“A note?” he scoffed, the sight of one bare, milky-white shoulder testing his resolve. “Saying what?” If Sebastian was to arrive, pistol in hand, Nicholas needed to be prepared.
“That I’ve left for Portsmouth with Lady Brompton. She has fled to her house near Southwick, hoping to delay the investigation. She is to be my alibi while we attempt to solve the murder.”
“I see.”
Unease slithered through him.
Was Lady Brompton a conniving witch? Was Mr Hope keeping watch from across the street, waiting for the right time to pounce? Indeed, the question remained: why had Lady Brompton invited such a diverse group of people to Grayswood Folly?
“We spoke about our theories and devised a plan.” She moved behind the screen, her mutters and groans a sign she was fiddling with her bindings. “I am not going home, Nicholas. I am conducting an investigation. Tomorrow, I shall ask Mina to question Miss Thorndyke’s friends. Perhaps the lady held some affection for Mr Holland.”
He would caution her about trusting Mina later. Sir Thomas was knee-deep in the mire, and a desperate woman might do anything for extra funds.
“I found a note from Miss Thorndyke on Holland’s nightstand.” Love notes were often kept under one’s pillow or in a secret place in one’s drawer. “You may read it once you’re dressed.”
“A note?” She stretched out her arm and wiggled her fingers. “Would you hand me a nightgown? What did the note say?”
“That she was looking forward to seeing him at Grayswood.”
Like an obedient lady’s maid, Nicholas strode to the armoire and rummaged through the drawers, grabbing what appeared to be the only nightgown left. When it came to a certain woman, he had his father’s weakness, it seemed.
“And Mr Thorndyke’s handkerchief places him at the scene,” she said. “Mr Chadderton told me the man volunteered to search the folly. We really need to question Miss Thorndyke without her brother being present.”
The mere mention of Chadderton roused his ire.
Nicholas reached behind the decorative panel and handed Helen the nightgown. “You should not lend weight to anything Chadderton says.”
She bobbed her head around the screen and flashed a dazzling smile. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Mr St Clair?”
“Perhaps a little more than a hint, Miss Langley.”
Her gaze roamed over his person. “Lady Brompton tied the ends into a knot. Nicholas, I need you to undo the bindings. It’s that, or I’ll be as blue as a berry in the morning.”
His pulse skittered. He hesitated for a mere second, his hands shaking more than they ought. Damn it, he was a man, not a blasted schoolboy. “Show me.”
Batting her lashes in modesty, she slipped out and quickly turned her back. “In my efforts to break free, I fear I’ve pulled the knot tighter.”
Nicholas tried to focus on the tied ends of the material, but he was forced to close his eyes against the scent of her skin, against a vision of womanly flesh.
“Can you see the knot?” she said when he failed to set his hands to the length of cotton. “Perhaps Delphine has scissors in her sewing basket.”
Nicholas mentally shook himself.
“Give me a moment.” He stepped closer, his gaze drawn to the curve of her shoulder. The desire to set his mouth to her soft skin consumed him, but he glanced at the knot. “I think it’s best we cut through the cotton. Hold still. No sudden movements.”
Her body stiffened. “You have scissors?”
“I have a knife.” He reached into his boot and withdrew the sharp blade from its sheath. “Aaron cautioned me about walking the streets of London at night without protection.”
She swung around to face him. “Have you lost your mind? What if you’re caught with the knife, and those bumbling fools claim it’s the murder weapon?”
He had considered that more than once tonight.
Almost as often as he’d considered how she might disguise her ample breasts with a thin piece of fabric. Indeed, he daren’t let his gaze venture below her chin.
“It’s too late to worry about the authorities. I broke into a man’s home tonight and stole personal documents.” That was a crime in itself. “The only way to clear my name and save my neck is to find the devil who slit Holland’s throat.”
“Don’t say that.”