Chapter 14
Her gaze locked with Adrian’s, Samantha lost herself in a private world where nobody else existed — a world in which his every heartbeat matched hers. He was her life, her future, her everything. The joy she’d found because of him, because of his overwhelming love for her, was endless.
It would soon increase with the birth of their child.
A lovely notion that made her smile with added warmth.
He answered with an affectionate smile of his own, the ardor he’d put on display a few moments before now dormant. “Nothing gives me more pleasure than seeing you happy, Samantha.”
The words were like a tender embrace. Made emotional by it, she managed a hoarse, “I feel the same about you,” before glancing sideways to hide the threatening tears.
They’d come so far together, the fact that they were here, free and able to dance among the aristocracy, was no small thing. How horribly wrong everything could have gone — how close they’d both come to death.
Unbearable.
Her hold on his hand tightened, steadying her and easing her mind. She blinked away the sting in her eyes and prepared to face him once more when a face in the crowd nearly caused her to stumble.
She recovered with ease, but only thanks to Adrian lending support. Her gaze snapped to his, all sentimentality drained from her mind. “Harlowe is here.”
It was almost as though she hadn’t spoken. Only the slightest twitch at the edge of Adrian’s lips informed her he’d not only heard but acknowledged her comment. And then he asked, “How do you wish to proceed?”
Her choice. He was making it clear that he would follow her lead in this. His deferring to her because of her history with Harlowe — the fact that he did not tell her what she should do — made her love him all the more.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure what the right course of action would be in this instance.
“I don’t know. He and I agreed on a truce of sorts the last time we spoke.
We’ll keep each other’s secrets as long as we don’t betray each other.
The consequences won’t be pleasant if either of us breaks that promise. ”
“So then…?”
She considered for a moment while he led her in between two other couples. “It might be best to ignore his presence.”
“There’s a chance he’ll think you a coward, which isn’t something I imagine you want. Is it?”
“No. Never.” She swallowed then admitted. “He looked straight at me so he knows I saw him. Perhaps we ought to go greet him. For pretense, if nothing else.”
The music slowed and gradually faded, bringing the dance to a close.
Adrian bowed and Samantha curtseyed. Together, arm in arm, they then went in search of the man who’d turned her into a lethal government operative.
A man whose willingness to sacrifice everything to acquire his goal, including her innocence, had pushed her into marrying Adrian.
A happy outcome for which she would always be grateful, no matter the trials she’d had to face at the start of her marriage.
* * *
The woman stepped through the foliage and steadied her balance to keep the drinks she carried upon a tray from falling. Her sharp gaze instantly found the man who reclined on the chaise lounge.
Keith Orwell.
He shot to his feet when he saw her, confusion tightening his expression.
How easy it had been to lure him here. The way in which to do so had started to form when she’d noted his interest in Lady Edwina. Foolish man, to think he stood a chance with a duke’s sister.
Thankfully, this worked to the woman’s advantage.
Honestly, it seemed ridiculous that she would succeed at getting him alone at a ball of all places when all her previous attempts had failed.
Every time she’d followed him with the hope of completing her task, he’d been accompanied by someone.
Which was why this moment mattered so greatly. She had to make good use of it.
“I was asked to tell you that the lady you’re waiting for has been delayed,” she said, and took a step closer. She’d met Orwell once before, a long time ago, but she’d known he had no memory of her the moment she handed him the fake message from Lady Edwina.
Tilting her head, the woman made a mental note to search Orwell’s pockets for that message later, before she left the conservatory. There was no need to drag Lady Edwina farther into this mess by tying her name to what came next.
“Thank you for letting me know.” Orwell looked like he was preparing to resume his seat.
The woman moved closer and watched him pause. “Unfortunately you missed your host’s toast, sir. The Duke of Moorland wanted all his guests to enjoy this particular Veuve Clicquot vintage in his wife’s honor.”
She waited for his attention to fall on her tray, then asked, “Perhaps you’d like a glass now?”
Orwell hesitated, then nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”
Dipping her chin, she acknowledged his comment, then crossed to where he stood and allowed him to select the glass of his choosing.
Not that it mattered. All would have the same effect.
She’d made certain of it, just like she’d ensured that a knife had been carefully tucked away beneath the seat cushions on one of the nearby armchairs.
Not for the purpose of killing this time, but rather to leave a mark while further confusing those who sought to solve the case.
The cravat and the torn piece of silk she’d left behind in the carriage had served a similar purpose.
She’d acquired the swatch from a milliner’s shop on Bond Street.
The idea was for it to suggest the woman who’d been with Stewart Warren that night had funds.
There was no need for such a thing this evening. The slash across Orwell’s neck, his cravat, and the shilling would all ensure Bow Street knew he’d been killed by the same person. While making them wonder what all of it meant.
Nothing.
Only the shilling tucked into her bodice mattered.
She watched Orwell drink his champagne without an ounce of sympathy or regret. Actions had consequences and it was time for Orwell to pay.
So she let out a slow, satisfied breath when his eyes widened.
He reached for her but she made no effort to help.
Instead, she raised her chin and waited.
Until the glass he’d been holding slipped from his grasp and shattered.
* * *
Samantha scanned the crowded ballroom and directed Adrian sideways when she saw they were headed in Lady Edwina’s direction. In response to Adrian’s questioning look she said, “The woman over there — the one wearing the green gown — is Wrengate’s sister.”
“Ah.” An excellent way of conveying the problems that might arise if either of them approached her again.
A bit more searching and they finally spotted Harlowe.
“What a surprise it is to see you here,” Samantha said when they reached him. She deliberately chose to exclude the words ‘pleasant’ or ‘welcome’ and failed to muster a smile.
Harlowe’s expression remained equally neutral while she and Adrian greeted his companion, Baron Midhurst. The older gentleman had taken over Viscount Carver’s duties as home secretary after corruption charges related to Adrian’s trial prompted the viscount to flee the country.
A notice had been sent to every British embassy calling for assistance with his immediate return so he could stand trial. As of yet, there was no indication of where he was or what had become of him.
“I see congratulations are in order,” Midhurst said. He directed a pointed look at Samantha’s stomach.
“When are you due?” Harlowe asked, his voice flat — devoid of emotion.
Samantha did her best to ignore the anger beginning to simmer beneath her carefully crafted facade. “In two to three months.”
“We’re both overjoyed,” Adrian added, his palm settling firmly against the base of her spine to offer support.
Ignoring his comment Harlowe told her, “You never came to check on Hazel, or simply to see how Holly and Tara are faring.”
“I’ve been occupied with other things,” she replied though the truth was she loathed the idea of returning to Clearview House.
Whether Harlowe realized this or not he said, “They might have welcomed a letter, at the very least.”
“Had I received one from them I would have responded. It would seem they’ve been just as busy as I, however.”
Irritation finally flickered in Harlowe’s eyes as he held her gaze. She became aware of Midhurst shifting position, felt Adrian’s thumb stroke her back, and finally managed to make her lips curve.
“Well, we’d best not keep Lady Heathbrooke waiting,” Samantha said.
Harlowe flinched. “The marchioness has returned from Italy?”
“No,” Samantha informed him before telling Midhurst, “Enjoy the rest of your evening, my lord.”
With nothing more left to be said, Samantha strolled off with Adrian, whose hand remained a steady assurance against her lower back.
“I think I need some fresh air now,” she told him, her path already aimed at the French doors leading to the terrace. “The heat in here is unbearable. I’ve no idea how you can stand to be dressed as you are.”
“The alternative would probably raise a few eyebrows,” he muttered.
Amusement chased away any lingering annoyance from her encounter with Harlowe. Getting outside and escaping to a dark corner with Adrian would improve her mood even further.
She quickened her pace and weaved past the guests who stood in her way. The doors were only a few feet away. She was almost there, ready to pull them open so she could step into the crisp night air.
Her palm connected with the door handle. Adrian’s hand at her back urged her onward.
And then someone screamed.