The Formidable Earl

by Sophie Barnes

  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.”

  Kirksdale gestured to the chair opposite his. “By all means.”

  Simon sat and did his best to look as relaxed as possible. After all, the man he faced might be a devious scoundrel. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “I’ve been discussing my investments with my secretary, and we both feel the time has come for me to expand my portfolio.” He tried a smile but Kirksdale merely returned a blank stare. “So I’ve decided to ask around, get a feeling for what might be lucrative at the moment.”

  “A wise decision. I myself have recently bought into the Rockport Shipping Company based on the recommendation of a friend.”

  “You won’t be sorry you did so. My own investment with them is swiftly growing.”

  Kirksdale finally gifted Simon with a hint of approval – the faintest pull at the edge of his mouth and a flash of respect in his eyes. “I’m glad to hear it.” He reached for his glass of port and took a small sip. “The Plymouth and Dartmoor railway holds promise too, though we won’t know how well it does until it actually opens.”

  “Hmm…” Simon leaned back and tilted his head. “I’ve been following the revolution in Greece. It does seem to be developing and could potentially lead to war.”

  “Indeed it could,” Kirksdale agreed.

  Simon hesitated. He didn’t want to appear too obvious, and yet he still had to gather the necessary information. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Having been to war myself, I find the idea of profiting from it rather sickening.” Kirksdale raised both eyebrows. “That said, I also believe it’s important to support the munitions companies so our soldiers may be provided with superior weapons and enough of them.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, but if you’re planning to send your funds overseas and invest in some factory producing rifles in Greece, I really must caution you against it.”

  “And so you should, but that’s not my plan.” Simon gathered his thoughts before saying, “My father always told me to look ahead, past tomorrow’s anticipated outcome and to the future one might expect from the actions made in the here and now. So if there’s a chance Britain might get involved in the Greek fight for independence, betting on British munitions companies might not be the worst idea in the world.”

  Kirksdale stared at Simon with the sort of piercing scrutiny that made his insides clench. The marquess took another sip of his port. “You’ve quite a progressive mind. A pity we haven’t discussed such matters before, but at least we’re doing so now. And to thank you for your insight, might I suggest looking into the Shadwell Gun Works? They’ve given me excellent returns in the past.”

  “Really?”

  Kirksdale responded with a pensive nod. He took a slow slip of his drink, then added, “They’re the most popular choice for the army.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate the tip.” Simon stood, not too hastily nor too slowly. “If you’ll excuse me now, I promised Yates I’d join him for a drink.”

  “And I must return to the news of the day.”

  Simon dipped his chin in acknowledgement of the comment and walked away, pleased with the facts he’d gathered since it did make Kirksdale a more likely suspect than his very own uncle.

  Good God!

  When Miss Strong had mentioned Elliot, it had been terribly hard to maintain an inscrutable expression. But he’d had to. He’d realized that right away. If Miss Strong learned that he, Simon, was related to one of the men she suspected, she’d put a swift end to their arrangement. Of that he had no doubt. And since he wasn’t ready to give up her or their adventure just yet, he’d chosen to keep the information to himself.

  “There’s a rumor going around,” Yates said, once Simon had taken a seat in the chair adjacent to his and acquired a brandy, “involving you and one of Amourette’s women.”

  Simon almost spat out his drink but managed to force the liquid down his throat instead. “Hmm?”

  Yates grinned. “So it’s true then? Looks like I owe Hawthorne two pounds. Wasn’t convinced you would actually dare to be seen in that part of Town. Almost threatens to damage the perfect reputation you’ve spent your whole life cultivating.”

  “It was a onetime thing,” Simon said, trying to shake off the chill creeping over his shoulders. “I’ve no intention of ever going back there.”

  “Because you’re barred from the establishment?” Yates gave him an amused look. “From what I gather you caused quite the ruckus.”

  “A misunderstanding. Nothing more.”

  “And would this misunderstanding by any chance have something to do with Miss Ida Strong’s surprising return from the dead?”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Simon lied while heat crept up the back of his neck.

  “No?” Yates frowned, then gave a slight shrug and relaxed against his chair. “Fair enough. But it is interesting.”

  “What is?” Simon croaked. He feared his cravat might suffocate him.

  “You being at the brothel the same night her existence there was discovered. How it happened to coincide with your little spectacle. The fact that I know you were a friend of her father’s and—”

  “Enough,” Simon hissed. He glanced around quickly before returning his gaze to Yates’s. “Not another word. Whatever you think you may know is entirely wrong. Got it?”

  Yates slowly nodded. “Of course.”

  “Can I count on you to let others know there’s nothing more to it? That the rumor is false?”

  “Is everything all right?” Yates asked with a frown. “You look a bit ill.”

  Simon felt ill. He took a moment to simply sit, stay silent, and think. If Yates had unraveled the truth so quickly, others would too. His only hope was to squash the rumor immediately. “I was turned away from Amourette’s that night for complaining about a whore who didn’t quite meet my standards. Things got a bit heated.”

  “Oh,” Yates muttered and suddenly grinned. “Ohhh. Wily fellow, you. Well done.”

  “No, I don’t mean…” Simon stopped himself.

  If Yates mistakenly thought he was telling the truth, he’d be better able to convince others that Simon had nothing to do with Miss Strong. Anyone daring to say otherwise would do so at the risk of their own reputation. They would have to admit where they’d been and what they’d been up to. Simon could only hope they weren’t reckless enough to do so, but one could never be sure.

  He schooled his features to hide his concern. “Care for a game of cards?”

  “I’d rather play chess if you don’t mind.”

  Simon didn’t care which game they chose just as long as it helped change the subject and pass the time. Having spoken to Kirksdale, he still hoped Elmwood might show. And once he’d learned if the earl also had an investment he might want to safeguard by getting Napoleon back on the battlefield, he’d go have a word with his uncle so he could return to Miss Strong with results.

  Chapter Six

  Awareness crept into Ida’s limbs, stirring her from slumber. Tap, tap, tap. With a disgruntled groan she tried to ignore the sound by burying her face in the pillow and pulling the blanket up past her shoulders. It offered a blissfully warm barrier between the cool room and her body. Tap, tap, tap.

  What was that infernal noise?

  Yawning, she stretched her arms and back, which effectively undid the lovely cocoon she’d made for herself. She puffed out a breath, opened one eye to the light of day, and sat bolt upright the moment she spotted him.

  “What are you doing here?” How long had Fielding been watching her sleep?

  He was sitting in the only chair the room offered, diagonally across from the foot of her
bed, the very image of an obstinate aristocrat. His eyes were hard, piercing, and gleaming fiercely.

  “Where were you last night?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  Ida’s brain tried to focus. “Here, obviously, or I wouldn’t be where I am right now.”

  Fielding shot to his feet and stalked to the side of the bed. “Don’t try to be clever.” He leaned forward, narrowing the distance between them. “It rained last night and you left marks all over the entryway floor.”

  She swallowed. His cutting tone suggested a dangerous streak lurked within him. It was far more evident now than it had been the day before when he’d learned of her walk. That had been no more than slight concern compared with the anger he now conveyed. To the average observer, Fielding might look like the perfect gentleman – a fop even, some might say – but it was becoming increasingly clear to Ida that he was not a man to be trifled with.

  To her astonishment, she realized she liked that. There was something so elemental about it, so attractive in its display of masculine authority, it caused every nerve in her body to hum with excitement. It also made her realize she’d better start being honest.

  “All right.” She stared into his darkened eyes with her own degree of stubbornness. He stared right back with unflinching determination and…an almost predatory degree of pleasure lurking somewhere in those shimmering depths. Ida’s pulse raced. Everything within her grew tight with the sudden awareness of how close he actually was, of where they were, and her state of undress.

  And then, when the air between them had grown so thick she was sure the next step in their battle of wills would involve a demanding kiss, he straightened, took a step back, and raised an eyebrow. “Well, then?”

  Shaken due to the visceral response he’d managed to secure, Ida took a couple of breaths and pulled the blanket up to her chin. “If you must know, I went to the docks.”

  She hadn’t thought it possible for his gaze to harden any more, and yet it did. His fingers twitched. “Are you mad or just insufferably stupid?”

  Ida flinched. Coming on the heels of the friendly atmosphere they’d shared the day before, his words cut deep – deeper than she’d have expected. Her eyes narrowed and without even thinking, she was suddenly on her feet, the fact she was dressed only in her chemise be damned.

  “Neither, you conceited model of arrogant aloofness.” Heedless of the cold floorboards beneath her bare feet, Ida glared up into the face of condemnation. “I might be many things, but I’m not mad or stupid. Clearing my father’s name is first and foremost my obligation. I’ll not just sit here like some bland shell of a woman, waiting for you to solve everything.”

  His breaths came heavily, with what appeared to be great agitation. “I explicitly told you to stay here.”

  “Did you honestly think I would?”

  “You disobeyed me.” The comment, low and dangerous, was spoken with both surprise and annoyance and even, she was surprised to hear, a hint of admiration.

  Ida raised her chin and pulled back her shoulders. “We have an arrangement, my lord. Nothing more.”

  He held her gaze with the sharp precision of a lion tracking a tasty gazelle. “Perhaps not, but the moment you agreed to stay here beneath my roof, you became my responsibility. So if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a bit more caution on your part. Aside from the risk you took to your safety by venturing out on your own, you—”

  “I can assure you I was never in any danger,” Ida told him tightly.

  His hands were suddenly on her upper arms, gripping her so hard the action forced a gasp from her throat. “For Christ’s sake, woman, you went to the docks. Alone. After almost getting murdered the other day.” Wide eyes, tormented by something she couldn’t define, stared down at her. “However capable you may believe yourself to be, you’d never stand a chance against a group of sailors looking to have some sport. Unless of course…” He seemed to search her face for a moment before releasing his hold. Stepping back, he raked his hair with his fingers. “Was that the reason you went? To make some more blunt?”

  The heated emotions he’d stirred in her during their argument withered and died. Ida shrank back and hugged herself against the cool air creeping under her skin. She’d never thought less of the women at Amourette’s. Over the years they’d become her family. She loved them, but in that moment she hated the idea of Fielding thinking she was like them – a whore who’d gone out looking for men she could service in exchange for coin. It pained her to think his opinion of her was so low, this was what he imagined of her. Yet she had no one to blame for his misconception besides herself.

  “It’s not like that,” she whispered.

  “I might believe you if you made an effort to prove yourself trustworthy.”

  He wasn’t wrong. While Ida was tempted to rail at him for insulting her, she knew she had no leg to stand on. She’d lied and deceived him, thwarted his advice when all he wanted to do was protect her. If their roles had been reversed, she’d have been furious too, but after finally breaking free from her trapped existence, she was eager to act.

  The thing she had to remember, though, was that she was no longer working alone. She had a partner to consider, a man who’d proven he wanted to help. Trust might not come easy to her anymore, but by not being honest with him, she was crippling their relationship and undermining their efforts.

  “I’m sorry I went out by myself,” she said, deciding an apology might be the best place to start. “Would it ease your mind to know I took the pistol with me, just in case?”

  He gaped at her. “No, it bloody well wouldn’t. That just proves you were aware of the danger which…which just makes it worse.”

  “Right.” She bit her lip and strove for courage. “What I’m about to tell you certainly won’t make it better.”

  Apprehension filled his eyes. “What?”

  She took a quick breath and said, “I’m not a whore.”

  His face went completely blank. “You’re not a whore?”

  She shook her head. “I lived at Amourette’s. I didn’t work there.”

  “But you…” His gaze had turned restless, looking anywhere but at her. “When I arrived you came to help. You took my name and inquired about my preferences.”

  “Only because no one else was there and because you happened to spot me. Maintaining Amourette’s high standard by being helpful was a better option than risking a peer’s criticism on account of poor service.”

  “So you’re not…um…”

  “No.”

  “Which means you’re still …um…”

  “Innocent doesn’t quite fit, does it?”

  “I, er…” He cleared his throat and tried again, only to sound as if every word he attempted was strangling him.

  Ida sighed. “My virginity remains intact, if that’s what you wish to know.”

  “You…” He stared at her as if unsure of how to grapple this new piece of information. “You misled me.”

  “Yes.” He blinked, either because of her candor or because he was having a hard time accepting what she’d just told him, she wasn’t quite sure. “Initially, I saw no reason to tell you. Later, after deciding to let you help, I thought the information might stand in the way of us working together.”

  Silence.

  The clock on top of the dresser began to chime.

  “Right.” Fielding clamped his mouth shut and strode to the door. He paused there only to say, “This conversation is far from over. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  Upon which he left, though not without slamming the bedchamber door.

  Simon hurried downstairs, not pausing for breath until he arrived in the kitchen. He was trembling from head to toe, attempting to grasp what he’d just been told. His palms were clammy and his heart beat so hard it threatened to crack his ribs.

  “Christ!”

  He stared at the kettle and wished he’d had the presence of mind to make sure the house had a fully stocked liquor cabinet. W
hat he needed right now, in spite of the early hour, was a stiff drink to calm his nerves and ease the tension in his muscles.

  This was the second time he’d misjudged a person based on appearance. He ought to have learned his lesson after assuming the Duke of Huntley and his sisters were servants the first time he’d met them. Now he’d blundered again, and with dire consequences, no less.

  Clasping the edge of the kitchen table he sought to steady himself. She was an innocent young gentlewoman living alone, unchaperoned, in a house owned by a bachelor. It was beyond the pale – scandalous and ruinous in the extreme – although he supposed her reputation had been destroyed anyway the moment her father sent her to live with Philipa Harding.

  Blindly, Simon started locating some food and putting it onto plates. She’d need to eat and he wouldn’t mind some sustenance either, having rushed through his breakfast in order to return here as quickly as possible. Untangling the irritation and worry he’d felt when he realized she’d gone out alone last night had been trying. She still had some explaining to do, but the truth was…

  Simon flexed his fingers. He’d never liked sharing. So from that point of view Miss Strong’s confession, however startling, also evoked a degree of excitement. Not because he expected to have her, but rather because if he did, he wouldn’t just be a job to her. He’d be something more.

  “Our situation is rather unique,” he said once she’d joined him and they’d both taken a few bites of food. The tea he’d made was a bit too strong, so he offered to top up her cup with some water. She quietly sipped the drink while watching him closely. “You’re not supposed to be here, alone with a man to whom you’re not related – a bachelor, no less. I don’t think I would have allowed it if I’d known the truth. And I’m fairly certain I would have insisted on that chaperone.”

  “You mean you’re not sure?” A hint of amusement lifted the serious façade she’d put on display since their argument. “Perhaps you’re not so much of a gentleman after all.”