The Formidable Earl

by Sophie Barnes

  Lady Warwick’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she suddenly blurted, “My poor dears. You were obviously just as deceived as the rest of us.” She stared down her nose at Simon. “I always held you in the highest regard, Lord Fielding. Shame on you for deliberately forcing such vermin upon good Society. Of course, the sooner we’re rid of her the sooner you may be forgiven for your blunder. Come now, let’s have her turned out so we can enjoy the rest of our evening.”

  Simon stood, paralyzed by the hateful words pouring from the despicable woman’s mouth, fearing he might punch her squarely in the face if she didn’t shut up, or worse, snap her neck. Hot rage poured through him, bunching his muscles and straining his tendons. His heart beat wildly against his ribs, pushing blood rapidly through his veins, producing a roar in his ears that muted all sound. The only thing he could hear was his own breathing.

  He forced air into his lungs while awareness sank into his bones. A crowd had formed around them, people were staring and whispers were racing around the room with alarming speed. Simon caught a few words. Traitor. Whore. Scandalous. Mistress. His insides shuddered in response while the choice he was faced with cemented itself in his brain. He could walk away from Ida right now, pretend he’d had no idea who she really was, lie until he restored his reputation completely.

  Or he could break free from the restraints of Society once and for all, stop giving a damn about how people viewed him, and offer Ida his full support.

  He blinked, dropped his gaze in her direction, and blinked again. “Where is she?”

  “She left,” Huntley said. “When you didn’t say anything, she walked away.”

  “Bloody hell.” Simon instantly turned, frantically searching the crowd and, failing to spot her, pushed his way through it. Christ, he was a dolt. All this while he’d fancied himself a hero, saving the damsel in distress, but when she’d truly needed his help – depended on him for strength and support – he’d paused. Christ. He was no hero. He was a useless, incompetent failure whose every decision had always been guided by ridiculous values. And for what? So people he didn’t even like would marvel over how wonderful he was?

  Sickened by the misguided priorities he’d been controlled by since birth, Simon stormed into the hallway and broke into a run. He had to catch her, comfort her, apologize. She was all that mattered, ensuring she was all right and convincing her to forgive him his only objective. Somehow, they had to find a way back from this, because the alternative was too awful to contemplate. So he prayed while occasionally skidding across the polished marble – prayed she wouldn’t hate him forever and prayed his inability to act had not just cost him the most important relationship of his life.

  Panting, he rounded a corner, spotted the billowing hem of her gown as she hurried outside. “Ida! Ida, wait!”

  She didn’t hear him, or maybe she did and she simply refused to listen.

  Simon’s heart ached as he followed her out onto the front steps. Other guests, some arriving late while others were leaving early, obscured his vision. He glanced around, frantically searching, determined to spot her.

  A piercing shriek splintered the still night air, cutting off all other sound. Simon swiveled, his blood already turning to ice.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Dear God.” Simon raced down the steps, shoving his way past anyone blocking his path until he finally reached her. His lungs were tied in a knot as he fell to his knees. Please be all right. Her eyes closed, her expression eerily calm, she… His stomach pitched at the sight of the blood pooling under her head.

  Hands shaking and with his heart lodged squarely in his throat, Simon pressed his fingers to the side of her neck and felt for her pulse. There was a flutter, faint but present, and then a soft moan from between her lips. Something wet trickled down the back of his neck and he realized he must be sweating.

  “Fielding.” Huntley’s voice spoke with firm authority from somewhere nearby. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s alive,” Simon muttered. Thank Christ for that. He brushed two stray locks away from her forehead with trembling fingers. The action seemed to rouse her. She contorted and shifted as if intending to move. Simon stayed her with a firm hand and told her to remain still.

  Huntley crouched next to Simon. “Let’s bring her inside to one of the bedrooms so she can recover.”

  “After what just happened?” Simon shook his head. “I’ll not subject her to any more hateful comments or stares.”

  “Understood.”

  “If you could please have my carriage brought ’round so I can take her home.” He wanted to get her away from the prying eyes that surrounded them. More importantly, he wanted to care for Ida himself without anyone else’s interference.

  “Of course,” Huntley said. “I’ll see to it right away.”

  Simon gently cupped Ida’s cheek. “It will be all right, sweetheart. I’ll make sure of it. Don’t worry.”

  She seemed to murmur something in response, but he couldn’t understand the words.

  “The carriage is here,” Huntley said moments later. “Would you like me to pick her up or—”

  “I’ll do it,” Simon said.

  “Right.” Huntley straightened while Simon gathered Ida in his arms. She clasped the front of his jacket and groaned. Huntley held the carriage door open. “You sure you can handle it?”

  “Yes.” It wasn’t easy, getting her into the carriage, but Simon eventually managed to position her on one of the benches. Expelling a labored breath, he climbed back down and faced the duke. “Thank you.”

  Huntley nodded. “Give me an update on her recovery, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  “And Fielding.” Huntley placed a staying hand on Simon’s arm. “Watch your back and hers. One of my footmen says it looked as though she was pushed.”

  Standing on the carriage step, Simon instinctively scanned the front steps of Huntley House. His stomach clenched when he spotted Elmwood, the one man he’d not had a chance to speak with. “Question your guests and your servants, would you? Find out if anyone saw who it was.”

  “I was already planning on it,” Huntley said.

  With another gruff, “Thank you,” Simon climbed inside the conveyance. Lifting Ida a little so he could sit, he positioned her head in his lap and held her body in place with his arm.

  “Ow,” she muttered.

  “I know, my darling. Just try to relax.”

  Whoever the real traitor was, they’d been threatened by her appearance this evening. They’d tried to hurt her, perhaps even kill her.

  Gritting his teeth, Simon stared into the surrounding darkness and silently vowed revenge. Whoever had done this would pay. They would not get away with it unscathed.

  Everything hurt. Especially her head. It felt as if someone were hammering nails straight into her skull. Opening her eyes to a squint, Ida tried moving into a more comfortable position and instantly groaned.

  “You’re awake.”

  A warm hand clasped hers, then Simon’s face came into view. The bed dipped under his weight as he perched on the edge.

  Ida opened her mouth to speak, only to cough in response to her parched throat. “Water. Please.”

  A strong arm slid under her back, raising her just enough for her to drink from the glass being held to her lips. “How do you feel?”

  She opened her eyes a bit wider, noted the deep grooves on Simon’s forehead and the dark splotches beneath his eyes. “Broken.”

  He eased her back onto her pillow. “I’m not surprised. You’ve had quite the ordeal.”

  “What happened?”

  “You don’t recall?” His frown deepened with obvious concern.

  Ida closed her eyes, attempted to focus her mind. “We went to the ball and…” A vision of bright lights, boisterous chatter, and violin music filled her head. “I was so excited. It was going to be a spectacular night.”

  “I’m sorry, Ida.” Painful regret filled Simon’s voic
e. “I let you down terribly.”

  She pushed her memory past the arrival at Huntley House and the point when her night had been filled with hope and expectation, then onward, past his refusal to let her dance, the quarrel they’d had about his uncle, and toward Lady Warwick’s cutting remarks. It all came back in a rush so intense, Ida almost choked in heartbroken anguish.

  Turning her gaze away from his, she looked toward the window and told him stiffly, “I remember.”

  “You have every reason to hate me right now, every reason to want me out of your life, but I’m hoping and praying you’ll give me another chance.”

  Her eyes stung in response to the tears that threatened. “You just stood there, letting that wretched woman speak.”

  “I know.”

  “And when she gave you a choice between everyone’s approval and me, you failed to respond and… I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I can get over that.”

  “Please. Try to understand.” Desperation tinged his words. “I couldn’t react.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was so bloody incensed, I feared I might kill her if I moved.”

  It was a small consolation, Ida supposed, knowing he’d been angry on her behalf, but the fact was, “That’s not very helpful. Truth is, I have never felt more alone or abandoned than I did in that moment. I counted on you, Simon, believed in you, and needed you to at least be on my side.”

  “And I am. From this moment on I swear I’ll do better.” When she simply gave him a weary sigh, he added, “There will be no more fear for my reputation or concern for what people think if they see us together. They can say what they want, I no longer care.”

  “Really?” She wasn’t sure she believed him and she could see by his expression that he realized as much.

  He clasped her hand. “I have never been more terrified than when I saw you lying on the ground at the bottom of those stairs, when I thought I might have…might have lost you. Ida, you’re my closest confidante, my dearest friend. I’ve shared parts of myself with you that I’ve never shared with anyone else and I… I need you to ground me and guide me, to remind me of what’s important – of the things that truly matter – like doing what’s right even when it feels like the whole world is against you, telling you that what you’re doing is wrong. I need you to help me be just as brave and courageous as you.”

  His sincerity was moving. Ida just wasn’t sure she could let herself trust it. And yet…

  “Everyone deserves a second chance, Simon. But be warned,” she added when she felt him relax. “It will be a while before we can get back to where we were. If doing so is even possible.”

  “I know.”

  When she saw how wretched he looked, the pain in her heart subsided a little and sympathy stole its way in, filling her breast. Expelling a weary sigh, she closed her eyes for a brief second before opening them once again to a squint. “My head hurts like the very devil.”

  “You hit it pretty badly. There’s a nasty gash at one side, but in spite of all the blood, the surgeon has informed me it’s not so bad.”

  “It must be pretty bad if it required a surgeon’s attention.” Renewed panic swept through her. She moved her arm in an effort to reach back and feel the spot he referred to, only to have him halt her movement.

  “Relax. You didn’t require a surgeon, but the Duke of Redding is the most competent medical professional I know, so I sent for him to check on you. Turns out I just have to clean your wound once a day and change the bandage. Besides that, all you need is rest.”

  “Now you mention it, I am quite tired.” She yawned.

  “And you’ll be able to rest some more in a minute, once you’ve eaten a little and I’ve had a chance to tend to your wound. Wind your arms around my neck so I can help you sit. That’s it.” He stacked a few pillows behind her back and propped her against them. “Here, try to eat this.”

  Ida accepted the plate containing two slices of buttered bread, some ham, grapes, and a few pieces of apple. Starting with the bread, she took a bite and realized she was actually quite hungry. So she took another bite while Simon shifted closer and went to work on the bandage, slowly unwinding it as if he feared too swift a movement might cause her additional pain. His fingers grazed the sides of her head, and his gentle movements made her feel cherished.

  Maybe he truly did care, but his inability to prove it when it had counted had felt like a horrible betrayal. Not that it should have surprised her. She’d known he cared about how other people perceived him. It was what had driven him to pick Gabriella as his intended countess, the reason why he’d not tried to fix things with Coventry, and why he’d not voiced his belief in her father’s innocence. And yet, she’d still been disappointed in him. Perhaps because he’d turned from her the very same evening she’d realized she was willing to suffer whatever heartache might come as long as she could be his.

  She would have sacrificed every future happiness for him, the innocence that ought to belong to her husband, only to find that he was unwilling to give up his unblemished reputation in return. As a man – an earl, no less – his association with her would one day be forgotten. People would find something else to talk about. They would invite him back into their midst, and he would move on as if none of this ever happened. But she…her innocence would be gone forever, and she very much feared her heart would never recover from the attachment she’d surely feel once she gave herself to him completely.

  “Hold still for a moment,” he murmured. Rising, he went to the washstand. When he returned, he brought a damp cloth which he pressed to the spot where she hurt the most. “It looks like it bled a bit more. Redding says head wounds can do that. They don’t need to be deep in order to bleed a lot.”

  “The coolness feels good. It’s soothing.”

  He moved the cloth slightly, back and forth, pressing here, then there, as if trying to clean her. “I think that looks good.”

  Ida froze as he leaned in farther as if to study her head more closely. She took a deep breath, and was instantly met by his familiar scent. Sandalwood filled the air, swirling around her and creating a pull so strong she nearly forgot she wasn’t yet ready to trust him completely. To her relief, he stood, adding distance, and went to collect a clean compress and bandage.

  “There we are,” he said with a hint of satisfaction once he’d finished redressing her wound. He took the empty plate from her and set it aside, helped her lie back down. “You should get some more rest.”

  “So should you. Come lie down beside me. Don’t go.” Her eyes drifted shut with exhaustion. She heard him move around the room. There was some shuffling. A few more sounds followed, and then he was climbing onto the bed beside her. The warm touch of his hand offered comfort, prompting Ida to snuggle up closer. It might not be wise, but she didn’t care. Right now, all she wanted was to know he was there. She started to drift, only to be reminded of something else – something very important. “I was pushed, Simon. Someone made me fall.”

  “I know. Go to sleep. We’ll figure it all out later.”

  Reassured by his words, Ida slipped back into oblivion.

  When she woke again later, the room was darker than before. Her head still hurt like the devil, but at least she felt more like herself and less like a half-conscious invalid. Sweeping her hand out, she reached for Simon and was disappointed to find him gone.

  She pushed herself up on her elbow and flexed her feet. Right. Time to get up.

  With careful movements since each sent a piercing pain straight through her head, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat. So far so good. Glimpsing the glass she’d drunk from earlier, she picked it up and was relieved to find it half full.

  After downing the last of the water, she stood and took a moment to assess her balance. No dizziness or weakness. Her legs would hold.

  Bolstered by this, she sparked a flame using the flint she kept on her nightstand and lit the nearby oil lamp. Her ball gown lay in a crumpl
ed mess on the chair in the corner. Ida stared at it for a moment before considering her current attire. No nightgown. Just the chemise she’d worn under her gown. The stays had been removed. All of which would suggest that Simon had sent Miranda away and seen to Ida himself.

  And what he must have seen.

  The chemise was one of the underthings that had been ordered from La Belle Anglaise, so fine and sheer it didn’t conceal much at all. A little miffed that she’d been so exposed without being able to protest, she started forward, intent on finding her nightgown, when the bedroom door suddenly opened.

  Simon had barely slept. Every time Ida moved or made a noise in her sleep, he’d awoken, ready to leap from the bed and fetch whatever she might require. Eventually, he’d decided to go have a glass of brandy to help him relax. Returning to the bedchamber, he entered quietly so as not to disturb her. What he didn’t expect was to find her standing fully upright in the middle of the room without the decent covering her eiderdown had provided.

  Shocked, he stared at her for a moment – at the soft outlines of her curves, so faintly visible they seemed to tease him from behind the veil of her chemise. “Ida,” he blurted. “For God’s sake. You ought to be resting. Get back into bed.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” He hastened across to where she stood and wound one arm around her for support. “Head injuries are a serious matter. You mustn’t get up and start walking about until we have Redding’s approval.”

  “I only meant to put on my nightgown.”

  Ah. That would, in fact, be an excellent idea.

  “Let’s get you settled on the edge of the bed and then I will find it. All right?”

  “Is Miranda not here? I think I’d prefer her help with this.”

  Simon helped Ida sit, took the oil lamp from her hand, and set it aside on her nightstand. The yellow glow flickered across her exposed skin, dressing it in gold. Lord help him, he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers across the rounded smoothness of her shoulder, trace the delicate edge of her collarbone, press his mouth to hers and—