’s disappearance,” he muttered.

“Same,” she said. “I’ll check the bedchambers.”