Chapter 21 #2
“You don’t know that. They might have helped.”
“No. Murry would have handled this alone for two reasons. First, so no one else could be held responsible by you, and second, to ensure no one else had a chance of learning where he and your sister were headed.”
Wrengate’s gaze narrowed on Adrian. “What about you?”
A shiver slid down Adrian’s spine. He ignored it. “What about me?”
“You know the man, and I know you, Croft. It stands to reason you’ve some idea of where they might have gone.”
He didn’t, but even if he did, he wouldn’t share that information with someone who was capable of murder. The duke had killed Wycliff for double-crossing him. It made sense he’d act similarly toward a man who’d run off with his sister.
“Deerhaven Manor would be a likely option,” he said, knowing Murry would steer clear of any location where Adrian might come looking for him.
“There’s a hunting cabin located on the premises.
It would provide the pair with the necessary means to survive until they decided on a more permanent solution. ”
Wrengate’s mouth remained a tight line. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”
“You may do so if you wish,” Adrian told him. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve a wife and a newborn daughter to tend to.”
“Are either of them in imminent danger?”
Adrian sent him a dangerous look. “No.”
“Then I would recommend you make my sister your first priority.” The duke advanced on Adrian, his eyes gleaming like frost on a slab of stone. “If she is not returned to me in good health, I’ll hold you personally responsible now.”
Adrian didn’t so much as flinch. He’d faced harsher men in the past than the Duke of Wrengate. Hell, Finn O’Leary was cut from more dangerous cloth. Nevertheless, he wasn’t fool enough to underestimate the lengths to which Wrengate might go as long as he feared for Lady Edwina.
“While my wife and daughter may not be in imminent danger, Duke, the Irishman you helped me track down in March still poses a threat. He’s not been seen or heard from since.
My guess is he’s re-grouping somewhere while biding his time.
So if you think I intend to accompany you to Deerhaven and leave my family unprotected, you’re wrong. ”
“Croft.” Wrengate’s voice was pure menace.
“I’ve other men who can go with you,” Adrian said with an added touch of firmness. “That’s the best I can offer.”
The duke glared at him, and Adrian held that brutal gaze without budging. A huff of air informed him they’d made an agreement, though Wrengate clearly wasn’t happy about the outcome.
Swinging away from him, Adrian walked to the door and exited the room. There were travel arrangements to make now. Wrengate would want to depart as soon as possible, and since Adrian didn’t believe he’d find Murry there, a solution would also be needed for when the furious duke returned.
* * *
Finn O’Leary stepped down from the unmarked carriage his aunt had provided and onto the cobblestoned street. The evening air was still and cool, accentuating the rattling of wheels from vehicles moving past, the conversations between pedestrians, and the cries from any remaining street vendors.
After slinging his satchel over one shoulder, Finn lit a cheroot and started walking.
According to the latest missive he’d received from his cousin, Sean, new accommodations had been rented, a crew of ten capable men assembled.
Finn looked forward to taking their measure and having them prove their worth.
But first…
Finn crossed the next street and turned onto Fleet Street. The Old Bell would provide a decent meal and the means by which to pass the next couple of hours.
For his purpose, darkness would serve best, along with empty streets. So he had to wait, no matter how eager he was to make his next move.
Never rush ahead. Always wait for the right moment.
His father’s words echoed in his head as he took a seat at a corner table. A tankard of ale and a hearty stew were ordered. Finn savored both. There was no hurry. Quite the opposite. And in a way, biding his time increased his anticipation of what would follow.
It was so simple, so easy, so utterly perfect, he wondered why he’d never thought to enact his revenge in this way before. In hindsight, his previous attempt had been overcomplicated. Messy.
Even though he’d been certain he had considered every angle, taken every precaution to ensure success, his plan had failed.
He had failed.
He gripped his tankard as fury rushed through him, directed not only at Croft but also at himself. Because this wasn’t just a question of righting a wrong. It was about seeking justice on behalf of his father.
Gut tight, he muttered a curse and gulped down the ale, then ate some more stew.
Papa had not been a gentle man. He’d been hard and ruthless in a way Finn had always aspired to match.
Whatever his faults and flaws, Michael O’Leary had filled Finn’s childhood not only with his unforgiving presence but also with stories that had kept Finn riveted.
No matter what disagreement he’d had with the Crofts, Papa had not deserved to die for it. Of this Finn was certain. Adrian Croft, on the other hand, would deserve every punishment coming his way.
A smile curled Finn’s lips nearly two hours later when he rounded a corner and spotted Croft’s residence. His hand settled over his weighty satchel, feeling the contours of the contents hidden within: four bottles, partially filled with oil, and cloths that would act as wicks.
Keeping close to the shadows, he surveyed the square. It was mostly empty, save for a carriage departing from one of the townhouses on the opposite side. The hour was growing late. Nearing eleven. Many households would be retiring for the evening.
Moving at a casual gait, Finn approached Number 5 while unbuckling the two leather straps that held his satchel shut. His hand slid inside, his fingers gradually curling around the first bottle within his reach.
Soon, he promised himself, the House of Croft would go up in flames.