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.
Hehad 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.
22
Dressed in a white muslin nightgown, Samantha cradled Alexandra in her arms while making a slow turn of the nursery.She padded across one of several rugs, humming a tune intended to soothe and encourage her daughter to sleep.A fire burned in the grate, the low crackle and warmth it produced creating a cozy atmosphere in which the concerns from the world beyond were quickly forgotten.
Holding her daughter close, Samantha kissed the top of her downy head.The answering murmur of satisfaction made her heart swell with joy.This was her treasure — the only thing that truly mattered.Alexandra and Adrian were everything to her.To think she’d ever believed herself whole before either of them came into her life still surprised her.
All that remained now, was for Adrian to return from whatever business he’d been engaged in today.
Soon, she hoped.
It would be good to see him before she too fell asleep — to share a quiet moment together in which to discuss what they’d each experienced throughout the day.
She was especially eager to learn of Adrian’s search for Murry, whether Lady Edwina had been returned to her brother, and how Wrengate had responded to all that had happened.
The duke could be brutal, but so could Adrian.If anyone was capable of standing against Wrengate, it was he, though the duke’s title did technically make him more powerful than her husband.Socially speaking, at least.
Should Wrengate choose to use that power for destruction, Adrian might find himself facing fabricated charges once more.
She shuddered at the thought of it.
As though sensing her distress, Alexandra whimpered slightly, but soon settled back to sleep.Samantha expelled a deep breath and returned to her humming.She took another few turns of the room before gently placing her daughter in her cradle, and glanced at the clock that sat on the mantle.
It was nearly eleven.
A yawn forced her mouth open.She covered it with her hand.Lord, she was tired.Between feeding Alexandra and entertaining her throughout the day, she had little time to rest.Now would be a good time, except Adrian still wasn’t home.
Perhaps she could read while she waited?That ought to be relaxing.
She stepped through the door that separated hers and Adrian’s bedchamber from the nursery and picked up the book that lay on her nightstand.The Mysteries of Ferney Castleby Robert Huish.A bit of port would make a lovely addition.She poured a small glass, then took a seat in one of the armchairs that stood before the fireplace.
Her gaze fell on the dancing flames.Vibrant shades of orange, yellow, and red filled her vision.She sipped her port and opened the book to where she’d left off.
The warmth from the fire floated around her.A few more sips of port were interspersed with additional reading.Only for her to find herself re-reading the same line three times for the meaning to register.She sighed and set the book aside, then leaned back against the plush seat.
Perhaps she’d close her eyes a little.
Just for a moment.
