“Simon?”
His one hand, which had settled most inappropriately against her waist to hold her in place, pressed her back firmly, straight into his solid frame. Ida swallowed. It wasn’t nearly as easy to ignore him now as it had been ten seconds ago. She did her best, but her treacherous body had something different in mind. It came alive with a rush of awareness. Her heart raced and her legs turned to jelly. A fluttery sensation formed in her belly, spreading outward through each of her limbs until every part of her body hummed in response to his scent, his touch, his masculine presence – just him.
“As far as anyone knows, he’s Coventry’s son, born to him by a former mistress. The truth, however, is something else entirely.” Simon drew Ida further back, making her circle around the tree with him and keeping them both out of sight as the Coventrys came up the path to their left. “Jeremy Heathmore is my nephew, the result of a tryst my brother once had with Coventry’s sister.”
Ida sucked in a breath and held it. His comment was the perfect distraction from the distressing desire he’d managed to stir within her. In its place was an endless series of questions, each more urgent than the other. Ida waited until the Coventrys were well out of sight before pushing away from Simon so she could face him.
“If he’s your nephew, then why are you hiding behind a tree instead of going to greet him?”
Looking past her, he stared at some faraway spot in the distance. “This is a mistake.”
“What is?”
“You getting involved in my life. If you knew what was good for you, Ida, you’d run from me as fast as possible.”
“I tried that already, but it didn’t really work. Remember?” Her attempt at levity failed to make him smile. She cleared her throat. “I’m not going anywhere, Simon. You’re my friend and friends help each other.”
He scoffed. “All I do is hurt people.”
“That’s not true.”
His eyes sought hers with more hopelessness than she had ever witnessed before. “I failed Coventry’s sister, Jeremy, your father, and Gabriella. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before I fail you as well.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute. Not after everything you’ve already done in order to help me.” When he didn’t look convinced, she said, “Talk to me, Simon. Unload your burden on me.”
“I…” His troubled gaze revealed a heart once shattered by pain. It begged her to drop the issue.
Sympathizing, Ida reached for his hand and twined her fingers with his. “Talking about it will help.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s what got me through life four years ago. Being able to share my pain with Philipa saved my sanity.” She took a step closer to him. “I care about you a great deal, Simon.” Far more than she was prepared to admit, even to herself. “Please let me into your life as I’ve let you into mine.”
Slowly, his fingers curled around hers. The edge of his mouth twitched. His chest rose and fell as if it required great effort for him to breathe. “All right.”
She felt her mouth stretch, transforming into a wide smile. “Thank you.”
He merely nodded, released her fingers, and returned her hand to the crook of his arm before directing her back onto the path. No other words were spoken during the rest of their walk, which was just as well since Ida knew there was much to be said once they reached Number Five Bedford Street.
Chapter Eight
Discussing Jack and his involvement with Melanie wasn’t going to be easy. For nine years the anger, the sheer disgust, Simon felt for his brother had followed him everywhere like a black shadow. Nothing would make it go away. No amount of time had brought him closer to forgiveness. If anything, it had made him more aware of his own blame in the nasty debacle.
Sitting in the small parlor his house on Bedford Street offered, Simon let his gaze rest on the cup of hot tea Ida had poured while trying to gather his thoughts. Where to begin?
Stalling, he selected one of the shortbread biscuits she’d made and savored the buttery flavor. Ida truly was an excellent baker and cook. He’d already sampled several of her culinary efforts, since exploring new recipes was how she enjoyed passing her time when he wasn’t there and she wanted a break from her knitting.
“My brother was a devilish charmer who hid his seductive intentions behind pleasant smiles and politeness.” The words suddenly popped out. Just like that. He raised his gaze, trying to gauge Ida’s reaction. She sat on the sofa across from him, patiently waiting for him to continue, her eyes filled only with interest. “No one ever suspected him of ill intent. After all, he was always a good sport, fun to be around, excellent company. But the truth is, he was a bloody scoundrel. And I should have known better – I should have seen it coming when I realized Melanie Heathmore had caught his eye.”
Simon shook his head as the memories poured back. “There was to be a house party at the end of the Season, hosted by Coventry’s good friend, the Marquess of Willmington. Jack begged me to secure invitations for both of us, claiming it would serve me well if I were to further my acquaintance with these men. They were, he insisted, excellent company for a new earl to keep. As it turned out, his motive for wanting to attend was entirely selfish. While the rest of the men went riding, he claimed a headache and sought out Lady Melanie. Under the guise of gentlemanly consideration for her wellbeing, he maneuvered himself closer and closer until finally…”
Ida gasped. “He seduced her.”
“Yes.” Simon winced. “To put things in perspective, this wasn’t some widow he hoped to lure to his bed but a proper young lady, the Duke of Coventry’s sister, who ought to have been incorruptible.”
“And yet he still managed to tempt her.”
“He did. From what I later gathered, he promised marriage to seal the deal. But come morning, he was gone. It wasn’t until Melanie realized what the consequence had been that she confided in her brother. She had to, I suppose. She needed his help.” Simon thought back on Conventry’s thunderous expression when he’d come to inform Simon of what had happened. “He insisted Jack marry her, to which Jack responded that he’d no intention of becoming anyone’s husband. Least of all a whore’s. Naturally, Coventry demanded a duel – a chance to defend his sister’s honor. I did my best to dissuade him from such a course of action since that would have made the whole thing public, but Coventry was beyond reason. I’ve never seen a man so incensed.”
“Can you blame him?”
“Of course not.” He sighed, raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I asked Coventry to give me a chance to reason with my brother, to explain to him the gravity of his actions and demand he do his duty. While reluctant, Coventry agreed and departed once I assured him I would manage the wedding preparations.
“But I should have known better. I should have known my brother better. He would not let anyone order him about. Even as a child he was impossible, but as the youngest, he was allowed such leniency whereas I was forever reminded that as his older brother, it was my duty to keep him in line.” He’d failed, and the consequences had been dire.
“What happened?”
Simon took a deep breath and expelled it. “After Coventry left, I argued with Jack but he refused to listen. That night, he stole the money stashed in the strongbox I kept in my study, and fled.”
“He never came back?”
“No.” Bitterness slithered through him. “The last time I heard from him, roughly seven years ago, he was living in New York. I’ve no idea what’s become of him since. He could be dead for all I know.”
Ida was silent so long, he was tempted to stand and pace the room. Stirring up the past like this had been a mistake. All it did was remind him of how flawed he was, while making him want to hit things. As for Ida, whatever good opinion she might have had of him would now be shattered. There was no way in hell she’d approve of his failure to make sure his brother stood by the woman he’d ruined, and somehow, having her condemnatio
n was the worst part of all.
He moved to rise, to expel the negative energy coursing through him, but before he could complete the action, she stood, rounded the table between them, and claimed the spot beside him on the sofa. Her hand found his in a hard clasp. Blue eyes, sparkling like diamond shards, pierced him to his core. “You are not to blame for your brother’s wrongdoing. Do you hear me, Simon? What happened to Melanie wasn’t your fault and neither is anything else.”
Dazed and somewhat mesmerized by Ida’s fierceness, Simon said, “I was the earl, the head of the family. I should have done more.”
“How? If he was determined to go to the lengths you have just described in order to shirk his duty, I don’t know what more you could have done.” Her gaze softened, “Simon, you were a new earl, inexperienced and with a massive problem on your hands. You did what any reasonable person would do. You prevented a duel which could have resulted in death and instead attempted to reason with your brother.”
“I never imagined he’d be such a cad,” Simon said with self-loathing. “I trusted him to come around and do the right thing.”
“His actions do not reflect poorly on you, Simon. When it comes to other people, there’s only so much one can do. After that, it’s up to them.”
All he could do was stare at her while blood pumped rapidly through his veins. “I’m sorry for what happened, for what you and the Heathmores went through, but you’re not the one to blame. Jack is.”
“He could have had any woman he wanted,” Simon muttered.
“Forget him, Simon. Forget what he did so you can move past it.”
He dropped his gaze to her hand, so small it struggled to encompass his. “How?”
“Well, I think a good beginning has to involve a visit to Coventry House.” When he jerked his chin up to meet her eyes, she hastened to say, “I can come with you if you like. For support. But what matters here is offering Jeremy a chance to get to know his uncle.”
“Coventry despises me.”
“And?”
Simon stared at her, at this remarkable woman who’d entered his life by chance – a woman who cared nothing for what people might think or say but rather for what was right. He wished he could see the world through her eyes and that he could approach the Duke of Coventry without concern for how he’d react.
“I reached out to him once. After Melanie died and I learned about Jeremy, I offered to help but Coventry never responded. I doubt he will let me anywhere near the boy.”
“I suppose that’s his prerogative given the circumstances, but making another attempt now could help clear your conscience.”
God, how he wanted to kiss her, more now than ever before. He wanted to blot out the stain on his soul with her sweetness, bask in the feel of her lips on his own, and explore her gorgeous body until they were both left gasping for breath.
Twelve days. That was how long it had been since he’d met her. In the days since, he’d forced his mind to remain on task, to think of her as nothing more than a temporary fixture in his life. It hadn’t been easy. She was a flesh and blood woman after all, not a table or a chair to be tossed out when he desired another. Hell. He was starting to worry he’d never desire another woman again. They would all be measured against Ida from now on and fall short in the process.
“I’ll have tried,” he murmured, no longer thinking of Coventry but of something far more enticing. His hand moved. He leaned in, unable to stop the inevitable kiss that had been in the cards since the moment they’d met.
The gap between them decreased and—
Ida shot to her feet and smoothed out her skirts while he tried to stop his head from spinning. Christ! She must have sensed his intent. And she hadn’t wanted any part of it.
Well. That was like a cold bucket of ice water over his head.
He stood, cleared his throat. “It’s getting late. I should probably head home.”
She didn’t try to stop him. “Right. Um.” Her cheeks, already flushed, turned a brighter shade of pink. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Simon allowed himself an inward smile as he took his leave, his heart a great deal lighter than it had been in a long time. Ida had been right. Speaking about the past, confiding his concerns and his guilt, had made him feel better. But what really gratified him was the realization that in spite of the pretense, the wedge she’d forced between them, she couldn’t quite hide the effect he was having on her. Not that she hadn’t been trying. She had, to the point where he’d started wondering if he’d been wrong to imagine a shared attraction.
That doubt had been dismissed minutes earlier by her blush, the longing in her eyes, and the need for resolve written in her features. She wanted to surrender, but something held her back, and he had every intention of figuring out what that something might be. So he could destroy it.
A missive arrived from the captain of The Soaring Falcon two days later, much to Ida’s relief. She was desperate for progress in the case so she could get her mind back to it and away from the gorgeous man in whose company she now spent most of her waking moments. During the past forty-eight hours she’d scarcely thought of anything else besides the fact that he’d almost kissed her.
Afraid of where such intimacy between them would lead, she’d quickly sidestepped his advance, which had led to her repeatedly wondering what it might have been like, felt like, if she’d allowed it. To her dismay, the question had even invaded her dreams, where the answer she’d been provided had left her feeling both agitated and wanting when she’d awoken.
If her dream was anything close to reality, she truly was denying herself a splendid experience. Not that this helped alleviate her concerns. Which was why she’d dreaded him broaching the issue the following day when he visited her for their daily deliberations. She didn’t want to ruin things between them, but neither did she dare submit to her own desire until she knew doing so would be worth the risk of a broken heart.
Thankfully, he’d been as eager as she to ignore the subject. With few words spoken between them, they’d reviewed what they’d learned so far. When she’d thought to ask him if he might be able to visit the Old Bailey and inquire about the judge who’d tried her father, he’d promised to have his secretary look into it. The tension Ida had felt since his arrival had eased a little, but then the modiste arrived for her dress fitting and Simon had departed, though not without assuring her he would return the following day.
When he’d done so, the missive from the captain had already been delivered. It suggested a meeting aboard his ship the following afternoon.
“I brought my carriage,” Simon said when he came to collect her. After responding to the captain’s message, they’d agreed to see him together. “If you’re ready, we ought to get going. The traffic on the way over here was dreadful.”
Ida set the new knitting project she’d begun working on aside on the low table next to her chair and stood. Simon picked it up and turned it one way and then the other, studying the work in progress with interest while she went to fetch her bonnet and shawl. As usual, he’d used his own key and had walked in without bothering to knock or make his presence known before locating her in the parlor.
“What are you making?” he asked when she returned.
“You’ll see.” She smiled in response to his frown. “Shall we?”
“Hmm. Yes.” He returned her knitting to where she’d originally placed it and followed her into the foyer. “Do you have the captain’s message with you, just in case?”
“It’s in my reticule,” she assured him.
The tight lines bracketing his mouth underlined how seriously he was taking this. “Good.” He held the door for her. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like the judge we’re seeking will be easy to find.”
“Oh?” She turned to face him and was momentarily struck by how handsome he looked with the sunlight pouring over his skin.
“Winthorp, my secretary, spent most of yesterday trying to figure out who he was.
When a clerk finally managed to retrieve the correct journal, the page of record was missing.”
“I see.” Disappointment settled deep in her breast. “We shan’t be able to question him then."
“No.” He handed her up into the carriage without further comment.
“Have you given any more thought to meeting with Coventry?” she asked once they were underway and neither had spoken a word for a while. Simon had been right about the traffic. She almost believed they’d reach the harbor faster by foot.
“I’d rather not discuss it right now.” Sitting directly opposite her, he’d been watching her with a pensive look in his eyes.
She shifted. His direct perusal of her was a little unsettling. “Dismissing an issue won’t make it go away, and it certainly won’t make it easier to solve.”
He muttered something inaudible, a curse, no doubt, and leaned forward. “Perhaps you should take that advice yourself before you start giving it to others.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Except she was fairly sure she did. “You’re making no sense.”
“Aren’t I?”
She sniffed. “You’re in a peculiar mood today, Simon. I’m really not sure what to make of it.”
“No?”
“No,” she told him tightly. His unwillingness to have a proper conversation was starting to get on her nerves. “Perhaps you didn’t sleep well last night?”
“I haven’t slept well in almost two weeks,” he grumbled. “Last night was no different.”
“Oh? I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Are you really?”
“Of course.” She held his gaze. A queer feeling started to churn in her belly. “Honestly, Simon, I’m not sure what’s going on with you today.”
“The same as yesterday, I imagine. And the day before that. And the—”
“Right. Well, we don’t have to talk if you’d rather not. I was merely trying to help.” Turning her head toward the window until he was blocked out of view, she gave her attention to the passing buildings. An ache squeezed her breast with a loss she couldn’t define. She felt tired, depleted, and inexplicably sad.
The Formidable Earl Page 11