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T here was no ignoring the name Adrian had mentioned. It dug its talons into Samantha’s brain and refused to let go. The worst part was she knew it would give her no peace until she figured out whether or not the duke had indeed been involved in Evelyne’s death.

From what she knew of him personally, she’d not be surprised.

In her opinion, the bastard belonged at The Mad Bull tavern with all the other thugs who enjoyed a bout of bareknuckle fighting more than he did in his costly upper-class mansion.

After all, he’d paid a couple of brutes to have a man killed.

A crime lord, yes, but that did not negate Wrengate’s capabilities.

With her head comfortably cradled on a soft pillow, Samantha stared at the ceiling and blew out a slow breath.

Adrian already slept. He’d fallen asleep shortly after their love-making.

But Samantha’s brain would not allow her the rest she desired as long as one question kept pressing for her attention: Was Wrengate the villain Adrian sought?

The man whose death would offer him some small sense of justice and peace?

As minutes ticked by in the shadowed bedchamber they shared, Samantha knew she had to figure that out. It was the only way for them to move forward. Or at the very least for her to regain the focus required to solve their current case.

Intent on securing some answers, she slipped from beneath the covers, located a shirt and a pair of breeches, and dressed with the silence of a specter.

She sent a glance in Adrian’s direction on her way to the window, pausing briefly to take in the sleeping form of the man for whom she would slay any person who posed a threat.

Within five minutes of rising from bed, she was making her way across the roof, gathering speed and leaping toward the next building. The cool autumn air filled her lungs and spread through her limbs, infusing her body with energy.

There was nothing more liberating than racing through the darkness, high above the city streets below. It was like escaping to her own private world – a place in which only she existed. Outside the social constraints she so often had to adhere to.

Up here, she could fly.

And she did, the toes of her right foot finding the edge of the rooftop with honed precision, her knee bending like a coiled spring. Like a well-used tool, it released with sharp purpose and sent her across the alley below and toward the next building.

She landed with the dexterity of a cat and swiftly sprinted forward once more. Only when she reached Number 2 Cavendish Square, did she gentle her pace and allow herself to slow her breaths. It was vital that she be completely relaxed and calm when she snuck inside Wrengate’s home.

A brief pause would ensure that, so she dropped to a crouch and sent her gaze skyward, toward the smattering of stars that twinkled beyond a thin veil of clouds.

Flecks of silver were spread across the vast canvas of endless black with the waxing moon, rimmed by silver, set in the center.

It seemed to float almost within arm’s reach.

And put so many things in perspective.

While every problem she and Adrian had been forced to face seemed hugely important, they were but a part of their own microscopic world beyond which an entire universe existed.

She swallowed in response to that thought and how small it made her feel before turning her attention back to the things that mattered to her.

She and Adrian might not be more than two people inhabiting a speck of dust among the stars, but he was her universe and as such, she would do all she could to protect, love, and serve him. If Wrengate had caused him pain, she would find out and force him to pay the price.

Chest tight beneath a strained breath, she crept toward the edge of the roof overlooking the back of the Wrengate House property and peered down. The facade was mostly smooth, but two narrow balconies offered the points of entry she would require.

Choosing the one to the right, she swung over the side of the roof with ease and allowed her body to drop.

A soft thud was the only sound as the flexible soles of her leather shoes hit the tiles.

She paused for a moment to get her bearings and to listen.

Just to be sure no one had taken note of her presence.

When all remained quiet, she straightened and climbed over the balcony railing.

If she was to find an example of Wrengate’s handwriting with which to cross reference the letter delivered to Adrian, she’d be most likely to do so in his study.

Access to that would be easiest through a direct window.

To make her way downstairs from one of the bedchambers on this level would only put her at greater risk of encountering the duke, considering the late hour.

She lowered herself from the balcony and tried to gauge the distance between the soles of her feet and the ground below.

It was hard to do so in the darkness, but she reckoned the duke’s home would have been constructed with some adherence to standard measurements.

Which meant she probably had no more than a yard.

With this in mind she released her hold on the balcony and prepared to meet the ground.

It was unexpectedly rigid and narrow, sending her slightly off balance.

Pain shot toward her right knee as she stumbled, attempting to find her footing.

A gasp brought air into her lungs, bringing with it the realization that she’d landed on steps leading down from the terrace instead of the even surface she’d been expecting.

Eyes squeezed shut, she allowed herself a moment in which to adjust to the ache pulsing through her right leg. It must have twisted when she landed, but since she was here now, in Wrengate’s garden, she’d have to find a way past it.

Another gulp of air made it possible for her to block out the inconvenient discomfort and straighten. She flexed her leg gently, rotated the ankle a few times, and decided she’d manage. How Adrian would respond to her injury was a matter she’d deal with later.

She started forward, keeping close to the house as she searched for an easy entry point.

The sash windows would prove a challenge.

Prying one open would cause a fair bit of damage and let the duke know there had been an intrusion.

A locked door would be easier to pick, so she paused next to the first one she found, a side entrance that offered access to a small covered terrace with just enough room for a bench.

A closer inspection of the area revealed a small pot that held a collection of burnt-out cheroots.

It appeared this was where the duke, or someone else, came to enjoy their preferred brand of tobacco.

Unwilling to waste precious time, Samantha reached for the door handle, her arm pressing against the door’s glossy surface as she tested to see if it might be open. A careful turn of her wrist and the resistance she found informed her it was locked.

She reached under her hood and retrieved a couple of hairpins, then dropped to one knee and went to work.

Thankfully, she was able to do the job with her eyes shut.

No need for light, just a trained hand and the knowledge of how a lock was built.

It took only a few seconds for her to work the mechanism.

The lock clicked into place and Samantha released the breath she’d been holding.

She tried the handle again and the door eased open.

Once inside, she pulled the door shut then paused to allow her eyes time to adjust. It was darker in here since there were no windows.

As far as she could tell, she’d arrived in a short hallway, most likely leading off the main one.

No doors were visible either, so she’d have to make her way forward and pray she didn’t encounter a servant. Or the duke.

Wary of such a possibility, she angled her head and listened.

A clock ticked somewhere nearby but beyond that, all was silent.

Eager to do what she’d come to accomplish so she could return home, Samantha moved forward with a silent tread.

Her knee ached but she gritted her teeth and did her best to ignore it.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been injured, and the pain sure as hell wasn’t much when compared with being shot.

She halted at the corner of the hallway and peered toward the front of the house where the stairs swept upward from the foyer.

Two doors stood to the right. If the duke’s home had a typical layout, the one closest to her would be the study with the one nearest the front door opening onto the parlor.

A slow inhalation steadied her breath and calmed her nerves before she proceeded toward her goal.

Her hand found the doorknob as a soft squeak shot between the ticking sounds from the clock.

She froze, pulse leaping to warn her of possible danger.

Muscles tight and body stiff, she remained utterly still as she listened.

This time there was a creak and then the soft tread of feet on the stairs.

Samantha sucked in more air, her lungs tight against her now-racing heart.

She could not, must not, be found here. Good lord, it would wreck all chances of figuring out what Wrengate was up to.

He’d be on his guard. And that was without considering all the charges he’d press against her. And possibly Adrian.

She had to get out of this blasted hallway.

The footsteps produced a dangerous rhythm that warned her she’d soon be discovered. Sweat beaded against the nape of her neck. Her skin, encased in fabric from head to toe, felt clammy. She pressed down gently against the handle and nudged the door open.

It creaked against the hinges. The footsteps upon the stairs paused. Samantha bit back a curse.

“Your Grace?” The voice belonged to a woman. It sounded older so maybe it was the housekeeper making her rounds?