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A fter discussing Adrian’s new predicament with her companions, Samantha finally chose to seek Isak’s help. Having rescued the boy from a terrible fate and ensuring he was well cared for, he would likely be more than willing to do what he could for her and for Adrian.

Turning to him, however, was not a decision Samantha made lightly. She hated involving Isak in her scheme, but there was a chance he already knew the answers to some of their questions from all his time spent on the streets. Like where Newgate’s prison carriages were parked and how to gain access to one. If not, she was sure he’d be able to find out faster than any adult, who’d be far more likely to raise suspicions.

With Adrian’s trial already in session, the plan to help him would have to move forward quicker than she’d expected. Information had to be gathered now so they could be ready to act as soon as a verdict was reached.

So Samantha instructed Ward to make arrangements for Isak to be brought to the inn. “You can get a message to him through Rose, the flower-girl who keeps to Hyde Park Corner.”

“I’ll take care of it right away,” Ward assured her.

“And see to it that Isak knows not to come here directly.” If Harlowe was trying to find her, there was a chance he’d be watching the boy.

Ward nodded his understanding and left.

As expected, it took a couple of hours before Isak knocked on the door to the room and was shown inside. His eyes widened as soon as he spotted Samantha, who went to him without hesitation and pulled him into her arms for a tight embrace.

“You’re all right,” Isak said, staring at her in dismay when she released him. “I was horribly worried when you didn’t return to the house. And then I got word about Croft’s arrest and your disappearance and…” He shook his head, eyes gleaming with emotion. “Is Croft going to hang?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Samantha told him.

“You’ve got a plan. Don’t you?”

“I’m working on it, which is why you’re here.”

Isak nodded. “Croft saved my life. I’ll do whatever I can to save his.”

* * *

Grant spoke well, in Edward’s opinion – a difficult task to accomplish while still relaying the truth.

“Accuracy of language is important in this case,” said Grant. The sharp look in his eyes was a reminder that this was a man used to arguing in a defendant’s favor. And winning. “Mr. Croft, if I may remind you, stands accused of murder. But what exactly constitutes such a crime? To clarify, I should like to rely upon A Dictionary of the English Language for an apt definition.” He snatched up a book and flipped to the page he sought. “ Murder: to kill a man unlawfully . Unlawfully. A word that will determine the verdict. As I’m sure you will find once you hear all the facts, Mr. Croft may have killed Mr. Lawrence, but he did not do so unlawfully. Rather, he acted in self-defense – committed an excusable homicide – without the premeditation required for it to be ruled a murder.”

Unsurprisingly, the prosecutor – a man introduced as Mr. Cavendish – followed this statement by pointing out everything Edward knew would be in Adrian’s disfavor, beginning with the idea that Mr. Lawrence had been a helpless cripple, incapable of defending himself against Adrian’s attack.

“Let us not forget the reputation of the man standing trial here today – a man believed to have also killed Viscount Stanton’s son, Mr. Clive Newton. The suggestion made by Mr. Grant that Mr. Croft was forced to take lethal action against an individual who could not walk is preposterous. It’s hardly surprising when he would also have you believe that Mr. Lawrence merely pretended to be crippled, even though the fall he took from his horse was serious enough to sustain an injury of that nature. It’s been documented by his physician. All of his servants bore witness to his paralyzed state. As did his family. And yet, we are asked to believe one man who claims what all of these people saw and experienced was false. A man rumored to have no qualms about blackmailing people or issuing threats in order to get what he wants.

“Rest assured, I shall provide you viable witness statements so you may decide for yourselves.”

Edward’s stomach clenched in response to Cavendish’s booming voice, which resonated like thunder and left an ominous silence in its wake. He swallowed against the disquiet stealing through his veins and reminded himself not to worry. This was just the beginning. Whomever Cavendish might ask to speak, they would be countered by statements made in Adrian’s favor. Including his own.

“Mr. Lawrence was already dead when I entered Miss Fontaine’s lodgings,” Kendrick informed the jury when asked to relay the events that had led to Adrian’s arrest. “Miss Fontaine too. Both had been shot, though a dagger also protruded from Mr. Lawrence’s chest. Mrs. Croft, whom I’d followed there, appeared to be in shock while her husband, Mr. Croft, looked remarkably calm. He was standing over Mr. Lawrence, the only pistol found on the scene in his hand.”

Whispers filled the room. A tremor swept the length of Edward’s spine. He’d known this would come up, yet hearing Kendrick relay it, seemed to cement it as indisputable fact. A difficult situation for Grant to pull his client out of.

“The pistol was double barreled, yes?” Grant stared at Kendrick with the sort of unflinching confidence that had Edward relaxing against his chair once more. When Kendrick confirmed this Grant asked, “Did you hear two shots fired from it or just the one?”

“I don’t see how this signifies,” Cavendish said.

“Make your point, Mr. Grant,” Oakleigh ordered.

“I’d like to establish your whereabouts when you heard the two shots, Mr. Kendrick, if there indeed were two to be heard.” Grant took a step closer to where Kendrick sat, his relaxed posture a contrast to the tightness in his voice.

Kendrick could not have appeared more unmoved by Grant’s dominant manner, his expression calm and controlled. Professional. “I heard two shots. The first sounded when I entered the building, the second while I was climbing the stairs.”

“And how long did it take you to reach Miss Fontaine’s lodgings after hearing the second shot?”

“I can’t be certain, but it would have had to be somewhere between five and ten seconds in my estimation.”

“Five to ten seconds, before you were able to survey the scene.” Grant’s expression grew pensive and then a bit of clarity flashed in his eyes. “Seems to me you made an assumption when any number of things might have happened. Did you even ask Mr. Croft why he was there?”

“No. The evidence spoke for itself.”

“What evidence, Mr. Kendrick? As far as you know, Mr. Croft could have picked up the pistol after watching Mr. Lawrence take his own life. Alternatively, someone else might have been there. A person you failed to see since they’d already fled. Five to ten seconds may not seem like much, but I dare say it’s enough time for quite a different scenario than the one you’ve described to play out.”

Annoyance showed in the creases stretched upon Avernail’s brow when Edward glanced toward him. Stanton appeared to share his displeasure. Both men were clearly keen on Adrian being convicted. Eldridge, Hillford, and Wrengate appeared less involved. As though they were merely there out of interest and didn’t particularly care which way things went.

Birchwood and Moorland, on the other hand, looked like they supported Grant’s efforts. A satisfied smile formed upon Birchwood’s lips as the barrister’s point was delivered. Moorland wore a similar expression. By contrast, scowls appeared on both men’s brows when Cavendish stood and prepared to speak next.

An interesting observation, Edward decided. He knew Adrian was well acquainted with both the viscount and the duke, yet he was so accustomed to people responding to Adrian with wariness or outright fear. It struck Edward as wonderfully refreshing to come across someone who didn’t. Someone who might even hope Adrian prevailed.

“While my colleague would have your thoughts muddled by possibility,” Cavendish said, his comment cutting through Edward’s thoughts with the force of an axe, “he seems determined to leave one vital point out. Namely the fact that we already know from Croft himself that he shot and killed Mr. Lawrence. Isn’t that right, Mr. Kendrick?”

Edward’s breath caught in his throat, lodging somewhere between his collarbone and his mouth. The painful knot kept his attention utterly focused on the chief constable and his next words.

They were somehow surprising. Not at all what Edward would have expected.

“A testimony I remain the sole witness to,” Kendrick said. “Therefore, it should not be admissible as evidence. Especially since we are striving to give Mr. Croft a fair trial.”

Cavendish’s mouth flattened with distinct displeasure. Edward simply stared at Kendrick, whose countenance remained completely unfaltering. As if he had not just perjured himself to each and every one present. Because damn it all, Edward had been there, too, had he not? He’d heard Adrian’s account – had wished he’d been able to shove the words back in his mouth because he’d predicted them being used against him. And yet, Kendrick had not provided Cavendish with that knowledge.

Indeed, he’d removed an undeniable ace from the barrister’s deck of cards. Which prompted Edward to wonder what the chief constable might be up to. Based on everything that had transpired so far, the man had seemed keen on proving Adrian’s guilt, but it was starting to look like something else might be at play.

Could it be the man had changed his mind for some reason? And if so, why?

Edward slid his gaze toward Adrian and saw the look of surprise in his eyes, just for a second, before he managed to bank the emotion.

Benjamin Lawrence’s brother, Nigel, was called upon next. At Cavendish’s urging he recounted how Adrian had mistaken him for being the Mayfair Murderer and how he’d consequently attacked him. According to the young man, he’d barely survived the ordeal, his pained expression gaining a few sympathetic looks from the jury members. He went on to say that Adrian caught Clive Newton and that he was certain he’d died at his hands, even though it was made to look like Clive Newton took his own life.

“He’s as brutal as they come,” Nigel Lawrence insisted, a rigid finger pointed at Adrian. “How many more of us are to perish before he’s brought to justice?”

Despite never having dealt so much as a blow to another man’s face, Edward was suddenly eager to find a good reason to give Nigel Lawrence a couple of bruises. Yes, his brother was dead, which was bloody awful for him, but that did not give him the right to tarnish another man’s reputation on the basis of what amounted to nothing. All he had was a bunch of assumptions, none of which could be verified one way or the other.

“I’ve never known a better employer,” said Adrian’s butler when he was asked to impart his opinion. Of course, Cavendish managed to pick apart Elks’s praise of Adrian by merely reminding everyone that he’d received payment from him.

The old man looked rightfully appalled by what Cavendish wished to imply and said as much when he stepped from the stand. Muttered words followed as he moved off, eliciting a smirk from Adrian and a furious glare from Cavendish, both of whom were near enough to hear what the old man said.

All Edward could do was suck in a breath and hope Grant had more ammunition at the ready, only to experience a sinking sensation when Cavendish asked to hear from one of Benjamin Lawrence’s footmen. The predatory glimmer in the barrister’s eyes as the servant took the stand made apprehension rise like a storm inside Edward.

He gripped his thighs, fingers digging into the flesh concealed beneath his wool trousers.

“One of the key points in this case,” Cavendish said with theatrical flair, “is that Mr. Benjamin Lawrence was a master deceiver, so cunning he made everyone believe he’d faked his injuries. Mr. Croft would have you believe this was done as part of a devious plan to murder his fiancée, Lady Eleanor Marsh. The supporting fact, besides Croft’s insistence the man could walk? Mr. Lawrence’s presence at Miss Fontaine’s lodgings. How did he arrive there unaided if he could not use his legs? Mr. Croft would have you believe that he walked. After all, Mr. Lawrence would have had to in order to carry out the crimes for which Mr. Croft says he was to blame.

“However, I propose a difference scenario entirely. One where Croft is the true villain – a murderous scoundrel desperately trying to pass blame to somebody else. An attempt that might have worked, were the story he chose to weave together not so outrageous.”

“I must object to your attempt at swaying the jury with your opinions,” Grant said. He sent Oakleigh a stern look and the judge nodded agreement before telling Cavendish to move on.

“Very well,” Cavendish said. The smile he produced next caused warning bells to ring along Edward’s nerves. The barrister turned to the footman, a young fellow who looked to be in his early twenties. “Mr. Banks, please relate your experiences from the night in question.”

Edward edged forward in his seat, felt Abernathy do the same at his side. A long-drawn-out moment of silence passed, during which Edward saw the hesitant look in Mr. Banks’s eyes. The young man searched the crowd of onlookers and Edward followed his gaze to where Avernail sat, saw the nod of assurance the marquess provided.

Mr. Banks straightened. He stopped fidgeting with his hands. When he finally spoke, he did so calmly, his words falling with the precision of a carefully memorized script. “Mr. Benjamin Lawrence wanted to visit his mistress. That’s who Miss Fontaine was – a woman for whom he cared deeply. He’d broken things off with her weeks ago because of his upcoming wedding. But after Lady Eleanor’s death he felt compelled to check on her and make sure she was all right. It was for this purpose that he requested my help in escorting him to her lodgings an—”

Adrian shot to his feet, lips curling over barred teeth, his expression twisting with murderous fury. “That’s a damn lie. Who paid you to say that?”

“I…I…”

“Mr. Croft.” Oakleigh slammed his gavel against the block. “You will calm yourself this instant.”

Cavendish looked on with keen amusement, arms spread as if to say, you see how he is?

Grant, who’d also risen, did his best to pull Adrian back down into his chair. But Adrian would not be so easily managed. He glared at Mr. Banks as though he desired to leap across the space between them and strangle the man.

Edward, knowing he could do nothing, looked toward Avernail and saw the satisfaction that burned in the older man’s eyes. Hate had never come easy to Edward. He always sought the good in people – believed in it for the most part. And yet, he despised the marquess in that moment. Almost as much as he despised Clive Newton for killing the woman he’d loved.