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S ir Nigel sent Kendrick an uncertain glance. Where was the carriage transporting Croft? As far as he knew, it had departed from Bow Street before him and Kendrick. The route should have been the same and yet, for some unknown reason, it hadn’t reached the Old Bailey.

Agitated shouts from the crowd of onlookers demonstrated their impatience. The Marquess of Avernail, who’d come to see justice served on behalf of his son, scowled from his spot on a nearby podium.

“Where the hell are they?”

The question, posed by Viscount Carver, advisor to the Prince Regent and his representative in this instance, caused sweat to gather at the nape of Nigel’s neck. He fought the urge to tug on his cravat and turned to the man on his left, “Kendrick?”

Kendrick blinked, his expression conveying nothing but stupefaction. “I’ve no idea. I left Croft in Jones and White’s capable hands. The usual drivers came to pick them up.”

“Then why aren’t they here?” Carver hissed.

“I…I…” Nigel cast his gaze about, frantically seeking a carriage that showed no hint of arriving. Sensing a need to do something in order to placate his superior and the increasingly frustrated crowd, he gestured for a couple of Runners positioned nearby to make their approach. “Anderson and Lewis. Find out what’s keeping the transportation.”

“Sir?”

“Find. Croft.”

The two men hurried off with hastily spoken assurances. Nigel dared a glance in Carver’s direction, his stomach clenching in response to the other man’s scowl. He’d moved away and was now exchanging words with Avernail.

By all that was holy, this would not end well.

“You’re sure Croft was properly restrained?” Nigel asked Kendrick, his voice as low as it could be in order to still be heard above all the shouts.

“His wrists were firmly bound together,” Kendrick said.

“And you locked the carriage doors yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And yet, I’ve a terrible feeling Croft has escaped.” Nigel wiped his brow with the palm of his hand. Seeing Carver approach once more, he gulped down a breath.

“How?” Kendrick asked. “Overpowering two armed coachmen and a pair of guards without anyone taking notice would have been an impossible feat. Someone would have sounded the alarm by now.”

“One would think,” Nigel agreed while preparing himself for what Carver meant to say next. Unwilling to cower before him, he raised his chin and firmed his stance.

The viscount leaned in. “Action must be taken if we’re to appease the masses. Personally, I would suggest you find someone else to hang until the star of the show puts in his appearance.”

* * *

“What’s the plan,” Adrian asked once the carriage had picked up speed. Everything had happened so fast, it felt like an impossible dream from which he feared he might wake up.

“We head for the coast,” Samantha told him. “Get ourselves out of the country. Once that’s done we’ll have more time to regroup and figure out what comes next.”

It made sense, ensuring the authorities wouldn’t be able to catch them. Adrian knew the longer they stayed in England the greater the risk they’d be found, arrested, and sent back to London. And yet, part of him revolted against the idea.

“I swore I’d hunt down the man responsible for Evie’s murder,” he said. “That won’t be possible once I’m out of the country.”

“It also won’t be possible if you’re dead,” Samantha told him bluntly. She must have sensed his annoyance because her voice was softer when she spoke next. “Remaining here is too risky. Surely you must realize that.”

He pushed out a breath and slumped against the side of the carriage. She was right of course. He just loathed the defeat that weighed on his conscience. But maybe with time, he’d find his way back to London.

“I do,” he told her, then added, “I’ve an uncle who lives in Brest. He’ll give us refuge.”

* * *

Henry Alington, Viscount Carver, hated being played for a fool. And the Crofts had now managed to do so, not once, but twice in less than one week. First, on the night of Lawrence’s murder, Croft’s infuriating wife had led him and his men on a merry chase through the streets of London. She’d not been inside either of the two carriages they had pursued, one of which had been abandoned by the time they’d tracked it down. The other had contained a young woman – one of the Croft House maids – who’d been as doe-eyed and clueless concerning her mistress’s intentions as a newborn babe.

But at least Kendrick had managed to follow Samantha Croft to her husband’s location. He’d arrived at exactly the right moment, too. Just in time to charge Croft with murder. Though Henry was slightly put out by the fact that he’d been denied the pleasure of bringing Croft in, it pleased him to know the man had been placed behind bars. Even if his cunning wife had given Kendrick the slip.

It was one of the reasons why he’d made sure to have Croft’s trial expedited. To give that woman as little opportunity as possible to interfere with what had to transpire. Avernail had proven an asset to that effect. While Henry had met with the marquess prior to the trial with every intention of suggesting the man provide the ‘right’ witness, he’d quickly realized he wouldn’t have to.

Avernail was determined enough to see Croft hang to make that decision entirely on his own. The footman he’d provided had helped in that regard. Everything had gone according to plan. The verdict had been exactly as Henry had hoped. Croft would cease to exist. The threat his power posed not only to the monarchy, but to the government as a whole, squashed.

Until, by some bloody miracle, he’d managed to escape.

Henry smashed his fist against his desk, rattling the tea set a maid had placed there. Dorian Harlowe, the man he’d summoned, arched a brow, the mocking gleam in his eyes so provocative it nearly made Henry snarl. “I want to know how the woman whose capture I charged you with ensuring, managed to snatch a prisoner from a secure carriage and spirit him away without being seen.”

“As I’ve said, Samantha Croft is the most skilled agent I’ve ever known. She’s not just capable, resilient, and resourceful, but also incredibly determined when she sets her mind to something. Tracking her is no easy task. Capturing her will be less so.”

“Did you even try?” Henry asked.

A snort of amusement or possibly a hint of offense? “I told the rest of my agents to bring her in, but they found no trace of her anywhere.”

“Yet we know she was here. In the middle of London. The description offered to us by the guards and coachmen who were discovered inside that carriage matches her appearance.”

Mr. Harlowe inclined his head. When he looked at Henry next, his gaze was considerably harder. “Please know, I will do what I can to hunt her down. If we work together, that effort might be made easier.”

“What do you need?”

“Intelligence. My agents are few in number, so any information you can provide them with may be useful. It could determine which part of the country they search.”

“You don’t believe she and her husband might stay in London, it being the one place we would expect them to flee?”

“The risk would be too great. Samantha knows they have a small window in which to get out and make a clean getaway. With each passing hour, that window gets smaller as more people join the hunt. The chance of their being seen and recognized – of someone wanting the bounty placed on their heads – increases proportionally.”

He made a fair point. Henry drummed his fingers on his armrest. “If you were them, where would you go?”

It might be decades since Harlowe worked for the foreign office, but the experience he’d garnered as one of England’s most accomplished spies was invaluable.

“The shore,” Harlowe replied without blinking. “So I can get the hell out of the country.”

* * *

The ride back to Clearview was a pleasant reprieve from the conversation Dorian had been forced to endure with Lord Carver. The viscount clearly blamed him for Croft’s escape since it would not have happened had his wife been absent from the playing field.

A lapse on his part, Dorian acknowledged. Even though Hazel, Tara, and Holly had all done precisely what he’d have expected them to. They’d watched Croft House, had tracked any servant who left there to run an errand, had tried to keep an eye on Isak, the errand boy Samantha had developed a soft spot for.

Even Marsdale had been under surveillance for a short while, but as Dorian had tried to point out to Carver, the skillset provided by the three women was stretched too thin. More than one was required to watch the various points of entry at each location. It couldn’t be done by just one person.

And that was without considering the far greater problem they faced; namely the fact that Samantha had gone through the same exact training as Hazel, Tara, and Holly. She knew how their minds worked, where they would seek her out, how they would try to track her. This enabled her to think ahead. And to outsmart them at every turn.

Despite himself, Dorian smiled. For although he was disappointed in Samantha for the weakness she’d had for Croft, she’d confirmed herself to be as formidable as he’d trained her to be. And while he could not admit it openly, this secretly made him damn proud.

* * *

The sun was starting to set by the time the carriage turned off the eastbound road. Samantha looked out the window, toward the pinks and purples smeared across the darkening sky. They’d ridden hard since leaving London. Had only stopped to change the horses when necessary, during which only Turner and Ward had spoken with the stable hands at the various posting inns.

Adrian, Murry, and Samantha had remained in the carriage. They’d made separate stops for them to get out and relieve themselves when the need to do so arose.

The road became more uneven, causing the carriage to bounce. Samantha’s stomach growled. Lord, she was hungry. The bundle of food she’d had to share with the men had not been enough to sustain her for a full day. Which made her wonder how they might be faring. Surely they must be starving as well.

A low rumble confirmed this.

She glanced at Murry in question. He responded with no more than a raised eyebrow.

The carriage bounced along, jostling them with each jolt to the axels.

“I’ll make sure food is provided once we make camp,” Adrian told her, his hand clasping hers. “Murry will help. Won’t you?”

Murry flashed his teeth. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone hunting. Should be fun.”

Samantha knew better than to ask if rabbit or fish might be possible. They’d catch what they could, and it would sustain them until they found their next meal. Elbow resting against the edge of the window, she pressed her chin to her fisted hand.

They’d done it. They’d made it out of London, and a good deal farther without getting caught. All that remained was for them to acquire passage aboard a ship bound for the Continent. Only when they reached open water would she relax. Until then, with the risk of capture still upon them, she would remain alert, unable to find the rest she needed.

It took a while before the carriage rolled to a bumpy halt – long enough for Samantha to know that they’d left all semblance of what constituted a road far behind. She opened the carriage door and jumped down, her legs tingling from the relief they found in the movement.

Adrian and Murry followed her onto the ground while she began taking stock of their new surroundings. As far as she could tell in the dim light of dusk, the spot Turner and Ward had picked for the night appeared to be a small clearing. It was nestled between a cluster of trees, but close enough to the shore that Samantha could hear the rush of waves sweeping inland.

She took a deep inhalation, savoring the smell of moist soil and rich vegetation. A masculine arm came around her shoulders, pulling her into a strong frame. Her answering sigh was rewarded with a kiss to the top of her head.

“Murry and I will see to that food,” Adrian murmured, his hushed voice rolling through her, turning her bones to syrup. “Maybe after we eat, you and I can go for a walk.”

She glanced at him, caught the flicker of mischief in his dark gaze, and pulled him in for a kiss. It was brief, just a quick press of lips with the promise of more. “I’d like that.”

He gave her a wolfish grin before going to speak with Murry. Together, they disappeared into the darkness, seeking whatever sustenance they could find.

Samantha strode to where Turner and Ward stood, busying themselves with the horses. “I think it’s high time I thank you for your help with this rescue. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“We were happy to be of assistance,” said Turner. “Weren’t we, Ward?”

“Aye.” Ward underscored his agreement with a firm nod.

Samantha shoved her hands into her pockets and smiled. “What do you say we try to gather some firewood for when Murry and Croft return?”

“An excellent idea,” Turner said. “Considering what they’ll likely return with, I’m sure we’ll want it to be well cooked.”

Samantha shuddered, despite her stomach once again rumbling in anticipation of food. To distract herself from it, she started collecting fallen branches and twigs while Turner and Ward did the same, snapping the longer pieces in half to make them more manageable.

As the light grew increasingly dim, the surrounding trees transformed into black silhouettes, pushed back by the light from an oil lamp Turner had lit. Squatting to place the last few pieces of firewood she’d collected, Samantha looked in the direction where Adrian and Murry had vanished and frowned.

They’d been gone a really long time. Well over an hour, she reckoned. She glanced at her two companions, about to suggest they go tell the others to give up the hunt in favor of rest, when the crack from a pistol sounded somewhere in the distance.

“Let’s hope that shot hit its mark,” Turner said. He dropped a few more twigs on the fire, then struck a flint so he could light it. By the time Samantha picked up the sound of approaching footsteps, flames were climbing toward the sky.

Thankfully, the badger Murry dropped on the ground looked large enough to feed them all. Samantha watched as Adrian dropped to a crouch and began skinning the creature. It wasn’t a meat she’d tried before, the flavor, when she chewed on a piece a while later, reminding her of wild rabbit. A bit coarser, perhaps, not that she would be picky about it. She was just glad the men hadn’t returned with a squirrel.

“I’ll make sure you have a proper dinner as soon as we get to a safe location,” Adrian said when the two of them went for their post-dinner walk. His fingers squeezed hers, as if to add weight to that promise.

She smiled at him through the darkness. “I’ll gladly eat badger every day for the rest of my life if it means you’ll live. That’s all that matters to me, Adrian. You being here with me right now.”

It was so hard to believe. Numerous parts had been required to fall into perfect place for her and Murry’s plan to work. She’d been filled with doubt, even though she’d kept all of that to herself, carefully tucked away behind hope and determination.

“That puts you ahead of me once again,” Adrian murmured.

An odd thing to say. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve saved my life twice. I’ve only saved yours once, and even then there was a chance you would have survived without my assistance.”

She chuckled, even as the reminder of what he’d suffered when they’d been attacked in their carriage made her draw closer to his side. They broke past the trees that hid their encampment and walked toward the dunes in the distance.

“All that proves is that you are more prone to getting yourself into trouble,” she teased, tamping down the dread that gripped her whenever she thought of how close she’d been to losing him. On three separate occasions. “I, on the other hand, am clearly more adept at averting danger.”

“Minx.” There was laughter in his voice as he pulled her to him, his larger body sheltering her from the cold sea breeze. “How did you prevent the carriage drivers from putting up a fight?”

The ground beneath their feet softened as it turned sandier. A gust of wind pulled at Samantha’s hair, freeing additional strands. “Blackmail.”

A startled laugh until he realized she wasn’t joking. “Really?”

“It worked, but only because I knew which coachmen to target. You may be surprised to know that Marsdale and Kendrick both helped.”

“What?” Adrian stopped and turned to face her. “You got Edward involved in this?”

“I needed to know where you were held and if breaking you out of Bow Street directly was feasible or not. Someone had to go visit you there and it couldn’t be me or your men.”

“But Edward?” He sounded horrified. “He’s too good a person to ask that of.”

“Possibly, but the truth of it is you’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for him. He’s the one who got Kendrick to do the right thing, the reason I knew who the coachmen would be and where to find them.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Exactly so.” She pursed her lips. “You’re racking up quite the debt.”

Knowing he’d find the notion a difficult one to deal with, she pulled away from him and continued toward the dunes, allowing him a moment to let her remark settle. If he responded, the words were lost to the wind.

She’d reached the grassy swells of sand by the time Adrian caught up to her. Positioned behind her as she stared out over the water, he offered a wall of protection while hugging her to him. With a sigh of contentment, she leaned against his solid frame and savored the warmth that seeped from his body to hers.

Inhaling the promise of what was to come, she turned in his arms, her mouth seeking his. Lord, how she’d missed this – the bond they shared when they were together, this feeling of home that only he could provide.

Unshaven for several days now, his jaw scraped hers with each movement. A new sensation, different from before, though not one she minded. It added a level of rawness that made her forget the cold air and the wind, increasing her want, her desire for more of him.

She angled her head when he kissed a path down the length of her neck. His hands slid lower too, molding her curves, gripping and pulling her closer. Until she was flush with masculine power.

The need that rushed through her on that primal contact nearly tossed her straight into the heart of the storm. Gasping for breath, she dug her fingers into his shoulder and held on tight as he walked her backward.

“I must confess,” he muttered, his breath grazing her skin. “I’ve never divested a woman of breeches before.”

The friction provided by each of his strides would surely be her undoing.

“I’m sure you can manage. One button at a time.”

He growled, his teeth gently nipping. A dart of pleasure shot through her, ridding her of all common sense and reason. All she knew was that she had to have him – her husband – right now.

So she pushed her hands between them and started unfastening closures, not caring if it belonged to his jacket or placket. But this was Adrian Croft – not the sort of man who would simply sit back and let her take control. He allowed her one moment of victory before lifting her into the air.

The ground vanished beneath her feet, the world tilted, and then she was being lowered. Startled, she expelled a breath as he placed her on the cool sand. Here, tucked between two dunes, she was sheltered from the wind, the noise from the sea, rushing against her ears before, no more than a whisper filtering through the air now.

A pair of large hands caught hold of her thighs, gently nudging, allowing him the space he needed to climb between them. His mouth sought hers, the weight of his body pressing her down, reigniting the heat from seconds before. She hooked her legs around his and arched, seeking the contact she knew they both needed.

His low chuckle, replete with wicked desire, filled their kiss with a promise of what was to come. Questing fingers moved between them, tracing the waistband of her breeches. She arched again.

Please.

Another low chuckle.

“What was it you said before?” He pushed a bit harder against her, adding pressure in just the right place. “One button at a time?”

A gasp was all she could manage. “Yes.”

She repeated that word several more times in the moments that followed. Until they’d both sated their hunger, their bodies limp as they gazed toward the night sky, and saw stars wink from between the clouds.