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I t had been an exhausting day and it wasn’t over yet. Adrian had kept the promise Eldridge had made to Liverpool on his behalf. He’d handed over the rest of his files and had sworn them to be the complete collection.

Did he have duplicates?

Of course, but only a few since he’d stupidly ordered the first set destroyed. His secretary had not been able to make additional copies of all the back-up files after they’d been recovered from Deerhaven Park.

Reproducing those files would have taken at least six more months because Cummings was the only man Adrian trusted with the job. However regrettable, the files he’d given up were worth every bit of freedom he’d gained for himself and Samantha.

Intent on leaving her out of his final plan for the day, Adrian strode through the back streets of Mayfair. He’d told her only of his immediate intention to visit his club this evening. As he’d explained, it was important he put in an appearance just to remind everyone he’d returned, though there were undoubtedly those who were displeased by his presence.

He’d used the occasion to thank Eldridge and Moorland for their assistance. Avernail’s absence was notable. Everyone spoke of the marquess’s shameful conduct and of his son’s heinous crimes. According to what he’d gleaned, Avernail had fled the brothel as soon as he’d woken and had since retreated to his country estate. He was now under investigation by Mr. Hastings, the newly installed chief magistrate. Charges were likely to follow.

Upon leaving White’s, Adrian walked to his next destination. His tread was near silent against the stone pavement. The gaslights, spaced at greater intervals here than on the thoroughfares, guided him toward one particular address. When he eventually reached St. James’s Square, he stepped up to the front door and gave it a few loud raps with the knocker.

“Yes?” inquired the butler who answered his call. He was an older man of short stature with thick white hair and a beak-shaped nose.

“Mr. Adrian Croft.” Adrian handed the man his card. “I’m here to see Mr. Hillford.”

The butler kept his expression neutral. “Unfortunately, Mr. Hillford has gone out.”

“I’m happy to wait.”

“It would be better if you returned at a more appropriate hour.”

Or never at all. The unspoken words were painted all over the butler’s face.

Adrian was of a mind to push his way past him and search the house top to bottom. Make sure Hillford was indeed absent. He reminded himself that the butler was merely doing his job. He probably didn’t know about his employer’s engagements – the dirty business he was involved in.

“What is your salary?” Adrian asked.

The butler’s eyebrows shot upward.

Shock was the expected response in light of the personal question, but there was also clear mortification in the older man’s eyes. “I’ll inform Mr. Hillford that you were here. If you’ll please excuse me.”

He started closing the door, had almost completed the task when Adrian said, “Whatever it is, I’ll triple the yearly amount, which you will receive tomorrow. After which I’ll continue to pay you the same as the Hillfords are paying.”

The butler paused and the door remained ajar for a long-drawn-out moment before it creeped back open, just enough for the butler to meet Adrian’s gaze.

“Fifty guineas per annum, in answer to your question.”

“Then I shall pay you one hundred and fifty guineas for your aid this evening.”

The butler didn’t jump at the exorbitant offer as easily as Adrian had hoped. Instead, he said, “I’m not sure I agree with all I have heard about you, Mr. Croft. Or that I would like to work for the sort of man you are described as. Not to mention the fact that the Hillfords trust me. I have no wish to be disloyal toward them.”

“A commendable trait in any servant. But what if I were to tell you that Mr. Hillford is not the kind man he pretends to be, but a scoundrel more worthy of rotting in Newgate than most men I’ve ever met?”

“Then I would say you are gravely mistaken.”

“If only it were so.” Adrian gave the servant a brief account of what he’d discovered about Mr. Hillford and how he supplemented his fortune.

“Your accusation is indeed cause for alarm,” the butler said. “Provided you speak the truth. However, I am inclined to believe this a ploy to harm a good man and I’ll have no part in that.”

The door started closing again but Adrian stopped it with his hand. “Suppose you’re wrong. What then?”

Uncertainty seemed to stay the older man’s movements.

“Will you rest easy,” Adrian pressed, “knowing there’s a chance your wages have come from selling innocent children to Ottoman slavers?”

The butler swallowed. A pained expression strained his features. Indecision showed in his shifting gaze. Frowning, he looked at Adrian. “Who’s to say the money you’re offering me right now has not been acquired through illegal means?”

“You have my word that it will not have come from taking advantage of people. Certainly not from hurting women or children.” When the butler continued to refuse him entry, Adrian said, “All I’m asking for, is a chance to discuss my findings with Mr. Hillford. Don’t you see that my hope is to prevent additional children from being harmed in the future?”

A lengthy pause followed. It was clear that the butler was weighing his options and trying to figure out what the right move would be. To Adrian’s relief, he finally gave a small nod. “Very well. I’ll accept your offer.” Now in Adrian’s employ, he pulled the door wide so Adrian could enter.

“What’s your name?” Adrian asked as he crossed the threshold.

“Mathis, sir.” The butler took Adrian’s hat and gloves. “Where would you like to wait for Mr. Hillford?”

Adrian glanced around the understated foyer. “The parlor will do.”

Mathis showed him to the room and offered him a glass of brandy, which he then poured. He handed it to Adrian and said, “You must be very well connected to have acquired a pardon for the crime you committed. Especially since it would seem that a great many men were eager to see you hang.”

“You followed the case?”

“The papers have written of little else this past week.”

Hardly surprising. Adrian sipped his drink. “The pardon was issued with the condition that I reform.”

“And yet you are here.”

“So I am.” Adrian studied Mathis. The man did not so much as flinch beneath his regard. “Do you know, you’re unusually outspoken for a servant.”

“Would you rather I keep my thoughts to myself?”

“No.” If there was one thing Adrian had learned, it was to value every opinion. He never dismissed what anyone said, no matter their station. “You are welcome to speak freely.”

“Then I must tell you that I do not condone what you did.”

“You mean killing Mr. Lawrence?” A nod from Mathis made Adrian say, “I acted in self-defense. Besides which, he deserved it.”

“Which is why I understand it, even though I feel it was wrong.”

How long had Adrian struggled with the same moral dilemma? “Taking a life is the greatest sin a man can commit. And yet, when it is done for the right reason – in defense of the weak or in pursuit of justice – I believe it can be forgiven.”

“By God or by man?”

“Both.” Adrian crossed to a nearby chair and sat. “The God I believe in would not let Mr. Lawrence’s actions go unpunished. As they would have done had I not hunted him down with every intention of making him pay.”

“You think God wielded you as a weapon?” When Adrian chose not to answer, Mathis said, “You are brave to risk damning your soul in this way.”

“There is nothing brave about it,” Adrian muttered. He was simply more afraid of what would happen if he did nothing.

“You should know that Hillford will be returning with his wife. Whatever your intention with him, I hope she will be spared from witnessing it.”

The slightest tremor in Mathis’s voice revealed an underlying nervousness he’d thus far managed to hide. Adrian angled his head as he saw what the man imagined would soon transpire in this very room.

“You may rest easy, Mathis. I’ve no intention of harming Mr. Hillford.”

“But…” Incomprehension showed in Mathis’s slack-jawed expression.

“He will be punished for what he has done. Make no mistake about it. But the punishment must fit the crime.”

Mathis blinked. He looked rather taken aback by this way of thinking, as though he’d expected Adrian to shoot Hillford dead as soon as he arrived. Not that Adrian wouldn’t find some satisfaction in that. What Hillford had done was unforgivably heinous.

The fates that had awaited those children when they left England would without doubt have been intolerable. To say nothing of what may already have been done to previous groups of children – to those who hadn’t been saved. He shuddered at the horror of what they might be enduring at this very moment.

“I believe that’s the carriage.” Mathis crossed to the window and looked out, then sent Adrian a quick nod before leaving the room.

The sound of the front door being opened followed. Adrian downed the remainder of his drink and stood in preparation for Hillford’s arrival. He heard him soon enough as both he and his wife greeted Mathis. A quiet exchange followed and then Hillford entered the parlor. He stopped immediately inside the door, a mixture of surprise and concern filling his gaze.

“Mr. Croft. I did not expect to find you here.”

Adrian considered the middle-aged man who stood before him. Lean of build, he matched Adrian’s height. Graced with soft features, he wore a pleasant demeanor that made him look amicable and kind. Nothing about him suggested that he would sell captured children into a life of slavery.

Then again, looks were often deceiving. What Adrian had to do now was find a crack in the facade so the real Mr. Hillford could make an appearance.

“Forgive me for intruding upon your evening, Hillford, but there is a matter I must discuss with you.” Adrian glanced toward the still-open door. “Your wife should join us since I’m sure the subject will also be of interest to her.”

“I…um…” Hillford scratched the back of his head. “She’s had a long day and is eager to retire. As am I.”

“Mathis?” Adrian called for the butler without breaking eye-contact with Hillford. “Would you please encourage Mrs. Hillford’s engagement?”

A stricken look came over Hillford’s face. “What is this?”

“I recommend you sit,” Adrian said, his voice much sharper than before as he gestured toward the sofa.

Registering movement out of the corner of his eye, he shifted his gaze and allowed it to settle upon the woman who had appeared. Her eyes were fixed upon him with extreme displeasure. “Good evening, Mrs. Hillford. You look particularly lovely this evening.”

“And you look ever the scoundrel, Mr. Croft.” A petite woman with piercing eyes, she faced him as though he might be an army she meant to destroy. “Whatever your business here, I’m sure it could have waited until morning.”

“Most things can, but I prefer to get them over and done with so they do not linger.” He waved her forward. “Do join us.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you will no doubt remain ignorant of the information I am about to impart.” He was taking a gamble that like most women, she would leap at the chance to be included in a discussion that would at other times be reserved for men.

She stepped forward, hands clasped before her. “Very well.”

Hillford frowned. “Now that you have our attention, I’d like you to say your piece and leave.”

“As soon as you’ve taken your seats.” He watched as the pair shared a wary look and the hesitant movements that followed, while doing his best not to lose what remained of his patience. It took a moment, but they finally lowered themselves to the sofa. Adrian curled his fingers over the armrests of his chair and directed his attention at Hillford. “You have children, do you not?”

Hillford stared at Adrian, confusion causing his eyebrows to dip and his mouth to fall open. He shook his head, appeared to gather himself. “I don’t understand. What is it you want?”

“What I want,” Adrian told him firmly, “is for you to answer the question.”

“A question I’m sure you already know the answer to since that’s what you specialize in, is it not? You gather information on people and look for ways to use it against them, but if you dare to threaten my children I…I…I swear to heaven above you will not leave this house alive.”

A threat Adrian doubted the man had the courage to follow through on. Hillford was the sort of man who made others do his dirty work so he would not have to witness the horror himself. “If memory serves, you have both a son and a daughter.”

“I…” Hillford looked like he might be about to choke. He turned to his wife, like a drowning man desperate for someone to toss him a lifeline.

By comparison, Mrs. Hillford maintained her composure with admirable strength. She placed her hand over her husband’s. “Indeed, we do, though I’m not sure how that signifies.”

“I am merely trying to understand a situation that has come to pass and the part your husband played in making it happen.” Adrian frowned at Hillford. It looked as though the pitiful bastard might be trembling. “Though I am not yet a father, I cannot bear the idea of harm being done to anyone’s child. So you may rest assured that I will do nothing to either of yours. All I wish to know is the punishment you would deem appropriate for someone who stole them away from you.” Adrian leaned forward. “What would you do to the person responsible for selling them to Ottoman slavers?”

“I would beat them to death.” Hillford’s response was swift.

“They did not kill your children,” Adrian pointed out. “Are you certain another punishment would not be more fitting?”

“No.” Hillford held Adrian’s gaze even as his eyes started to glisten. “Children are sacred. Innocent. Any form of abuse against them demands the harshest form of punishment.”

An interesting statement, coming from a man who was guilty of the crime Adrian had just described. Unless he wasn’t. The conviction with which he spoke – the emotion filling each word – certainly suggested he’d never dare harm so much as a hair on anyone’s head. Least of all a child’s.

Which was not precisely surprising, given Adrian’s own opinion of the man prior to recent events, though it was enlightening.

More so, when Adrian shifted his gaze to Mrs. Hillford and saw apprehension flicker behind her cool gaze. All Adrian had received from Grant was a name. Based upon which he’d made an assumption. One which was starting to look increasingly false.

He mulled that over for a brief second before he said, “A few days ago, I happened upon a wind-blown house that sits on the shore near Pagham. Circumstances being what they were, I was trying to flee England. The four men I encountered at that house were willing to help once I mentioned my name – a name they associated with lawlessness. Which is no doubt why they saw no need to fear the discovery I would eventually make inside said house.

“In all likelihood, they meant to brush it aside or, if not, refuse the assistance they knew I needed. They might even have tried to kill me, had I protested what they were doing. But it never came to that since an unexpected altercation got three of them killed and the fourth arrested. After which I finally managed to enter the rooms they kept locked. And do you know what I found?”

Hillford shook his head, dread pressing him into the back of the sofa. His wife, on the other hand, sat with her jaw tightly clenched.

“Eight children awaiting transport. All of them drugged to keep them from causing trouble. One boy dead from too great a dose.”

“Good God.” Hillford’s distress was palpable. The increased alarm that showed on his face as Adrian spoke was every bit as genuine as his wife’s frosty expression.

“What does this have to do with us?” she asked, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.

Adrian stood, snatched up his glass, and crossed to the side table. He poured himself another measure, took a moment to gather his thoughts – to think and to figure out how to proceed. This meeting was not going as he’d expected.

He set his glass to his lips and sipped his brandy, then turned to face his hosts. “Before he died, one of the men in that house provided me with a name. That is why I am here, because he said he worked for you.”

“Preposterous.” Mrs. Hillford followed the statement with a disgruntled huff.

Hillford shared his wife’s incredulousness, though he appeared far more believable than she. It was as though he genuinely lacked the information required to make sense of what was going on.

He stared at Adrian, clearly befuddled. “As I have already said, I could never harm a child.”

“And I believe you.” Adrian looked to Mrs. Hillford. “But what about you?”

She produced a shrill bit of laughter. “Your question is both insulting and absurd. I suggest you take your leave.”

“And abandon the truth? Allow harm to come to additional children?” Adrian shook his head. “I think not.”

Mrs. Hillford’s expression darkened. “You have some nerve coming into our home and throwing allegations at us when you are the only criminal here. Honestly, I refuse to listen to anything else you have to say.”

Adrian held her gaze squarely. “Because you fear the repercussion?”

“Of course not,” she hissed.

“Then why not allow Mr. Croft to say his piece?” Hillford asked, his voice gentle but wary.

“This is ridiculous.” Mrs. Hillford scoffed. “I am not going to sit here and let a man who recently killed someone accuse me of wrongdoing.”

“I’ve not accused you of anything yet,” Adrian said. Not outright, at least.

Ignoring him, she turned to her husband. “I want you to tell Mr. Croft to get out of our house this instant.” When all Hillford did was blink, she pushed herself upright and pointed toward the door. “Leave. Now.”

“Not until I’ve finished proving your involvement in this crime, Madam.” Adrian was done being polite. He jutted his chin toward the spot Mrs. Hillford had just vacated. “Sit.”

Mrs. Hillford’s entire posture was rigid, her face drawn tight and her eyes burning like hot coals. Hillford stared at her while she kept her gaze firmly trained upon Adrian. The edge of her lips curled, and she resumed her seat. Smoothed out her skirts as though nothing of note was being discussed.

“Fiona?” Hillford’s voice was quiet. Hesitant. Evident of every doubt now filling his mind. “Tell me you have nothing to do with kidnapped children.”

“I have not,” Mrs. Hillford insisted. “Mr. Croft has made a despicable claim. For which you ought to call him out.”

“What?” Hillford gaped at the woman he’d married.

Breaking eye contact with Adrian, she looked at her husband, her expression stony. “You must defend my honor.”

“I…um…”

Never before had a man looked more helpless than Hillford did now. Pitying him, Adrian decided to move the situation toward a swift conclusion. “There will be no need for that.” He retrieved a folded piece of paper. “This letter proves your guilt.”

He could almost see the wheels and cogs of her brain working in an attempt to remember if she had indeed put something damning in writing. “Where did you get that?”

“From Mr. Wilkes’s corpse.”

She blanched yet managed to extend her hand. “Let me see.”

Adrian grinned. “I think not.”

A smirk formed on her lips, and she finally relaxed her posture. “It’s blank, isn’t it? Nothing more than a ploy to entrap an innocent woman.”

“If you were innocent,” Adrian drawled, “any suggestion of a letter connecting you with child smugglers would have made zero impact on you. For the simple reason that you would never have corresponded with such people. Yet you asked to see it for a reason, did you not? Because you did correspond with them. Didn’t you?”

“I…” She shook her head violently. “Absolutely not.”

Hillford looked like he’d no idea where the truth lay. He clearly wished to believe his wife and take her side, yet he turned toward Adrian and held out his hand. The letter Adrian had brought was promptly placed in his palm, upon which Mrs. Hillford launched herself at him, attempting to snatch it away.

He shoved her aside and stood, his face twisted in pain as he opened the letter and read the evidence of his wife’s actions.

Adrian watched the pair as one might watch a runaway carriage heading straight for a cliff. It was one of those ghastly moments of realization where Hillford finally saw his wife for the monster she was. The mask was falling away and as much as Adrian wished this good-natured man would not have to suffer, the truth had to come out.

How wrong Adrian had been to suspect Hillford. It hadn’t felt right when Grant had mentioned the name, yet he’d known it was possible for people to hide their true selves behind lies and false pretense.

To learn that Mrs. Hillford was the true culprit in all of this did not surprise him as much as it should have. Now the situation had to be faced head on. There was no way around it. Not when considering all that the wicked woman had done.

Disgust showed on Hillford’s face. He tossed the paper toward his wife. “How could you?”

“How could I ?” She gripped the paper in her fisted hand, seething with anger. “How can you accuse me when this is not even signed? Anyone could have written these words.”

“They are written in your hand,” Hillford shouted, his furious outburst, so apart from his customary calm, causing his wife to lurch back in her seat. He towered over her, fury defining every inch of his bearing. “You had children kidnapped for personal gain. My God. I cannot even make sense of how evil that is.”

Mrs. Hillford did not look the least bit chastised. She merely composed herself and stood, the letter she’d written clasped in her fisted hand. “There is nothing evil about ensuring one’s family’s future. You have never had an ounce of financial sense. Money trickles away between your fingers. Something had to be done and I realized it would be up to me. I had to save us from ruination. I did it for us. For our children.”

“God save you,” Hillford muttered.

“It’s not as though I took them from happy homes. They were orphans or runaways – thieves the people of London no longer need worry about.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Adrian said. “One child – a little girl – was stolen away from her parents.”

Not even a hint of regret appeared in Mrs. Hillford’s gaze though she said, “I would never have sanctioned that.”

“A boy died,” Hillford told her. “Or does that not matter to you, either?”

She said nothing this time, but her tight expression suggested she felt unjustly accused. In her mind, she’d found a way to fix her family’s problem. She probably thought herself clever and worthy of praise.

“How many times?” Adrian asked.

She frowned at him as though he were a pesky fly she’d like to swat. “What?”

“We managed to save one group of children, but I wager this enterprise of yours has been going on for a while.” When she turned her chin at a stubborn angle Adrian stood and stepped toward her with every bit of menace he possessed. “I will not ask again. How many times?”

She swallowed, audibly, but did not cower before him. “This was the fourth.”

“Jesus.” Hillford sank to the sofa, his face buried in the palms of his hands.

“In other words,” Adrian said, forcing the distasteful words from his throat. “You have sold roughly thirty children into slavery?”

“How did you even manage?” Hillford did not look at her, choosing instead to stare at the floor.

“I am not as incapable as you might think.” Satisfaction gleamed in her eyes as she said this. Adrian had never wanted to murder someone more than he wanted to murder Mrs. Hillford in that moment. Unfortunately, it went against his code of conduct to harm any woman. No matter what they might have done. And then she added, “Connections were made, and I took advantage. Wrengate was immensely helpful in that regard.”

Adrian froze. “The duke is involved in this scheme?”

“In a manner of speaking since he introduced me to Mr. Faruk, valet to the Ottoman ambassador.”

This information ought not be surprising. Adrian had always suspected Wrengate of being a cold-hearted bastard. His involvement in underhanded activities had been confirmed by Samantha, who’d helped Wycliff fight off Wrengate’s thugs. Thanks to the disguise she’d worn, she’d escaped without revealing her identity though not without the burden of having killed two men.

Adrian had discovered Wycliff’s body a couple of months later when he’d gone to end him for what he’d done to Isak. The scoundrel had been shot in the head. Possibly by Wrengate. The question was why. Samantha had mentioned overhearing something about a shipment. Was it possible Wrengate had been involved in the child-smuggling too? The children Adrian had found had mostly been in Wycliff’s care, so there did seem to be a connection.

He’d have to investigate further. One thing was certain. If Wrengate did have a hand in this, Adrian would have to make sure he faced justice next. And while he desperately wanted to change his ways for the better and let Bow Street handle the matter, he might have to make an exception. Duke or not, nothing would save Wrengate from Adrian’s wrath if he was indeed involved in all this.

For now, however, Mrs. Hillford had to be dealt with. One way or another, she’d pay for what she had done. But how?

“The smugglers were meant to meet the Ottoman vessel yesterday evening,” Adrian mused, an idea forming as he spoke. “They will not have come this far only to turn back when your man failed to show up according to plan, Mrs. Hillford. Anyone with an ounce of sense will have known an unforeseen issue must have arisen. And they would wait to see if it’s just a delay. Which means they remain out there in the Channel.”

The question was for how long.

“What are you thinking,” Hillford asked, his voice a bare whisper.

Adrian’s steady gaze fell upon him before moving on to his wife. “Mathis!”

The butler must have been standing right outside the door for he materialized immediately, positioning himself in a way where anyone wanting to leave the room would have to pass through him. “Yes, sir?”

“You will travel to Pagham with three other men.” Ignoring Mrs. Hillford, Adrian told her husband, “In my heart, I do not believe a person who harms a child in the way your wife has chosen to do deserves to live. However, I also think death too harsh since she’s not a murderess. She shall therefore be delivered to the very people with whom she struck her bargain. They may do with her as they see fit.”

“No.” The gasped protest came from Mrs. Hillford. “Please. I—”

“She’s still young enough to bear children,” Adrian assessed, speaking over her. “And my understanding is that the Ottoman’s favor blondes. Someone will surely want her and as part of the bargain, she shall suffer the fate she forced upon every child that she sold.”

“I have children of my own,” Mrs. Hillford wailed while her husband appeared to ponder Adrian’s plan. “I am a mother. For pity’s sake, Samuel, call upon Bow Street and have Mr. Croft thrown out of our home.”

“They will not throw me out,” Adrian told Hillford. “They will have her arrested and put on trial. You know this to be true. The Hillford name will be tarnished, and your children will suffer. They will know what their mother has done for it shall be written about in the papers.”

“And if she is taken away as you suggest?” Hillford asked.

“Samuel. You can’t be—”

“Then she will merely be gone,” Adrian said. “Your children will probably feel abandoned, but they will be spared the truth about their mother.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“No.” Mrs. Hillford spun for the door, but Mathis was there to stop her.

Ten minutes later, the wretched woman had been both bound and gagged. Half an hour after that, she was placed in the carriage Adrian had gone home to fetch. Only a trustworthy coachman would do in this instance. With Phelps recently killed, Adrian ordered Luthlow, his head groom, to handle the matter.

Hillford’s servants would be kept in the dark while Hillford himself would return upstairs to his bedchamber. When he woke the next morning, it would be to find that his wife had left him.