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T he man who blocked Samantha’s way forward wasn’t Wrengate. Although it was too dark to make out his features, she could tell he was shorter, his body slimmer, and his shoulders narrower. A soft scraping sound from beyond her right shoulder also informed her he wasn’t alone.

Honestly, she was starting to regret leaving the comfort of her warm bed. Nevertheless, she raised her chin. “What do you want?”

“A bit of enjoyment,” said the man who stood before her. He stepped forward, teeth flashing.

She held her ground while weighing her options. A fight was the last thing she needed right now. “Please get out of my way.”

“Or what?” The man chuckled and his companion placed one hand on her shoulder. “Of course, the way things play out will depend on what you’re hidin’ under that mask.”

He took another step forward. The hand on Samantha’s left shoulder tightened, then another hand grabbed her right arm, restraining her completely.

She bared her teeth and glared at the shadowy figure.

Unable to reach the weapons she kept in her boots or hair, she used the fingers of her left hand to release the remaining dagger concealed in her jacket.

It slipped into her palm, offering comfort and reassurance.

She would endure, even if she had to walk through hell in order to do so. All things considered, she’d been through worse.

The man before her leaned in, revealing what looked to be handsome features and a pair of eyes that sent the fear of death rolling through her.

This was no simple low-life criminal looking for trouble.

Rather, this man oozed power. Lethal power.

Not dissimilar to Wrengate in that regard but of an entirely different species.

Because this was someone who’d fought his way to the top of the food chain.

This was Adrian, if Adrian had been born and bred in the slums.

Another Wycliff, yet she feared this individual would be so much worse.

Because those eyes and that face…

It was like staring into an icy abyss.

Not a fleck of emotion showed in his serpentine gaze as he set his palm against her cheek and tilted his head.

Samantha’s stomach contracted. Her fingers tightened on her dagger even as she hesitated.

Because damn it all if that feeling of sinking a blade into a man’s gut hadn’t stayed with her these last months.

The prospect of having to do so again, of being met by soft tissue followed by bone, nearly made her retch.

Still, if this man tried anything…

He moved to pull her mask from her face and she struck, shoving her blade upward.

Though not as fast as she’d hoped since it met with nothing but air.

Swift as a viper, the man’s hand closed around her wrist like a vice.

He peeled the blade from between her fingers as though he were plucking a toy from a babe.

Before she could blink, the tip had found a tender spot between her neck and chin. It pressed upward, forcing her onto her toes. She flexed the fingers of her right hand and fought the temptation to struggle against the man who restrained her from behind.

The predator standing before her smiled, sending a chill down the narrow lane. Samantha suppressed a shudder while stubbornly holding his gaze. “Who are you?”

This was no simple thug. The man had skill and the kind of presence she’d rather avoid. Wouldn’t surprise her to learn that he liked disemboweling for pleasure those who betrayed him.

He pocketed her blade and returned his hand to her cheek.

Slow and methodical movements that made her want to scream with impatience.

His fingers traced the edge of her hooded mask.

Something smug and cruel danced in his frosty gaze.

She sucked in a breath, the only thing she had time for before he yanked the mask from her face.

He stepped back and appeared to admire his work, studying her like a butcher might study a slab of raw meat he intended to carve. She reminded herself to keep breathing. To simply get through this so she could return home alive.

Damn Wrengate and damn herself for letting him throw her off her game.

Instead of being glad to escape into a dark alley, she should have stayed vigilant.

Aware of other potential dangers besides the duke.

This was London. Cutthroats and thieving thugs roamed the streets.

To say nothing of the murderers she and Adrian had already caught. Or the one they were presently chasing.

“You’re prettier than I imagined,” said the handsome snake, the softness of his voice and what his comment implied jarring her to her core.

“Who are you?” she repeated.

A smug grin was his first response. And then his fist found her belly, the force of the punch pushing the air from her lungs.

She would have doubled over in pain had the man restraining her not held her upright.

Shock and agony barreled its way through her gut.

Her mouth opened and blessed air filled her lungs once more on a wheezing breath.

The demon stepped into her space, so close his chest pressed against her breasts. He shifted his head, his breath brushing her cheek as his lips settled next to her ear. “Tell your husband Finn O’Leary has come to Town and he’s planning to stay.”

The whispered words rolled from his tongue and lingered in the cool air. He drew back, straightened his jacket, and winked at her before walking away. The hands holding her vanished as the hulking figure they belonged to followed O’Leary down the lane.

Samantha staggered without the support. She wanted to chase the pair down and bury her lethal hairpins in both of their throats.

Anger pulsed through her body, increased tenfold by her weakened state, because she couldn’t enact the vengeance her training and instinct demanded.

Not when she feared her knee might buckle at any second.

Or when it felt like her stomach had been run over by stampeding horses.

She tested her leg and winced. It would carry her home slowly. A thought that caused her to close her eyes briefly and mutter a curse. For while she longed for the comfort of a hot bath and the rest she’d find in bed, she dreaded having to share what had happened this evening with Adrian.

Mostly because she would not be returning home triumphant but rather as the victim she’d sworn she’d never be.

* * *

Having recovered from the intruder’s lowly attack on his manhood, Wrengate nursed the glass of brandy he’d poured after retiring to his bedchamber. Legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, he reclined on the small settee that stood before the fire burning in the grate.

His favorite painting hung above it. Lady Eldridge in the nude.

He’d paid good coin to the artist for rendering her likeness in such an appealing way.

Ordinarily, he’d spare a moment of contemplation to wonder what she might say if she knew he’d spent hours wondering how close the artist had gotten to the real thing.

Would she be flattered or offended? Perhaps she’d encourage her upstanding husband to meet him at dawn.

Though the pair lived apart – more so because of it – Eldridge would probably feel the need to defend her honor.

But that was the furthest thing from Wrengate’s mind at the moment.

Rather, he sipped his drink while considering the blonde strands of hair he’d pulled from the intruder.

They puzzled him on account of their length.

Because if one thing was clear, it was that these strands did not belong to a man but rather to a woman.

A woman who knew how to hold her own in a fight. Who’d fled like a cat leaping over that wall. A woman unlike any other.

Only one such individual came to mind, and she just happened to have this exact shade of hair.

Mrs. Samantha Croft.

* * *

Torn between wanting to shake his slumbering wife awake so he could give her hell and letting her rest so she could heal, Adrian stared at her battered body.

“Looks like she’s been dragged through the streets by a team of wild horses,” Murry muttered, giving voice to Adrian’s thoughts.

He pressed his lips together and felt his brow pucker.

What the hell had she been up to last night?

Where had she gone and what in all of Hades had she been thinking to sneak out without informing him?

Despite the progress they’d made in their marriage these past few weeks, this felt like a fresh betrayal.

When he’d initially woken and found her gone, he’d believed she must have risen early. But then he’d arrived at breakfast where Elks had informed him of her presence in the parlor and that she might be in need of assistance.

His initial response when he’d seen her slumped figure had been alarm. But then the questions had started popping into his head, mixing sympathy with anger.

Most worrying was the fact that someone had managed to overpower her somehow. At least that was how it looked. And with her commendable fighting skills in mind, he found this troubling.

“Look there.” Murry pointed toward a red mark on Samantha’s palm. “Must have made a hard grab for something.”

She shifted slightly and Adrian placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

Her eyelids flew open, her body jolting as though she were ready to leap to her feet and do battle.

Only for her to cry out in pain and fall back onto the sofa.

Eyes squeezed shut, she groaned as she grabbed her right leg with both hands.

Adrian tracked the movement and saw that she was trying to move it into a different position.

His heart cracked open while tension snapped his nerves taut with the need to avenge her.

Yet her secretiveness stayed every compulsion he had to pull her into his arms and offer the comfort she probably craved.

First, he needed answers and whatever reassurance they might grant him. “What happened?”