Discussing Jack and his involvement with Melanie wasn’t going to be easy. For nine years the anger, the sheer disgust, Simon felt for his brother had followed him everywhere like a black shadow. Nothing would make it go away. No amount of time had brought him closer to forgiveness. If anything, it had made him more aware of his own blame in the nasty debacle.
Sitting in the small parlor his house on Bedford Street offered, Simon let his gaze rest on the cup of hot tea Ida had poured while trying to gather his thoughts. Where to begin?
Stalling, he selected one of the shortbread biscuits she’d made and savored the buttery flavor. Ida truly was an excellent baker and cook. He’d already sampled several of her culinary efforts, since exploring new recipes was how she enjoyed passing her time when he wasn’t there and she wanted a break from her knitting.
“My brother was a devilish charmer who hid his seductive intentions behind pleasant smiles and politeness.” The words suddenly popped out. Just like that. He raised his gaze, trying to gauge Ida’s reaction. She sat on the sofa across from him, patiently waiting for him to continue, her eyes filled only with interest. “No one ever suspected him of ill intent. After all, he was always a good sport, fun to be around, excellent company. But the truth is, he was a bloody scoundrel. And I should have known better – I should have seen it coming when I realized Melanie Heathmore had caught his eye.”
Simon shook his head as the memories poured back. “There was to be a house party at the end of the Season, hosted by Coventry’s good friend, the Marquess of Willmington. Jack begged me to secure invitations for both of us, claiming it would serve me well if I were to further my acquaintance with these men. They were, he insisted, excellent company for a new earl to keep. As it turned out, his motive for wanting to attend was entirely selfish. While the rest of the men went riding, he claimed a headache and sought out Lady Melanie. Under the guise of gentlemanly consideration for her wellbeing, he maneuvered himself closer and closer until finally…”
Ida gasped. “He seduced her.”
“Yes.” Simon winced. “To put things in perspective, this wasn’t some widow he hoped to lure to his bed but a proper young lady, the Duke of Coventry’s sister, who ought to have been incorruptible.”
“And yet he still managed to tempt her.”
“He did. From what I later gathered, he promised marriage to seal the deal. But come morning, he was gone. It wasn’t until Melanie realized what the consequence had been that she confided in her brother. She had to, I suppose. She needed his help.” Simon thought back on Conventry’s thunderous expression when he’d come to inform Simon of what had happened. “He insisted Jack marry her, to which Jack responded that he’d no intention of becoming anyone’s husband. Least of all a whore’s. Naturally, Coventry demanded a duel – a chance to defend his sister’s honor. I did my best to dissuade him from such a course of action since that would have made the whole thing public, but Coventry was beyond reason. I’ve never seen a man so incensed.”
“Can you blame him?”
“Of course not.” He sighed, raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I asked Coventry to give me a chance to reason with my brother, to explain to him the gravity of his actions and demand he do his duty. While reluctant, Coventry agreed and departed once I assured him I would manage the wedding preparations.
“But I should have known better. I should have known my brother better. He would not let anyone order him about. Even as a child he was impossible, but as the youngest, he was allowed such leniency whereas I was forever reminded that as his older brother, it was my duty to keep him in line.” He’d failed, and the consequences had been dire.
“What happened?”
Simon took a deep breath and expelled it. “After Coventry left, I argued with Jack but he refused to listen. That night, he stole the money stashed in the strongbox I kept in my study, and fled.”
“He never came back?”
“No.” Bitterness slithered through him. “The last time I heard from him, roughly seven years ago, he was living in New York. I’ve no idea what’s become of him since. He could be dead for all I know.”
Ida was silent so long, he was tempted to stand and pace the room. Stirring up the past like this had been a mistake. All it did was remind him of how flawed he was, while making him want to hit things. As for Ida, whatever good opinion she might have had of him would now be shattered. There was no way in hell she’d approve of his failure to make sure his brother stood by the woman he’d ruined, and somehow, having her condemnation was the worst part of all.
He moved to rise, to expel the negative energy coursing through him, but before he could complete the action, she stood, rounded the table between them, and claimed the spot beside him on the sofa. Her hand found his in a hard clasp. Blue eyes, sparkling like diamond shards, pierced him to his core. “You are not to blame for your brother’s wrongdoing. Do you hear me, Simon? What happened to Melanie wasn’t your fault and neither is anything else.”
Dazed and somewhat mesmerized by Ida’s fierceness, Simon said, “I was the earl, the head of the family. I should have done more.”
“How? If he was determined to go to the lengths you have just described in order to shirk his duty, I don’t know what more you could have done.” Her gaze softened, “Simon, you were a new earl, inexperienced and with a massive problem on your hands. You did what any reasonable person would do. You prevented a duel which could have resulted in death and instead attempted to reason with your brother.”
“I never imagined he’d be such a cad,” Simon said with self-loathing. “I trusted him to come around and do the right thing.”
“His actions do not reflect poorly on you, Simon. When it comes to other people, there’s only so much one can do. After that, it’s up to them.”
All he could do was stare at her while blood pumped rapidly through his veins. “I’m sorry for what happened, for what you and the Heathmores went through, but you’re not the one to blame. Jack is.”
“He could have had any woman he wanted,” Simon muttered.
“Forget him, Simon. Forget what he did so you can move past it.”
He dropped his gaze to her hand, so small it struggled to encompass his. “How?”
“Well, I think a good beginning has to involve a visit to Coventry House.” When he jerked his chin up to meet her eyes, she hastened to say, “I can come with you if you like. For support. But what matters here is offering Jeremy a chance to get to know his uncle.”
“Coventry despises me.”
“And?”
Simon stared at her, at this remarkable woman who’d entered his life by chance – a woman who cared nothing for what people might think or say but rather for what was right. He wished he could see the world through her eyes and that he could approach the Duke of Coventry without concern for how he’d react.
“I reached out to him once. After Melanie died and I learned about Jeremy, I offered to help but Coventry never responded. I doubt he will let me anywhere near the boy.”
“I suppose that’s his prerogative given the circumstances, but making another attempt now could help clear your conscience.”
God, how he wanted to kiss her, more now than ever before. He wanted to blot out the stain on his soul with her sweetness, bask in the feel of her lips on his own, and explore her gorgeous body until they were both left gasping for breath.
Twelve days. That was how long it had been since he’d met her. In the days since, he’d forced his mind to remain on task, to think of her as nothing more than a temporary fixture in his life. It hadn’t been easy. She was a flesh and blood woman after all, not a table or a chair to be tossed out when he desired another. Hell. He was starting to worry he’d never desire another woman again. They would all be measured against Ida from now on and fall short in the process.
“I’ll have tried,” he murmured, no longer thinking of Coventry but of something far more enticing. His hand moved. He leaned in, unable to stop the inevitable kiss that had been in the cards since the moment they’d met.
The gap between them decreased and—
Ida shot to her feet and smoothed out her skirts while he tried to stop his head from spinning. Christ! She must have sensed his intent. And she hadn’t wanted any part of it.
Well. That was like a cold bucket of ice water over his head.
He stood, cleared his throat. “It’s getting late. I should probably head home.”
She didn’t try to stop him. “Right. Um.” Her cheeks, already flushed, turned a brighter shade of pink. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Simon allowed himself an inward smile as he took his leave, his heart a great deal lighter than it had been in a long time. Ida had been right. Speaking about the past, confiding his concerns and his guilt, had made him feel better. But what really gratified him was the realization that in spite of the pretense, the wedge she’d forced between them, she couldn’t quite hide the effect he was having on her. Not that she hadn’t been trying. She had, to the point where he’d started wondering if he’d been wrong to imagine a shared attraction.
That doubt had been dismissed minutes earlier by her blush, the longing in her eyes, and the need for resolve written in her features. She wanted to surrender, but something held her back, and he had every intention of figuring out what that something might be. So he could destroy it.
A missive arrived from the captain of The Soaring Falcon two days later, much to Ida’s relief. She was desperate for progress in the case so she could get her mind back to it and away from the gorgeous man in whose company she now spent most of her waking moments. During the past forty-eight hours she’d scarcely thought of anything else besides the fact that he’d almost kissed her.
Afraid of where such intimacy between them would lead, she’d quickly sidestepped his advance, which had led to her repeatedly wondering what it might have been like, felt like, if she’d allowed it. To her dismay, the question had even invaded her dreams, where the answer she’d been provided had left her feeling both agitated and wanting when she’d awoken.
If her dream was anything close to reality, she truly was denying herself a splendid experience. Not that this helped alleviate her concerns. Which was why she’d dreaded him broaching the issue the following day when he visited her for their daily deliberations. She didn’t want to ruin things between them, but neither did she dare submit to her own desire until she knew doing so would be worth the risk of a broken heart.
Thankfully, he’d been as eager as she to ignore the subject. With few words spoken between them, they’d reviewed what they’d learned so far. When she’d thought to ask him if he might be able to visit the Old Bailey and inquire about the judge who’d tried her father, he’d promised to have his secretary look into it. The tension Ida had felt since his arrival had eased a little, but then the modiste arrived for her dress fitting and Simon had departed, though not without assuring her he would return the following day.
When he’d done so, the missive from the captain had already been delivered. It suggested a meeting aboard his ship the following afternoon.
“I brought my carriage,” Simon said when he came to collect her. After responding to the captain’s message, they’d agreed to see him together. “If you’re ready, we ought to get going. The traffic on the way over here was dreadful.”
Ida set the new knitting project she’d begun working on aside on the low table next to her chair and stood. Simon picked it up and turned it one way and then the other, studying the work in progress with interest while she went to fetch her bonnet and shawl. As usual, he’d used his own key and had walked in without bothering to knock or make his presence known before locating her in the parlor.
“What are you making?” he asked when she returned.
“You’ll see.” She smiled in response to his frown. “Shall we?”
“Hmm. Yes.” He returned her knitting to where she’d originally placed it and followed her into the foyer. “Do you have the captain’s message with you, just in case?”
“It’s in my reticule,” she assured him.
The tight lines bracketing his mouth underlined how seriously he was taking this. “Good.” He held the door for her. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like the judge we’re seeking will be easy to find.”
“Oh?” She turned to face him and was momentarily struck by how handsome he looked with the sunlight pouring over his skin.
“Winthorp, my secretary, spent most of yesterday trying to figure out who he was. When a clerk finally managed to retrieve the correct journal, the page of record was missing.”
“I see.” Disappointment settled deep in her breast. “We shan’t be able to question him then."
“No.” He handed her up into the carriage without further comment.
“Have you given any more thought to meeting with Coventry?” she asked once they were underway and neither had spoken a word for a while. Simon had been right about the traffic. She almost believed they’d reach the harbor faster by foot.
“I’d rather not discuss it right now.” Sitting directly opposite her, he’d been watching her with a pensive look in his eyes.
She shifted. His direct perusal of her was a little unsettling. “Dismissing an issue won’t make it go away, and it certainly won’t make it easier to solve.”
He muttered something inaudible, a curse, no doubt, and leaned forward. “Perhaps you should take that advice yourself before you start giving it to others.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Except she was fairly sure she did. “You’re making no sense.”
“Aren’t I?”
She sniffed. “You’re in a peculiar mood today, Simon. I’m really not sure what to make of it.”
“No?”
“No,” she told him tightly. His unwillingness to have a proper conversation was starting to get on her nerves. “Perhaps you didn’t sleep well last night?”
“I haven’t slept well in almost two weeks,” he grumbled. “Last night was no different.”
“Oh? I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Are you really?”
“Of course.” She held his gaze. A queer feeling started to churn in her belly. “Honestly, Simon, I’m not sure what’s going on with you today.”
“The same as yesterday, I imagine. And the day before that. And the—”
“Right. Well, we don’t have to talk if you’d rather not. I was merely trying to help.” Turning her head toward the window until he was blocked out of view, she gave her attention to the passing buildings. An ache squeezed her breast with a loss she couldn’t define. She felt tired, depleted, and inexplicably sad.
“Why didn’t you let me kiss you?”
The question was so poignant, so unexpected in the wake of the rest of their muddled discussion, she almost wondered if she’d imagined it. Until she glanced at him and saw his eyes fixed on her with the sharpest intensity she’d ever been submitted to.
She sucked in a breath. “I’m not—”
“Don’t insult me by trying to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve spent the last two days deliberating over the issue, over your swift avoidance of my advance. Initially, I believed the best course of action was to try and ignore it since that was what you seemed so keen on doing. But I’ve since changed my mind.”
He was suddenly on the bench beside her, too large and too close, too imposing by half. His masculine scent stirred her senses, his mere presence forcing an unbidden shiver to rake down her back. Her fingers itched with the need to reach out and touch him, to pull him close and allow herself to be consumed by his strength.
“Oh God.” It was all she could say and even then the words barely managed to scrape past her lips.
The golden center of his eyes gleamed. “Why are you so determined to stop the inevitable?”
“I…” She shook her head, unable to lay bare her fears.
His hand cupped her cheek. One finger stroked the edge of her jaw. A ragged breath rose from her throat. “Tell me.”
“It’s foolish.” He was dulling her mind with his touch, addling her senses with his smell, weakening her defenses with the low vibrations of his voice.
“I disagree.” His gaze dropped to her lips before moving lower, roving over each part of her body until she felt scorched. “I’ve been hungry since the day I clapped eyes on your beauty.” His gaze returned to her face with increased resolve burning bright in its depth. “And since you’ve refused to sate that hunger, I’ve been brought to the point of starvation, Ida. My entire body shakes at the thought of what it would feel like to kiss you, to touch you, to bury myself in your sweetness. I’m nearly mad with it. With you. I can scarcely think of anything else.
“Christ have mercy, I want you with a desperation I fear might kill me.” He dropped his hand, leaned back, allowed her a moment to gather her wits. “But I won’t press the issue again unless you desire the same. My respect for you is too great and besides, I’m not that sort of man. So unless you give your consent, nothing further will happen between us. I give you my word.”
It took effort to breathe. Pressed back into the corner of the carriage and with her heart pounding like mad, Ida stared at Simon as he returned to the opposite bench. Who was this man who’d suddenly shed the considerate garb of gentlemanly respectability he always wore? He’d been transformed into an impassioned rogue, telling her things she wouldn’t have thought he’d ever dare say.
It was shocking.
The curtain between them and what they could be if she’d let them had been whisked aside. He’d demanded she see. And then he’d insisted she make a decision.
“Simon, I’m not sure if—”
“We’re here,” he said, his desire for further excuses on her part completely absent. Instead, he got out and offered his hand to help her alight. “Watch your step as you go onboard. The gangplank might be slippery.”
Dismayed by his ability to shift gears with such remarkable speed, Ida merely nodded and accepted his escort. She couldn’t think straight at the moment, her body still on high alert from their interlude in the carriage. If only she were able to talk to Philipa about it, get her advice.
Ida sighed. Going back to Amourette’s wouldn’t be possible. The place was probably being watched, so she had to avoid it.
Clasping Simon’s hand for balance, she stepped down onto the deck of The Soaring Falcon.
“Right this way,” a burly man said when Simon inquired about Captain Finnegan Murdoch. He led Simon and Ida down below deck, through a passageway, and straight to the captain’s quarters at the stern of the ship.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Simon told Murdoch as soon as he and Ida met him. The captain inclined his head and offered them each a seat at a large table on which a collection of maps and other papers were strewn about. “We’re grateful for any assistance you might be able to offer.”
“We’ll see how helpful I can be once you’ve explained the exact nature of your visit. The note I received was vague at best.” Murdoch, who still stood, crossed to a cabinet and retrieved a large bottle. “Would either of you like a drink while we talk?”
When Simon immediately answered in the affirmative, Murdoch glanced at Ida and arched a brow.
Certain the drink would help put her frayed nerves back together, she nodded. “Please.”
Murdoch smirked with a hint of approval and collected three glasses. He filled them with a clear-colored liquid that burned a path all the way to Ida’s stomach the moment she sipped it.
“Now then,” the captain said as he took his seat on the opposite side of the table. “I believe there was some mention of a letter you’re hoping I might shed some light on?”
“Indeed.” Ida leaned forward, aware of Simon’s assessing gaze and the fact that he, as a man, had probably expected her to let him lead the interview. “From what I’ve recently been able to gather after extensive inquiry, you delivered two important letters four years ago, one to the captain of the British fleet guarding the island of Elba and the other to the French.”
Murdoch twisted his mouth in thought, then reached for his glass and drank. Returning the glass to the table, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes had darkened to pure black. “I don’t suppose the fact that both fleets left their positions the following day and allowed Napoleon to escape was a coincidence?”
“No.”
“Then I’ve nothing further to say.” Murdoch gave them both a hard stare. “I’ll have my boatswain show you out.”
“My father died because of those letters,” Ida said without moving to rise. “Whoever wrote them forged the signature along with the seals of King Louis and King George, then used him as a scapegoat.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t get involved in this mess,” Murdoch muttered.
“You got involved when you agreed to deliver the letters,” Simon cut in.
“And I was questioned then, too, about my involvement.”
“By whom?”
Murdoch’s jaw tightened. “A man I’d rather not meet again.”
“Made you nervous, did he?” Simon’s voice was jovial, but his body was taut and ready for action. “Perhaps we should share your name with the papers – make it known that you’ve started talking about Napoleon’s escape?”
Murdoch narrowed his gaze. “Are you threatening me?”
Simon fixed his attention on the captain while Ida held her breath. “No, not yet. And I’d like to think I won’t have to.”
Murdoch matched the hard glare in Simon’s eyes to perfection while holding perfectly still. “I don’t take kindly to those who try to force my hand.”
“In that case, I would suggest not giving me a reason to do so,” Simon said. “You’re a loyal Englishman, are you not?”
Ida glanced from one man to the other. Fierce determination hardened their features as they stared at each other like a pair of bulls who’d just locked horns
“Aye,” Murdoch agreed with a pensive murmur.
“Then help us find the bastard we’re after.”
Murdoch’s jaw tightened. He finally muttered an ugly series of curses and set his glass to his lips once more. “Fine.”
“Thank you,” Simon said, his expression easing. “Now describe the man who came to see you.”
Murdoch hesitated just enough to convey his displeasure before leaning back. “I can do better than that, my lord. It was the Marquess of Kirksdale.”
Every tendon in Ida’s body drew tight with a pang. “You’re certain of this?”
Murdoch swung his gaze toward her. “He left his calling card for me to use in case I recalled something useful.”
Swallowing, Ida exchanged a quick look with Simon before asking, “What did he want to know?”
“The extent of my knowledge regarding those letters. Claimed there might be some doubt about who’d sent them and told me he meant to dismiss it for good.”
“And?” Simon pressed when Murdoch added nothing further.
Murdoch shrugged one shoulder. “I thought it best to keep mum about it, so I didn’t reveal a damn thing. Not,” he added, “that I’ve much to reveal. The letters you’re asking about were brought to me by a messenger.”
“Can you describe him?”
Murdoch proceeded to do so. When he was done, he went to his desk and opened one of the drawers. “There’s something else. Something I’ve held onto that you might find useful.”
Returning to the table, he handed a folded piece of paper to Ida. Opening it, she stared down at the brief message. “These are instructions for delivery.”
Murdoch grunted. “I thought it odd even then that I was required to tell the captain of the French fleet that I sailed on behalf of France. But I believed I was serving my king, so being the loyal Englishman I am, I did as I was told.”
“Of course,” Ida muttered. She refolded the paper and gave it to Simon for safekeeping. “Thank you.”
“If you’re really determined to figure out where those letters originated,” Murdoch said, “I’d suggest you track down the messenger. But my honest advice would be to leave the matter alone and move on. The last thing you want is to make an enemy of a marquess.”
“Duly noted,” Simon told him.
He and Ida took their leave and returned to the carriage. “So now we have a note that could have been written by just about anyone and the description of a messenger who could be anywhere in the world for all we know.”
“I have an idea of how to track him down,” Simon said as he opened the carriage door for her. “An advertisement in the paper seeking a messenger with at least four years of experience might do the trick.”
Ida paused with one foot on the step. “There are bound to be hundreds who match those qualifications, but I suppose it’s worth a try.”
With his mouth set in a firm line and a stiff nod of agreement, Simon told the coachman to take them to the Mayfair Chronicle, while she continued to climb inside the carriage. “We also know Kirksdale was trying to destroy any proof there might have been of your father’s lack of involvement,” he said once he was sitting across from her and they were on their way. “As it stands, I’d say he’s just become our top suspect.”
“We still need proof.”
“Without a doubt, which is why I plan to drop you off at the house once we’ve placed the advertisement, so I can head home. It’s possible I have some old pieces of correspondence from him lying about. Comparing them to the note Murdoch gave us might shed some light on his guilt.”
“Perhaps,” Ida agreed, “but I don’t think we should dismiss the other men yet. See if you have samples of their writing as well. Just in case Kirksdale was a true friend of my father’s and his meeting Murdoch was due to an effort on his part to clear his name.”
Simon frowned. “Do you really think that’s possible?”
“I don’t know, but we mustn’t treat him or anyone else with the kind of injustice my father was forced to endure. We have to be better than that.”
“You’re right.” Simon closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they appeared more focused than before. “I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Thank you.” The discomfort from earlier hadn’t quite gone away while they’d spoken to Murdoch. Now that she was alone with Simon once more, it flared back to life. She glanced at him discreetly, at his strained features and rigid posture. “Regarding our previous conversation…”
A nerve ticked at the edge of his jaw. His eyes, seeking hers, looked almost angry. Ida shuddered. “There’s nothing more to discuss. You know where I stand.”
They didn’t say anything else for the remainder of the ride. When they reached the newspaper office, Simon asked her to wait in the carriage while he went to post the advertisement. Half an hour later, he delivered her to Number Five Bedford Street as promised and accompanied her inside. She took off her bonnet but he refrained from removing his hat or his gloves. He wouldn’t be staying this time. He’d said he wouldn’t, so why the disappointment on her part?
“I’m supporting a couple of bills in Parliament,” he said while lingering near the door. Voting will take place tomorrow and Thursday, so I have to attend.”
“In other words, you’ll be busy for the next two days.” She wished she didn’t feel so much regret over having to lose his company, if only for a brief time.
“I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. And while you might be itching to follow the new leads we’ve acquired, it will have to wait until Friday.” A brief hesitation followed, and then he said, “On a different note, I’d like you to reconsider my offer regarding a servant.”
“We’ve been over this repeatedly,” Ida protested. He’d brought the subject up at least five times since their run-in with the Duchess of Huntley at La Belle Anglaise.
“We need not fill the house with people if you do not wish it,” he said, “but I think it would be good for you to have someone else here with you. It would, in my opinion, be the responsible thing.”
“I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”
“Which I respect, but we have to consider the fact that you are supposed to be my ward. As such, you cannot remain here alone. It isn’t proper.”
“Simon, I—”
“Have you given any thought to how you will prepare for the ball without someone to help you dress?”
Ida huffed out a breath. He’d neatly managed to corner her. “All right. Fine. I’ll agree to a maid of all works if that will satisfy you.”
“Thank you.” He stiffly bent to place a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll stop by early on Friday so we can discuss whatever I may have learned by then before heading off to the Huntley ball. I’ll bring the maid with me.”
Ida could only nod. His kiss, so lacking the ardor he’d put on display earlier, was devastating. He was devastating. And as she bid him good bye and watched him walk back to his carriage, she knew she’d miss him terribly until she saw him again.