Compassion warmed Guthrie’s gaze when he straightened. He gave her a nod full of understanding. “Very well. But I expect you both to accept the help of the two men I’m sending over to serve as your personal guards. Blayne has a tavern to run so one night is all you’ll be getting from him. Understood?”
“Perfectly,” Simon muttered.
“I’ll help him find the men who worked with Harold Baker – see if they know anything and are willing to talk. A bit of pressure here and there should get the job done fairly quickly.”
“Thank you,” Ida said.
Guthrie angled his head toward Simon and frowned. “Walk me to the door, Fielding.”
Simon hesitated. He glanced at Ida. When she nodded, he followed Guthrie out into the hallway, leaving her alone with Blayne. “Thank you again for coming.”
“Ye’re welcome, lass.” He pushed himself away from the fireplace. “Guthrie means well, ye ken?”
“Yes, he does, but this is my life, my choice.”
“But are ye completely sure ye want Fielding to be a part of it?”
Ida smiled. “For the time being. Yes.”
“Well. I’m nae going to try and understand yer reasoning, lass, or make a go at changing yer mind. But he could marry ye if he truly wanted. If he were willing to face the scandal.”
It was a harrowing thought to be left with. Of course, it was one Ida had considered – the very same one that had kept a small hope burning in her breast. But it wasn’t an option Simon would think of. He’d just made that perfectly clear. They were from two different worlds and while he might no longer care if people knew he was bedding her, his duty toward his title was clearly stronger than whatever affection he harbored for her.
It wasn’t all that surprising, but it still made Ida want to scream in frustration.
Her love for him was like a curse, binding her to him until she found the strength to walk away.
One day, she promised herself, when this was all over, she’d find that strength. Because in the end, she deserved better than to sacrifice her future on someone who didn’t love her in equal measure.
She’ll never be yours unless you put a ring on her finger.
Guthrie’s parting words echoed through Simon’s head. Clearly, the man had stepped into Matthew Strong’s shoes and was trying to do what was best for Ida. And if she hadn’t stood up to him with as much conviction and fearlessness as she had, Simon believed he might have ended up in the hospital.
The man had been furious. He’d accused Simon of being a coward.
Simon winced at the memory. The insult still rankled, perhaps because he could not shake the notion of its being true. His position demanded he hold himself to the highest standard, but when he considered what that implied – that to his way of thinking it meant Ida wasn’t good enough to be his wife – he felt disgusted with himself. Because she, more than anyone else he’d ever known, ought to be revered and yet…
If he married her, he would be going against everything he’d been taught was essential for his position. He’d be ignoring his duty toward the title and undoing generations worth of proper conduct.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Simon glanced out the window at the narrow strip of garden that ran alongside the house while Ida went to fetch some tea.
Swallowing, he considered her with the sort of seriousness he’d never dared before. Her father had been executed for treason, she’d spent the last four years living in a brothel, she had no connections or relations besides Philipa, who happened to be London’s most famous bawd. Good God, it didn’t matter if he enjoyed Ida’s company, if he cared for her, or thought her the most splendid creature on earth. He absolutely could not make her the Countess of Fielding. Even without his parents alive to tell him the mere idea was preposterous, Simon knew it to be impossible. And for Guthrie to have suggested it in her presence had been unforgivably cruel.
Ever since he’d left, Simon had felt as though things with Ida had shifted. She seemed more distant than before, more guarded in a way, and colder somehow.
Deciding to address the issue, Simon waited for her to return with the tea tray and for them to take their seats before saying, “I’m sorry for what I was forced to admit. It cannot have been easy for you, but you bore it extremely well.”
Her gaze remained on the table a moment before she turned to face him. “You shamed me, Simon. In front of a man whose opinion I value.”
Taken aback by her visible anger, he straightened himself. “Would you have rather I lied to him?’
“Of course not,” she snapped. “I would have preferred it if you’d told him your intentions toward me are none of his business. I would have liked it better, in fact, if you’d asked him to bugger off instead of announcing that I am not and never will be good enough for you to marry.”
“Ida.” He stared at her, dumbfounded. “I realize it must have embarrassed you to have the subject aired as it was, but you cannot be surprised by my position.”
“Of course not. You are an earl and what am I? Nothing, it would seem.”
His own temper flared. “You know that’s not true.”
“Do I?”
Something in her voice chilled the blood in his veins. He grabbed her hand. “You mean the world to me, Ida.”
She stilled, her hand paused in mid-air as she reached for the teapot, before she took a deep breath and continued her motion. “No. I don’t. You may think I do, but you’re wrong.”
He stared at her while she filled two cups. His heart was slamming against his chest and the back of his neck had begun to itch. “How can you say that after what we’ve been through together, after what we’ve shared?”
“Perhaps because I’m not blind.” She added some milk and a spoonful of sugar to his cup. “And I have no wish to be.”
“What the hell are you saying?”
She took a slow sip of her tea. “You’ve always prided yourself on your reputation. Your choice of clothes alone suggests a desire to upstage other men. And while I’ll agree that you’ve started caring less about other people’s opinions this past week, I believe you’ll eventually realize that I was a brief diversion from the life you’ve always wanted for yourself.”
He stared at her, dumbfounded. “Do you truly think me that shallow?”
“Simon, I—”
“The last three weeks I’ve spent with you have been more important to me than all the years that came before. You’ve opened my eyes to a future I never thought possible – one in which I can be happy with the woman of my own choosing. Ida, I’m not the man I was when we first met, and while it’s true that my style of dress may suggest a certain degree of vanity and self-importance, you cannot fault my appreciation for well-tailored waistcoats cut from silk damask or shirts with cuffs trimmed with Belgian lace. It really wouldn’t be fair.”
To his relief she smiled, alleviating some of the tension her previous comments had stirred in his gut. “You’re right.”
He drank his tea for a moment while letting her words hang between them. It still felt as though she had her doubts, which meant there was more to be said. “It’s important to me that you know how deeply I care about you. Moving forward, there are sure to be days when you’ll question my loyalty because of something someone might say. So I need to be sure you’ll trust me and won’t ever again second guess the affection I have for you.”
Her lips parted, ever so slightly. She held his gaze, frowned just enough to make him uneasy. “Simon…” She let out a short sigh and looked at him as his mother once had when he’d told her he wanted to try his hand at sculpture. “Where exactly do you see us heading?”
A cold, prickly sensation washed over his skin. He stared at her with a dreadful foreboding of change. “You’re my mistress, Ida. Do you think I’ll promptly drop you once we finish our investigation?” He squeezed her hand. “I could never do that. Not when I want you to be the woman with whom I share my days and nights. I want you to bear my childre
n, to grow old with you, and—”
“Simon.” She curled her fingers gently around his. “I gave you my innocence because I knew in my heart that no other man would ever compare to you. It was what I wanted – a gift to both of us and a chance for me to take something for myself as well, if only a memory. But I am not your mistress, Simon, and I never will be.”
A whirring sound filled his ears. What she said made no sense. He shook his head. “We have been living together for nearly a month. I’ve bedded you several times, kissed you a dozen more. If that doesn’t make you my mistress, what does?”
“A formal agreement, I expect. But no such thing exists between us and I will never allow it to.”
“Then what the hell have we been doing?” he asked as he snatched his hand away from hers.
“Enjoying each other’s company for as long as possible, without the need for a permanent commitment.”
“No. I won’t accept that. We’re more to each other than a passing bit of bed sport. My God.” He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Do you honestly think I’d have claimed you as my own if I hadn’t been willing to build a future with you?”
She looked at him with the sort of patience that made him want to smash something. “You will eventually marry because you have to, at which point I may be too old to start a family of my own.”
“For Christ’s sake, woman,” he practically exploded, “you could already be carrying my child!”
“Yes. I know.”
How could she be so calm, so composed?
Simon stared at her while the dream he’d built in his head came crashing down around him. It felt like a fist had reached inside his chest and grabbed hold of his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. “And what then?”
“The child would be illegitimate. If it’s a boy, he will not be able to inherit, so he would have no role to play with regard to the Fielding title.”
“But I would want to know him. Or her. I’d want to help secure their education and make sure they’re all right. That you are well taken care of.” The panic inside him kept growing and expanding. “Ida, you must reconsider. I beg you.”
She was very quiet – terrifyingly so. And then she finally said, “Naturally, if there is a child, I will not wish to deny them any opportunities. So of course, I will accept your help. I will even encourage you to have an active role in their lives. But as their mother, I will also do whatever I must to protect them.” She gave him a hard and determined look. “I will not remain in this house and allow the world to point fingers at them. I will not have them raised with the shameful belief that they aren’t good enough.”
“You will leave Town?” How could she and everything he wanted be slipping between his fingers like this?
She took another sip of her tea. “It’s all hypothetical, isn’t it? There’s a reasonable chance that I’ve not conceived. But yes, I will eventually leave Town. It has always been my intention to do so. And besides, to remain here indefinitely would be difficult.”
He latched onto that final statement with every remaining hope he possessed. “Why?”
A powerful mixture of anger and sadness stared back at him. “Why do you think?”
Simon’s heart made a loud thud. He was out of his chair in the next instant and pulling her out of hers. His mouth met hers with all the desperation he felt. Bone deep relief shuddered through him the moment she yielded and kissed him back.
“You don’t have to stay here in Town,” he told her as he held her close against his chest. “I can buy a nice cottage somewhere far away from Society, and I can come visit. We can even live there together for part of the year.”
“And your wife?”
He started in response to her question. “My wife?”
“The woman you’ll pledge yourself to before one and all,” she clarified. “I do believe she might object.”
“No such woman even exists right now.”
“But she will. Won’t she?” When he didn’t respond, she raised her chin. “Be honest with me, Simon. It’s the least you can do.”
“I need a son, preferably two. So yes. I will be required to marry a lady of breeding at some point but—”
“Stop.”
“It would be a marriage of convenience, Ida. Nothing more. All she would be to me is a…a…”
“A broodmare?” Ida snorted with obvious disgust. “I think the only one for whom any of this would be convenient is you, Simon. I certainly want no part of it.”
He drew a shuddering breath. “Ida. I…”
She waited for him to say more, but he couldn’t. The words were a muddled mess stuck in his throat. Her eyes glistened as she averted her gaze. A couple of tears pooled against her lashes.
“We have no future together,” she finally said, “and perhaps it would be best for us to stop pretending otherwise.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think we ought to stop sleeping together.”
It was damned hard not to flinch in response to her words. He was losing her just as surely as he’d lost Gabriella. Only this time, his heart was at stake. “Don’t do this.”
“I have to, sooner or later. Postponing the inevitable will not make it any easier to bear. Quite the opposite, I fear.
“We’ll figure out something,” he said out of sheer desperation.
A miserable smile pulled at her lips. “I don’t want to be your dirty little secret – the woman you sneak off to see behind your wife’s back. I want the sort of marriage my parents shared, and if that can’t be with you, then I’ll have to find somebody else.”
“No.” He’d be damned if he’d let another man near her.
She was his. She had to be. He just had to figure out how.
She’ll never be yours unless you put a ring on her finger.
Impossible.
“I need to think,” he said while wishing she didn’t look quite so unapproachable. What he wanted most right now was to pull her into his arms and kiss her – remind her of how good they were together. But he sensed doing so would only make things worse. So he moved toward the door instead and gave her a solemn look. “We’ll discuss how to proceed from here when I return.”
Hating the argument they’d had and what it had done to their relationship, Simon exited the house and set off at a brisk pace. His world was crumbling around him, and he couldn’t seem to stop it. Muttering a string of curses, he turned onto The Strand. How the hell could everything have gone sideways so fast? This morning he’d been lying with her in his arms and now…
He shook his head and muttered another curse.
“Ho, there. Fielding!” Simon stopped, turned, and spotted Yates. The other man was walking fast, trying to catch up. “I thought it was you. It’s been a while since we last met. How are you?”
Simon took a second to ponder his answer. So much had happened lately he scarcely knew where to begin. Words like awful, hopeless, and furious came to mind. In the end, he chose to keep it simple. “Fine. And you?”
“I gather you’ve not had a chance to read this morning’s paper yet or you would know I’ve just gotten engaged.”
Simon blinked. “To Miss Harlowe?”
“Indeed.”
They resumed walking side by side at a moderate pace. “A happy occurrence, I hope?”
Yates angled his head toward him enough for Simon to see the sparkle in his eyes and the wide smile stretching across his face. Not the traits of a man who dreaded the idea of heading for the altar. “The very happiest.”
“Then I must congratulate you, Yates. Miss Harlowe is lucky to have you.”
“And I her.” They walked a few more paces before Yates said, “I know you cautioned me against the match. In a sense you’re right about her not being countess material.”
Good God. Had he really said that out loud? “My apologies to you both. It wasn’t my place to pass judgment.”
“Perhaps not, but I know you meant well, and your concern regard
ing the difficulties we’ll likely face did have merit. So I took your advice.”
Simon tried to recall the details of their conversation but failed. “And what was that?”
Yates grinned. “To think things through and decide if she’s worth it.”
“And she is?”
“Oh indeed. I can easily picture my life without any more invitations to Society events, but I can’t imagine one day without her.”
“So you love her.”
“Wholeheartedly. And I’ll expect to see you at the wedding.” They reached an intersecting street and crossed to the other side. “Now, I don’t mean to pry, but Hawthorne did mention his run in with you and a certain Miss Smith at the Huntley ball. Apparently, she turned out to be Miss Strong? Exciting stuff, I must say. Hawthorne said you were quite besotted and fiercely protective of her.”
“She…” Simon struggled to find the right words “…matters to me.”
Yates coughed as if he’d just choked on the air he was breathing. “All right. I’ll ask you about her again in a month from now when you figure out how you really feel.”
“What are you—”
“Give it time. It will come to you. Probably with as much shocking force as it did to me.” He patted Simon’s arm. “I’m headed in this direction. It was good seeing you again.”
Simon watched his friend walk away in baffled confusion. Was he not aware of who Ida was? Surely Hawthorne would have mentioned the incident at the ball. Or if not, Yates must have read about it in the papers.
But maybe Yates was so happy right now, floating along on his own fluffy cloud, that he’d missed it. Simon sighed and continued on his way. His encounter with Yates had instilled a peculiar sense of discomfort within him that made him feel worse than before, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.
Chapter Sixteen
Staring across the dining room table at Simon that evening, Ida felt like an ocean existed between them. Whatever pain she’d experienced when he’d told Guthrie he couldn’t marry her, the argument that followed had exacerbated it. She loved him and she hated him. Both at the same time. The need for self-preservation told her she ought to cut ties with him now, and yet what she longed for most was for him to hold her, kiss her, make love to her until she forgot what they’d argued about in the first place.
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