The Formidable Earl

by Sophie Barnes

  “Miss Smith?” Fielding’s voice was low, gently nudging. “Since we’ve been spotted, I really must introduce you to Lady Huntley and her sister, Lady Victoria Thompson.”

  Ida blinked. “Oh. Right.”

  “If I can get through this,” he whispered so close to her ear his breath grazed her skin, “then so can you.”

  She forced a smile, hoped the flush she could feel in her cheeks would not be too obvious, and allowed him to escort her over to where the duchess and her sister were standing.

  “Your Grace,” he said with impressive politeness. After all, this was the woman who’d once thrown him over for another man, yet he showed no hint of disdain toward her. Instead, he proceeded with the introductions as if there was no awkward history between them and, Ida noted, as if she herself had the right to be seen in such elevated company.

  In reality, she was a scandalous woman with whom none of these women would dream of associating if they knew who she really was. Good grief. Being the daughter of a traitor would be enough for them to run screaming in the opposite direction, never mind the detail pertaining to where she’d made her home for the past four years.

  So Ida smiled politely and greeted them each in turn.

  “I trust you received the invitation to our annual ball?” Lady Huntley asked Fielding. The duchess had a pleasant voice – a perfect match to her pretty features and flawless elegance.

  Fielding’s eyes brightened with pleasure. Ida’s stomach clenched in response.

  “It arrived yesterday.” Ida fought the urge to roll her eyes. Was it really necessary for him to look quite so enthralled? Granted, the woman was dazzling, but still. She’d picked another man. For him to show even a hint of appreciation toward her was almost embarrassing. “My secretary should have responded by now in the affirmative and with a query regarding my possibly bringing Miss Smith along. Would you permit it?”

  There was a long enough pause to convey surprise.

  Lady Warwick’s critical gaze felt like needles against Ida’s skin. “I really don’t think that would be appro—”

  “Of course,” Lady Huntley said before her mother could finish.

  “But we know next to nothing about her,” Lady Warwick argued as if Ida weren’t right there. “She ought to be escorted about Town by her relations, not by a young unmarried man. It’s not proper. No matter what you say to the contrary.”

  “If Miss Smith’s family has entrusted Fielding with her care, then there must be a good reason, Mama.” The duchess turned to Fielding. “Would you care to share this reason with us, my lord?”

  Fielding stiffened, the change in him so subtle Ida wondered if anyone else registered it. “Miss Smith’s parents are both dead.” His voice conveyed a fitting amount of solemnity. “As her recently appointed guardian, it falls upon me to ensure her future within Society.”

  Ida pressed her lips together and forced a somber expression. Fielding was lying through his teeth to these women. She could only wonder how long the deception would last.

  “I am so sorry,” the duchess murmured. “My husband and I will be delighted to welcome you as our guest, Miss Smith.”

  “But what about—”

  “Mama, you know not to argue with me once I’ve made up my mind,” the duchess said. She kept her attention on Ida. “We look forward to seeing you again soon.”

  Amazed and a little dazed by the woman’s assertive dismissal of her mother’s concerns, Ida realized she might start liking the woman if she got to know her better. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  The duchess smiled at her warmly, held her gaze for a spell, and then glanced at Fielding. A secretive sparkle lit up her eyes. “We must be off now so we’re not late for luncheon with my sisters-in-law and their husbands. It was good seeing you again.”

  “Likewise, Your Grace,” Fielding said while staring at the Duchess of Huntley as if she were his sun.

  The tension from earlier returned, squeezing at Ida’s heart and leaving her piqued beyond comprehension. By some miracle, she managed to hide it while bidding her new acquaintances goodbye, but once they were gone, she clenched her jaw and gave her attention to the beautiful fabrics the shop had to offer. Her heart thudded hard against her breast, and her fingers were nearly trembling with some inexplicable disapproval she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

  “That went better than I’d expected.”

  Ida started in response to Fielding’s voice. She hadn’t realized he’d come up behind her, but it occurred to her now that he was standing so close, she could smell the rich fragrance of the sandalwood oil he favored. That, along with a hint of the horse he’d ridden that morning and the coffee he must have had before coming to collect her.

  She sucked in a breath, acknowledged the heat sinking into her bones and the way her stomach was swirling about. What on earth was happening to her?

  Unnerved by the strange effect he was starting to have on her, of the increased intensity of it, she grabbed a roll of fabric, turned, and held it in front of herself like a shield. “If you say so.”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Only that it could have gone better.”

  “I don’t see how.” His eyes flickered with annoyance. “We secured the approval you needed in order to attend.”

  “Quite right,” she agreed. Having clamped her mouth shut, she urged herself to refrain from saying more. And failed. “You also made your feelings for the duchess abundantly clear.”

  “What?”

  “You’re infatuated with her.”

  He laughed. “That’s preposterous.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You would have tripped over your own slavering tongue had you not been standing still.”

  He leaned forward until she was forced to take a step back. “I most certainly would not.”

  Honestly, she ought to let it go. But… “Deny it all you want. The truth was written all over your face, and I dare say I’m not the only one who saw it.”

  Dismay was evident in the slack-jawed expression that followed. “I was being polite. Nothing more. And why the devil am I defending myself to you anyway?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” she muttered.

  His eyes flashed with a most unsettling degree of consideration. “Are you perchance jealous?”

  “Of course not,” Ida told him hotly.

  “I would understand it if you were,” Fielding drawled, “after all, I am quite a desirable catch.”

  “So is a trout.”

  “Indeed,” he agreed with a frown, “can’t argue with you there.”

  Ida muttered a curse. Why was she getting so riled up over this? If he still harbored feelings for the duchess, what difference did it make to her?

  An awful thought hit her.

  No.

  She couldn’t possibly want Fielding for herself, could she?

  It was impossible – utterly ridiculous – the only thing that made sense without making any sense at all. Which also made it all horribly confusing.

  “Let’s pick out some fabric, shall we? After all, that is what we came here for.”

  “Very well.” He jutted his chin toward the roll of fabric she held. “That color would look splendid on you.”

  Ida dropped her gaze and acknowledged the topaz blue silk. She allowed it to slide against her fingers. “Do you really think so?”

  “Without a doubt,” he told her sincerely. And then, “You will be stunning.”

  Her eyes met his and she saw in them something she’d failed to acknowledge before – an intense sort of longing directed at her. He was looking at her in an entirely different way from how he’d looked at Lady Huntley.

  Her pulse leapt as heat licked her skin. The bodice of her gown grew so tight she feared it might tear at the seams. She tried to breathe, to collect herself and regain her composure, but it was so hard with him standing there watching her as if he hoped she would be his last meal.

  Every nerve
in her body responded, tingling with heightened awareness until it made her feel dizzy.

  “May I be of service?” a woman’s voice asked.

  Fielding’s mouth slanted, becoming a smirk. He held Ida’s gaze for a split second longer – just enough to confirm that he’d seen her reaction – before turning toward the dressmaker. “Indeed, the lady would like a gown cut from this fabric.”

  Too startled by the assault of emotions she’d had to endure since arriving at La Belle Anglaise, Ida gave up the roll of fabric so Fielding could hand it over to the dressmaker. “She’ll also be requiring a number of day dresses. Five ought to do it.” He gave the dressmaker a very direct look. “Along with the necessary underthings.

  “I could have ordered those myself,” Ida whispered as they followed the dressmaker to a small seating area where fashion plates were laid out. Her cheeks burned.

  “I know,” he replied so flippantly she wanted to grab the nearest roll of fabric and whack him over the head with it.

  Instead, she gave herself up to the dressmaker’s endless advice on the fabrics and styles most suited to her shape and coloring. Two hours later, her measurements had been taken and her clothing order completed.

  It included a ball gown cut from slippery topaz blue silk.

  After years of feeling as though life consisted of endless demands made by others, Simon realized he finally had a chance to get what he wanted for a change. The knowledge made the world brighter, his body lighter. Hell, even something as simple as walking was easier now that he knew Miss Strong wanted him too.

  Oh, she might not be ready to admit it yet, but he’d seen her blush in response to his comment, watched her hand tremble, and heard her breath catch. She’d been physically aware of him as a man. The desperation in her eyes and the way she’d arched, ever so slightly in his direction, left no doubt in his mind.

  And if it had, the jealousy she’d exuded because of Gabriella would have dismissed it entirely. Simon tried not to grin as he led her back to the house. They’d taken luncheon at a small restaurant he’d selected because it was located on a less travelled street and offered the privacy he wanted. Miss Strong had been very quiet the entire time, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

  Perhaps on the idea of having him press his advances?

  The possibility coupled with the sway of her hips as she preceded him through the front door moments later almost made him groan. Perhaps if he’d had a woman in recent days, her effect on him wouldn’t be quite so fierce. But it hadn’t been days or weeks. It had been almost three months since he’d broken things off with his mistress, so spending time with Miss Strong day in and day out was giving him all sorts of carnal ideas.

  “Thank you for taking me out today and for purchasing all those gowns.” Miss Strong was looking askance. She was clearly bothered by him buying such personal effects for her.

  “You don’t have to keep thanking me.”

  “I can’t help it, my lord.” She looked at him then, with eyes so wide and honest it almost made him stagger. “Your generosity demands I do so. I just wish there was more I could do to repay you.”

  “You could start by calling me Simon.” His stomach clenched as he made the request, laying bare his intentions toward her as honestly as he was able.

  There was only the briefest of hesitations, and then her mouth widened into a broad smile. “I think I can manage that. Simon.”

  The thrill of his name on her lips made his chest expand with more than pleasure alone. It was as if she’d just answered a lifelong yearning he’d not even known he’d had until this very moment – a desire for a soul deep connection with another person. The acknowledgement, not just of his need to be seen as more than a title, but of forging a bond built on honesty and trust, stole his breath.

  Ida tilted her head. “Are you all right? You look slightly ill.”

  He stared at her. “Yes. Sorry. I’m fine. Just…” The temptation to brush the truth aside with a flip response existed, but Ida deserved better than that. She deserved the truth. “I can’t recall the last time someone actually spoke my name.”

  A funny sort of snort escaped her. “That can’t be right.”

  “I was eight years old when my grandfather died and I inherited my father’s honorary title. For twenty-two years that’s what I’ve been, a man not even permitted to have the luxury of his own name, to have an identity exclusively his own instead of one passed on from previous generations.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The comment made him flinch. “I don’t want you to be sorry. The last thing I want from you is pity. My only intention was to give you a sense of how much your willingness to do as I asked actually means to me.”

  “I’m glad.” Eyes locked with his for a moment, she seemed to convey so much more than what she could put words to. And then, scrunching her mouth in thought, she glanced toward the hallway leading to the kitchen. “We’ve had quite the day. Perhaps a cup of tea would be in order?”

  He almost sagged with relief. Somehow, inexplicably, she’d managed to remove his discomfort and make him feel right at home in her company. “Yes, thank you. I’d like that.”

  Smiling, she turned and led the way to the back of the house. He followed, ever conscious of the fact that the last few minutes had been life altering. Whatever happened between him and Ida from this moment on, it would be with the awareness that she mattered to him more than he ever would have expected her to.

  The air had warmed significantly since the previous week. Not a single cloud blocked the sun, allowing its rays to bathe everything in their path with golden light. Strolling through Green Park with Simon, Ida admired the vibrancy bursting forth from the flowerbeds. Even the grass was an uncommonly bright shade of green.

  She drew a bit closer to him, savoring the strength in his arm and the sense of security he offered. During the past week and a half, they’d continued their search for the traitor by creating a timeline of all the events that had taken place since her father’s return from the war and until his death. They’d worked from her memory at first, and when her knowledge had been depleted, they’d turned to the Mayfair Chronicle. Simon’s connections had truly paid off in that regard. He’d only had to show the clerk at the front desk his card to gain access to all the newspaper articles written during that period.

  Working side by side at a wide table in the Chronicle archive, Ida and Simon had made note of all pertinent information pertaining to the case, including each mention of Elmwood, Kirksdale, and Nugent.

  It had been a laborious undertaking and one that had not yielded many results. Most of what they’d learned had to do with each man’s political view and the bills they’d voted on, none of which had anything to do with Napoleon, international policy, or anything else that might demand further investigation. They lacked information with which to fill in some very large gaps.

  “I hope the ball proves more fruitful than our other efforts,” Ida said as they strolled. “If not, I really don’t know where to go from here.”

  “There’s still the captain. As soon as he returns, we’ll question him. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Ida glanced at Simon and smiled. He’d become her closest confidant and her dearest friend. She was also fairly certain he would be open to a more intimate relationship with her, and while the notion was certainly tempting, she needed to make sure she wasn’t making a dreadful mistake if she went down that path.

  He was a peer while she was less than a nobody from a socially acceptable point of view. Marriage would be out of the question, so that meant all they’d have was an affair. Which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Becoming the mistress of a wealthy peer she found attractive would certainly help secure her future. It was without doubt the easiest way for her to better her life right now. As long as that was all it would ever be – an opportunity not to be passed up. But what Ida feared was getting attached. According to what Philipa had once told her, a young woman had to be cautious w
hen choosing her first lover. If she cared for him even a little, the experience could lead to love and a broken heart if he failed to return the affection.

  Where Simon was concerned, it wouldn’t even matter if he returned it or not. His position as earl would never permit him to even consider offering marriage. Instead, he would have to marry someone else, and Ida wasn’t sure she’d be able to bear losing another person she loved or that she would be able to abandon her own dream of marriage and children. She wanted what her parents had had, nothing less.

  So their relationship remained unchanged for now, allowing them to focus on their objective and, when they had a free moment in between, to simply enjoy each other’s company. It was comfortable, Ida decided. Both pleasant and reassuring.

  “Oh Christ,” Simon muttered, putting a halt to her musings. He tugged on her arm and moved to the right. “Come on. This way. Quick.”

  Ida stumbled after him while doing her best to match his increased pace. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s the Duke of Coventry.”

  Glancing over her shoulder as they went, Ida managed a quick glimpse of the man in question and the woman with whom he was walking before she was yanked behind a tree.

  “Is that his wife?” she asked while wondering why on earth Fielding felt the need to hide from these people.

  “Yes.” Standing at her back, Simon hissed the word close to her ear, stirring the hair at the nape of her neck and sending a series of hot little frissons scurrying down her spine.

  She told herself it was a natural response – one that wasn’t worth worrying about – and chose to ignore it. Besides, there were more important things to consider right now since the boy strolling ahead of them looked too old to be the young duchess’s son. “Who’s the child?”

  When Simon didn’t answer, she craned her neck in order to see his face. It was set in hard lines, his brow furrowed, his eyes sharp as flint, and his mouth a flat line of… She wasn’t sure what, but he didn’t look happy. Far from it.