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A drian shook off the hand that grabbed his arm, his elbow shoving back against whoever tried to restrain him. Words could not convey the level of anger charging through him. It was ugly – a roaring beast with only one goal in mind: destroy the treacherous bastard who’d lied.

“Sir.” An urgent remark demanding attention, yet somehow too distant for Adrian to care. “Mr. Croft. I beseech you.”

Adrian spun, unleashing a growl of displeasure as he met Grant’s gaze. Cut from the hardest granite, it was tough enough to bring the dangerous energy building inside him to a dead stop. Make him breathe. Consider the consequences of his outburst. Realize the room had gone quiet, that everyone stared toward him as though expecting him to reveal himself as the unrestrained and uncivilized villain the prosecutor professed him to be.

Grant’s gaze burned with an unspoken warning. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Do not provide that man with more power to wield against you .

Another breath eased the simmering tension a little bit more. Allowed him to flex his fingers. He stared at the footman, a youth who practically trembled with fear. Adrian let his shoulders relax. Directing his anger at this poor fellow would be a mistake. He wasn’t the source of the lie, the deception intended to ensure this trial’s outcome.

Teeth clenched so hard they risked being ground to powder, Adrian threw a glance over his shoulder, directly toward the marquess. The bastard raised an eyebrow as if in challenge, and it took every piece of strength in Adrian’s possession to maintain the leash on his anger, to refrain from issuing threats against the man or simply attempting to kill him before anyone could react fast enough to stop him.

So it was with difficulty that he gave the man his back, faced the judge instead, and said, “My apologies, Your Honor. I promise not to speak out of turn again.”

The judge pinned Adrian with his needle-sharp eyes, his mouth a disgruntled slash upon his round face. Still, he nodded, a movement that seemed to restore all order and bring the proceedings back under control.

Adrian sat, chest heaving with lingering rage, and leaned toward Grant. “My apologies to you as well. I know my reaction just now does not make your job any easier.”

Grant merely grunted. “Maybe your friend will help your case.”

The barrister jutted his chin to the front of the room and when Adrian turned in that direction, he saw that Edward had now claimed the stand. Adrian blinked. He’d been so distracted, so overcome by emotion, he’d not even heard the name being called.

Unacceptable.

He had to do better.

Even if the final verdict was not in his favor, he could not forget that the manner in which he conducted himself here today would determine how he was remembered.

Cavendish, the arrogant prick, would question Edward first, and while instinct told Adrian this would not bode well, he forced himself to reflect on the benefit of speaking last. Whatever Grant said later – the questions he asked and the answers Edward provided – would be what lingered in everyone’s minds.

“Is it true that you and the accused are longtime friends,” Cavendish asked of Edward.

“It is,” Edward replied, his voice firm without being aggressive, though he did not glance toward Adrian as he spoke.

“How long would you say you’ve known each other?”

“Since childhood. Our mothers were friends.”

“Would it be fair to say you grew up together?”

“Not exactly. Mr. Croft received his education at home while I was sent off to Eton and later to Cambridge, though we often saw each other during the holidays.”

“And as adults?”

“Forgive me, Your Honor,” said Grant, “but I fail to see what Cavendish is trying to accomplish with these questions.”

The judge nodded and directed a bored look at the prosecutor. “Please make your point, Mr. Cavendish.”

“Certainly, Your Honor.” Cavendish returned his attention to Edward. “From what I have gathered, though you are free to dispute me if I am wrong, Mr. Croft is your closest friend.” When Edward nodded, Cavendish said, “It therefore stands to good reason that you would do everything in your power to protect him from harm.”

A shadow fell over Edward’s face and Adrian froze. He’d never seen him look quite like that, with a quiet hint of ferocity lurching within those green eyes. It was unexpected and bloody terrifying as a result.

When Edward spoke next, the smoothness of his voice sent the words gliding forward with chilling effect. “Are you implying that I would lie after swearing to tell the truth?”

“Would you?” The question was bold, brazen, and more outrageous than any other uttered thus far.

Edward sent the judge a sidelong glance. “Will you provide me the recourse with which to defend my honor against this man?”

“If you meet with me after this trial is concluded, I’m sure I can help you find whatever satisfaction you desire, within the realm of the law.”

“Your honor,” Cavendish protested. “That’s not how—”

“Get on with whatever you want to accomplish by questioning Marsdale,” Oakleigh informed him. “The quicker the better so we can move on. And while you do, I would recommend that you pay attention to whom you are speaking. He’s an earl of the realm and of higher rank than you once you leave this room.”

“Duly noted, Your Honor.” Cavendish cleared his throat, appeared on the verge of saying something more, only to close his mouth firmly. He frowned before adding, “No further questions.”

Adrian sank against his chair, satisfaction warming his soul. Finally, something with which to push back.

Grant stood, hands clasped behind his back as he stepped forward. “Lord Marsdale, it is my understanding that, contrary to what my colleague hoped to imply, you are a man of integrity – the sort of man upon whom one can rely – a man who would never consider so much as bending the law because it would keep you from sleeping at night. Is that correct?”

“It is.”

A nod from Grant suggested that he was pleased by this answer. “As you may know, a great many people believe Mr. Croft to have done all manner of questionable things, first for his father and later at his own behest. Has he ever discussed this with you?”

“No.”

“And why is that, my lord?”

“I suppose it’s either because he’d never done anything wrong, leaving nothing for him to discuss, or because he knows doing so would force me to raise the alarm.”

“In other words, you would hand him over to the authorities if you knew he’d done something illegal.”

“Yes.”

Whispers soared through the air on crackling wings. Adrian smiled. He sensed where Grant was going with this and prayed the barrister took the knowledge he was pulling from Edward and slammed it down Cavendish’s throat.

“It therefore stands to good reason that your moral compass would also compel you to tell the absolute truth here today.” Grant tilted his head. “You met with Mr. Croft after he was arrested. Will you please tell this court what Mr. Croft told you, regarding Mr. Benjamin Lawrence’s death?”

An almost surreal kind of silence descended upon the courtroom – the kind one might find on a lake during the early hours of dawn, right before the birds began stirring in nearby trees. It was a hush so intense Edward might have whispered and his every word would still have been heard.

He hesitated though, uncertainty creeping into his gaze accompanied by a flicker of pain because of what Grant was making him do. There was no choice, however. Even though it was clear he had no desire to speak, Adrian knew he would do so. And so had Grant.

To what avail, only time would tell.

“The facts are the same as the ones that have already been relayed,” Edward said. “You wish for me to repeat them?”

“Please.” Grant actually smiled. Something Adrian had not believed the man capable of until that moment. “In your own words, my lord. And please take your time.”

Someone groaned and someone else shushed them, but besides this, not a sound could be heard.

“According to what Mr. Croft has disclosed, he enlisted Miss Fontaine’s help in devising a trap for Mr. Lawrence – one intended to demonstrate he had not lost the use of his legs. The plan was to prove Mr. Lawrence guilty of murdering both his fiancée, Lady Evelyne Marsh, and a footman in her father’s employ – a Mr. Rodney Jones – who’d witnessed the crime.

“Eager to help catch a man she now knew to be a murderous scoundrel, Miss Fontaine wrote to Mr. Lawrence. In the letter, she told him a constable had arrived at her door, asking questions and urged him to come see her quickly. When he did, Mr. Croft was waiting, ready to see Mr. Lawrence using his legs.

“Sadly, however, things did not go exactly as Mr. Croft had expected. He underestimated Mr. Lawrence, who chose to kill Miss Fontaine before turning the pistol on Mr. Croft himself. Only Mr. Croft was quicker. Before Mr. Lawrence could fire, Mr. Croft threw a dagger, which landed squarely in Mr. Lawrence’s chest. It was a fatal wound. Mr. Lawrence would not be saved, yet he lingered while clutching that pistol.

“Revolted by what he’d witnessed and by the other crimes Mr. Lawrence committed, Mr. Croft took that pistol and shot him dead.”

Several gasps followed this statement. It was a damning one to be certain, but it was the only chance Adrian saw for himself. Unless Samantha figured out something else. There was still time, however little, and he still had hope. More than what he’d allowed himself to have yesterday morning.

But things had changed since then. He’d learned that Samantha might not have caused his arrest on purpose. That she might actually want to free him.

“Thank you, my lord.” Grant turned to face the jury. “You may wonder why I would want you to know this, how sharing this information could possibly be to Croft’s advantage. Since Marsdale refuses to lie on his friend’s behalf, we must assume he is telling the truth. Croft told him this, knowing the information would likely be revealed in this manner. Why? Because Croft knew he had done nothing wrong. If anything, he showed mercy to a man who did not deserve it, giving him a quick end instead of letting him suffer, as he would have done for another five minutes, according to the coroner.

“And let’s not forget that the fatal blow was made with a blade, immediately after Lawrence killed Miss Fontaine, when Mr. Croft knew without doubt that he’d be killed next. He acted in self-defense, exactly as anyone else in his position would have.”

Murmurs swept the room as Grant resumed his seat. Adrian caught Edward’s gaze and gave a small nod. Thank you. His friend’s expression remained grave, but the softness in his eyes conveyed his devotion and solidarity. To the end.

“My colleague has proposed an interesting theory intent on garnering sympathy for the accused,” Mr. Cavendish said a few minutes later. There would be no more testimonies now, just the final thoughts delivered by each legal party. “It does, however, come with a major flaw, for it requires us to believe that what Mr. Croft told his friend was not a carefully orchestrated lie intended to deceive. While Marsdale’s honor may prompt him to be unwaveringly honest, he cannot possibly know if the story Croft told him is true or false. After all, he wasn’t there. Only Croft knows exactly what happened. Everyone else is either dead or showed up too late to form an accurate picture.

“If that’s not enough to encourage a guilty verdict, then please consider Croft’s own confession. He does not deny that he killed Mr. Lawrence, but to try and suggest that a man of Lawrence’s standing would fake paralysis is too extreme for me to believe. I can only hope you agree so Mr. Croft can be punished as he deserves.”

“I will do my best to sway them in your favor,” Grant promised when it was his turn to make his final statement.

Adrian nodded his thanks. He’d known all along, ever since Kendrick had entered Miss Fontaine’s lodgings and seen him standing over Lawrence’s body, that he would have less than a slim chance in hell of avoiding criminal charges.

His only hope had been the truth, however preposterous it sounded. Attempting to lie his way out and taking the risk of getting caught in said lie would have sealed his fate. And yet, sitting here, watching Grant try to convince the jury that it was important for them to distinguish between the act of murder and Adrian’s attempt at defending his own life – to accept that he’d shot Lawrence dead – he could almost hear the rope groaning as it was pulled taut.

Ridiculous, that his life should end in this manner, after all the precautions his father had taken. After everything he’d told him, the lessons he’d taught on how to avoid this exact situation. Don’t ever bloody your own hands unless you’re damn sure no one sees you.

Sound advice, so easily ignored. And now look.

Grant finished his speech and resumed his seat. The jury left and a brief recess was called for.

“The verdict will be determined when we return,” Oakleigh said, his gavel landing against the block with a hard thwack to punctuate the remark.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” Grant told Adrian.

“The situation is not an easy one,” Adrian said. “I know you did what you could, and I know you’re too good a man to ask, but you need not worry about your fee. I’ve already spoken to Shaw about it. He’ll make the arrangements, should I be unable to do so.”

A sheen appeared in Grant’s eyes, so bright it made Adrian slightly uncomfortable. The barrister blinked it away. “I pray it will not come to that.”

“As do I, Mr. Grant.” A guard caught him by the arm and steered him away, into a small gloomy antechamber where he was to wait to be called back in.

It seemed an eternity passed in that room with its too-hard chair and lack of air. Long enough for him to count all the bricks on the wall and start over.

The door was finally opened, light flooding the space with near blinding effect. Adrian stood and allowed the guard to escort him back into the courtroom. The jury, he saw, was already waiting. As was the judge and everyone else who wanted to hear what was said.

He sought out Edward first and did his best to convey as much calm and acceptance as possible. For his sake. Abernathy, who stood by Edward’s side, received a blunt look immediately after. Write the story. Tell the world what occurred here today. A silent conversation, relayed to a man whose life Adrian had once threatened. A man who’d unwittingly helped seal Evie’s fate.

There was every chance he’d come here hoping to watch Adrian fall. But what if he hadn’t? What if he wanted what every newspaperman should want: the absolute truth?

It was worth hoping for, Adrian decided as he returned to his previous spot. He prepared to resume his seat but was asked instead to remain standing – a spectacle, he realized – to be gawked at.

“How do you find the defendant?” Oakleigh asked the jury without preamble. An expectant look filled his gaze and somehow, in that moment, Adrian knew what would happen.

There would be no way out of this for him. Not because the jury failed to believe him, but because the verdict had been decided and paid for before he’d set foot in this courtroom. Everything else was for show – proof that the law had been followed. He’d been tried, with a jury, no less, but all it really was, was a piece of theatre with a lying footman thrown in for good measure.

So Adrian raised his chin, refused to let his enemies see him cower, and let out a calming breath.

“Guilty.”

One word to numb his soul and end his existence.

“Mr. Adrian Croft,” said Oakleigh. “Since you have been convicted of the crime for which you stand accused, it now falls upon me to decide your punishment. Murder is no small matter. There is no room for forgiveness within the law. Thus, you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead. The date and hour of your execution shall be issued by the end of the day. That is all.”

Words in support of the verdict were heard, no more than loud remarks at first, then growing in strength until they transformed into cheers. Jeers directed at Adrian quickly followed.

This time, the judge did not call for silence. Instead, he stood, surrounded by all that noise, watching with as much interest as everyone else as Adrian was led from the room.