“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Simon told Mr. St. John when he and Ida met him at The Red Rose the following day.
Ida considered the man sitting adjacent to her at one of the round corner tables in the dining room. His gaze slid over her and she instinctively leaned a bit closer to Simon. Even though the air between them had been tense and awkward since the previous day’s outing, she appreciated his nearness and the sense of security he offered.
“My pleasure,” Mr. St. John said. He gave them each a pleasant smile.
Ida’s skin pricked. She’d never liked false sincerity and Mr. St. John practically dripped with it. She thanked the waiter who handed her a menu and gave her attention to the various dishes The Red Rose had to offer while Simon and Mr. St. John engaged in small talk.
Maybe she was just being difficult. She had been in a bit of a mood for the last two days. She sighed. Maybe it was foolish of her to turn down Simon’s offer. He was, after all, willing to give her the sun and the moon. Just not the stars.
She flipped the page. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
“I recommend the lamb,” Simon said, his voice scattering her thoughts like dry leaves in the autumn wind. “With a bottle of Chateau Lafite to accompany it.”
“Sounds good to me,” Mr. St. John said. He snapped his menu shut.
Ida smiled tightly and gave a swift nod of agreement.
Simon threw her an odd look then returned his attention to Mr. St. John. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get right to the heart of my reason for wanting to see you.”
A waiter came and took their order. Simon waited until the man brought the wine and filled their glasses before saying, “It’s in regard to the break in that took place at one of my properties three nights ago. I know the culprit was in your employ and that Bow Street intended to have you identify him.”
Mr. St. John sipped his wine. Deep grooves appeared on his brow as he set the glass down and folded his arms on the table. “I did so yesterday. The man’s name was Owen Princhet, and like many of my employees, he was a former soldier.”
“Is that customary?” Ida asked. “For munitions companies to hire veterans?”
Mr. St. John’s pale blue eyes met hers. “They know their weapons, have experience using them, and are often able to suggest improvements. Much of the work required can even be done by those who’ve lost a limb and would not be able to find work elsewhere.”
“So you give them a purpose?”
“In a manner of speaking. I give them the means to support themselves and provide for their families.”
“A noble gesture,” Simon declared.
“Very,” Ida agreed. So far, she’d no real reason to dislike the man, yet there was a niggling feeling deep in her gut. It was more than the result of her own misgivings over her relationship with Simon.
“Unfortunately,” Mr. St. John said, “such men sometimes have invisible scars. I’m sorry one such individual threatened your lives.”
Simon glanced at Ida quickly, then quietly added, “It was no accidental break in. He was sent there by someone. The paper found on his person was from your company and had my address written on it.”
Mr. St. John looked at them each in turn before saying, “Forgive me, but I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Since neither of us had ever met Princhet before,” Simon said, “it stands to good reason that someone must have hired him to kill Miss Strong, who presently happens to be residing at that address.”
“Kill?”
“He brought a very large knife with him and went straight for her bedchamber.”
Mr. St John’s eyes widened. “Good God.”
“Indeed,” Ida murmured.
The waiter brought their food, which looked delicious. Ida proceeded to cut her lamb.
“I don’t understand,” Mr. St. John said. He sounded truly baffled. “Why on earth would anyone wish to harm you, Miss Strong?”
“Perhaps because she’s close to proving her father’s innocence and someone else’s guilt,” Simon suggested. “The other night’s attack is not the only one she’s had to suffer.”
“Heavens,” Mr. St. John said with wide-eyed dismay. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
Simon inclined his head. “All that matters now is for us to figure out who might have issued the order.”
“Of course.” Mr. St. John gave his own attention to his plate. “How can I be of service?”
“I was wondering if any of your investors or board members might have been well enough acquainted with Princhet to know he’d be willing to do something like this.”
“You clearly suspect a high ranking individual.” Mr. St. John held Simon’s gaze for a long moment before he finally said, “I might have seen the Marquess of Kirksdale conversing with him on a couple of occasions. The Earl of Elmwood and Mr. Nugent too, now I think of it.”
Ida sighed. “All three of them? You’re sure about this?”
“Princhet knew a great deal about weaponry. He liked to talk and the three men were keen to listen.”
“And would you be willing to testify to this in court?” Simon asked.
“It won’t help in a legal argument,” Ida told Simon, “unless there’s additional information suggesting one of these men hired Princhet to kill me.”
“I know,” Simon told her gently, “but it does help establish a connection which may prove useful along with the rest of the evidence.” He turned to Mr. St. John. “Well?”
“I’m happy to help in any way I can,” Mr. St. John assured him.
“In that case,” Simon said with a smile, “we’d like to know how much each of these men have invested in your company.”
Mr. St. John’s mouth fell open. He looked at them each in turn while Ida held her breath. “I can’t share that with you. It’s not done.”
“One of these men deserves to hang for what he did. Are you saying you want to protect him?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Good.” Simon straightened himself in his chair. “I’ll have my secretary pick up the records later today. All right?”
Mr. St. John puffed out a breath. “Very well. If it will help see justice served.”
Ida gave her attention back to her lamb. There was something too orderly about this entire conversation – something that didn’t feel right, from Mr. St. John’s coincidental mention of the exact same men she and Simon suspected, to his willingness to help with a situation that could prove disastrous for him as a business man.
“I don’t like him,” she told Simon once they’d left The Red Rose and were walking back to Bedford Street, “and I don’t think we should trust him.”
“Hmm,” Simon muttered. “Do you want to have him investigated?”
“I’m thinking it might be a good idea to do so. After all, we know next to nothing about him.”
“Agreed. I’m just not sure how to go about it without him finding out.”
She bit her lip. “Guthrie is already looking into the Shadwell Gun Works’ employees for us, so I think we should ask him to help with this as well.”
“I don’t know,” Simon hedged. “If Mr. St. John gets wind of it, he won’t want to help us anymore.”
“Guthrie is well connected and discreet,” Ida pressed. “He’ll get the answers we’re looking for without Mr. St. John being any the wiser.”
Simon was quiet for a brief moment before he finally said, “All right. Let’s reach out to him and see what he says.”
“Thank you. It’s possible there’s no cause for alarm, but there was something about the entire encounter with Mr. St. John that felt slightly off.” They reached the front door and entered the townhouse. Ida removed her gloves and bonnet and set them aside on the entryway table. “Shall I ask Miranda to prepare some tea?”
“Please do. I’ll wait for you in the parlor.”
Ida went in search of the maid. She was glad Simon had listened to her. Many men would have dismissed a woman’s opinion on such matters – especially if it was based on nothing more than a feeling and lacked hard facts. But not Simon. And Ida loved him all the more for it.
It was a little after seven in the morning. After spending a restless night in the bedroom across the hall from where Ida slept, Simon had finally forged a plan to win her back. Of course, there was every chance it might not work, but he prayed it would. Either way, he needed to move, needed to rid himself of the anxious emotions crashing through him by submitting to some brisk exercise.
So here he was, tearing across the far end of Hyde Park with one of his favorite stallions. He’d saddled the horse himself with swift movements. Today was not the sort of day where he had the patience to wait for others. He dug his heels into the muscular flank and gave himself up to the thrill of the ride until he was worn out. Yesterday, after sending a message to Windham House, they’d received a response from Guthrie. He’d already started looking into Mr. St. John based on the testimonies he’d gotten from some of the Shadwell workers.
Simon still wasn’t sure what to make of the munitions manufacturer. He’d provided the records Simon had asked for, proving once more that Elliot had the most to gain if the army suddenly placed a large order for weapons. And yet, Simon had to admit Ida had a good point about Mr. St. John. He’d seemed too agreeable, too easily convinced to hand over the information. Or maybe Simon was simply looking for someone else to take the blame. After all, Mr. St. John wasn’t one of the men Ida’s father had named while Elliot was.
“I want to host a dinner party tonight,” Simon informed Winthorp when he returned home for a bath and a change of clothes. His shirt was pasted to his back and he probably reeked of exertion. “It is imperative Lady Warwick and her husband are there along with the Duke and Duchess of Huntley and the Duke and Duchess of Windham. Additionally, I want to invite the Marquess and Marchioness of Kirksdale along with the Earl and Countess of Elmwood, and my uncle – he ought to be back on his feet by now. Do you think that can be arranged?”
“It’s very short notice, my lord,” Winthorp said, “I cannot guarantee they will all be able to come.”
“Of course. The Warwicks and my uncle are the most important guests, so please make sure they are invited first. If you believe an incentive is necessary, just tell them I wish to confide in them my plans for the future before I make the information public.”
Winthorp smiled. “The promise of knowing something before anyone else will certainly appeal to Lady Warwick, my lord. I’ll get started on it right away.
Thanking him, Simon exited his study and went to enjoy his bath.
There was no denying that things had changed between them after the arguments they’d had. Ida had hoped the strain it had brought to their relationship would ease within a day or two, but it hadn’t. She no longer felt as though she and Simon were on equal footing but rather like they were standing on opposite corners of the same street. For the tenth time that day, she thought of addressing the issue, then changed her mind once more. What was the point? Her position would not change. Discussing it further was unlikely to help. But there was one thing worth mentioning.
“I’m extremely grateful to you for all you have done to help clear my father’s name.” She feared she might not have a chance to tell him later. Once the case was resolved, she would want to leave him as quickly as possible. She’d not want to linger in order to exchange pleasantries with a man she loved but could not have. Walking away from him would be the hardest thing in the world. “Had it not been for you, I never would have gained access to Elmwood, Kirksdale, or your uncle. The information we were able to find at the Mayfair Chronicle would not have been made available, and I’d not have realized the connection between the three men and the Shadwell Gun Works. Or if I had, it would have taken a lot longer. I might even have gotten killed without you there to protect me.”
His eyebrows dipped together in the middle as he frowned. “Let’s not forget that without me you would have remained safe at Amourette’s until you received the funds allowing you to leave the country and start over somewhere else.”
“And the real villain would have gone unpunished.” She sipped her tea then met his gaze. “I’m glad you forced me back on this path. I’m also glad to have known you.”
He stared at her until she could stand it no more, and she gave her attention back to her teacup.
“I’m hosting a dinner party this evening at Fielding House, and I would like for you to be there.”
Her eyes snapped back to his. “What?”
“In fact, your attendance is imperative.”
The intensity with which he watched her caused her stomach to do a series of cartwheels while her heart fluttered. It was unnerving, this effect he had on her. She wished it would go away since it only made her want to be closer to him, to kiss him and to imagine everything would be all right in the end.
“I’m not sure that would be a good idea.” If anything, it would only make it easier for her to pretend they still had a future together – that she hadn’t said no to everything he was able to offer.
“Please, Ida. I need you to do this for me – this one favor in exchange for everything else.”
His words cut straight through her. How could she refuse after all the clothes he’d bought her, the house he’d allowed her to use as her own, the help he’d provided? “All right.”
A smile caught the edge of his mouth. “Good.”
Even though he remained where he was, perfectly still, there was no denying the fire that burned in his eyes. Ida sucked in a breath as hot little embers danced over her skin. Oh, how she wished he would pull her into his arms and kiss her right now. She wanted nothing more than to drown in every caress he was willing to give her, and to tell him without words how much she yearned for him, no matter how foolish it might be.
A knock at the door made her flinch. Realizing she’d inadvertently moved toward Simon, she leaned back and made a point of not looking straight at him. “Come in!”
Miranda entered. “A message just arrived for you, my lord.” She handed the note to Simon and left.
“It’s from my secretary, Winthorp,” Simon told her as he scanned the lines. “He says there’s a man waiting to see me – a messenger has responded to our advertisement in the paper. I have to go.”
“Will you be back once you’ve spoken with him?”
“I’m afraid I won’t have time.” He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “There’s another matter I need to attend to once I’ve finished speaking with the messenger.”
“Of course.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I will see you this evening then.”
“Yes. If you can be ready by six, I’ll have my carriage pick you up then.”
Looking much like a man torn between the desire to stay and the need to go, Simon left without further comment. Ida glanced at the mantelpiece clock. It was only a little after two. There was still plenty of time for her to get ready.
With this in mind she resumed her seat on the sofa and topped up her tea before gathering up her knitting. Hopefully, the messenger waiting for Simon would be the right one. She glanced at the clock again. Four hours felt like a very long time to wait before she would find out more.