The Formidable Earl (Diamonds in the Rough #6) - Sophie Barnes Page 0,27
my aunt receives this?”
Taking the letter from her with a swift, “Of course,” he left.
The key scraped against the door as he locked it behind him.
Ida blinked.
She was once again alone.
Eat, read, wait.
His advice wasn’t the worst, considering the risk she would face by venturing out on her own. After the concern he’d shown over finding her absent earlier, Ida was fairly certain he’d be incensed if he learned she’d deliberately thwarted his orders. Then again, she’d never been very good at heeding sound advice. Especially not when said advice kept her from being productive and doing what she believed to be of great importance.
Mind made up, she went in search of her cloak. It was time for her to try and locate the captain who’d delivered the forged letters her father was thought to have written.
By all that was holy, he’d almost kissed her. Not with the unrefined carnal hunger Simon might have expected to use on a woman in her line of work, but as a man who found her incredibly desirable. He was drawn to Miss Strong in a way he’d never been drawn to anyone else. With Gabriella, it had been about the title and the prestige – about satisfying his mother so she would stop nagging.
But with Miss Strong – Ida – there was so much more. She was bold and beautiful, charming and smart. More than that, she treated him like a normal person, without deference or pretense, and it surprised him how much he liked that.
“Christ.”
His fingers flexed when he pictured her as she’d been in the parlor the instant his awareness had aligned with hers. He’d seen it in her eyes, heard it in the way her breathing had slowed and deepened. Simon quickened his pace in an effort to unleash some of the tension she’d stirred within him. Just the memory of her licking her lips, of the tip of her tongue adding moisture to that plump piece of flesh, was enough to make every muscle within him go taut.
Remaining still, to not grab her and pull her into his lap, had been a feat of remarkable restraint on his part. Because he’d wanted – hell, he still wanted – to know what she’d feel like in his arms and how she would taste. And while he reckoned some men in his position would simply have taken the liberty, Simon appreciated the complexity of his relationship with her. For although she might be a courtesan, ordinarily available at the right price, he didn’t want to be a job to her. Neither did he wish to make things awkward between them by having her think he had expectations. He certainly didn’t want to insult her by acting as though he had more rights with her than with anyone else. She had, after all, become a friend of sorts. He didn’t want to jeopardize the bond they’d forged by doing something stupid. Most importantly, he’d promised not to make any advances, and while he knew he had his faults, he’d always been a man of his word.
Pushing his contemplations of Ida aside, Simon strode into the common area of White’s. His intention was to question Kirksdale and Elmwood if they showed, then head on over to his uncle’s townhouse for that drink he’d been invited for. He glanced around, making a swift mental note of those who were present.
Spotting Yates and Kirksdale at exactly the same time, Simon went to greet his friend first. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, “but I won’t be able to join you until I’ve exchanged a few words with Kirksdale.”
“Anything of interest you’d like to divulge?” Yates asked.
“Not really. More of an inquiry that may prove useful to my investments.” He wasn’t sure where this idea had sprung from, but it suddenly occurred to Simon that what he sought was motive. Somehow, the real traitor must have stood to profit from Napoleon’s escape, and he meant to find out how.
“Ah well. Business does take precedence.” Yates smiled and turned a page of the Mayfair Chronicle. “I’ll continue reading the paper until you return.”
Simon took a deep breath and crossed to the opposite side of the room. “My lord?” he asked once the marquess was within hearing.
Kirksdale, who’d been browsing through The London Gazette, looked up. “Fielding.” He set the newspaper aside. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was hoping you might be able to offer me some advice.”