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S amantha blinked. Doctor Ashburry was the man collaborating with Mrs. Lester? She’d expected the woman’s husband. Which begged the question, “Where’s Mr. Lester?”

“Away,” said Mrs. Lester. “I thought it best not to involve him in any of this. Not sure he’d have the stomach for it, and since I am rather fond of him, I—”

“You were having an affair with Doctor Wentworth,” Samantha blurted.

“What’s your point?” asked Mrs. Lester. When Samantha held silent, too baffled to put her thoughts in quick order, the woman chuckled. “I see. You don’t understand how I can care for one man while climbing into bed with another.”

“Well…yes.” She refrained from mentioning Wentworth’s age and appearance. He wasn’t exactly what one would describe as Lothario.

“Doctor Lester and I were childhood friends. We have the deepest respect for each other. He’s an excellent physician, but he’s no Doctor Wentworth, whose intellect surpasses that of anyone else I’ve ever met.”

“The man deserves to see his life’s work brought to fruition,” Ashburry murmured, going to check on the man who lay on the table. “He appears to be stable.”

“Who is he?” Samantha asked.

When neither Ashburry nor Mrs. Lester answered, Adrian said, “I expect he’s Doctor Islington.”

“What?” That couldn’t be true. “He fled from his practice and went into hiding. We know this to be true because…”

Oh God. Adrian had gleaned that information from Doctor Ashburry. It was what had brought them here. Deliberately.

And yet…

“His practice was a mess. It showed evidence of a hasty departure, which there would have been no cause for if he wasn’t tied to all this.”

“He referred several patients to me after I suggested offering surgeries on the side to those who couldn’t afford St. George’s. He liked the idea of helping people. He just wasn’t willing to make the necessary sacrifices.”

“But he’s your brother, is he not?” Adrian asked Mrs. Lester.

Mrs. Lester shrugged. “Some things are more important than family ties. Perfecting this procedure is one of those things. I wasn’t going to let him stand in our way, brother or not.”

Disgust settled deep in Samantha’s stomach. “You’re demented. Both of you.” She pointed an accusing finger at Ashburry. “You’re not even a surgeon.”

Ashburry swung a condemning look toward her. “Careful, Mrs. Croft. I don’t take kindly to being insulted.”

“You weren’t helping people. You were killing them.”

“How shortsighted of you,” he muttered.

“We thought it best to sacrifice a few in order to save the many,” Mrs. Lester said. “Wentworth came close with his experimentations. The clever man did get the dosage right once. Removed a kidney from a pig while it slept. The beast woke up an hour after Wentworth closed the incision.”

“He made no mention of that to us,” Adrian said.

“Of course not.” Mrs. Lester’s voice was suddenly filled with warmth. “He’s very modest. I didn’t know of his success until I read his notes.”

Dear Lord.

“Of course, the dosage for a pig is different than it is for a human,” Ashburry said, filling a small glass with some sort of liquid. “While we didn’t have to start from the absolute beginning, it did take a moment to work out the quantities of the various ingredients.”

He crossed to where Adrian stood. “Drink this.”

“I’ll rot in hell first,” Adrian told him, and swiped the glass from the bastard’s hand.

* * *

“Stay here,” Peter told Miss Hastings when the carriage pulled up in front of the Lesters’ home. She’d chatted away for most of their journey, filling him in on everything Wentworth and Melroy had told the Crofts.

The tension pulling at every muscle had only increased with each word she’d spoken.

If the Lesters were indeed the killers they sought, as appeared to be the case, and the Crofts had gone after them, he feared he’d have quite the mess on his hands.

No way they would let either one walk away from this alive.

Explanations would have to be made. For starters, he’d have to stand to account. Again. He muttered a curse and met Miss Hastings’s gaze squarely. “Promise me you won’t follow us inside.”

“I promise.”

“I mean it, Miss Hastings. There could be trouble waiting for us, in which case our safety will be compromised if we have to worry about protecting you. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I’ll remain in the carriage.”

Satisfied he had her convinced, he reached for the door handle, only to pause when her hand settled over his forearm. A far too personal touch, especially given the fact that they weren’t alone.

A shiver raced up his arm from the point of contact. Suppressing it to the best of his ability, he glanced toward her, saw the lines creasing her brow, the brackets on either side of her mouth.

“Be careful,” she said, then withdrew her hand and sat back, her posture rigid.

He gave a firm nod, then pushed the door open and stepped down onto the pavement. Jackson, Lewis, and Anderson followed.

“Weapons at the ready,” Peter told them. He pulled his own pistol from his jacket pocket and climbed the steps leading to Number 12 Millman Street.

The unlocked door opened with ease, admitting them to a foyer shrouded in darkness. Pausing briefly to listen, he heard no immediate sounds.

He turned to his Runners. “Lewis and Anderson, you search the upstairs while—”

A scream cut him off, scattering every thought in his head as he raced for the door leading to the basement.

* * *

Not missing a beat, Adrian drew the dagger sewn into his jacket sleeve before the glass he’d knocked from Ashburry’s hand smashed onto the floor. The distraction served its purpose, forcing Ashburry’s attention away from Adrian and, hopefully, Mrs. Lester’s away from Samantha for a split second.

Just long enough for them to gain the upper hand.

Ashburry cursed and Adrian launched himself at him, prepared to thrust his blade deep inside his chest, when a shot shook the air. “Samantha?”

“You bastard,” Mrs. Lester shrieked and Adrian realized she’d just tried to shoot him.

“I’m fine,” Samantha yelled. “You?”

He’d no time to talk, with Ashburry already adding distance. He’d managed to sidestep the attack and now fumbled for Adrian’s pistol, which the doctor had placed in his own jacket pocket when he’d disarmed Adrian earlier.

“Fine,” Adrian told her, despite the deep burn in his upper left arm. He could not afford to let Ashburry grab the weapon, so he went in swift pursuit, only vaguely aware of the fight playing out behind him.

One of the women grunted. He wasn’t sure who. But with Mrs. Lester’s pistol empty, Adrian’s worries for Samantha abated. When it came to actual hand to hand combat, he’d no doubt she’d win.

So he pushed her from his mind and focused all his attention on Ashburry.

He’d edged around the far corner of the table on which Islington lay, now unconscious, probably thanks to having the experimental tincture forced upon him.

Ashburry’s hand finally managed to sink inside his pocket.

Soon, he’d have the table wedged between them as a barrier with Adrian’s pistol aimed squarely at Adrian himself.

Or at Samantha.

Not an option.

The ache in Adrian’s upper arm curled up over his shoulder. He hissed a breath, fully aware of what had occurred. The shot Mrs. Lester fired had indeed struck him as she’d intended, and while he didn’t believe the wound was lethal, it would be a disadvantage for him in a fight.

Already, he could feel his strength waning. Ashburry had almost pulled the pistol from his pocket when Adrian hurled his blade at the doctor. He was already reaching for the one tucked into his other sleeve when the weapon he’d thrown met its mark.

Ashburry’s eyes went impossibly wide and his mouth fell open.

The pistol he’d been retrieving clattered onto the floor.

He stared at Adrian for a few heartbeats, then staggered backward and hit the wall.

His gaze dropped to the dagger protruding from the left side of his chest. One hand rose, as though he meant to try and withdraw the weapon, only for it to fall limply at his side.

He swayed slightly, produced a groan that brought blood with it.

The crimson liquid trickled over his lips and onto his chin.

Mrs. Lester screamed as he collapsed in an awkward heap.

“No.” Mrs. Lester’s voice made Adrian turn.

The blasted woman was on the floor, flaying as though she’d caught fire. Even though Samantha had managed to pin her down, restraining her was clearly proving a challenge especially with her long skirts causing a hindrance. And then Mrs. Lester bit her.

“Argh!” Samantha instinctively let go of the woman and paid the price by taking an elbow straight to her stomach. Grunting, she balled her hand into a fist and swung it at Mrs. Lester’s nose. “I’ll murder you for that.”

A crunch followed and Mrs. Lester howled in pain.

Blood poured from her nostrils. The pair rolled and something flashed.

Adrian couldn’t tell which of the women had managed to find a weapon.

He started toward them, prepared to pull Mrs. Lester off Samantha, when the woman uttered a garbled sound and collapsed.

Both had gone utterly still. Adrian stared at them, his heart in his throat for one horrid second, until Samantha suddenly blinked. Air rushed into his lungs and his muscles relaxed.

The relief was brief, however. Voices coming from the opposite side of the door informed him that someone else had arrival. Probably Kendrick.

The confirmation of this was provided by a knock and the sound of Kendrick’s familiar voice. “Open in the name of Bow Street.”

“Just a moment,” Adrian called back. He bent to push Mrs. Lester away from Samantha. The woman rolled sideways, onto her back, allowing him to see the long diamond-tipped hairpin embedded in her throat.

Kendrick banged on the door with greater insistence. “Let us in right now.”