Miss Strong grinned. “I know.”
They ate for a while more in silence, each savoring their treat between sips of tea, before he asked, “Would you ever consider trying to ride again?”
“I don’t know.”
“You should.”
“I doubt the opportunity will ever arise.” She stood, seeming to dismiss the topic, and went to the stove. Dipping a small spoon into the pot, she sampled the stew. “Not bad. Would you like to try it?”
“All right.” Simon went to join her. Accepting the spoon she offered, he turned toward the pot. His arm bumped hers in the process, resting there against her for a moment before she stepped away. It was enough though – enough for awareness to spike through his body like lightning.
Tightening his grip on the spoon for fear he might drop it, he forced his brain to focus so he could taste the pot’s fragrant contents as well. A slightly spicy blend of tomatoes, herbs, and vegetables mixed with chopped lamb teased his tongue. “This is excellent, Miss Strong. Really, truly excellent.”
A flush crept into her cheeks. “Looks like we work quite well together. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Indeed I would.” He set the spoon aside. The urge to pull her into his arms was almost uncontrollable. Fearing he might do something stupid and ruin the bond they’d started to forge, he began clearing their plates. “We probably ought to discuss our reason for being here together and try to come up with a plan.”
“Of course.” Miss Strong began putting away the food items still remaining on the table. “I should start by laying out the series of events leading up to my father’s arrest, why I believe he was used as a scapegoat, and who I suspect of double crossing him.”
It was an immense relief to get back to business, for although Ida had truly enjoyed the amicable atmosphere she’d shared with Fielding for the last few hours, she’d started to fear the effect he was having on her. Because this man, the one who’d agreed to shed his social constraints for her, was far more dangerous than the arrogant peer she’d met at Amourette’s. This man was one she could not only see herself liking, but one who had the ability to make her skin grow hotter with a mere glance. Indeed, his ability to make her insides flutter and her pulse beat faster was so disconcerting, she welcomed the chance to think of something else.
Having resumed her seat with him sitting opposite her, she chose to focus on his left shoulder in order to avoid meeting the intensity of his gaze. “When Papa returned from the Continent following the war, he’d been promoted to colonel.”
“An honor that my own personal experience with him can confirm he deserved.”
“I agree. But during the last two years of his life, his rank within the army rose four additional steps until he was made general. Without any additional accomplishments on his part.”
“Odd that,” Fielding agreed with a murmur.
“All of a sudden there were dinners, parties, and celebrations he had to attend. High ranking men of the peerage became part of his social circle. They invited him to their homes and expected him to reciprocate. So he did.”
“And you believe one of them used his influence to deliberately place your father in this position – in a spot where he would appear the sort of ambitious social climber who wouldn’t think twice about helping Napoleon if it served his own purpose?”
“Precisely.” She shifted in her seat. “My father was accused of helping Napoleon flee Elba by ensuring the absence of the British and French guard ships. From what I’ve learned, this was achieved by sending forged letters carrying both King George’s and King Louis’ seals. It took two years to figure out what had happened, until Napoleon himself suggested a British spy.
“Papa was called in for questioning on account of his rank, it was claimed. When he returned, he assured me there was nothing to worry about, but I could see the concern in his eyes. The next day, he went to call on his friends, intent on seeking support, only to learn that they’d all quit Town.”
“Suspicious, I’ll agree.”
“That was when he decided to take me to Amourette’s. He must have sensed something was up, for he told me of his intentions to leave for France and send for me once he was ready.”
“Except he never made it.”
She shook her head. “They picked him up in the harbor before he managed to board the ship. He was arrested, charged with treason against his king and country, and executed. All in the space of two days.” The memory of it, of the moment in which she’d learned her father’s fate and her life had been changed forever, still brought tears to her eyes. She swiped them away and set her jaw, determined to regain her composure. “Philipa hid the newspapers for an entire month after. Until they stopped writing about it.”
Fielding’s nostrils flared. His expression tightened and for a second Ida was sure he’d explode in anger. Instead, he took a deep breath, leaned forward, and covered her hand with his. When he spoke, his voice was a comforting murmur. “I’m terribly sorry for what you had to endure and for the sacrifice your father was forced to make. It wasn’t right.”
“No,” she agreed. “It wasn’t.”
“I wish I’d had the courage to try and help him.”
“Thank you, but I doubt there was much you could have done.”
He didn’t respond. He just sat there, watching her while he held her hand. It was startling for any number of reasons, though perhaps most of all because it felt good. There was an incomprehensible rightness to it that almost caused her to gasp when he finally pulled away.
Her heart thumped wildly against her breast. Fielding wasn’t for her. He never would be. In fact, he was all wrong and…
And yet she mourned the loss of his touch.
Don’t be foolish.
She wracked her brain for something to say. Something to get her past this peculiar moment. “My father suspected three men of being behind his arrest.”
“Those who’d been most eager to befriend him, I trust?”
A nod was all she could manage at first. She’d kept this information close to her heart for so long. There was an almost superstitious hesitation within her – a fear that speaking the names would prevent her from finding the justice she sought.
“Will you tell me who they are?” Fielding asked in a near whisper. “Will you trust me?”
She wondered if he realized how much he was asking of her.
Probably not.
Men like him were accustomed to loyalty. Not betrayal.
But if she chose not to place her faith in him, to let him help her so she could move forward, what then? Her safety was compromised here in London, so if she stayed and did nothing, she’d always have to look over her shoulder.
“There’s a reason you thought me dead.” She fiddled with her cup. “You see, I was almost killed once before.”
“What?”
“That man who attacked me yesterday – he’s not the first to make an attempt on my life.”
“My God.” His features grew strained, his eyes wide with horror. “What happened?”
She hated having to think back and relive that part of her life. And yet, Fielding needed to know the details if he was to help her. “As you know, I attended the hanging. It was the only way for me to see my father for the last time, and to try and convince the people of his innocence.”
“Go on.” Fielding’s hand clasped hers once more.
Ida swallowed. “I made my way to the front of the crowd and told them loudly of my conviction, but rather than outrage, I received scorn. In the end, all I could do was stand there, utterly helpless while the accusation was read. Seeking my father’s gaze I held it, offering him my love and regret until the hangman placed a hood over his head. And then it happened, faster than I’d expected, and before I was ready.” Her lips began to tremble. “There was this awful snap in response to the pull of the rope. I’d never witnessed a hanging before so I didn’t expect…I thought he’d be still right away but he wasn’t. His body kept mov
ing for an infernal length of time.”
She drew a shuddering breath. “When it was over, I publically cursed those who cheered his death and vowed to hunt down the real traitor. Someone clearly didn’t like that idea, or I wouldn’t have been shot in the back while making my way back to Amourette’s.”
“Jesus.”
“One of Guthrie’s men found me and brought me to The Black Swan where I was stitched up and cared for until I recovered. Once I did, I moved in with my aunt, who made me promise to go along with the assumption that I was dead. Guthrie arranged for a notice to be placed in the paper and I’ve remained hidden ever since.”
He squeezed her hand, released it, and sat back. “Was it your intention to do so forever?”
“No. My plan was to wait for the funds I’m due to receive on my twenty-first birthday and then leave the country.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her lips curved. “What’s done is done. Truth be told, I would have hated to just run away without trying to see justice served. It would have felt cowardly.”
“You said your father suspected three men?” Fielding prodded.
“Yes.” Bracing herself for the revelation, she took a deep breath and told him softly, “The Earl of Elmwood, the Marquess of Kirksdale, and Mr. Elliot Nugent.”
A flicker of recognition crossed Fielding’s face before he managed to school his features. He cleared his throat. “I see.”
I see?
She’d just delivered the names of three upper class gentlemen, two of them titled and at least one of them guilty of treason, and all Fielding had to say was, I see? He tugged at his sleeves. Discomfort was written all over his restless body. And then it hit her.
“You know them.”
“Of course I do. They’re impossible not to know.”
“No,” she told him slowly. “You know them personally. Maybe you play cards with them on occasion at one of your clubs or go riding with them on Tuesdays.”
“As a matter of fact I box on Tuesdays so—”
“You do?” She wasn’t sure why this surprised her, and yet it did. Perhaps because he was so well groomed. He didn’t strike her as the sort of man who’d enjoy a sport based on hitting.
“Remember that incident with Huntley stealing my fiancée?” When Ida nodded, he said, “Well, it ended with me challenging him to a duel, only the blasted man wanted fists to be his weapon of choice.”
“Heavens.”
He gave her a sardonic look. “At the time, I doubted my ability to defeat him, so I was forced to renege, which was practically the same as declaring defeat.”
“And something tells me you hate doing that,” she told him slyly.
A grin pulled at his lips. “Without question.”
“Hmm…” Ida refilled both of their cups. “It’s certainly a quality that will serve our mission well.”
“Speaking of which, we need to discuss our association and, more importantly, how other people will view it.”
“You worry what other people will think, how they’ll respond, and what they might say when they see us together in public.”
“No. I’m not concerned about that at all.”
She studied him a moment. “This is quite a change from the man who feared being spotted with me outside Windham House.”
“I must confess my nerves were a bit on edge last night and I wasn’t sure how to react. I’ve since had time to reflect, gather my wits, so to speak, and accept the situation for what it is. Besides, we’ve since agreed to present you as my ward. There’s nothing wrong with that. No one will bat an eyelash if we tell them that’s what you are.”
“Hmm…” She wondered if he was being honest with himself and finally chose to dismiss the doubt, telling her he wasn’t. There was no one else for her to rely on so she had no choice but to trust him. “I’ll need a different name or else people will know straight away who I am. They still might, though I do believe my appearance has changed to some degree since I was fifteen. My hair is a little darker, I’m taller now, and my aunt says my cheeks have lost their adolescent roundness.”
“Were you out in Society before your father’s arrest?”
“No. But people did come to the house, including the men my father suspected. They saw me, though only in passing.”
“In that case there’s no guarantee we can protect your anonymity, but I agree. An alias would be a good idea.” He watched her pensively for a moment. “Do you have a particular name in mind?”
“I’m thinking something ordinary would work best, like Jane Smith.” She chuckled lightly. “That ought to make me more forgettable.”
“Unfortunately, nothing about you could ever be forgettable.” His gaze, which had been locked with hers, lowered a fraction.
Ida’s pulse leapt. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but some feminine instinct she’d never relied on before assured her that he was regarding her mouth and wondering what it might be like to kiss it.
Without even thinking, she licked her lips.
Fielding’s eyes darkened as they returned to hers.
The air between them thickened until it felt like a crack of thunder might rip through the room.
Every nerve in Ida’s body simmered with awareness.
He was holding himself quite still, as if trying desperately to contain a part of himself that wished to break free. Until he suddenly moved, rising to his feet with unexpected swiftness. “I should go. Elmwood, Kirksdale, and Nugent are all members of my club. If I’m lucky, I’ll find them there at some point today, strike up a friendly conversation, and learn something useful.”
“Well…um…yes. That actually sounds like a good idea.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He was already at the door and heading into the hallway. Ida jumped to her feet and followed. “I’ll see you later. Tonight, or if not, tomorrow, depending on how things go.”
“And what should I do in the meantime?” she asked as he put on his jacket.
He stared at her as if the idea of her doing anything at all during his absence had never occurred to him. “Eat some stew, I suppose. Read a book. And for the love of God, don’t leave the house.” Donning his hat and gloves, he strode into the foyer.
“Wait.” Ida hastened after him. “Can you please make sure 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 a
n 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.”
The Formidable Earl Page 7
