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Dropping to one knee, Adrian helped Samantha sit, then pulled her face close for a tender kiss before pressing his forehead to hers. “Are you all right?”

She was trembling. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face and clothes both stained by Mrs. Lester’s blood. But she was alive. Thank the merciful heavens, his wife was alive and she was nodding.

“Yes,” she whispered. “What about you?”

“I’ll be good as new once the wound in my arm heals.”

Additional banging sounded. “Mr. Croft. Are you in there?”

Concern filled Samantha’s face as her eyes began searching his body. “Where are you hurt?”

He caught her hand. “It’s just my arm. No need to fret.”

She relaxed a little. Her shoulders sagged. And then her face crumpled. “Murry.”

Adrian brushed a stray lock from her cheek. “I need to see him.”

He stood and helped her rise as well, then crossed to where Ashburry lay and retrieved a key. Adrian unlocked the door and it swung open, putting him face to face with Chief Constable Kendrick’s grim expression.

* * *

Samantha couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, for although she’d no doubt in her mind that Mrs. Lester would have killed her if given the chance, Samantha knew she could have avoided taking the woman’s life.

Restraining her would have been enough. She could have stood trial.

Her sentence would without doubt have been death, her execution enacted by someone else.

That was how it should have been, but that blow she’d given Samantha, straight to her stomach, had clouded her judgement. Instinct had taken over and she’d reacted because of the threat made to a child she might not even be carrying.

But in the moment, she’d only known rage. Not the kind she was accustomed to experiencing on occasion, but a deeper, all-consuming beast driven by a primal need to protect.

She stared down at the face of the woman whose common sense had been so misplaced she’d taken lives in the pursuit of what she’d perceived to be the greater good. Her glassy eyes stared up at Samantha, her lips slightly parted on that final breath she’d expelled.

Samantha’s fingers twitched. Cool air curled over her shoulders. Voices drifted around her yet she couldn’t focus on what was said. Had no sense of who was talking. Her mind felt numb, her ears plugged as though with cotton. Everything seemed to be happening far away, separate from her.

“Mrs. Croft?” Someone touched her arm and she flinched, jerking back as she turned. Her gaze met Kendrick’s, the gravity in his eyes adding weight to her conscience. He tilted his head, leaned forward slightly. Cautious. “Are you well?”

“I…” She swallowed, managed a nod. “I will be.”

The words, the act of speaking – the focus required to do so, grounded her. She felt the shivers subside as muscle tightened beneath her skin. A deep breath of air brought additional calmness with it. She sighed it out, reconnecting a little bit more with her inner strength.

Breaking eye contact with Kendrick, she scanned the room. “Where’s my husband?”

“With Mr. Murry.”

“Of course.” Hadn’t Adrian told her he needed to see him? She blinked, not quite ready for reality yet knowing she couldn’t hold it at bay any longer. “He’s dead because of me.”

Her voice cracked as she forced the words out – forced herself to acknowledge what had occurred. Good grief. Adrian would never forgive her for this. How could he?

“Mrs. Croft.” Kendrick’s voice again. He gripped her arm a bit harder, forced her to look straight at him. Deep creases lined his brow. “Mr. Murry is gravely injured, but he’s not yet dead.”

“What?” She shook her head, unable to comprehend what the man was saying. “Ashburry shot him and he collapsed. Blood stained his jacket and…” He hadn’t moved; he’d just lain there, lifeless.

“He may have been knocked unconscious when he fell,” Kendrick said. “And there’s still a chance he won’t make it. The injury appears to be extremely severe, but my men are already working on—”

“Samantha.” Adrian’s voice redirected her attention.

She stared at her husband’s harsh expression, at the fear in his eyes and the gravity lining the corners of his mouth.

“Murry lives. For now. I need to get him the medical help he requires. Kendrick, can you see my wife home while I get Murry to the hospital?”

“I’m coming with you,” Samantha said, already in motion.

Adrian placed a palm against her shoulder. “Go home. Clean up and rest. I’ll see you there as soon as I’m able.”

“But—”

He dropped a swift kiss to her cheek while Kendrick protested, “We need to discuss what occurred here, Croft. You cannot—”

“Trust that I won’t abandon my wife or my valet. You can find me later. Either at St. George’s or at my house. For now, I must leave. Haste is of the essence.” He spoke the last words as he left the room, leaving her alone with Kendrick and one of his Runners.

“Do you plan to press charges against us?” she asked the chief constable while he assessed the scene.

He glanced at her. “There will be an investigation. I’ll need to interview both of you, get your statements for my records.

Based on what I already know, I believe my findings will show that neither you nor your husband bear any responsibility for these deaths.

You came to save a man – Doctor Islington, I presume? ”

Samantha nodded when Kendrick gestured toward the still unconscious physician.

“In doing so, you risked your own lives and managed to stop a pair of killers. I’d say you acted justly, Mrs. Croft.” He turned aside and spoke a few words to his remaining Runner before addressing her once more. “Allow me to assist you in getting home.”

He lit the way with a lantern while Samantha followed behind, her attention flitting toward the spot where Murry had stood when he’d been shot, to where she’d landed after Mrs. Lester shoved her down the stairs, to the room off the foyer where she’d collected an oil lamp.

The fresh air that greeted her as she stepped out of the house was like tonic.

She gulped it down and was instantly overcome by relief.

She and Adrian lived. Murry would, she hoped, do so as well in the end.

They’d stopped two heinous villains and Kendrick would not use the deaths they’d caused against them, as he might have done one month earlier.

She turned to him after he handed her up into the hackney he’d commandeered. “Thank you for the help you’ve provided.”

“I’m not an unreasonable man, Mrs. Croft, but don’t make the error of thinking me weak, or worse, that we might be friends. Neither is the case and if you or your husband ever break the law in earnest, I will hold you accountable.”

The edge of her lips drew into a partial smile. “Duly noted, Chief Constable.”

A flicker of movement at the periphery of Samantha’s vision made her realize they weren’t alone. And then a woman spoke. “Kendrick?”

He turned in an instant. “Miss Hastings. I told you to—”

“Stay in the carriage?” Miss Hastings said as she closed the remaining distance between them. “Yes. I know. And I did so even as I watched two men carry a third man from that house and put him in a carriage which subsequently took off.”

The tremor in her voice conveyed her emotion. Fear, Samantha wagered. For the good constable, no doubt. She leaned slightly forward and spoke before Kendrick could manage. “My husband’s valet was injured during an altercation, Miss Hastings. Thanks to Kendrick, there’s a chance he will live.”

“Really?” Miss Hastings stared at Kendrick, the light from the lantern he held causing her eyes to gleam.

Kendrick cleared his throat, then scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I, um—”

“You have my heartfelt appreciation,” Samantha told him. “My husband’s too, I’m sure. We’ll look forward to having you call on us soon for that statement.”

“Right. Of course. Good evening, Mrs. Croft.” Kendrick fumbled with the door to the carriage but finally managed to close it.

Samantha sank against the squabs with a sigh, exhaustion finally seeping into every bone as the carriage took off. She couldn’t wait to get home or into the bath she desperately needed.

* * *

Wrengate waited until Mrs. Croft drove off before he approached Chief Constable Kendrick.

He’d come to demand results of Ashburry when he’d noted the carriages parked in front of the Lester residence.

Something was going on and as a result, he’d ordered his coachman to drive past the street.

This allowed him to circle back on foot, more discreetly, and watch from a distance.

What he’d seen had certainly been unsettling.

A body was carried out of the house by Mr. Croft and someone else, as far as Wrengate could tell.

He’d seen a woman alight from one of the parked carriages and had started toward her, intent on asking questions.

But he’d hung back when he’d seen two people exit the house and was glad he’d done so.

The last thing he needed right now was for Mrs. Croft to find him here.

“Chief Constable,” he said, aiming for an amicable tone. “I wondered at the commotion here when I passed in my carriage and thought I’d make sure all is well.”

“I appreciate that, Your Grace.” The chief constable shook Wrengate’s hand and introduced him to the chief magistrate’s daughter, then said, “No need to worry, however. The situation is under control.”

“Nothing too serious, I hope?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” The chief constable glanced at Miss Hastings before telling him, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make sure Miss Hastings returns home safely. It will just take a moment.”

“Of course.”

Miss Hastings looked ready to protest but held her tongue and allowed the chief constable to usher her toward the last remaining carriage. It drove off soon after, leaving Wrengate and Kendrick alone in the street.

The chief constable lit a cheroot and took a long drag before saying, “I’ve two corpses waiting for me in that house. Not exactly the sort of thing I want any young woman involved with.”

Wrengate didn’t bother asking why he’d brought Miss Hastings with him in the first place if this were the case. He didn’t care. All he wanted was answers. “Have the bodies been identified?”

The chief constable nodded and took another puff from his cheroot. “A doctor and a nurse. Both guilty of murder if you can believe it.”

Murder? Wrengate’s mind raced. “Are they not honor bound to save people?”

Kendrick grunted. “That was certainly the excuse they used.”

“What do you mean?”

And then the man told him what Ashburry and Mrs. Lester had really been up to. They’d not done what he’d paid them for or what he’d killed Wycliff for. They’d used him to serve their own agenda.

He clenched his jaw and nodded as rage burned through every limb. Had they ever been capable of making the remedy he required?

“Is there any way in which I can help?” he asked, for the sole purpose of showing concern.

Thankfully, Kendrick shook his head, dropped his cheroot, and stomped it out with his shoe. “My Runners and I will see to it that this mess gets cleaned up.”

Satisfied with the answer, Wrengate bid the chief constable goodnight and started back toward his awaiting carriage. Fists balled at his sides, he swore both Ashburry and Mrs. Lester to perdition. He was glad they were dead, his only regret that it wasn’t by his hand.