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Ford’s eyes flicked to the door of the office. “Perhaps you know someone who can?”

Blake raised a brow. “Are you suggesting I should ask St. John?”

Ford shrugged. “Without context, if you ask him to authenticate the signature, will he do it?”

Blake watched Ford carefully. “And if he does?”

“I keep my sources private. I will not tell anyone where I got the information from. Nor will I condemn the owner of the signature based on this one information.”

Blake nodded and folded the paper. “Then I shall ask. Give me a few days and I shall send for you when I have news.”

“Thank you.” Ford stood and turned away before pausing for a moment. “Do you happen to know anything useful about Porter?”

“Porter?” Blake’s face twisted in a grimace. “I always thought he was a proper sort of fellow. But he was friends with Bradshaw, so one can never know.”

“Bradshaw…” Ford paused in contemplation. “Wasn’t that the man arrested for your abduction?”

Blake snorted. “Exactly. But then I used to be friends with him as well. So, I can’t condemn the man based on the company he keeps. But if you wish to know the man better and perhaps enter his home, there is a way you can do that.”

“Is there?” Ford turned fully toward his friend, his interest peaking.

“He hosts… a dinner party at his townhouse.”

“Why would I be able to get an invitation to a dinner party?”

“Because this dinner party is special,” Blake said with a raise of both brows. “No dinner is actually served, but there’s a lot of alcohol and any food served has rather potent qualities.”

“Oh.” Ford frowned. He’d heard of desserts from the East that brought about rather enticing daydreams, but he’d never tried one or even seen one in person. But he deduced that was what Blake meant.

“These dinners sometimes last for days and require minimal to no clothing once inside.”

“Have you been to one of these parties before?”

Blake grimaced. “Yes. In my wild past. And that’s how I can get you an invitation to the next one. It commences in a few days but…”

“But?”

“There might be a small issue. These depraved parties he holds…. They are not the sort to allow a man to stand in the corner smoking a cigar. You’d be expected to participate.”

“Ah! Right. Wouldn’t want to be fed a piece of dessert and lose my mind for a few hours.”

Blake chuckled. “That’s not exactly what I meant by participating. You’ll need to show up with a woman if you want to walk those halls without being bothered. If you come alone, there’s a huge chance that you will be solicited at every turn, and it will quickly become suspicious if you don’t let a woman hang from your arm… Or some other place.”

Ford grimaced. He hadn’t even thought about that. “I’d need a companion then?”

“A co-conspirator, if you will.”

He’d had one. And he’d stolen from her, probably losing any chance of her further cooperation.

“And this woman better be as alluring as she is loose with her affections. I can’t imagine who would agree to do this, as she’d need to be unaffected by all the depraved things going around the house and be ready to flirt and tease her way out of suspicious situations.”

Ford’s chest was hollowed out of breath. “Unfortunately, I do.”

Blake’s eyes rounded in surprise. “You do? Then why are you so grave?”

Ford grimaced. Because he’d stolen the pieces of paper from her that she valued greatly. Because despite his outward animosity toward the woman, kissing her on the neck was one of the most pleasurable memories in his life—which was a sad testament to his life up until now. Because he knew she would be perfect for this assignment and she would make him grovel in order to receive her help. But more alarmingly because he was excited by the prospect. She was a harlot, for God’s sake! A woman skilled in seduction. And he was easily falling for her charms. The prospect of spending time in close quarters with her—again!—while surrounded by other people copulating and behaving in a debauched manner made a bead of sweat form at his temple.

“Not grave at all.” Ford forced a smile to his lips. “This is perfect.”