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M elroy glanced at Wentworth as soon as Adrian finished asking his question.

“Has either of you shared information about the anesthesia with Doctor Islington or Doctor Lester?”

Samantha watched as each man shook his head. It didn’t look as though they were lying.

“Could either of these men have gained access to your notes?” Adrian asked Wentworth.

Melroy spoke before he could answer. “Do you think one of them is the killer?”

“I’m not sure,” Adrian said. “I’m just gathering information. If you’d please answer the question, Wentworth?”

The man gave his head a quick shake. “I don’t think so. The notes have been either on my person or locked in my desk drawer. Besides, I’ve never met either man.”

Something about his inflection put Samantha on alert. She narrowed her gaze. “What are you not saying?”

Wentworth cleared his throat. “Nothing. I’ve always been extremely protective of my research.”

“Then why is your face flushed as though you’re hiding something?”

“I…don’t know.” Wentworth cleared his throat once more and looked to Melroy as though expecting him to provide more input.

“You said you’ve never met either man, but Mrs. Lester works at St. George’s,” Samantha said, not willing to let go of what she suspected might offer important insight. “Maybe you’ve interacted with her?”

“We’ve talked,” he admitted. “She’s a lovely woman.”

“She’s also Islington’s sister and Lester’s wife,” Adrian said. “Maybe they learned of your research through her. If you mentioned something in passing, she might have told them about it.”

“No.” Wentworth raised his chin, tilting it at a stubborn angle. “She would never betray my confidence.”

Adrian snorted. “Foolish man. Mrs. Lester’s loyalty would be to her husband.”

“That’s not—” Wentworth bit off the rest of his words and pressed his lips together.

A hush filled the room, then Samantha whispered. “Were you about to suggest that’s not true?”

“Of course not.” But Wentworth’s tone betrayed him once again. While he might be an excellent surgeon, he was a terrible liar.

“We need the truth if we’re to unravel this mess,” Adrian told him.

When Wentworth said nothing more, he added, “Even if you were not the one who administered the lethal tonic, you are still responsible for putting the idea of it in someone’s head.

Whether or not you’ll be prosecuted for this will likely depend on how conscious you were of your actions.

Was it accidental or intentional? An important distinction since one is more reckless than the other. ”

“Both would be inexcusable,” Melroy said. “Wentworth is a responsible physician. He’s done nothing wrong, of that I am certain.”

Adrian considered him, then asked, “A belief based entirely upon the conversations you have shared with him on this very subject, yes?”

“Exactly.” Melroy’s gaze swept from one person to the next.

“I’ve been telling you this from the start.

Wentworth’s biggest fear was that someone looking to make a name for themselves would abuse his findings.

That trials would commence on people before a safe formula had been achieved.

For this very reason, he never told me what was in it, only that he believed in the possibility of making it work. Our discussions were theoretical.”

“And given your elevated status as a remarkably capable surgeon, it’s probably hard for you to imagine him having a similar conversation with someone less…

deserving.” This insightful comment came from Miss Hastings, who smoothly added, “You’re assuming that his failure to share the extent of his research with you means he didn’t do so with anyone else. ”

Melroy flushed. “I suppose that’s true though I stand by what I’ve just said. Wentworth would not have risked letti—”

“I made a mistake.” Wentworth gasped. “Several, in fact.”

“You what?” Melroy gaped at him, eyes wide.

Adrian rocked back on his heels. “Explain.”

“It was never my intention to hurt anyone. I’ve always taken great care to ensure people’s safety. But you’re right. If my research was stolen and abused – if people died as a result – I must bear some responsibility.” The words poured from Wentworth in a rush, leaving him slightly breathless.

“Keep talking.” Adrian’s voice lacked warmth and patience.

“You…you have to promise me that what I’m about to say won’t leave this room,” he pleaded.

Samantha’s eyebrows rose. “All things considered, I think that will be the least of your problems.”

“I can’t assure you of that,” Adrian told the physician. “What I can promise, however, is that I will personally make your life hell unless you tell us all you know. Now.”

Wentworth gulped. “There was one incident. A little over a year ago, after Mrs. Lester had been to see me.”

“What did she wish to see you about?” Samantha asked.

“That’s really not important,” Wentworth hedged.

“I will determine that,” Adrian said. He leaned forward ever so slightly. “What. Did she want, Wentworth?”

Had the circumstances been different, Samantha might have pitied the man in that moment. He appeared truly distressed, as though he’d like to escape through the nearest window.

“We were, um…”

Wentworth scratched the back of his head. He seemed to search for the right word.

And then it dawned on her. “She’s your lover, isn’t she?”

Adrian swung his gaze toward Samantha, a startled look in his eyes before he managed to find his footing once more. He returned his attention to Wentworth while everyone else seemed to adjust their brains to what she’d said. Melroy looked especially shocked and slightly disgusted.

“Is this true?” Adrian asked of Wentworth.

Wentworth sighed. “I realize I’m quite a bit older than she.”

“Only three decades,” Melroy said with disdain. “Give or take.”

“She made me feel young and capable,” Wentworth explained.

“Unlike my late wife, Laura works in the medical field. Her interest and understanding of what it’s like to help people made for wonderful conversations and companionship.

It was all so innocent at first. A cup of tea here and there after work, then an afternoon stroll in the park.

I told myself I was mentoring her, until that first touch of her hand.

As much as I tried convincing myself it meant nothing, it affected me in ways nothing else ever had. ”

“Who propositioned whom?” Adrian asked.

Wentworth shrugged. “Neither of us. It just happened one evening after work. She was leaving my office and I picked up her coat, helped her on with it, and—”

“She was suddenly in your arms?” Samantha said.

A distant look settled upon Wentworth’s face. “It was the most incredible feeling I’ve ever known.”

“More incredible than saving a life on the operating table?” Melroy growled.

“Of course not,” Wentworth said, sending his colleague a sharp glare. “It was different. The two cannot be compared.”

“So what you’re suggesting,” Adrian told Wentworth, “is you may have let down your guard during one such encounter, and Mrs. Lester might have acquired information she could then have shared with her husband.”

“You said you trusted only me,” Melroy snapped. “Yet you offered me nothing but crumbs compared with what you gave her. A mere nurse.”

Wentworth expelled a weary breath. “I didn’t lie to you, Melroy, or tell you less than what I told Lau…Mrs. Lester. In fact, I never mentioned any of this to her at all.”

“What are you saying?” Adrian asked.

“I’m saying that I don’t know if she figured out what I was working toward.

At least not for certain.” A helpless expression filled Wentworth’s face.

“I keep the key to my desk drawer in my right jacket pocket. One evening when I went to collect my journal with the intention of adding some notes, I found the key missing. Searched everywhere for it until I realized it had been placed in my left pocket instead. I shrugged it off as an error on my part but…”

“Mrs. Lester had the opportunity to pilfer it,” Samantha murmured while glancing at Adrian. It was beginning to look like Murdoch’s spy wasn’t only involved in the killings, but at the very center of them.

“Maybe,” Wentworth admitted. “Like I said, I dismissed the idea. Especially after checking the drawer and finding everything as I left it.”

“All she would have needed was to distract you,” Adrian said.

“She may not even have used the key that day,” Miss Hastings suggested. “If she made an imprint, she could have used a replica later.”

Samantha glanced at her, a little impressed by her reasoning. “Having a key of her own would certainly have decreased the chance of raising Wentworth’s suspicions.”

“She would have been able to return to the office at any time,” Adrian said. “Without him ever wondering over a missing key.”

“It could be I just misplaced it,” Wentworth said.

“Maybe,” Adrian agreed though the tone of his voice informed Samantha that he doubted this as much as she did. He turned to Miss Hastings. “Do you have some paper? I’d like to leave a note for Kendrick.”

“I’m sure he’ll arrive at any moment,” Miss Hastings told him. “It would be best if you’re able to speak with him directly.”

“I’ll leave you to that,” Adrian said before asking Wentworth one final question. “Where do the Lesters live?”

* * *

Peter Kendrick was glad to return to Bow Street. His audience with the Prince Regent had been insufferably long and had deviated toward discussions that held no importance. Like the seagulls the Prince Regent had seen on the beach while visiting Bath.

What did that or the meals he’d enjoyed matter?

Yet there had been no chance of extricating himself from the conversation and taking his leave.

Tea had been served along with cake. Peter had forced himself to endure it while watching precious seconds tick by on an ornate clock.

He’d nodded and forced the tea down his throat.

Honestly, he’d never understand how anyone could stomach the swill.

“Let’s get back to business,” Chief Magistrate Hastings said as they entered the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court together. Though he’d made no comment about their meeting with Prinny, Peter was fairly certain Hastings shared his opinion.

It had been a colossal waste of time.

They parted ways immediately inside the entrance with Hastings heading upstairs to his office and Peter turning toward the hallway that led to his own. He barely managed three steps before he heard a familiar sound of feminine footfalls at his back.

His lips curved with amusement and with a fair amount of pleasure, if he were being completely honest. Despite wanting to dive right back into his quest for answers without the distraction Miss Hastings threatened to pose, he rather liked having her hunt him down.

It made him wonder at her reasoning. If he were lucky, it would have just as much to do with him as any information she wished to impart.

He halted before he reached his door, schooled his features, and turned to face her. “Yes?”

In her haste to reach him it took her a moment to stop, which nearly sent her careening into him.

Eyes wide, she stumbled sideways in an attempt to avoid a collision.

Peter’s arm shot out, his hand curling around her upper arm to halt her progress.

Which left him standing with a befuddled looking Miss Hastings pulled up against him.

All amusement drained from his person. He stared down at her, at those lovely brown eyes fringed by dark lashes, and that irritating mouth that gave voice to his shortcomings more often than not. Unbidden, he wondered what it might feel like beneath his own.

His fingers twitched and Miss Hastings squeaked.

Peter blinked. “Forgive me.”

He dropped his hand and she took a step back, rubbed her arm while seeming to make an effort to brush off whatever discomfort he’d put her through. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

“I merely meant to keep you from falling.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a weak smile.

He felt like an ass. Instead of releasing her at once as he should have, he’d tightened his hold. His stupidity would probably leave a bruise. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She added a firm nod then told him, “I know you’ve just returned but I think you need to head out again.”

The urgency with which she’d pursued him returned. He straightened his spine. “What’s happened?”

A few words were all it took before he was striding back toward the front entrance. Tripping along to keep pace, she accompanied him every step of the way, chatting as they went.

Pausing in the front office, he ordered several Runners to ready themselves for departure. He’d need them to cordon off any possible escape routes and help ensure the killer’s capture.

As for Miss Hastings…

He turned to her once they’d stepped out onto the pavement. “I think it’s best if you remain here.”

“Absolutely not.” She took up a stubborn stance. “This won’t be like last time, I promise. Besides, there’s more to tell you and doing so on the way would be more expedient, don’t you think?”

“Fine,” he agreed. “But once we get there, you’re staying in the carriage.”

“It w—”

“I need your word on that, Miss Hastings.”

She huffed a breath and crossed her arms. “Very well.”

Satisfied she would keep out of his way, Peter crossed to a parked Bow Street carriage and gave the driver directions.