And yet, Ida didn’t feel the slightest attraction.
“Miss Smith. This is my friend,” Simon added with a note of distinct irritation, “Baron Hawthorne.”
“A pleasure,” she said, not only to be polite but to try and make up for Simon’s rudeness.
“Miss Smith is a very dear family friend,” Simon added. He took a step closer to her.
Hawthorne looked at Simon, then back at Ida. “Of course she is,” he murmured. A low chuckle followed. “Perhaps I can have the honor of the next dance?”
“I think not,” Simon growled.
Ida gasped, horrified by Simon’s cutting remark. Hawthorne merely laughed. His eyes twinkled. “Fair enough.” He patted Simon on his shoulder. “I suppose I’ll have to find some female companionship elsewhere. Lovely to meet you, Miss Smith. I hope to see you at White’s again soon, Fielding.”
Ida waited until he was well out of earshot before she rounded on Simon. “Did you really have to embarrass me like that?”
“Hawthorne may be an excellent friend, but he’s not the sort of company you ought to keep.”
“Oh, and yours is?” When he scowled at her, she placed both hands on her hips and glared right back. “From where I was standing he was polite and cordial while you were the direct opposite.”
“Don’t be fooled. Hawthorne’s a rake.”
“Possibly. But right now I’d prefer to take my chances with him than to suffer any more of your grumpiness.”
His expression tightened. “He would have propositioned you, Ida.”
“It would have been one dance, Simon. Nothing more.” When he didn’t respond, she bitterly asked, “What harm could it possibly do? So he’d proposition me, and then what? It’s not as though I would accept his advances, surely you must know that.”
“Of course I do, it’s just…”
He broke eye contact with her, sipped his champagne, and said nothing more.
Ida wanted to shake him. “Just what, Simon?”
His golden eyes sought hers again, this time with an almost terrifying degree of openness. “Hawthorne is a friend, and as a friend it would have been wrong of me to let him lead you onto the dance floor.”
“What are you saying?” she whispered.
Stepping closer to her, he dipped his head and spoke close to her ear. “If there’s a slip up and your true identity is revealed, Hawthorne will look like a fool. He will blame me for not warning him off, and with good reason. The same goes for everyone else.”
She swallowed while trying to fight the burn of humiliation sweeping her skin like an angry rash. “That’s the real reason you do not wish to dance with me, isn’t it? You’re afraid I might embarrass you.”
“That’s not true.”
“I think it is. I think that while you’re happy to cook with me, laugh with me, enjoy companionable moments with me, and even attempt to lure me into your bed when we’re alone, out here in public, I’m simply not good enough. Am I?”
“You’re better than most of the people here.”
“If that’s how you truly feel, then dance with me, Simon.”
He stared back at her for a long moment, and then he said, “I’m sorry, but we’ve been over this already. You need to keep a low profile. We both do. So let’s stick to the periphery, shall we?”
She nodded. He was right of course, but that didn’t stop the pain of his rejection from lancing through her. Maybe she was being unreasonable, given the circumstances, but she wished he’d at least show some hint of regret over not being able to sweep her onto the dance floor.
“In that case, it’s probably best if we try to locate the men we came here to find.” Too upset to speak with him any further at the moment, she turned away and started walking.
“Ida, would you please wait for one second?”
She merely slowed her pace, allowing him to catch up. They skirted the edge of the room and reached the opposite side before the first set began.
“Listen.” Simon grabbed her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “There’s something I’ve neglected to tell you because I wanted to find out more before letting you know. And after meeting you that first evening and learning what it was you hoped to accomplish, and with my own history with your father taken into account, I really wanted to help. Only I wasn’t sure you’d let me if I told you what I really wasn’t aware of from the start but figured out later in our discussion and—”
“Simon.”
“Yes?”
“What is it?”
“Look, I know I should have told you before, but—”
Unease was rapidly replacing every other emotion she’d had that evening. “Spit it out, Simon.”
He swallowed. “The truth is that Mr. Elliot Nugent is my—”
Chapter Ten
“Simon. I thought I saw you hurrying by a moment ago.”
Simon’s stomach dropped.
No. Not now. Not yet.
Ida was already looking at the man who’d just joined them with what could only be described as incomprehension. Simon didn’t blame her. She was sure to wonder why Elliot Nugent had chosen to be so informal with him.
Releasing her arm, Simon turned more fully toward his uncle, prepared to say something by way of greeting. But before one single word managed to leave his mouth, his uncle told Ida, “You look remarkably familiar. Have we met before?”
“Uncle,” Simon interjected in a swift attempt to avert disaster. “Allow me to present Miss Jane Smith, a friend of the family.”
Elliot narrowed his gaze on Ida. “A pleasure, although I don’t recall any Smiths in our immediate circle. That said, I cannot deny the feeling of having met you before. Tell me, to whom are you related?”
“To John and Mary Smith,” Ida said with such conviction even Simon almost believed her. “Papa was a clergyman who always considered Fielding to be beyond reproach. He only had good things to say of him and his family, which surely explains his decision to make Fielding my guardian when he passed.”
A frown settled on Elliot’s brow. “That makes no sense. You would have mentioned taking responsibility for a ward when we last met, had you indeed done so.”
“It’s a recent development,” Simon tried, while holding Elliot’s sharp gaze.
“I see.” Elliot swung his gaze back to Ida. “There’s definitely a resemblance to someone I just can’t seem to place.”
“You’re wrong,” Simon insisted. “Miss Smith comes from Falmouth, which is all the way at the end of Cornwall.”
“I know my geography,” Elliot muttered while he continued to stare at Ida.
“In that case, you also know you never venture so far west. Coming across Miss Smith before today would have been impossible.”
“Quite so,” Ida said. She smiled, then began turning away. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Unless…” Elliot grabbed her wrist and peered at her more closely. The grooves on his brow deepened and his eyes suddenly grew to the size of saucers. “My God. You’re Matthew’s girl.”
He released her as if she’d just stung him and took a step back.
“What?” Ida said, managing an innocent tone for which Simon had to applaud her. She even gave him a curious look. “Who’s Matthew?”
“I’m not sure I know,” Simon said. In for a penny, in for a pound, as it were. If they’d been capsized, this would have been the point at which they started to drown.
“I knew I’d seen you before and so I have.” Elliot’s features hardened. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Simon darted a hasty look in Ida’s direction before addressing his uncle. “Miss Smith is here this evening because I invited her to join me.”
“Then you cannot know who she is,” Elliot hissed in low angry tones. “Her father was a traitor to this country. My God, Simon. You cannot associate with her.”
“I’m trying to help her,” Simon hissed back, deciding there was no point in trying to deceive Elliot further. He’d
found them out, so they might as well be honest.
“At the risk of your reputation? Damn you, boy. The Duchess of Huntley could have been the Countess of Fielding if you hadn’t gone and mucked that up. Now here you are, associating with underserving riffraff.” He gave Ida one swift look full of loathing. “Get rid of the chit, Simon. Before others realize who her father was. As it is, it may already be too late.”
Simon wanted to chase down his retreating form and give him hell for speaking of Ida like that, but to do so would only draw additional attention. Already, some of the other guests were staring at him in wonder. He gave them his back only to find himself faced with intense fury.
“Ida. Let me explain.”
“You’ve had over two weeks to do so.” The stubborn tilt of her chin was pointing toward the direction in which Elliot had gone. “Who is he to you, exactly?”
“He’s my uncle. On my father’s side.”
Ida closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, he was shocked to see how clear they were. “I don’t trust easily, but I decided to take a chance on you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me if you knew. And I wanted to help.”
“How exactly did you expect to do so when you cannot be objective? He’s your uncle, Simon. Whether you like it or not, you’ll want someone else to be guilty, not him. And that undermines every effort we’ve made so far to get at the truth.”
“We’re not close and while I will admit that I hope it won’t turn out to be him, I’ve treated him with as much suspicion as the others.”
“Have you really?”
“Of course.” He was certain he had. At least, he knew he’d tried to.
She scoffed. “I need some fresh air.”
“I’ll escort you out onto the terrace.”
“No.” She took a step back, raised her hand to ward him off. “I want to be alone. Without you. So I can think.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Simon, even if we forget for a moment that you didn’t tell me you’re related to one of the suspects, you just allowed your uncle, a man who may for all we know have sent my father to the gallows, to insult me in a way you should have objected to if you cared about me.”
“I’m sorry. I know I—”
“Fielding!”
Simon cursed beneath his breath. What now?
Glancing sideways, he stiffened slightly upon seeing Kirksdale approach with another man Simon failed to recognize. Sensing Ida’s intention to flee, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pinning her to his side. He didn’t care how angry, hurt, or upset she was right now, he’d be damned if he’d let her out of his sight.
“I want to introduce you to an acquaintance of mine,” Kirksdale said when he reached them. “Mr. St. John is the owner of The Shadwell Gun Works. In light of our recent conversation, I thought he might be able to help you decide if you’d like to invest.”
“Much appreciated.” Simon said. “Perhaps we can meet for an in-depth discussion during the week, Mr. St. John. I’m sure you’d rather enjoy your evening instead of discussing business.”
“Not if the business discussion results in additional profits,” Mr. St. John said. “I work round the clock, my lord, but I’m also an exception. Shall we say Tuesday, five o’clock at The Red Rose?”
“I shall be there,” Simon assured him.
Mr. St. John shifted his gaze to Ida before returning it to Simon. “Will you not introduce us to your companion?”
Simon bristled. He didn’t like the gleam of interest in Mr. St. John’s eyes. Like Hawthorne, the man was clearly hoping to further his acquaintance with Ida. But protocol was protocol, and so he gestured toward her. “Miss Jane Smith, allow me to introduce to you the Marquess of Kirksdale and Mr. St. John.”
“Enchanted,” Mr. St. John murmured.
“You look familiar,” Kirksdale said as he narrowed his gaze on Ida.
She turned to Simon as if to seek his advice.
He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m afraid the game is up. My uncle already knows who you are, so you might as well confess.”
With a small nod of agreement, Ida returned her attention to Kirksdale. “You were acquainted with my father. Mathew Strong?”
Kirksdale’s eyes widened. He leaned back in visible shock and leveled a glare on Simon. “This woman is a traitor’s daughter.”
“Keep your voice down would you?” Simon drew Ida closer to his side. He’d expected more discretion from the marquess, but the man had clearly forgotten where he was or else he’d not be speaking so loud, surely.
“What’s that?” Mr. St. John asked with heightened curiosity.
“My father came to you for help right before his arrest,” Ida said, her voice impressively calm. “You were away, though. Gone along with the rest of his friends.”
Ignoring her completely, Kirksdale told Mr. St. John, “She was recently discovered in a St. Giles brothel.”
“Stop,” Simon warned. He could sense those nearest to them leaning in, ears perked in an effort to hear what was being said.
“Where were you?” Ida pressed.
“Her father organized Napoleon’s escape from Elba,” Kirksdale went on, completely undaunted by Ida and the whispers now rustling around them like crisp autumn leaves, “which led to the battle of Waterloo. Thousands of British lives were lost because of him.”
Simon leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “You’re wrong about that and Miss Strong intends to prove it.”
“Foolish pup.” Kirksdale’s eyes hardened. “If I were you, I’d cut whatever ties you have with her now. Before it’s too late.”
“You mean, before I have a chance to find out who really helped Napoleon escape?” Ida asked. “My father suspected you of betraying him. I plan to figure out whether or not you did.”
“Listen to me, you little whore,” Kirksdale sputtered. “I’ll—”
“That’s enough,” Simon snapped. Muscles tight and jaw clenched with unfathomable fury, he glared back at the marquess. “You will not speak to her like that. Apologize, this instant.”
“Is everything all right?”
Simon forced his gaze away from Kirksdale and toward Gabriella who’d approached together with her husband. Both looked ready to subdue what had swiftly evolved into a heated quarrel.
“Quite,” Simon said. He forced himself to relax. “A difference of opinion, that’s all.”
Gabriella gave her attention to the marquess and to Mr. St. John. “If I may, I’d suggest you head to the card room for a while. There’s a thrilling game of vingt-et-un underway at the moment. Stakes are quite high.”
Gabriella’s firm tone left no room for argument. Kirksdale forced a tight smile and nodded. “Very well, Your Grace. Come, St. John. Let’s find out who’s winning.”
“Now I don’t mean to be indelicate,” Huntley said as soon as Kirksdale and Mr. St. John were out of earshot, “but there’s a rumor going around about Miss Smith.” Huntley shifted slightly, using his body to shield Ida from a couple of curious guests. “Word has it her name is actually Miss Strong – the same Miss Strong whose father was accused of treason and who was recently spotted at Amourette’s.”
Damn.
Simon considered the two curious faces before him. He was very aware that Ida was watching him too – her gaze burning into him from where she stood to his left.
Deciding he had to tell the truth if only because he’d brought Ida into the Huntley home without revealing the danger her presence might pose to their reputations, he said, “Her father was wrongfully convicted. I’m helping her find the truth so the real villain can be brought to justice.”
“While we would have preferred honesty, we understand the need for deception, so we aren’t judging you,” Gabriella assured him. “After all, our family has its own fair share of black sheep and has faced enough scandal for us to know it would be hypocritical of us to do so. And even if your fathe
r were guilty, Miss Strong, you should not have to suffer because of it.”
“For now, we’ve tried to assure everyone there’s been a mistake and that Miss Smith is indeed who she claims to be,” Huntley said. “If there’s anything else we can do to help, you must let us know. In our experience, being supported by powerful titles can be extremely useful.”
Simon stared at him in dumbfounded shock. Considering their history, he wouldn’t have expected such assistance. Huntley and Gabriella were staking their own reputations on keeping Ida safe. “I scarcely know what to say.”
“Thank you,” Ida supplied. “You’re extraordinarily kind. I—”
“Gabriella,” a shrill voice exclaimed. “Get away from that woman this instant!”
Simon winced and immediately stiffened. Dear God. Not this.
Gabriella gave him a pointed stare – the sort that begged him not to interfere – and turned toward the approaching firestorm. “Mama. Please. You must calm yourself. People are starting to stare.”
“Do you know who she really is and what she has done?” Lady Warwick screeched.
“Her name is Miss Smith,” Huntley told his mother-in-law sharply, “and she is our guest, so please contain yourself, madam.”
Simon’s eyebrows shot upward. His respect for Huntley increased tenfold.
“Of course you have no qualms with her presence.” Lady Warwick glared at Huntley with disdain. “Why am I not surprised?”
Gabriella’s expression hardened. “Lower your voice this instant, and apologize to my husband.”
“Sorry,” Lady Warwick hissed with what looked like extreme difficulty. “But you need to get rid of her this instant. A traitor’s daughter has no place among Society. Never mind the fact she was spotted in a brothel. By God, she’s just a dressed up whore.”
“Mama,” Gabriella snapped while frantically glancing about. “Huntley and I have just told everyone she’s our friend and that they’re mistaken about her.”
The Formidable Earl Page 14