Miss Simmons was far more dangerous than he anticipated. His attraction was problematic, but more troubling was his growing admiration. She was an intriguing contradiction of strength and vulnerability, lethal skill and fragile innocence. The more he learned about her, the greater his fascination grew. Like an opium addict only falling more deeply entangled with every inhalation.
Distance was key. Killian turned and wound through the crowd toward Drake, refusing to look back. He could not lose focus on the investigation.
‘Hello, Killian. Looks like you took my advice.’ Drake nodded to where Hannah and Lady Winterbourne sipped punch and whispered to each other. The women near them kept a wide circle, likely too intimidated by Lady Philippa to dare approach. ‘I must say, being courted by you agrees with the young lady. Whether or not she could kill someone is debatable, but that dress is certainly murdering the concentration of several men, you included.’
‘It’s lucky I know how deadly you are with duelling pistols, or I might be tempted to call you out for such comments.’ Killian tried to smile but feared it was closer to a snarl.
‘Stand down, Lieutenant General. I have no interest in competing for Miss Simmons’s favour. I learned my lesson well.There’s a reason cupid shoots arrows. Love is far more fatal than your Miss Simmons’s hypothetical knives.’
‘She isn’t my Miss Simmons, her knives aren’t hypothetical, and we have more important matters to discuss than homicidal cherubs.’ Unfortunately, nothing felt more important than getting back to her. Killian clenched his teeth. He could still taste her, and his body demanded more. But it wasn’t just desire coursing through him. He felt driven to discover her secrets. How had a woman like Miss Simmons learned to fight with the fierceness of a trained killer? Why was she fearless in battle, but terrified of dancing at a ball? And how in the devil did she get that scar?
Drake tipped his glass in the direction of Miss Simmons. ‘So, you still expect me to believe the woman presently tripping over her own skirts is actually a highly skilled operative.’
Killian glanced at Hannah. She was indeed caught in her dress, grabbing the nearest lady’s arm to maintain her precarious balance.
‘God, it’s that woman from Lord Bradford’s dinner party. Something or other Whittenburg. No wonder Miss Simmons is falling all over herself. She’s attempting to escape that harridan.’ Drake shook his head.
Before Killian could move to assist Hannah, the two women left the ballroom together.
‘Probably going to the necessary. Funny how they always go in packs. Makes a man wonder what they’re up to in there. Probably scheming about the next hapless chap they plan on duping.’
Killian refused to engage in Drake’s bitter diatribe against women. ‘Can we please get back to the subject at hand?’
Drake drank again. ‘I’ve had a message from the prime minister. He received important information from Lord High Chancellor Hardgrave.’
A tingle of premonition feathered over Killian’s senses. ‘And?’
‘There are more.’
‘More what?’ Sometimes Drake could be wilfully mysterious. Killian found it incredibly annoying. Drake knew it.
Drake glanced around him, then leaned closer. ‘More dead girls in caskets.’
‘Shit.’ Killian’s premonition transformed into an oily weight of dread in his belly.
‘Yes. Exactly.’
‘Is he sure?’
‘Very sure. They were found in France. Questions have been asked of our government. Rather uncomfortable questions with no clear answers.’ Drake rocked from heel to toe, surveying the couples swirling around the dance floor.
A gentleman wearing a bright-purple coat with a canary-yellow waistcoat stumbled out of the crowd, crashing into Killian. The overdressed peacock carried a goblet of wine that nearly spilled.
‘Terribly sorry. Looking for a lovely little woman wearing,’ the man swirled his arm in a large circle around his head, sloshing wine onto his shoulder, ‘pink feathers in her hair. Told me to meet her by the stairs, then she disappeared.’ He broke into a braying laugh.
Drake stepped away from the soused idiot. ‘She is not here.’
The drunk dandy draped an arm over Killian’s shoulder. Given their height difference, it was quite a stretch for the man, whose balance was already compromised. ‘Ladies do take pleasure in being chased, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘In my experience, a woman only runs when she wants to escape.’ Killian shook off the man’s arm and stepped aside. The dandy stumbled, spilling the remainder of his wine over his bright-blue shoes.
‘Bugger. Just bought these shoes.’
Drake looked down without moving his head. ‘I wouldn’t consider it a loss.’
‘Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere less populated.’ Killian raised his brows at Drake. The scarred man nodded his assent, and they left the fop to fumble on his own.
Skirting around the edge of the ballroom toward the doors leading to the main hallway, Killian didn’t have to look behind him to know Drake was following. Despite their years away from the battlefield, they could still move as a unit.
