Chapter 21
Finn O’Leary finished his breakfast and extended his hand toward his cup of coffee.
Before he was able to take a sip, his aunt spoke, her voice as cool as the chill morning air. “I want you gone within the hour. Should you ever dare to return, I’ll be better prepared.”
“Pistols at the ready?” he asked with a smirk.
Her eyes informed him she’d shoot him dead on the spot if she ever saw him again. “You made a grave mistake coming here.”
“I got what I wanted,” he said, then took a slow sip of his coffee before adding a snide, “Your Grace.”
Nostrils flaring with fury, she stared at him as though he were a maggot. “I hope your attempt to destroy Croft gets you killed.”
The taunt was like a fuse to Finn’s temper. He slammed his cup down on the saucer, snapping the ear and splashing hot liquid across the white tablecloth. “He murdered my father. Your sister’s husband.”
“Chances are he deserved it,” the duchess announced without flinching. “Michael was an unscrupulous scoundrel who was willing to betray others for his own personal gain.”
“That’s a damn lie,” Finn snapped. “Sean would not have joined my cause if—”
“Don’t be daft, Finn. I’m speaking of friends and business associates, not family.”
“Family is all that matters. My father knew that, which is why he worked so damn hard to make our lives better.”
“And yet, he stupidly made the kind of enemies who don’t look kindly on betrayal.
” She leaned forward, pinning him with the kind of look that informed him she’d love the chance to flay him alive.
“It is a well-known fact that despite their illicit dealings, the Crofts have a strict moral code. Betray them and die. Your father knew this, yet he chose to turn on them anyway.”
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have my revenge.”
“Of course it does, though you are too fixated on your goal to see it.” She snorted with contempt and relaxed in her seat. “So go. Do what you must, and may the devil take you.”
“You might want to rephrase that, lest I feel inclined to inform your husband of our connection after all.”
The threat of the duke finding out about his wife’s ties to the O’Learys, had earned Finn the right to remain here for nearly two months.
The estate had provided a comfortable hideaway since he’d fled London.
As far as the servants knew, he was a second cousin from the duchess’s father’s side of the family.
He’d have told her husband the same, in the event he’d shown up.
Provided she did as Finn asked and didn’t cause trouble.
A point that was worth reminding her of on occasion.
Something sharp sparked in her eyes. A hateful smile curled her lips. “I wish you a pleasant journey and much success.”
Sarcasm dripped from every word, scraping Finn’s nerves.
He ought to grab her by the throat and teach her not to defy him.
Unfortunately, he did not control the household, which was filled with servants loyal to her.
A fact he’d been very aware of during his stay and the reason he’d always kept a weapon on hand.
Should he be violent with her in some way, he ran the risk of never making it to the carriage.
So he dipped his chin and pushed back his chair. “Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll fetch my things and be on my way.”
His aunt said nothing, though he could practically hear her screaming, Good riddance.
A humorless laugh escaped him. He paused briefly to hold her gaze — a reminder of who she was and how that could crush her – before he finally turned his back on the Duchess of Eldridge.
* * *
Adrian alighted from his carriage together with Wrengate. He’d had no choice but to let the duke join him. His Grace had been standing in the middle of Adrian’s study, tearing him to shreds with verbal insults because he’d not yet brought his sister home, when the missive from Murdoch arrived.
Murry’s whereabouts and those of Lady Edwina had been discovered. They were here, at The Mad Bull Tavern, according to a report obtained from the innkeeper himself.
Wrengate was already shoving his way through the inn’s front door. Adrian followed at an even pace. They’d not spoken one word to each other during the ride. There had been no need. The duke had made himself clear; he would murder Murry for his defiance.
Hell, Adrian had considered doing the same. He’d been furious when he’d learned that the man he’d trusted without question had so blatantly betrayed him.
And yet…
Samantha’s words resonated.
Murry had always acted as an extension of Adrian’s will. He’d risked his life for him and for Samantha. If he’d chosen to act against Adrian’s wishes — against Wrengate’s, so to speak – he must have his reason.
“Where are they?” Wrengate’s voice boomed like thunder.
The man Wrengate addressed looked straight past him, at Adrian. “Mr. Croft?”
“In the flesh.” Adrian stepped to Wrengate’s side. “It’s my understanding my valet has rented one of your rooms. If you could please direct us to it, I’d be grateful.”
“Of course.” The innkeeper gestured for them to follow, then led the way to the back of the taproom and up a narrow flight of stairs.
Adrian’s feet fell heavily on each step.
While he himself intended to punish Murry for his insubordination, he’d no intention to kill him.
The same could not be said of Wrengate, whose fury echoed Adrian’s feelings toward Finn O’Leary.
One day, he’d put that Irish bastard in the ground for daring to touch his wife.
So yes, Adrian knew exactly what Wrengate was going through — the fear and blind rage that were driving him mad.
He’d unleash it on Murry as soon as he found him, and though Adrian wished there were some way in which to avoid it, he knew there wasn’t.
All he could pray for was for Wrengate’s aim to be off, or for him to hesitate killing a man in his sister’s presence, or… for some other miracle to intervene.
They stepped onto the landing and proceeded down the hallway, each floorboard creaking beneath the weight of their feet. After passing three doors on their left, the innkeeper stopped in front of the fourth, and knocked.
“The key,” Wrengate demanded.
The innkeeper looked to Adrian. “Would it not be best to—”
“I can break the door down if you prefer,” Wrengate growled.
“Please open it,” Adrian said, earning a thunderous glare from the duke who clearly disliked another man’s orders trumping his own.
A key was produced, and the innkeeper pushed it into the lock. A few swift turns of his wrist made it click into place. He pressed down the handle and started to open the door.
Impatient, Wrengate shouldered him out of the way and pushed the door open. Adrian sent the innkeeper an apologetic look, then followed the duke into the room.
It was instantly clear that it was empty. No sign of Murry or Lady Edwina. Yet Wrengate’s penetrating gaze swept each surface, as though he expected his sister to make a surprise appearance from underneath the bed or from behind one of the curtains.
Adrian kept his expression cool, deliberately schooled in an effort to hide his relief.
Murry wasn’t a fool. He’d realized the longer he stayed here, the greater the chance of being found.
Which also meant the chance of discovering his whereabouts now were slim to none.
Moving forward, he’d take precautions based on the new situation he found himself in.
The most interesting question in all of this, however, was why he’d done it.
Until last night, Adrian would have bet his life that nothing would ever make Murry betray him. Yet it seemed his interaction with Lady Edwina had. A woman he’d known only briefly. It made no sense.
Wrengate, who’d crossed to the window, presently leaned through the opening. “There’s a damn ladder here. How the bloody hell is that possible?”
Adrian glanced at the innkeeper, whose face had paled. Saying nothing, he approached the window and looked out. “I… It must have—”
Wrengate’s hand moved so fast it blurred. In the space it took Adrian to blink, the duke had wrapped his fingers around the innkeeper’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged. Adrian advanced a step at the same time Wrengate shoved the innkeeper into the wall. Back hunched, he produced a snarl.
“I will ruin you over this,” Wrengate spat.
“Your anger is getting the best of you,” Adrian said, directing the duke’s attention away from the wheezing man in his grasp. “It’s doubtful anyone here believed the woman we’re after was not Mr. Murry’s wife.”
Adrian held Wrengate’s gaze with unflinching purpose.
He’d deliberately avoided any mention of who they sought, lest word get out that Lady Edwina had spent the night at an inn with a valet.
If public knowledge of her kidnapping might have ruined her, this would obliterate any chance she had of ever returning to polite society.
Yet Murry was not the sort of man who’d force a woman’s hand. According to the missive he’d sent Adrian, she’d requested Murry’s help. Which meant she’d been willing to risk the consequence of running away with a male servant.
Again, Adrian wondered over the why of the situation, his attention still on the furious duke who seemed ready to murder a man who’d done nothing but offer accommodations to what had probably looked to him like a married couple.
Awareness crept through him. Lady Edwina, the victim. Murry, her protector. Not just from those who’d meant to abuse her, but from this. From a brother who struggled to leash his temper.
Murry knew what sort of man the duke was. Adrian had confided his countless altercations with him.
Wrengate shoved the innkeeper aside, and the man staggered, sputtering and coughing while trying to gulp down air.
Adrian jerked his head in the door’s direction. “Go on.”
“Croft.” Wrengate’s growl was a dangerous protest.
Adrian stayed his ground, arms crossed as the innkeeper fled, leaving Adrian alone with one hell of a furious duke. “Your sister isn’t here, and the people who are had nothing to do with my valet’s decision to abscond with her.”