He shook his head. Roughly. “It’s the middle of the night, Ida. She’s sleeping.”
“I see.”
So did he. Far more than what was proper.
He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. “Where do you keep your nightgown?”
“In the top drawer of the dresser.”
Simon crossed to the piece of furniture, opened the drawer, and pulled out the garment he sought. Cut from the finest white muslin, with lace trimming and satin ribbons adorning the edges, it really wasn’t much better than the chemise in terms of protecting her modesty. But if it would make her more comfortable, then he’d certainly not be the one to point out the obvious.
Aware that what came next might cause her embarrassment, he said, “I can help you get changed in the dark. Furthermore, I promise not to look.”
“I’m sure I can manage alone.”
“Are you?”
She frowned at the nightgown. “Not really.”
“All right then. Do you trust me?” He knew he was asking her a difficult question after everything they’d just been through, so he hastened to add, “I want to help you. That’s all.”
“If we’re to move forward, we have to start somewhere. So yes, I’ll allow you to help.”
No promise of trust, but the joyous relief her words gave him felt wonderful all the same. “Thank you.” It was a test, he realized. Most likely the first of many.
Determined to prove himself worthy, he snuffed out the light and closed his eyes. “Take my hand.”
She placed her palm in his and allowed him to help her rise.
“Now, you’ll have to guide me a little,” he told her. “Help me find the edge of your chemise.”
Taking both his hands, she placed them on either side of her, leading his fingers toward the fine hem until he was able to catch it. Doing his best to refrain from touching her, he pulled the fabric out to the sides, as far away from her body as possible, before beginning to lift it. But when he reached the spot where her hips flared out, he had no choice, and his knuckles scraped over her skin.
She chuckled.
“What is it?” he asked, surprised by the sound since neither had spoken for quite a while.
She chuckled again. “It tickles.”
He smiled. “This?”
“Stop it,” she grinned when he repeated the motion.
Simon’s heart soared. This was good. He loved that he’d managed to make her laugh. It boded well for their relationship and for the future.
Continuing his upward progress, he helped her raise one arm, then the other, while easing the chemise over her head. It caught on her ear for a second until he carefully pulled it free and managed to toss it aside. Inhaling deeply, he did his best not to think of the fact that Ida was presently standing before him without a stitch on. He desperately wanted to open his eyes, to take a small peek, but feared doing so would ruin the progress he’d made.
“Can you give me the nightgown?” he asked.
She did so, her fingers carefully guiding his until they found the opening for her head. He lifted the garment until she told him to stop, then lowered it until it was time to help her get her arms through the sleeves. It was a slow-going process, but it was also more intimate than any other activity he’d ever been a part of. With anyone. When the nightgown finally slid into place, he exhaled a breath he’d not known he’d been holding.
“You can open your eyes now,” she said.
So he did.
It was just as he had predicted. Even in the darkness, the thin fabric hid little.
Simon’s heart raced. His fingers itched with the need to reach out. A ravenous ache settled deep within him, and before he knew what he was doing, before he could even think, he’d taken a step toward her. She sucked in a breath, the sound like a siren’s call to his ears, driving him closer, beyond the bounds of all reason.
He lowered his head and was met by velvety softness.
A tiny gasp sounded – not the sort wrought from pain or discomfort, not even the kind meant to push him away, but rather a pleasurable sound inviting him to continue. So he wound one arm round her back, securing her there while he deepened the kiss, just a little – just enough to sample her sweetness.
Her lips parted without hesitation, a soft throaty moan answered his advance, and Simon was lost – lost in the glorious flavor of her, in the dream he’d been having ever since they’d met, in the woman he craved more than his next breath.
His movements were unhurried and tender, a slow exploration intended to give her a sense of what he felt but could not express in any other way. Easing back, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, then to her cheeks, and finally to her forehead. Without a word, he swept her up into his arms and laid her carefully on the bed. Climbing in beside her, Simon pulled her securely against his chest and drew the eiderdown up around them both.
“Rest now,” he whispered.
She answered him by squeezing his hand.
The oil lamp’s glow lent a soft golden hue to the room the next time Ida woke. Unlike the previous time, Simon was there, right beside her. Propped on his side, he was gazing down at her when she opened her eyes. A smile curved his lips, reminding her of the kiss they’d shared right after he’d helped her get changed. It had been lovely. The rightness of it had made her knees a bit wobbly.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” he said while tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You’ve been asleep for almost twenty-four hours.”
She blinked. “Really?”
“I even had Redding come check on you earlier today to make sure you were still all right. He said you just needed rest.” He studied her for a moment. “I’ll have to change your bandage again, but I’m thinking you might be hungry. Would you like something to eat first?”
“I would appreciate that. Thank you.”
When he returned a short while later, Simon brought a selection of various fruits, a slice of kidney pie, and some roast chicken. Everything had been piled onto a much-too-small tray which he placed in the middle of the bed.
“You frightened the hell out of me,” he said once she’d had a few grapes and selected a chicken leg to munch on. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Me too. I think I was rather lucky.”
His eyes met hers with regret. “I’m so sorry, Ida. This shouldn’t have happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
He looked like he wanted to argue the point. Instead he said, “Huntley has tried to find out who pushed you, but no one seems to have seen the culprit. No name has been mentioned, though I did see Elmwood on the stairs right before our carriage took off.”
“I didn’t even know he was at the ball. Perhaps he was just arriving.”
Simon sighed and selected an orange slice for himself. “Maybe, but we can’t afford to dismiss him.” He dropped his gaze to the mattress and frowned. “There’s something else. A note arrived at my home this morning – a warning to stay out of other people’s business.”
“Someone’s definitely rattled.”
“Yes. But I had hoped to gain a clearer indication of whom.”
So had she. Mr. Nugent had stormed off immediately after finding out who she was, and Kirksdale had refused to answer her questions. Ida glanced at Simon. Having finished her chicken, she cut a small sliver of pie, just to taste. “So where do we go from here?”
His fingers caught the edge of her chin. Leaning in, he gave her a swift kiss on the lips. “Nowhere, for the moment. You still need to get well.”
“Simon…”
He sighed. “I’ve a meeting with Mr. St. John the day after tomorrow. Probably a giant waste of time, but considering the story I gave Kirksdale about wanting to invest, I couldn’t refuse.” He shrugged and popped another orange slice into his mouth.
“I really don’t like that man. Mr. St. John. He made my skin crawl.”
“Hmm.” A frown appeared on Simon’s brow and his eyes darkened a fra
ction, but then he seemed to shake himself free of whatever unpleasant thoughts he’d been having. “Are you finished with the food?”
When she nodded, he removed the tray and set it on top of the chest of drawers.
“Let me take a look at your wound.” Just like before, he unwound the bandage and peeled back the compress, discarding the items so he could redress it with clean ones. “It’s healing nicely, Ida. There’s no blood like before, just a perfect scab. I’ll put on a clean compress and bandage to protect it.”
Once he was done tending to her and had cleaned up a bit, he removed his jacket and tossed it aside. Next, he began untying his cravat.
Ida gaped. “Um… Simon?”
“Hopefully the advertisement we placed in the paper will pay off soon.” The cravat somehow vanished. He went to work on his waistcoat buttons. “But if it doesn’t, I’m thinking we could question the women in these men’s lives.” He shrugged his arms out of his waistcoat and pulled at his shirt. “Not the wives, mind you – they’ll be too loyal – but if there are mistresses they’ve parted ways with in the years since, we might get lucky.” His shirt was pulled over his head and cast aside.
Ida gulped. “Um. Right. Um. You, er…that is…what I mean to say is—”
“You’re staring.” He started removing his shoes. “It’s as if you’ve never seen a man’s naked chest before. But that can’t be true since even I caught a glimpse of one during my very brief visit to Amourette’s.”
“Oh, I’ve seen men without a single stitch on,” Ida said. Simon paused in the middle of removing his hose and scowled. “It’s just that the men who tend to frequent Amourette’s are either older or…fuller. Around their middles, I mean. They’re not quite so…um…” She was dying here and it was becoming quite clear that he wasn’t going to save her. Instead, he stood at the foot of the bed, bare chested and gorgeous, and grinning at her like the very devil.
“Fit?” he prompted. “Perfect? The spitting image of Adonis?”
She grabbed a pillow and flung it at him. “Your arrogance knows no bounds, does it?”
“Not when you’re looking at me like that, as if you’d like to have me for dessert.”
“Simon.” Her cheeks had grown hot several seconds ago and were probably glowing by now. “I…didn’t think you would want to… I mean, the thing of it is… I’m not exactly—”
“Ida.” His firm voice snapped her eyes back to his. He smiled, all traces of seductive mischief utterly gone. “I’m just getting ready for bed, that’s all. I’d like to spend the night in here with you again, but sleeping fully clothed isn’t very comfortable.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, I would never try to seduce a woman in your condition. And I would like to think you know me well enough by now to realize as much.”
She bit her lip, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“It’s all right.” He reached for the top button of his placket, then paused. “Mind if I remove my trousers as long as I keep on my smalls?”
“No. Go ahead.” She averted her gaze and busied herself with climbing under the covers and making herself as comfortable as one could be with a constant headache. Closing her eyes, she rolled onto her side and listened to the various sounds Simon made as he finished getting ready for bed.
She found comfort in his presence – a comfort that warmed her insides and steadied her heart – the sort of comfort that made her realize she was well on her way to forgiving him for how he’d acted at the ball. Since then, he’d devoted himself to her completely, had nursed her with endless concern and compassion, had kissed her as if she meant more to him than life itself.
There was a gentle tug of the blanket, a slight shift to the mattress as he climbed in beside her. The light dimmed until only darkness remained. A pause followed. The only sounds filling the room were their breaths and the soft ticking from the clock on the dresser. And then his arm came around her. He brought his chest flush with her back. His lips touched her shoulder in a brief caress.
It wasn’t the least bit seductive, but tender and soothing.
“Sleep well,” he whispered.
Her hand found his and a smile touched her lips. “You too.”
Peace and security filled her body with languor, and while she wasn’t ready to ponder any emotional attachment she might have developed for Simon, she couldn’t deny that he made her feel safe and cherished.
He hadn’t wanted to leave Ida for one second. But Simon acknowledged when he returned home the next morning, it was past time for him to acquire a new set of clothes. It was Monday, after all, yet he still wore the evening attire he’d had on at the ball.
Disgraceful really. His mother would have been appalled. Simon didn’t care. Remaining with Ida, watching over her and ensuring her well-being, had been of far greater importance than worrying over his clothes.
When he’d woken a couple of hours earlier, she’d still been asleep. They’d apparently moved during the night because her head had been on his chest, her arm wrapped around his waist. For the longest time he’d just watched her, cataloguing the slope of her nose, the line of her jaw, the length and density of her eyelashes. He hadn’t been bored for one second but rather content in a way he’d not been in years.
After breakfasting they’d met with Redding, who assured them both she was doing fine. Once the duke was gone, Simon found the pistol he’d given her when they’d first met and told her to keep it within her reach until he returned. Not because he believed she would actually need it. So far, the attacks on her had happened outside under the cover of darkness. As long as she remained indoors, he believed she would be safe. Especially during the day. But knowing she had the means to protect herself gave him peace of mind.
Deerford greeted Simon in the foyer, his professionalism showing in his lack of comment with regard to Simon’s absence for almost three days. “I’d like a bath please,” Simon said while he pulled off his gloves. He’d helped Miranda prepare one for Ida and was now very eager for one of his own.
“Of course, my lord. I’ll see to it right away. Although there’s probably something else you ought to know first.”
“Yes?”
“Your uncle has come to call several times during your absence—once on Saturday and twice on Sunday.”
Simon’s shoulder’s tensed. He believed he knew the reason and yet he still asked, “Did he tell you why he wished to see me?”
Deerford cleared his throat and averted his gaze, which was most unusual. In all the years Simon had known the butler, he’d never once seen him look uncomfortable. “He, um…”
“Out with it, Deerford.”
The butler’s gaze snapped back to his. He raised his chin. “Apparently he wished to make sure you’ve cut ties with that whore.”
Rage whipped through Simon without the slightest warning. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself not to lash out at his servant. Deerford was only doing his job. Elliot was the one who deserved Simon’s wrath. How dare he speak of Ida in such a despicable manner? With Simon’s servants, no less. It was beyond the pale.
“Thank you, Deerford,” Simon managed to say between clenched teeth.
Deerford nodded. “I’ll see to your bath right away, my lord.”
“Please do.” Simon turned away and began climbing the stairs.
Once in his room, he undressed. His breaths came so hard and rapid it seemed to take forever for them to slow. A red haze clouded his vision and his body practically shook with the need to do violence. Christ have mercy, he was furious. Elliot had crossed the line. Once Simon was cleaned up he’d have to go find him – deal with him somehow. Grabbing his robe, Simon shoved his arms into the sleeves, then tied the belt and prepared to wait for the maids to fill his tub. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and tried to think of Ida.
His angry heartbeats gradually slowed, giving way to a calmer rhythm. He couldn’t wait to get back to Number F
ive Bedford Street. His muscles relaxed just thinking about it.
Nothing would make this day better than allowing himself the pleasure of Ida’s company. She was like an elixir he couldn’t resist, an addiction he couldn’t deny, and a craving that would always lead him right back, desperate for more.
Chapter Twelve
It was Tuesday, and with Simon busy for the better part of the day, Ida had decided to spend some time in the parlor with her knitting. Her headache had finally vanished yesterday afternoon and the wound had completely healed. Redding had come to call again in the evening. He’d removed the bandage, assessed her, and declared her fully recovered, allowing her to return her focus to the evidence she and Simon had gathered, sparse though it was.
As they’d reviewed what they knew for what had to be the tenth time, an idea had popped into her head. They were attempting to find the messenger who’d delivered the letters to Captain Murdoch, but what about the forger himself? The writing and the seals must have been extremely exact so as not to raise any suspicions. If they could locate the individual, perhaps they could learn something more about who had hired him.
Simon had readily agreed. The new goal and chance for success had improved his mood dramatically. Ida’s needles clicked as she pulled the yarn through the next loop. He’d had a horrible row with his uncle yesterday, and while he refused to share the details, it was clear that he hated what had happened between them.
Miranda entered the room. “Would you like some tea, miss?”
“Oh yes, please.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey, even though Ida had told her she needn’t be quite so formal around her, and departed. Ida returned to her knitting. The nearby clock ticked away the minutes. Miranda returned with the tea, placed it on the table in front of Ida, and left. Ida poured herself a cup and had just taken a sip when a knock sounded at the front door.
She froze, momentarily unsure of what to do. Rising, she went to the window and carefully looked out. A shudder gripped her the moment she spotted Mr. Nugent. She glanced at the pistol lying next to her knitting on the sofa. Her stomach tightened and she took a step back.
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