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A drian’s fist connected with the hard leather bag, one of several provided by Reed’s Boxing Club. Suspended between two ropes that were anchored to the ceiling and floor, it recoiled in response to the force.

Arms back in position, he bounced on the balls of his feet, keeping his body light, his chin slightly tucked to his chest. His right arm drew back, muscles coiling with power, before he unleashed it with splintering strength.

The exertion felt good. Necessary after the recent break he’d been forced to take from his physical training. A sheen of moisture had formed on his back, causing his shirt to cling to his skin and leaving it cool despite the build-up of heat in his body.

Ordinarily, he’d have asked Samantha to join him for a bit of sparring.

Hell, she’d proven herself to be as capable an adversary as any man.

Superior even, in certain instances. And opponents were hard to come by this early in the morning, before the hired instructors arrived.

Only Reed himself was available, but since he was starting to get on in years, he’d not provide the same sort of challenge Adrian knew he’d receive from his wife.

She’d been sleeping so peacefully, though, when he’d woken, stirred by noises outside in the street.

He’d not wished to rouse her. So he’d climbed from bed as stealthily as he was able, dressed, and headed out.

Breaking his fast would wait until he returned home later.

It was still early. Not yet seven, according to the clock on a nearby shelf.

A deep inhale followed by a slow exhale helped slow his racing pulse. He crossed to the bench on which he’d placed a bag containing a change of clothes and retrieved a towel. The linen was soft against his face as he wiped away the sweat.

He was in the process of drying the back of his neck when the door to Reed’s opened behind him. Curious, he sent a glance over his shoulder, his stomach clenching the moment he saw who’d arrived.

Wrengate.

The bastard Adrian now suspected of being behind his sister’s murder.

As a duke, the man was both well-connected and powerful.

Plus, he’d proven to be involved in nefarious dealings, through his connection to Wycliff alone.

The St. Giles criminal had been a ruthless scoundrel.

Adrian was glad he was dead and would not be surprised to learn that Wrengate himself had killed him.

And this was without considering Adrian’s most recent discovery about the duke. Apparently, he’d facilitated horrific crimes by introducing Mrs. Hillford to Mr. Faruk, the Ottoman ambassador’s valet.

Mr. Faruk had provided the awful woman with the connection she’d needed in order to sell children into slavery. A fate Adrian dearly hoped she herself was presently suffering.

He was thankful he and Samantha had managed to stop that vicious enterprise.

Wrengate’s connection to all these despicable deeds was too coincidental for Adrian’s liking. As such, the duke was now his main focus in his ongoing hunt for the person who’d orchestrated Evie’s death. But how to prove it?

Evidence would be required. To get that, it would be more prudent to tackle the situation with absolute calm. Even when instinct compelled him to bash in the arrogant blighter’s face.

But no. Adrian turned more fully toward the duke and offered a nod to acknowledge his presence.

Physical force would have to wait until he knew for certain that Wrengate had indeed been involved.

After all, Adrian had been wrong before.

He’d made accusations that didn’t hold up.

And when it came to this – when it came to seeking vengeance on behalf of his sister – he could not afford to muck it up.

So he pushed all the anger now clamoring for swift release deep down as far as it would go, and forced a partial smile. “It’s good to see you again, Your Grace. I missed you at the club when I stopped by last.”

Brow knitted, Wrengate uttered a gruff sound as he ambled over to one of the other benches. He set his bag down and glanced around. “I see you chose to come without your wife for a change.”

Adrian shrugged one shoulder. He’d no intention of letting the man know how much his reference to Samantha smarted.

Hell, she might have died because of him and the thugs he’d initially sent after Wycliff.

Brutish men she’d had no choice but to kill in order to save her own skin.

“She had other matters to attend to this morning.”

“Hmf.” Wrengate started removing his jacket. “I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for a match?”

In truth, Adrian would love nothing more, but he feared he’d knock Wrengate’s head off his shoulders, which would hardly be conducive to his investigation. Far better to keep the man close and engage him in conversation. Pray he’d say something useful.

“Sorry,” Adrian said, pulling off his damp shirt and reaching for the dry one he’d brought along in his bag. “I’ve other matters to attend to.”

“Nothing too illegal, I hope.” The direct jab was not as unexpected as it probably ought to have been. It matched Wrengate’s style. “I’d hate for you to be sentenced to hang once more.”

Wouldn’t he just? Adrian gritted his teeth. “Only a fool would allow that to happen and I am anything but. Besides, I’ve put my wife through enough already. It’s time for the two of us to enjoy the kind of stability married life offers.”

A grin accompanied a look of astonishment on the duke’s face. “You don’t say.”

Adrian chose once again to ignore him – to avoid the bait Wrengate dangled. It was important to be wise. Controlled and cunning. Just as his father had taught him.

“If you’re able,” Adrian said, pulling on a fresh pair of breeches, “we’d love to have you visit for dinner one evening.”

Nothing in the world would ever make up for the way in which Wrengate’s jaw dropped. It took a moment for him to recover and find his tongue. Which he couldn’t quite manage before he’d cleared his throat a couple of times. And even then, his response was reduced to a very ambiguous, “Um…”

“Does Thursday evening suit?” Adrian pressed, enjoying every second of his advantage. “Eight o’clock. It’s my intention to have the dukes of Eldridge and Moorland join us as well. Lady Moorland too, of course.”

He had actually planned on hosting a dinner in both men’s honor to thank them for their help in clearing his name. Mr. Abernathy, the chief editor of The Morning Post , would be included for the same reason, though Adrian doubted his name would sway Wrengate’s decision.

“Ordinarily, I’d have made an excuse,” Wrengate said while Adrian tied his cravat in a simple knot. “But if Eldridge and Moorland will be in attendance, then I shall be too.”

“Of course.” Adrian had expected as much. Most peers hated the notion of missing out on events where those of equal or superior rank would be present. A pity Adrian’s closest friend, Edward, the Earl of Marsdale, had left Town a few days earlier.

Adrian would have liked his support, but with all that had happened in recent weeks, it was understandable if Edward wished to return home to check on his mother and sisters. Especially with the Season at an end and his estate requiring preparations for winter.

Adrian shoved his dirty clothes into his bag and grabbed his jacket, which he proceeded to put on.

“Until Thursday,” he told the duke as he passed him on his way to the door. Wrengate, who was already in the process of murdering another boxing bag, responded with a gruff grunt.

A quick word of parting to Reed, who was going over some paperwork in his office, and Adrian was off. He looked forward to getting home and enjoying a hearty breakfast with Samantha. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be too upset by the prospect of playing hostess to Wrengate in three days’ time.

He frowned on that thought as he climbed into his awaiting carriage. Actually, there was a very good chance she’d be furious.

* * *

Unsure of how to respond, Samantha stared across the breakfast table at Adrian while he buttered a piece of toast. As if he’d not just swept the rug out from under her feet.

She’d been in the middle of pouring her second cup of tea when he’d entered the dining room. Although she’d heard him return from Reed’s, he’d needed freshening up before he joined her. By the time he arrived, Isak, the street urchin they’d taken in, had gone to join his tutor in the library.

Encouraging the boy to engage in lessons of any kind had been trying, but he’d eventually agreed to the benefit of knowing how to read and write. One could only hope he’d warm to other areas of study later.

As for her husband…

His gaze had heated the moment he’d seen her, making her toes curl with pleasure. A tender kiss upon her cheek had softened her even more. They’d exchanged a few pleasantries. She’d told him to wake her the next time he wanted a bit of sparring.

And that was when he’d mentioned the duke.

Wrengate .

A man whose head she’d like to see on a pike.

Adrian had crossed paths with the man before leaving Reed’s, but that wasn’t all. Was it?

Samantha tried to grapple with what he’d told her. And finally chose to spit out the only words that continued circling her brain. “You did what?”

“I realize he’s not your favorite person in the world.”

“Not my favorite person?” She shook her head. Was he mad?

“However, considering our suspicions, I thought it might be prudent to bring him into our inner circle. See if he lets something slip.” Adrian looked at her as he bit into the toast he’d prepared.

She blinked. “I could have died because of him.”

His expression tightened, hard eyes holding hers as he stopped chewing. A swift nod followed. He swallowed his food, chased it with some coffee, and returned the toast to his plate. “Because of him or your dealings with Wycliff?”

A question she’d no wish to think of, never mind answer. “Adrian, you know I—”