The Formidable Earl

by Sophie Barnes

  Understanding dawned in the other man’s eyes. “Of course, my lord. I’ll see to it right away.”

  Happy with this assurance, Simon departed. The secretary would simply think he’d acquired a mistress, which wouldn’t be the worst supposition in the world if only it were true. Unfortunately, however, the lovely woman occupying the extra house he owned was averse to such a delicious notion. And he wasn’t sure how to get her to change her mind, or even if doing so would be wise. She was, after all, an innocent – a woman who might one day marry – and he would be the most selfish bastard alive if he ruined her chance to do so.

  Ida spent Wednesday and Thursday going back over the newspaper clippings she and Simon had gathered. When they offered no additional information, she resumed her knitting. By the time Simon arrived Friday afternoon, her project was progressing quite nicely.

  “This is Miranda,” Simon said as he took off his hat and gloves. “She’s the only servant in my employ with the skill to cook, clean, and function as a lady’s maid.”

  Ida couldn’t quite drag her gaze away from him. He looked impeccable, dressed in his evening attire. The clothes hugged him, outlining his masculine strength to perfection: his broad shoulders, square chest, and long legs. Ida felt decidedly underdressed and slightly awestruck by his impressive physique. He’d never looked quite like this in his day clothes.

  Aware of the heat creeping into her cheeks, she forced her attention toward his companion. The middle-aged woman he’d brought with him had a plump figure and a kind expression.

  She greeted Ida politely, after which Simon said, “Miranda will remain here for the duration of your stay.”

  “Um. Thank you.” Although Ida firmly believed she could managed without a servant, she didn’t protest his decision. The last thing she wanted was for the maid to feel unwanted or superfluous, but the truth was Ida had been managing on her own for so long now, she didn’t need someone else’s assistance.

  “Has your gown been delivered?” Simon asked.

  “Yes. It arrived about an hour ago.”

  “In that case, get dressed. Miranda will help. Once you’re ready, we’ll talk.” He turned away and disappeared into the parlor.

  Ida bristled. The man was being too highhanded for her liking. Of course, she was sure she knew the cause, but her refusal to let him press his advances didn’t give him the right to order her about.

  “Miss?”

  Ida glanced at Miranda. The sympathy shining in the other woman’s eyes was evident. Embarrassed by it, by what Miranda must imagine their relationship to be, Ida headed for the stairs with added stiffness. “Come on. We’d better not keep his lordship waiting.”

  As it turned out, Miranda proved herself to be a woman of great talent, arranging and pinning Ida’s hair in a style far more complicated and pretty than anything she’d have been able to manage alone.

  “There,” Miranda said once she’d helped Ida into her gown. “You look absolutely dazzling, miss. Just like a princess.”

  Excitement bubbled within Ida’s veins. She’d never felt more dazzling than she did right now with crystal-tipped pins adorning her hair and an exquisite gown hugging her curves. She took a deep breath and slowly expelled it. This was really happening. She was actually going to attend a Society ball. Her lips curved and she almost laughed. It would be a splendid evening. Nothing would ruin it for her, not even Simon’s caustic mood.

  Turning away from the mirror, Ida thanked Miranda for her help and exited her bedchamber. She descended the stairs with great care so as not to accidentally step on the hem of her gown, crossed the foyer, and entered the parlor. There she paused, her gaze meeting Simon’s the moment he turned toward her. Surprise widened his eyes for a second before something darker and far more dangerous flared to life in their golden depths. Ida’s traitorous heart leapt in response. Every nerve in her body awoke, sizzling beneath the heat of his direct regard.

  She straightened her back and lifted her chin. Balling her hands into fists, she fought her body’s response, only to feel her skin prick with delicious awareness the moment he stepped toward her.

  “Stunning,” he murmured as he circled behind her. He stopped her from turning with him by placing his hand against her shoulder.

  The nearness was too overwhelming, his rich scent of sandalwood too enticing.

  “Absolutely exquisite,” he whispered close to her ear.

  Ida’s eyes drifted shut. She tried to draw breath.

  Resist.

  She dug her nails into the palms of her hands and focused her mind on the pain.

  “I thought you might appreciate this.” Something cool landed softly against her throat. Ida’s eyes flew open. She couldn’t see the necklace clearly but she could feel its weight. “Diamonds and aquamarines to match your gown.”

  His breath brushed the nape of her neck, causing her to shiver. She could feel his warmth seeping into her back. There, then moving away.

  She gasped in response to the sudden chill taking its place and the feeling of loss that followed. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw he’d removed himself to the sideboard where he was now in the process of fixing two drinks.

  “I thought you might like a sherry while we talk.”

  Ida stared at him. Her nerves were clanging together, her body aflame on account of the need he’d instilled in her with the barest amount of effort. And now he was gazing at her with a bland expression while waiting for her response. Blasted man. She reckoned he knew precisely what he was doing.

  “Please,” she muttered with tight irritation. “And thank you for letting me borrow the necklace.”

  His gaze hardened for a brief second, but then he smiled. “It’s a gift, Ida. Yours to keep.”

  She sucked in a breath. “No. It’s too costly. I cannot accept it. It’s too much, too—”

  “Relax.” His voice was suddenly sharp. He handed her one of the two drinks he’d poured. “It’s just a necklace.”

  A very expensive one. The sort a man only gave to a woman from whom he hoped to gain something in return. She took her glass and almost dropped it when she felt his fingers brush against hers.

  “Steady now,” he told her softly before taking a step back and adding distance.

  With her heart pounding hard against her breast, Ida took a sip of the sweet Spanish wine and told herself to calm down. Simon had already promised he wouldn’t seduce her unless she invited him to.

  All she had to do was maintain her resolve.

  “I can say with confidence that neither Elmwood nor Nugent wrote the note Captain Murdoch gave us.”

  “And Kirksdale?” Ida asked, relieved to have something else to think about.

  “Unfortunately, I was unable to learn if the writing matched his. The only thing I’ve ever received from him by post was presumably written by his secretary.”

  “Oh.” Now that they’d turned their attention back to the subject concerning the wrongful sentencing of her father, Ida felt more herself – less aware of the man she was with and less nervous. “But if you’re sure neither Elmwood nor Nugent wrote it, if you were able to prove their lack of involvement, doesn’t that mean it must have been Kirksdale?”

  “A possibility I have considered myself, though not one I’m willing to stake my life on without concrete proof.”

  Ida sighed. “We might never find that.”

  “We have to,” Simon told her seriously. “If we’re to go up against a marquess, nothing less will do.”

  “I agree.” She set her glass to her lips once more and drank, ever aware that Simon was watching a little too closely for comfort. Ignoring the observation, she said, “As long as our suspects are all in attendance tonight, we’ll be able to quiz them directly, just like we’ve planned.”

  An indefinable emotion flickered across Simon’s face. “Be careful, Ida. Don’t let yourself be alone with any of these men tonight. Not for one second. Understood?”

  “It’s a ball. I think it’
s highly unlikely I’ll be alone with anyone.”

  Simon turned away before she could see the destructive affect her words had on him. Christ, he must have been mad, insisting she wear a gown that complimented her dazzling blue eyes. The neckline was daringly low, the bodice so tight it made her breasts swell.

  Lord have mercy, she looked like seduction itself – so irresistibly tempting he’d almost lost all restraint when he put the damned necklace around her neck. And he was about to escort her out into a crowd consisting not only of happily married men, but of scoundrels as well. Hell, Hawthorne would be there and Yates too, though the earl might have calmed his roguish ways on account of Miss Harlowe, but really, what in God’s name had he been thinking?

  “It’s past eight o’ clock,” Ida told him, her soft voice breezing across him with languid strokes. “Shouldn’t we be on our way?”

  He clenched his jaw and turned. The very idea of other men seeing her like this was making him want to tear out his own bloody hair. How the devil could he have been so foolish?

  “Right.” It seemed like an appropriate response. Indeed, it was the only response he could manage right now. And since that was the case, he followed the statement by stepping toward her and offering his arm.

  She took it, the close proximity the gesture afforded offering him a whiff of floral fragrance. His chest tightened. Every tendon and muscle grew taut, and yet somehow he managed to guide her into the hallway without pulling her against him and crushing her mouth with his own. Instead, they collected their gloves, his hat, and her cloak before leaving the house and climbing into his awaiting carriage.

  Simon wasn’t sure what they’d discover at the ball, but one thing was certain. It was going to be a very long night.

  The receiving line was impressively long. Climbing the steps leading to Huntley House with steady slowness, Ida looked up at the imposing edifice. Built in the Greek style, it boasted four massive pillars, each serving to support the triangular shaped portico. It was simple, elegant, yet indicative of great wealth.

  “How did your parliamentary sessions go?” Ida asked Simon. She’d meant to question him earlier, only to forget the moment he’d walked through the door. She shook her head. The man addled her brain like nothing else.

  “Not as well as I’d hoped,” he said.

  “I’m sorry to hear it. What happened?”

  “Well.” He took a deep breath. When he spoke again his voice was significantly lower. “Do you recall the Peterloo Massacre?”

  Ida swallowed. She’d read about it in the paper. “Yes. It was horribly tragic.”

  “Preventable in my opinion, had the government shown more restraint in their handling of matters.” His comment was firm. Angry. “After the Six Acts was passed, I determined to write two bills. One would be modeled on the freedom of speech Americans enjoy in their constitution while the other would place restrictions upon the government when dealing with those who don’t share their views.”

  Gazing into his dark eyes, Ida almost missed the fact that she was supposed to move forward until he placed his hand on her elbow and nudged her along. “I gather they were turned down?”

  A nerve ticked at the edge of his jaw. “Yes.”

  “A shame since I think you’ve the right of it, Simon. People should be allowed to protest as long as they do so peacefully. Which was, as I understand it, what they were doing when the cavalry was ordered to charge into their midst.”

  He held her gaze. “I’m glad to know you’re of a like mind.”

  A spot of warmth danced in her belly. She glanced ahead. “At the rate we’re progressing, one would think every guest is stopping to share their life story with the Huntleys.”

  Simon chuckled. “Just be glad you’re not in their position, forced to stand still for well over an hour while greeting everyone. At least we are permitted to move.”

  “One painful inch at a time,” she muttered.

  He chuckled again, stirring the air around them with deep vibrations. Ida cleared her throat, tried to think of something more she might say to engage him in conversation – a means by which to distract herself from his masculine charm.

  A thought struck.

  “Oh!”

  “What?” The gruffness with which he posed the question suggested his mind had been elsewhere.

  “It just occurred to me that my dancing might be a bit rusty.” In fact, she’d never had any use for the dances she’d learned as a child until now.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  They moved another step forward. Ida looked up and noted Simon’s puzzled expression. “This is a ball, which means there will be dancing. Only I’m not sure I remember how to.”

  His brows drew together while his mouth turned into a flat, censorious line. “You won’t be dancing.”

  “But…” She stopped herself. The look in his eyes was more intense than she’d ever seen it. Her heart flapped around like a bird trapped behind her ribs.

  “You won’t be dancing,” he repeated with an almost angry edge to his voice. “Remember your purpose. Don’t get distracted and above all else, avoid drawing attention.”

  “But what if someone asks?” She posed the question, not out of interest, but due to a sudden and overwhelming desire to needle him – to ruin part of this evening for him in the same way he’d just ruined hers.

  Because here she was now, about to experience what promised to be the most magical evening of her life, only to be told she must practice restraint – not enjoy herself too much – avoid getting carried away.

  The temptation to punch him right in the shoulder was almost uncontrollable.

  “They won’t. Not once they know you’re with me.” His hand found her elbow once more, urging her onward. She felt him lean in, his breath caressing her cheek. “Now smile, Ida. It’s time to greet your hosts.”

  She did her best, not for Simon’s sake – he could go hang as far as she was concerned – but for the duchess’s. Ida had quite liked her when they’d met.

  “I’m so glad you were able to come,” Lady Huntley told her.

  “Me too,” Ida said. As pleased as she was by the duchess’s warm welcome, it still surprised her. “Thank you for letting me attend.”

  The duchess smiled. Kindness danced in her eyes. “Raphe, allow me to introduce you to Miss Smith. Fielding’s…ward.”

  The tall, broad-shouldered man standing next to the duchess bowed. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Smith.”

  Ida stared at the duke. Although he wore all the right clothes and looked the part, there was something distinctly unpolished about him – a rawness that spoke of a much rougher upbringing than what most peers enjoyed.

  “And Fielding,” the duchess added. “It’s good to see you too.”

  Simon raised the duchess’s hand and kissed the air above it while Ida did her best not to grind her teeth. I’m not jealous. I’m not jealous. Oh very well, she was almost boiling over with envy. The way he looked at Gabriella, with admiration and regret, made Ida want to scream in frustration because she wanted…

  Her stomach seemed to collapse in on itself as all the doubts and concerns she’d had over getting more intimately involved with Fielding untangled themselves. So what if he broke her heart in the end? She’d gotten through loss before and she’d get through it again, but at least she would know what it was to be his.

  Fielding released the duchess’s hand, straightened himself, and nodded toward the duke whose expression had darkened with surprising swiftness. “Huntley,” he muttered.

  “Fielding,” Huntley said with tight-jawed gruffness.

  The duchess sighed and… Did Ida imagine it or did the woman roll her eyes? The exasperated look she gave Ida suggested she might have. “If you’ll please continue inside, we shall join you as soon as we’re able.”

  Simon didn’t need a second telling. He grabbed Ida’s arm and jerked her forward, his strides as he marched her toward the cloakroom so long s
he was forced to triple her steps to keep up.

  “Well, that was awkward,” Ida muttered once they’d handed over their outerwear to one of the awaiting footmen and Simon had steered her into the ballroom. “I gather you and Huntley never quite got over your tiff?”

  Simon’s eyes narrowed on her with piercing force. “The man stole my fiancée from under my nose. You’ll have to forgive me for not being partial to him.”

  The comment was so honest it took Ida by surprise. Silenced for a moment, she accepted the glass of champagne he’d procured from a tray and tilted her head. His features were strained. Concern marred his forehead. “Your life shouldn’t be this difficult, Simon. Considering your position and wealth, it ought to be simple. Straightforward.”

  He snorted and took a large swallow from his glass. “And yet it has only ever been one long series of problems, most of them caused by the very position you think would make things easy for me.”

  She opened her mouth, prepared to remind him of how lucky he actually was when compared with so many others, only to be interrupted by a cheerful, “Good evening, Fielding. So glad to see you again. I’ve missed you at White’s and Gentleman Jackson’s this past week.”

  “Hawthorne.” Simon shook the man’s hand. “I must confess I’ve been otherwise engaged.”

  A wide grin materialized on Hawthorne’s face as he shifted his gaze to Ida. “I can understand why. Will you introduce me to the young lady or must I break protocol by introducing myself?”

  The hesitation that followed was a clear indication of Simon’s reluctance to meet his friend’s request. His expression, which had relaxed upon Hawthorne’s arrival, cooled once again. Nevertheless, he managed to get the necessary words out between clenched teeth. “Allow me to present Miss Jane Smith.”

  “Enchanted,” Hawthorne said, his eyes burning straight into hers.

  Ida smiled. Hawthorne was only slightly taller than she, but his features, which consisted of a wide mouth, an uneven nose, dazzling green eyes, and raven black hair, were striking. He was certainly handsome – the sort of man she reckoned could make any number of young ladies swoon, if only by turning his mischievous gaze upon them.