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I t was noon by the time Peter Kendrick returned to the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court after meeting with Orendel.

Relief had shown on the earl’s face when Peter informed him his daughter’s killer was dead. Surprise, too, at discovering who had probably killed her. This had been followed by sympathy for Mr. Croft. In Orendel’s opinion, Croft had acted correctly and ought not to have been apprehended. He’d even complained that it hadn’t been he who’d taken Lawrence’s life. Even though there was no solid proof that Lawrence had done as Croft claimed.

His account alone would not be enough to cement Lawrence’s guilt. Evidence would be required to back up the details he had provided. The fact that Peter suspected Croft might be telling the truth was beside the point since Croft’s statement could all too easily be dismissed as outlandish.

As for Orendel, all Peter could do was explain that murder was murder. Illegal no matter who the victim might be. The earl should be glad he wasn’t the one who’d been caught holding the pistol. He’d told him as much before taking his leave.

The next call ought to have been his priority that morning, yet he’d made up all kinds of excuses to delay it. Orendel’s daughter, Lady Eleanor, had been killed first. Nearly two weeks ago. Her father waited for answers. No sense in bringing heartbreaking news to Avernail House earlier than necessary. Their lives would be forever changed soon enough.

So Peter had stayed in the hackney for a good while, his gaze on the front door he had to approach. A knock was all it would take for the marquess and marchioness’ world to crumble.

This part of the job never got any easier. It didn’t matter what Benjamin Lawrence had or hadn’t done right now. He was still a son and a brother. In fact, his potential involvement in Lady Eleanor’s death might make everything even harder.

Exhausted and reluctant to get on with the task, Peter had smoked a couple of cheroots before alighting from the carriage. The news he’d had to impart was naturally distressing. He’d known it would be. What surprised him, however, was the lack of grief shown by the marquess. Instead, anger had been the dominant emotion, accompanied by denial.

The man refused to believe his son could have done what Peter suggested. After all, he’d loved his fiancée, Avernail insisted, besides which, he’d not been able to walk. It was preposterous for anyone to suggest otherwise. His wife had sobbed her agreement while Peter apologized to them both. Still he’d tried to explain, which had led to a furious marquess demanding he leave their home at once.

Peter hadn’t lingered, making a hasty retreat while a slew of insults followed him out. The uncomfortable feeling of knowing he might have handled the situation poorly continued to gnaw at him as he stepped through the Bow Street Magistrate Court’s front door.

Cheers and applause instantly sounded from the Runners who’d seen him arrive. Others joined in, the atmosphere so contradictory from what he’d left behind at Avernail House, he actually froze for a second, unsure of how to respond.

“You did it,” Jackson said. The young Runner beamed as he stepped toward Peter and offered his hand. Peter blinked, then collected himself and shook it. “I know how hard you’ve worked to bring Croft in on substantial charges. Not an easy feat, sir. We’re all very impressed.”

A frown pulled at Peter’s brow. He didn’t feel the satisfaction he thought he would experience upon bringing Croft in. There was something not quite right about it that nagged him. Of course, it could just be that he’d been waiting for this for so long the experience itself didn’t live up to his expectations. Or maybe he was simply too tired to be elated.

“Thank you.” He managed a faint smile and a nod. “Let’s not forget that we’re a team, though. I consider Croft’s arrest to be a joint effort.”

The remark was met by additional clapping, the sound following Peter as he made his way to his office. His intention was to record the meetings he’d had that morning and making sure Andrews was looking into Miss Atkins’s disappearance before going home for a nap. A plan he knew he would have to delay the moment he opened the door and saw Sir Nigel. The chief magistrate sat behind Peter’s desk, reading a file – the report detailing Croft’s arrest. He’d left it on Sir Nigel’s desk for him to find.

Sir Nigel glanced up at the sound of Peter’s arrival and set the file aside. “Congratulations, Kendrick. You’ve finally met with success.”

“Thank you, sir.” When the chief magistrate made no move to rise from Peter’s chair, Peter crossed to one reserved for guests and lowered himself to the wooden seat.

“Viscount Carver is in a snit about it.” Sir Nigel snorted, referencing one of the prince regent’s closest advisors. “Claims you ran off to find your own glory.”

“I got lucky, that’s all.” Unlike the viscount, who’d chased a decoy, Peter had realized that something wasn’t quite right. So he’d stayed behind and in doing so, had managed to follow Mrs. Croft directly to her husband’s location.

“Not to worry,” Sir Nigel muttered. He smacked his lips and adjusted his bulky figure in the chair. “Of greater concern is Croft’s bloody solicitor. He got to the house before me if you can believe it. Prevented me from conducting a search by producing a document signed by Judge Nelby.”

“I trust you’re already working on having the ruling overturned?”

“Of course, but it will take time.” He scrubbed his jaw while eyeing Peter. “I was hoping to find additional information to use against Croft in court. Make sure he doesn’t slip through our fingers.”

“You believe him capable of doing so?”

Sir Nigel jabbed the file he’d dropped on the desk with a podgy finger. “You didn’t actually see him pull the trigger. Did you?”

Peter stared at his superior. “He was standing over Lawrence’s body when I arrived on the scene, the pistol in his hand still aimed at Lawrence’s head. There was no mistaking what happened.”

“Perhaps not, but Shaw is damn clever. You can be sure he’ll mention the time between Lawrence’s death and your showing up. The assumption that Croft killed Lawrence will be questioned.”

“And it should be,” Peter blurted.

“I beg your pardon?”

“All aspects pertaining to any crime should be turned over and scrutinized. Anything less would be unfair. Especially since we know mistakes have been made in the past – innocents charged and punished for crimes they did not commit while the guilty were allowed to go free.” It was the part that nagged him the most. Particularly when the sentence was death, since that was not something that could be undone.

“You’re not wrong,” Sir Nigel told him gravely. “However, considering who Croft is and the number of powerful people who’d love to be rid of him, I’m fairly sure I know which way the scale will tip. Not even Shaw will get him off this time.”

“Didn’t you just imply that he might?”

“I said he’d try, not that he would succeed. But while he makes his attempts, we’re stuck with our unwelcome house guest.” Sir Nigel finally pushed himself out of Peter’s chair, prompting Peter to stand as well. “I’d have preferred a brief sojourn, not a lengthy retreat that could take weeks.”

Peter nodded his agreement. He wanted this beastly business over and done with as well so they could move on. There were other cases to see to, which caused him to say, “I trust Billings told you about the six-year-old girl who’s gone missing?”

“The butcher’s daughter?” Sir Nigel angled his head while considering Peter. “I’ve made sure it’s being looked into.”

A piece of welcome news to alleviate Peter’s concerns. He could rest easy now, confident something was being done to find Miss Molly Atkins.

* * *

Samantha slid from the roof of the Mad Bull Tavern and climbed through the open window below. The room she entered had been acquired by Ward, who served as Murry’s subordinate, alongside Turner. A base of operations was needed – somewhere to safely eat, sleep, and forge a plan.

As Murry had pointed out, no one would be on the lookout for men matching Ward’s and Turner’s descriptions, so one had been tasked with addressing the innkeeper, the other with purchasing various supplies.

The three men were waiting for her, Ward and Turner sitting at the small wooden table the sparse room offered and Murry on one of the two available beds, his back propped against the headboard. They tracked her movements as she entered, her feet landing silently on the plank floor.

The three men instantly stood to offer their seats.

Samantha considered the options, then shook her head and crossed to the bed that remained unclaimed.

“Shaw has done as I asked,” she informed them as she unlaced the deerskin shoes she’d been wearing. She pulled one off and flexed her toes. “It’s bought us some time.”

Murry acknowledged her comment with a grunt, the gruffness in his expression underscoring the severity of the situation. “We need to start figuring out how to get Croft out of this mess.”

“Bow Street won’t be easy to breach,” Ward said. He was an interesting sort, mild in appearance with light blonde hair and dazzling eyes the same shade as fresh hydrangeas. Yet there was no doubt in Samantha’s mind he was lethal, or he would not be working so closely with Murry. “There’s too many eyes on that place, so unless we get ourselves an inside man, I’m not sure how we’ll manage.”

“I’d rather not rely on a stranger,” Murry said. “Can’t be trusted.”

Samantha agreed. “If Shaw is as good as I believe him to be, he may find a legal way through this.”

“How?” Turner asked. Unlike Ward, he looked like the sort of man one would be wise to avoid upsetting. Dark haired like Murry, with angular features and an observant gaze, he kept his words brief whenever he spoke, which was something he rarely did.

“I’m not sure.” Samantha, having removed her other shoe, reached up to fix the knot she’d tied her hair in and sighed. It felt like a tangled mess, the sort that would need a great deal of combing.

Catching a whiff of herself in the process, she winced. A bath wouldn’t be so bad either, though that would have to wait a while. As it was, she dreaded having to use the chamber pot in front of these men, a thought that made her decline the mug of ale Murry offered.

“Not to be pessimistic about this,” he said, “but I think you know as well as I that his only chance of avoiding the rope is if we step in with a plan. Kendrick saw him, pistol in hand, with two dead bodies at his feet and Miss Fontaine’s brains splattered on the wall.”

“Yes, but… Kendrick arrived after me, and I didn’t even see Adrian actually shoot anyone.”

“Won’t matter,” Murry informed her. “Kendrick’s out for blood. You know that as well as I.”

She couldn’t argue with that. But breaking Adrian out of the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court would be difficult, albeit easier than it would be to get him out of Newgate should he be transferred. “We need to gather intelligence. But I can’t go anywhere near those offices, and neither can you, Murry.”

She considered Turner and Ward as potential options, but if either of them got apprehended, her team would be one man short, diminishing the chance of success.

As though reading her mind, Murry said, “What we need is a scout who won’t raise suspicions. Someone who can walk into those offices and find out what we need to know without Kendrick or his Runners so much as blinking. I don’t suppose any of you might know a person who fits that description.”

“I could try presenting the problem to Miss Miles.” Turner sent Samantha a wary glance. “As a…um…relatively beautiful woman, the men might be too distracted by her to wonder why she would choose to pay Croft a visit.”

Samantha drew a slow breath, tried not to show the effect Miss Miles’s name had upon her, even as her stomach twisted. She knew who the woman was from the information Harlowe had helped her gather on Adrian before she’d met him for the first time. His former mistress – a young widow who did indeed deserve to be praised for her lovely appearance, to say nothing of her voluptuous curves.

“A fairly inappropriate suggestion,” Murry muttered, his voice censorious.

“Sorry. It was just an idea.”

Hands clenched, Samantha did her best to consider it objectively. Which was damn hard to do when all she could think of now was Miss Miles finding pleasure in Adrian’s arms. She gritted her teeth against the unpleasant vision. Jealousy was a pointless emotion. It wouldn’t help any of them.

And yet…

“Can she be trusted?” She glanced at the three men in turn, noted the uncertain look on their faces. “If we ask this of her, can we be sure she will not betray us? That she won’t betray my husband, after the way he ended things with her?”

He’d done so out of guilt. Because she was the woman he’d been with while his sister, Evie, was being murdered. But according to Adrian’s own account, Miss Miles had not been pleased by the split.

“There’s no guarantee,” Murry said.

Not the show of support Samantha wanted him to provide for the person they pinned their chance of success on. She’d keep Miss Miles in mind, but it would be better if they could find someone else. Someone beyond reproach. A person they would have a hard time convincing because they could not be bought. An individual who would have Adrian’s best intentions at heart, who…

A smile tugged at her mouth, drawing the edges upward. She bit her lip and eyed her companions – wondered what they might think of her daring proposal.

“What?” Ward asked, catching the triumph in her expression. “You look like you’ve just found a chest full of gold.”

Turner tilted his head, watching her with an expectant look in his eyes.

Samantha leaned forward, allowed her gaze to slide over each of the men before naming the one whose help she intended to seek. “Marsdale.”

“The earl?” Murry blurted, as if there could ever be talk of somebody else. Samantha only nodded and leaned back against the headboard, legs stretched out as she folded her hands in her lap. Murry shook his head. “There’s a reason Croft never let Marsdale know his business. His moral compass cannot be swayed.”

“And yet, he helped stage a deception in order to catch Miss Croft’s killer.” The more she thought on it, the more sense Marsdale made. “However determined he may be to play by the rules, this family matters to him enough that he’s willing to bend them. As long as he’s not asked to break the law.”

“He would be aiding in Croft’s escape, thus making him complicit to a criminal act.” Murry snorted. “There is no way in hell he’ll agree. In fact, speaking with him alone would put all of us at risk.”

“I disagree.” Especially if the choice was between him and Miss Miles, a woman Samantha did not know and had no cause to trust. Marsdale on the other hand… “He loved Miss Croft and considers my husband his brother. Besides which he fits the type of person we need. A man Bow Street will never suspect of wrongdoing, who also has the authority needed to avoid getting turned away at the door.”

Murry scrubbed his jaw, his displeasure with the idea as undeniable as the musty smell filling the room. “Let’s think on it, shall we. I’d like to see if we can’t come up with another option before we settle on one this risky.”

“Very well.” Samantha, while technically in charge because she was Adrian’s wife, had no desire to make his men question her reasoning. Murry had been with Adrian too long. If he thought she was rushing ahead with a foolhardy plan, he might decide to abandon her in favor of making his own.

An outcome that wouldn’t serve either of them. Not when they were strongest together. “How about we grab a bite to eat. Turner, would you and Ward be able to bring up some food?”

The two men left and returned ten minutes later, each with a tray on which bowls filled with stew had been placed. There was also a jug and a couple of mugs.

“More ale,” Ward said when Murry asked what the jug contained.

He set his tray on the table while Turner placed his on Samantha’s bed. The fragrant smell of steaming hot beef and vegetables wrapped itself around her so tightly her stomach responded with a low growl.

Murry chuckled. “Hungry, aye?”

This being her first meal of the day, she sent him an unapologetic look. “Absolutely starving.”

She handed him one of the bowls while she took the other, Ward and Turner having both returned to the table. Everyone dug into their meals, plunging the room into a silence interrupted only by the sound of utensils and satisfied eating.

Samantha found the stew’s flavor surprisingly tasty, though the meat required a fair bit of chewing. She gave up trying to shred it with her teeth and swallowed it mostly whole. The piece of potato she ate next was better.

“Well?” she asked once the meal was completed. “Have any of you come up with another idea?”

“I’m thinking we ought to let Adrian go to trial,” Murry said.

Samantha’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “What?”

“Even if we’re able to find out exactly where Adrian is being kept, we don’t stand a chance of getting him out of there without being captured ourselves.” He tilted his head in thought. “Maybe we’d be wise to wait for him to be removed from that place.”

“You’re suggesting we rescue him on the way to the gallows?” It wasn’t something she’d considered before, but it might have merit. Although… “That’s leaving it a bit late, don’t you think. There won’t be room for error.”

“Then we’d best make sure we’ve a foolproof strategy.” He grabbed one of the mugs from the tray on the bed and filled it with ale, then took a large swig and wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. “If you’re sure about Marsdale, I’ll trust your judgement. Truth is, he’ll be of more use than Miss Miles for this to work.”

Samantha appreciated that along with the suggestion he’d made to wait with trying to save Adrian. However, she would prefer to rescue him sooner rather than later, if doing so were possible. Which meant she would need information on Bow Street’s interior layout.

She glanced at the jug of ale that beckoned. To hell with it, she decided, and snatched up the last remaining mug. If she was to weave her way through this quagmire, she’d need all the fortification she could get.