Page 52

T he Lesters’ home was a narrow two-story house, constructed from red brick with white trim edging the windows. It sat on Millman Street, wedged between similar houses.

Seated inside the Croft carriage with Adrian and Murry, Samantha swept her gaze across the modest facade. “There’s a soft glow coming through the bottom right window.”

“Someone’s home,” Adrian said. He glanced at her and she met his gaze, saw the edge of his lips twitch. “At least we’ve not come in vain.”

“You and I both know we would have gained access to that house one way or the other. Being invited in makes it so much simpler.”

“We’ll knock on the door then?” Murry asked.

“I’d say so.” Samantha adjusted the blades strapped to her thighs. “Just make sure all your weapons are secure.”

Adrian and Murry did so while she checked the pistol she kept in her reticule.

If only she’d thought to wear breeches when she’d left the house.

The added pockets would have been useful.

So would the improved ease of movement. Wearing voluminous skirts to a fight was never a good idea, but neither was setting tongues wagging as would likely happen if she openly paraded about in men’s clothes.

“Ready?” Adrian asked a few seconds later. He opened the carriage door as soon as she nodded and helped her alight. Murry followed them out.

Together they crossed the street, stepped onto the pavement, and climbed the front steps leading to Number 12. Hand fisted, Adrian paused for as long as it took to share a meaningful look with her before giving the door three loud raps.

He sent her another look when no one answered his third attempt. “It doesn’t look as though they’re planning to let us in.”

“Maybe the Lesters are still at work and Islington is the only one here,” Samantha suggested.

There didn’t seem to be any servants or one would have come to the door.

Further indication that things weren’t as they should be.

At the very least, a maid-of-all-works would have been expected.

“His being in hiding would prevent him from letting anyone in.”

“Makes sense,” Adrian murmured. He turned to Murry. “Go around the back and make sure whoever’s inside has no means of escape. Mrs. Croft and I will enter through here.”

“You’re sure you don’t need my support?” Murry asked. “You are planning to walk into a suspected killer’s home. Chances are they’ll have the upper hand.”

“There’s also a good chance they’ve no idea what we’re capable of,” Samantha said.

Murry grinned. “I’ll grant you that.”

“We’ll be fine,” Adrian told him. “As long as whoever’s inside doesn’t escape.”

Murry nodded. “Very well.”

He ambled off, leaving Samantha and Adrian to deal with the lock.

Before attempting to pick it, Samantha reached for the handle and gave it a push. When it didn’t budge, she glanced at Adrian and shrugged one shoulder. “It was worth a try.”

Retrieving one of her lethal, diamond-tipped hairpins, she dropped to a crouch and got to work.

Before long the lock clicked. Adrian gave the handle a gentle nudge and eased the door open.

Samantha winced in response to the squeak produced by the hinges.

If someone indeed occupied the room to their right from which the light had emanated, they’d surely have heard it.

Adrian must have realized this too for he froze, seemed to pause and listen, before stepping into the small foyer. It was more cluttered than what Samantha was used to. Books and papers littered the entryway table. A discarded hat sat on top while a scarf lay abandoned in a corner.

She gave the space a quick sweep with her gaze. It hadn’t been cleaned in recent days, if even in weeks or months. Apparently more important things preoccupied those who lived here.

Adrian moved through the foyer with a swift tread and peeked inside the first room he reached. “Empty.”

Samantha checked the opposite room. It, too, was vacant. Light from oil lamps left in each of these rooms cast them in a partial glow.

A search of the remaining rooms downstairs showed no one present. But for anyone to leave home without turning the light down seemed unlikely.

Reconvening near the foot of the stairs, Adrian glanced toward the landing. “Can you make sure the bedchambers are clear while I take a look at the basement?”

“Do you think splitting up is wise?”

“If anyone is here, I think this is our best chance of catching them. If both of us head to the basement and there’s someone upstairs, nothing will stop that person from escaping through the front door.”

“The same would be true if we both head upstairs.” Anyone presently in the basement would be able to track their movement across the floorboards overhead.

Of course, they might choose to leave through the back in which case Murry would stop them, but there was no guarantee.

“You’re sure you can manage whatever trouble might come your way? ”

He gave a quick nod. “You?”

“Without a doubt.” She retrieved her pistol from her reticule, which she abandoned on the hallway table next to the hat. “Shout if you need me.”

“You do the same.” He headed off toward the rear of the building while Samantha started up the stairs.

* * *

The air in the stairwell leading down to the basement was stuffy. Adrian winced as he made his decent. The light from the lamp he’d brought pushed back the darkness, forcing it to retreat to the corners.

The wooden step beneath one of his booted feet creaked. It was followed by a muffled sound that instantly had him curling his fingers more firmly around the pistol he carried in his right hand.

The sound came again—from somewhere farther ahead and slightly to the left.

Adrian stepped off the bottom stair and made his approach. Glass reflecting the light from his lamp suggested the presence of a window or door at the end of the corridor. His heel scraped over an uneven spot on the floor. Again he heard the muffled sound, louder this time.

It almost sounded as if…

He suppressed the shudder that swept his spine as memories from his childhood resurfaced. The sounds had been similar then, when his father had held people captive in the room beneath the stairs and forced answers from them. Even the air smelled similar. A mixture of lime-wash and damp mortar.

His stomach clenched, every muscle contracting to warn him away from what he approached.

And yet, knowing he’d once more have to face what he’d longed to escape from most of his life made him all the more eager to finish this business.

Because what he was hearing could only be proof of one thing: A person, gagged and most likely restrained, was in the process of being tortured.

The sooner he helped the individual, the sooner he caught the responsible party and made them pay, the sooner he could return home with his wife and put all of this behind them.

He stepped forward slowly while keeping his wits about him until he could glimpse inside the room from which the muffled sounds were coming.

It was darker in there than in the corridor.

Worried it might be a trap of some sort, he stretched out his arm, hoping the oil lamp would offer a better idea of what he’d be walking into.

The light fell on a stool. When he swept the lamp sideways, the edge of a table also came into view.

It was from this direction the muffled sound came. Louder now and more urgent.

Stilling his breaths to keep his pulse calm and his nerves on alert, Adrian entered the room slowly, using the oil lamp to search the space for a possible assailant. Until more of the table came into view. Until he realized someone was stretched out upon it.

He rushed forward and instantly saw the restraints. Rope tied around a pair of ankles. His heart began pounding an urgent warning as he registered that the person wore trousers. A man. Adrian swung the lamp toward the face and the poor bastard groaned.

Unsurprising since his arms were also restrained and a rag had been shoved into his mouth. He stared up at Adrian, an imploring look in his pale green eyes while he kept on groaning as though attempting to speak.

Determined to help him, Adrian pocketed his pistol and reached for the rag—just as the door to the room slammed shut behind him.

He cursed, yanked the rag free so the poor man could breathe with more ease, and crossed to the door. Despite his efforts to get it open, it wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t waste your strength,” said the man on the table.

Adrian pressed his forehead against the door. Damn. Despite his attempts at caution, he’d not been cautious enough. Whoever had trapped him in here had probably been in the corridor, hiding behind the door, waiting for him to enter the room before acting.

He muttered a curse and returned to the man who was still strapped down.

“Who are you?” Adrian asked as he started undoing the ties that held him in place.

“I…um…” The man sucked in some air and expelled it. “Mr. Smith.”

Adrian stilled. He narrowed his gaze and studied the man’s expression. His throat bobbed and his eyes darted sideways. Adrian tilted his head. This was the sort of shiftiness he’d encountered a thousand times before while enforcing his father’s orders, trying to get men to speak.

He held the light closer to the man’s face, saw the sheen upon his brow and the wild look in his eyes. The man tugged on the restraints. “Come on. Help me out of these, will you.”

“I might consider doing so if you tell me the truth,” Adrian said. He drew his pistol and pointed it squarely at the man’s head. “Who are you really?”

“I…I told you already.”

“You gave me a name, that’s true. I just don’t believe that it’s your name.”

“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” The man kept trying to yank his arms free. A futile endeavor. “I was directed here after seeking medical help, but when I was brought down here, I changed my mind. I tried to leave only to get knocked unconscious and wake up like this. You have to believe me.”