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A drian tensed, his grip tightening on Miss Carmichael’s back as the comment he’d just overheard registered. Glancing sideways, he saw that it must have been spoken by Mr. Owen Newton, who stood with his brother, Clive, conversing with Viscount Birchwood and the Duke of Eldridge.

Inhaling sharply, Adrian halted his and Miss Carmichael’s progress, a smile fixed on his face as he drew her toward the small group. “Birchwood. If recollection serves, you still owe me a bottle of port on account of our most recent wager.”

Birchwood’s expression cooled. “What an unexpected surprise, Croft. When Eldridge told me of your attendance this evening, I simply refused to believe it.”

“It is surprising,” Mr. Owen Newton concurred, his manner reserved.

Adrian couldn’t argue. Siblings were expected to observe at least six months of mourning for each other, yet it had been only two and a half weeks since Evie’s death. “Had my sister perished from natural causes, I would have stayed home. Seeing as there is a murderer on the loose, however, I’d rather venture back into Society where I am far more likely to catch him.”

“Let’s pray that you do,” Birchwood said, a frown creasing his brow. The pensive look in his eyes faded as he glanced toward Miss Carmichael. A broad smile followed. “Forgive me, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Aware that introductions were expected, Adrian sent his companion a quick glance before saying, “May I present Viscount Birchwood?”

She dipped her chin, a soft smile gracing her lips.

“Miss Samantha Carmichael,” Adrian announced. He released her arm so as not to appear too possessive and immediately regretted it when Birchwood’s eyes lit with interest. Schooling his features and squaring his shoulders, Adrian did what he could to squash his annoyance and told the group firmly, “She’s under Mr. Harlowe’s protection.”

“Indeed?” Birchwood’s expression turned quizzical.

“Mr. Harlowe took me in when I was a child and has been like a father to me ever since,” she explained. “I’d not have entered Society were it not for him.”

“Then I must seek him out and express my thanks,” Birchwood said. “For I daresay your presence here has brightened my evening. It’s an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The viscount reached for Miss Carmichael’s hand and raised it to his lips while Adrian fought the urge to vomit. Did any woman appreciate such drivel?

He gave Miss Carmichael a sidelong glance and saw to his amusement that her lips were not only pressed together but that they trembled at the corners, as if she were doing her best not to laugh.

Returning his attention to the group as a whole, he caught Clive Newton rolling his eyes, a quirk that suggested the young man found Birchwood’s manner equally ridiculous at the moment. So did Eldridge, judging from the look of exasperation he wore. Of course, this might also be a result of Birchwood ignoring the hierarchy of their titles in his determination to greet Miss Carmichael first.

He took his time, too, releasing Miss Carmichael’s hand. By the time he’d straightened, Eldridge and the Newtons looked slightly impatient.

Adrian indicated Eldridge. “The Duke of Eldridge.”

“A pleasure,” said the duke, sketching a short bow.

“And this is Mr. Owen Newton and his brother, Mr. Clive Newton. They’re Viscount Stanton’s sons.”

“We’re already well acquainted with the lady,” Mr. Owen Newton said, surprising Adrian with the revelation and leaving his spine a bit tenser than it had been before. “We had the pleasure of being introduced at the Marsdale ball.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Miss Carmichael said, the softness of her voice a compliment to the flush in her cheeks.

The effect made Adrian gnash his teeth until it occurred to him that he probably looked as silly as Birchwood, whose glower likened him to an angry dog on a leash. Not the sort of appearance Adrian wished to reflect. So he took a moment to calm his breath and relax his fists, which he’d not even realized were clenched until that very second.

“I hope you’ll forgive my curiosity,” he said, deciding the time had come for him to broach his reason for interrupting the group’s conversation, “but I couldn’t help overhear the comment regarding murder and someone being interrogated by Bow Street. Might I ask to whom it refers?”

“That would be me,” said Birchwood, his voice grim.

“I must agree with it sounding ridiculous,” Adrian said, choosing to lend support in case it led to additional details. “What happened?”

“I was brought in for questioning in connection with Miss Irvine’s murder.” Birchwood’s somber gaze held Adrian’s. “Along with Julian Walker and the Marquess of Lundquist. It was…most unpleasant.”

Adrian stared at him while trying to come to grips with this information. He’d always been notified of important goings on. Or at least his father had and the information had trickled down to Adrian.

Until he’d decided to slam the door shut on that world.

In the months since Papa’s death, he’d remained fairly ignorant of what went on around Town. He’d been disinterested. More than that, he’d made a concerted effort to become the opposite of what Papa had expected him to be.

So he’d relaxed with Evie during the months that followed. They’d visited museums as autumn gave way to winter, enjoyed evenings out at the theatre, and made all kinds of plans for the future.

She’d loved the idea he’d had of buying a cottage near Brighton – a little retreat with a view of the water where they could stroll along the shore and go bathing.

The memory made his chest feel like it was carved from wood – a hollow space within which the beats of his leaden heart echoed. “What grounds did Bow Street have to interview you?”

Birchwood glanced at Miss Carmichael briefly before revealing, “The three of us were…well acquainted with the woman.”

“I see no harm in that,” Miss Carmichael said.

Adrian had to agree, unless Birchwood meant to imply something else – something he could not say with a lady present. The uncomfortable look on his face suggested this could be the case.

Choosing to hold his tongue for a moment, Adrian raised his eyebrow and hoped Birchwood might elaborate. To his surprise, it was Eldridge who said, “They enjoyed regular visits to Bush Park together.”

“But…” Miss Carmichael sounded completely lost. “How does that signify when she was murdered at Vauxhall?”

“I’m sure the constables were just being thorough,” Adrian said, his suspicions confirmed.

“It’s a terrible tragedy,” Owen Newton remarked, the swift interjection steering the conversation in a different direction. “No young lady deserves such a fate.”

“Agreed,” Clive Newton said. He looked at Miss Carmichael, his gaze increasingly serious. “I hope you’ll be extra careful until this blackguard is caught.”

“Of course.” Miss Carmichael pursed her lips. “I’ve started taking a pistol with me wherever I go. For extra precaution.”

“A wise decision,” Eldridge said with approval.

“I doubt this madman would set his sights on you though,” Owen Newton told her, his voice gentle as though intending to reassure. “From what I gather, he only targets immoral women.”

“I disagree,” Adrian said with a bite to his tone.

Silence followed for a brief second before Owen Newton thought to say, “I beg your pardon, Croft. He clearly made a mistake regarding your sister.”

“An unforgivable tragedy,” Eldridge muttered.

“Unquestionably so,” Clive Newton said, though the words that followed were less sympathetic. “Perhaps this scoundrel’s motivation is different from what we suspect.”

“The note that was found with each of them could not make his reasoning clearer,” Birchwood said. He sent Miss Carmichael an apologetic look. “Forgive me. This really isn’t the sort of discussion we ought to be having in a lady’s presence. Perhaps we should change the subject.”

“Quite right,” Clive Newton said. He stared at Adrian for a moment as if weighing whether or not to say more. Eventually his desire to do the right thing, however foolish, won out. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Croft, but all things considered, it might be prudent of you to steer clear of your female acquaintances for the present. Until this case is resolved.”

“And why would that be?” Adrian asked, deciding to learn what was on the man’s mind though he feared it might end with him grabbing the pup by the throat.

“It’s only that you’re reputed to be a dangerous man whose wealth was built through nefarious means.” Much to his credit, Clive Newton kept his chin high even though the slight hitch of his voice revealed a lack of confidence that was further enhanced by the trembling of his hands.

Adrian narrowed his gaze on him. He had an unexpected amount of courage. “I think we can all agree most peers’ wealth was acquired in much the same way at some point or other. But if you’re suggesting what I think you are – that I might have slit those women’s throats, including my sister’s – I recommend you remove that notion from your thick skull at once.”

“Or what?”

“Brother,” Owen Newton warned.

Adrian leaned in. “Or I’ll make your life hell.”

“That’s enough,” Eldridge said with the sort of ducal authority most men knew to obey.

Adrian only did so because he could sense Miss Carmichael’s increasing discomfort. He leaned back, his gaze locked with Clive Newton’s. “Murder is a serious business. You ought to think twice before tossing out accusations.”

“I’m sorry,” Clive Newton exclaimed. He looked so young and perplexed it would have been easy to pity him had Adrian been a softer man. “This nasty situation makes me see danger wherever I look. I won’t rest easy until the killer has been apprehended.”

“Don’t worry,” Adrian said. “He’ll make a mistake. And once he does, he will be caught.”

“Let’s hope so.” Eldridge knocked back his drink and excused himself, then strode away, disappearing into the crowd.

Adrian’s attention stayed on Clive Newton for one more second before shifting to Birchwood. “How did you prove your innocence?”

“I was sick on the night in question. My butler and the physician he called – Doctor Wentworth is his name – both attested to me being home in bed with a fever.”

“What about Walker and Lundquist?”

Birchwood shoved one hand in his pocket. “I’ve no idea, but I suppose they must have had solid alibis too or else charges would have been pressed against them by now.”

Provided neither man had bought his witnesses.

Adrian sent Birchwood a thoughtful look. At least Doctor Wentworth was known to be a man of good standing. He wasn’t the sort who’d protect a possible murderer in exchange for a bribe.

“Thank you for the information,” Adrian said. “If you’ll please excuse us, I promised I’d help Miss Carmichael find a seat and have already kept her from it too long. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Please forgive me for stopping to speak with those gentlemen,” Adrian said when they’d gone a few paces, “but I had to know more when I overhead the subject of their discussion.”

“You need not apologize.” Miss Carmichael sent him a warm smile. “I completely understand.”

Satisfied with her response, Adrian steered her toward a sofa in the corner of the room and waited for her to take a seat before lowering himself to the spot beside her. “Better?”

“Very much so. Thank you.” She toed off her slippers allowing only a brief glimpse of her stocking-clad feet before they disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt. Bashfulness stole across her face when her gaze caught his. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not if it eases your discomfort.” A sharp burst of laughter caused him to glance across the room to where Birchwood still stood with the Newtons.

“Are you all right?” Miss Carmichael asked.

He glanced at her. With her cheeks flushed, a few of her locks in slight disarray and her too-tight slippers discarded for the moment, she conveyed a sense of normality that made her all the lovelier.

Adrian hesitated briefly before admitting, “I let Mr. Clive Newton rile me.”

“Something tells me you think that a weakness.” She tilted her head, studying him with curiosity.

“Only because it is.” How many times had his father tested his ability to keep his emotions in check?

“A lesser man would have issued an invitation to Reed’s – make sure he got the chance to punch him.”

“To do so would serve no purpose other than proving myself to be everything he accused me of.” He grimaced. “You’re probably wondering if any of it is true.”

The prudent decision right now would be for him to sever all ties with Miss Carmichael. Already, he’d caught himself thinking of her much more than what was wise. And tonight when he’d spotted her on the terrace, a lonely beauty gazing into the darkness, he’d gone to her with far too much enthusiasm.

Holding her in his arms while they danced had only worsened the heated effect she had upon him. This woman, with her humble beginnings and zest for life, was like a balm to his tortured soul. The innocence she embodied with her sweet smiles and slightly shy manner made him crave more. But could he trust her?

She was only mentioned briefly in Harlowe’s file, which Adrian had read on his way back to London from Deerhaven. Nothing in there warned him to stay away from her, so he decided to let his instinct guide him. Especially since he genuinely liked her company and found her easy to talk to. The only other person he could say the same of was Edward.

Still he hesitated, torn between honesty and shielding her from the ugliness of his world. But as he gazed into her lovely blue eyes, his conscience compelled him to tell her the truth and to let her choose.

“My father was a ruthless man who did terrible things to gain power and fortune. When he died, I did what I could to distance myself from that world, but then my sister was murdered and stepping back became impossible.”

Miss Carmichael’s eyes widened, but she didn’t retreat. “Why?”

“Because someone went to great lengths, convincing the murderer she should be his next victim.”

“You’re certain of this?”

Adrian nodded, then explained how the column describing Evie’s indiscretions had come to be. “Someone is playing a brutal game. I’ve not yet discerned their motive, but I’m starting to suspect that I am the true target in all this.”

“Are you suggesting that someone engineered the murder of an innocent woman in order to somehow manipulate you?” Miss Carmichael asked, her voice filled with outrage.

“Yes.” Anger and guilt twisted inside his chest.

A harsh emotion he’d not thought her capable of until now flickered in the depth of her gaze. “Then I hope you find the responsible party and make them pay.”

The quiet fury with which she spoke surprised him. He’d thought her too gentle for rage to grip her, but there could be no denying the pure disgust she experienced in response to his words. All because of a woman she’d spoken to briefly on one occasion.

Her reaction warmed a forgotten place at the core of his very existence. She understood him. More than that, she felt exactly as he did. Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think she’d also like a go at whomever the bastard turned out to be.

Yet another thing they had in common, only this time it touched him on a visceral level. He shook his head, cautioned himself against becoming emotionally involved with her.

“I finished Herakles , by the way. It was excellent, despite the tragic ending. Don’t you think?”

“Hmm?” Adrian blinked, his gaze refocusing on her until he realized they’d sat in silence for quite a long time. “Oh, yes. Tragic indeed.”

“Forgive me,” she said. “You looked as though you could use a change of topic, so I brought up the book, but I fear it may have made me seem insensitive.”

“Not at all. I apologize. I’m just...” He shook his head. “This new information about Walker and Lundquist has me distracted. I need to figure out why the chief constable chose to release them.”

“I understand,” Miss Carmichael told him, her hand briefly touching his arm with soothing effect.

Adrian sighed. “Sorry. I never should have stopped to talk with Birchwood. It’s made me terrible company.”

“Considering all you have suffered, it is I who ought to apologize for making you feel as though you need to be cheerful.”

“You did no such thing. I’m simply preoccupied, that’s all.” He wished he could stay but knew his mind wouldn’t find any peace until he dug deeper where Walker and Lundquist were concerned. “Would you mind if I were to take my leave?”

“Of course not.”

Unwilling to leave her alone, Adrian extended his hand and helped her rise. He then guided her back to the ballroom and over to Mr. Harlowe, who was chatting with Baron Midhurst.

Adrian exchanged a few pleasantries with both men, then bowed over Miss Carmichael’s hand. “Until we meet again.”

The answering blush in her cheeks sent a thrill through his veins. Ignoring it, he turned and strode from the ballroom, continuing into the hallway beyond, not slowing his pace until he reached the front entrance.

Only then did he dare a backward glance in the direction of the woman who’d piqued his interest. No, it was more than that. In some confounded way, Miss Carmichael was coming dangerously close to doing what no other woman had managed before.

Her sensitive nature, the element of mystery she embodied, that adventurous streak she’d confided in him, and the fierce gleam of anger he’d spied in her eyes when he’d mentioned his theory pertaining to Evie’s death, were a potent combination.

If he didn’t take drastic measures, she’d sweep past his every defense and creep under his skin. After that, she’d surely conquer his heart and—

The arrival of his carriage scattered his musings, like crisp autumn leaves carried away on the wind. He climbed in and thumped the roof, then leaned his head against the window and stared at Moorland House as it slid from his view.

Once home, he handed his hat to Elks and tossed his gloves inside, then cut a path straight to his study. The file he sought on the Marquess of Lundquist was quickly located, but only one file was labeled Walker and it concerned Julian Walker’s father instead of Julian Walker himself.

Adrian grabbed both files, strode to his desk, and set them down before taking a seat. He flipped the Lundquist file open and riffled through the stack of pages it contained. There were notes concerning bets the marquess had made, dating back to before he’d inherited his title, records of debts he owed, a secret duel he’d once engaged in, even a brief affair with another man’s wife, and…

There.

The chief magistrate’s name stood out next to Lundquist’s. Second cousins, apparently, on Lundquist’s mother’s side. According to the detailed notes that followed, the marquess’s father had taken an interest in the magistrate’s son’s schooling, paying the boy’s tuition at Eton and Cambridge.

So the magistrate was indebted to Lundquist. But what of Walker? Adrian gave his attention to the next file, only to be disappointed by the lack of information it provided. The only thing of note besides the rudimentary details was the mention of a shipping investment made by Julian Walker’s father.

There was nothing beyond the basic information one would find in Debrett’s. No link between the family and those with influence over the investigation. Nor a hint of the Walker family secrets.

Which meant they were either exceedingly righteous. Or cunning enough to somehow elude the Crofts.

In all likelihood, it was the former, but that would not be enough to absolve Julian Walker of guilt. After all, even virtuous families had been known to produce black sheep.

Adrian leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the pages that littered his desk. A connection existed between these two men and Miss Irvine. Regardless of Kendrick’s decision to let them walk free, Adrian meant to discover if there was more to it than the secret liaisons Birchwood had mentioned.

If one of them killed her, they’d also killed the previous victims, not to mention his sister. And since he didn’t trust Bow Street, he’d have to uncover the truth himself.

He steepled his fingers. Miss Carmichael made a good point when she suggested he take a look at the first victim. Whoever the murderer was, their desire to kill had begun with her.