“Relax.” His voice was suddenly sharp. He handed her one of the two drinks he’d poured. “It’s just a necklace.”
A very expensive one. The sort a man only gave to a woman from whom he hoped to gain something in return. She took her glass and almost dropped it when she felt his fingers brush against hers.
“Steady now,” he told her softly before taking a step back and adding distance.
With her heart pounding hard against her breast, Ida took a sip of the sweet Spanish wine and told herself to calm down. Simon had already promised he wouldn’t seduce her unless she invited him to.
All she had to do was maintain her resolve.
“I can say with confidence that neither Elmwood nor Nugent wrote the note Captain Murdoch gave us.”
“And Kirksdale?” Ida asked, relieved to have something else to think about.
“Unfortunately, I was unable to learn if the writing matched his. The only thing I’ve ever received from him by post was presumably written by his secretary.”
“Oh.” Now that they’d turned their attention back to the subject concerning the wrongful sentencing of her father, Ida felt more herself – less aware of the man she was with and less nervous. “But if you’re sure neither Elmwood nor Nugent wrote it, if you were able to prove their lack of involvement, doesn’t that mean it must have been Kirksdale?”
“A possibility I have considered myself, though not one I’m willing to stake my life on without concrete proof.”
Ida sighed. “We might never find that.”
“We have to,” Simon told her seriously. “If we’re to go up against a marquess, nothing less will do.”
“I agree.” She set her glass to her lips once more and drank, ever aware that Simon was watching a little too closely for comfort. Ignoring the observation, she said, “As long as our suspects are all in attendance tonight, we’ll be able to quiz them directly, just like we’ve planned.”
An indefinable emotion flickered across Simon’s face. “Be careful, Ida. Don’t let yourself be alone with any of these men tonight. Not for one second. Understood?”
“It’s a ball. I think it’s highly unlikely I’ll be alone with anyone.”
Simon turned away before she could see the destructive affect her words had on him. Christ, he must have been mad, insisting she wear a gown that complimented her dazzling blue eyes. The neckline was daringly low, the bodice so tight it made her breasts swell.
Lord have mercy, she looked like seduction itself – so irresistibly tempting he’d almost lost all restraint when he put the damned necklace around her neck. And he was about to escort her out into a crowd consisting not only of happily married men, but of scoundrels as well. Hell, Hawthorne would be there and Yates too, though the earl might have calmed his roguish ways on account of Miss Harlowe, but really, what in God’s name had he been thinking?
“It’s past eight o’ clock,” Ida told him, her soft voice breezing across him with languid strokes. “Shouldn’t we be on our way?”
He clenched his jaw and turned. The very idea of other men seeing her like this was making him want to tear out his own bloody hair. How the devil could he have been so foolish?
“Right.” It seemed like an appropriate response. Indeed, it was the only response he could manage right now. And since that was the case, he followed the statement by stepping toward her and offering his arm.
She took it, the close proximity the gesture afforded offering him a whiff of floral fragrance. His chest tightened. Every tendon and muscle grew taut, and yet somehow he managed to guide her into the hallway without pulling her against him and crushing her mouth with his own. Instead, they collected their gloves, his hat, and her cloak before leaving the house and climbing into his awaiting carriage.
Simon wasn’t sure what they’d discover at the ball, but one thing was certain. It was going to be a very long night.
The receiving line was impressively long. Climbing the steps leading to Huntley House with steady slowness, Ida looked up at the imposing edifice. Built in the Greek style, it boasted four massive pillars, each serving to support the triangular shaped portico. It was simple, elegant, yet indicative of great wealth.
“How did your parliamentary sessions go?” Ida asked Simon. She’d meant to question him earlier, only to forget the moment he’d walked through the door. She shook her head. The man addled her brain like nothing else.
“Not as well as I’d hoped,” he said.
“I’m sorry to hear it. What happened?”
“Well.” He took a deep breath. When he spoke again his voice was significantly lower. “Do you recall the Peterloo Massacre?”
Ida swallowed. She’d read about it in the paper. “Yes. It was horribly tragic.”
“Preventable in my opinion, had the government shown more restraint in their handling of matters.” His comment was firm. Angry. “After the Six Acts was passed, I determined to write two bills. One would be modeled on the freedom of speech Americans enjoy in their constitution while the other would place restrictions upon the government when dealing with those who don’t share their views.”
Gazing into his dark eyes, Ida almost missed the fact that she was supposed to move forward until he placed his hand on her elbow and nudged her along. “I gather they were turned down?”
