Ida.
He had to reach her, had to save her, had to bring her home.
His heart beat so hard he feared it might crack a rib. Sweat permeated his shirt until it clung to his back. His lungs burned, protesting the rapid intake of air.
Ignoring every discomfort, Simon kept running, not stopping until the final vessel came into view. Ropes were being cast off from the bollards and pulled aboard. The men who’d seen to the task hurried onto the ship and then the gangplank was being lifted.
Simon forced his feet to move so fast he almost stumbled. “Wait.”
The sound wheezed in his throat, so painful it made his eyes water. And yet he shouted once more, louder this time and with greater effort. “Wait!”
“Raise the anchor and drop the main sail.”
Reaching the side of the ship, Simon stared at its retreating form. Without the mooring lines in place, it was gradually easing away from the pier. “Stop. I must get on board!”
No one responded. The crew was too busy, the orders shouted to them by their captain overpowering Simon’s words. He shook his head. It couldn’t come to this. He could not be this close to getting Ida back, only to fail. But what could he possibly do?
His mind raced. He had to think of something fast, before the distance between him and the ship increased any more. Making one last attempt at gaining somebody’s notice, he shouted again at the top of his lungs, but just like before, his words received no response.
Time to think of something else then.
If there were a rowboat nearby, he could have used it. But there wasn’t. The last one he’d seen was quite a ways back. By the time he reached it…
He shook his head. A waste of time. He scanned the side of the ship until his eyes found a rope hanging over the side – a mooring line that hadn’t been pulled back on board yet.
Gauging the distance, Simon tucked the chief magistrate’s letter into his jacket pocket, stepped back and drew a deep breath. His fingers flexed in preparation for what he was going to do. The ship slid further away. If he didn’t act fast, he’d lose his chance altogether.
Without second guessing himself, Simon ran forward. When the front of his foot met the edge of the quay, he jumped, fully aware he might land in the river, but choosing to hope he’d be able to make it.
Reaching forward, he strained his fingers and grabbed for the rope.
His hands closed around the thick twisted twine even as his momentum threw his hip into the ship with a jarring thwack that ricocheted through him. The rope scraped his palms as his weight pulled him down, burning his skin until it felt raw. But rather than let go he tightened his hold and was able to stop his fall. Bloody hell. He glanced up and pressed his lips firmly together. The railing wasn’t so far. All he had to do now was climb.
Clutching the rope, he pushed himself into position and planted his feet against the side of the ship. Then, hand over hand, he walked his way upward while gasping and wheezing for breath. Pain radiated from his hip and his hands felt as though they’d been lashed by a whip. He paused, gripped the rope harder, reminded himself of the stakes. This was about saving Ida. He had to find the energy required to make his way over that blasted railing and onto the deck.
Swallowing, he thought of her dazzling eyes, her beautiful smile, and the sound of her laughter. The muscles in his arms bunched and strained. His foot slipped and for a brief second he lost his purchase. But then he was climbing again, faster than before, the railing now only one yard above him. He caught the edge and hooked his arm on the wooden ledge to haul himself over.
“Who the hell are you?” a crewmember asked.
The man, along with several others, had halted their chores to stare at Simon while he staggered to his feet. Good God, he could barely stand. His legs swayed and he grabbed at the railing to steady himself.
“I’m the Earl of Fielding,” he rasped. Swallowing against the sandpaper in his throat, Simon made his way toward the quarterdeck with uncertain steps. The captain was there at the wheel and—
“Where do you think you’re going?” a stern voice asked. It belonged to a stocky fellow who’d just stepped into Simon’s path.
Simon glared at him. “To speak with the captain.”
“He’s busy right now. Whatever you want to say will have to wait.” He gave Simon a head to toe perusal. “We’ve a schedule to keep and don’t take kindly to uninvited guests. Earl or not.”
Heat gathered at the base of Simon’s spine, working its way up into his head until it came to a boil at the top of his skull. “If you value your health, you will step aside this instant and allow me to pass.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Threats won’t—”
Simon’s hand shot out and grabbed him by his cravat. “Now you listen to me. I have been through hell today. In fact, I have met with the devil himself. And I am not about to be deterred any more. Not after getting this far.”
The man sputtered and grabbed Simon’s wrists in an effort to pull himself free.
“Ho, there,” a thick voice commanded. “I need my first mate in one piece, sir. Release him, if you please.”
Simon loosened his hold and the man stumbled back, coughing and croaking while scowling at Simon with murderous eyes. Dismissing him, Simon turned toward the other man who’d spoken. The navy blue coat he wore with gold braiding, brass buttons, and epaulets on each shoulder left no question about who he was.
“Captain…” Simon murmured.
“Spencer,” the man offered. “And you are?”
“The Earl of Fielding. Here to free one of the prisoners by order of the chief magistrate.” Simon reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the papers he’d been given. “I know you’re eager to depart, but I’d greatly appreciate a moment of your time. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Orders must be heeded,” Captain Spencer said with the seriousness of a man accustomed to hierarchy and regulation. “We can speak in my cabin.”
Appreciating his willingness to comply, Simon followed him below deck and through the passageway leading toward his quarters.
“You look like you’ve been through quite the ordeal,” Captain Spencer said once he and Simon were seated across from each other at his desk. It wasn’t a large cabin and there were only the two chairs. But it was enough to suit the current situation.
“Let’s just say I’ve had a few obstacles to overcome.” Simon handed the release order and the letter the chief magistrate had written to Captain Spencer. “Miss Strong has been wrongfully accused. She doesn’t belong on this ship, and as such, I would like for her to be released immediately so I can bring her home.” When Captain Spencer glanced at him with one raised eyebrow, Simon added, “She is to be my wife, the Countess of Fielding.”
A gruff sound left Captain Spencer’s throat. He scanned the documents and returned them to Simon. “My apologies to you both for the wrong you’ve had to suffer.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Nevertheless.” Captain Spencer stood. “I’ll take you to her right away.”
Relieved, Simon followed the captain down two more ladders to the deck allocated for prisoners. Simon raised his arm to cover his nose and hold back the smell he was met with the moment they entered the crowded containment area. The ship hadn’t even left London yet and already the air in here was thick with sweat and urine.
“Miss Ida Strong?” The captain queried. He was holding a handkerchief to his nose and mouth – most likely one scented with lavender oil or some other fragrance.
Simon scanned the miserable collection of people who’d have to live here during the coming voyage, and although he was sure most of them deserved such a fate, he could not help but feel pity. His gaze shifted, drawn to a movement.
A hand had been raised. “Right here.”
“Please come forward,” the captain said.
Simon watched while Ida attempted to stand, but there wasn’t much space. Her body swayed a little as she s
teadied herself. She looked up, her eyes found his, and the disbelief he saw there, the desperate yearning and love that lit up her face, caused his soul to weep for the horror she’d had to endure.
“Make way,” the captain ordered. He gestured to one of the guards, who immediately started clearing a path by pushing and shoving people aside.
Once again, Simon was glad to know Ida wouldn’t be staying aboard this ship and forced to face such rough treatment. She maneuvered her way toward him until she was finally there, within arm’s reach. Her dress was filthy. Haphazard locks of hair fell against her cheeks and over her shoulder.
“Simon.” The word was but a croak as he pulled her into his arms and embraced her. She shook against him while sobs filled her throat. “Thank God you’re here.”
“Shh…” He smoothed his hand over her back. “Everything will be all right now.”
“I love you,” she whispered against his chest.
Cupping her cheek, he smoothed his thumb over her skin until she was gazing at him through watery eyes. “I love you too. With all that I am.”
His mouth met hers as he held her to him, supporting her with his strength while assuring her with his kiss that he would always come for her, no matter what. Easing back, he brushed the tears from her eyes with his fingers and tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ears. “Come on. Let me take you home.”
Keeping one arm securely around her waist, Simon guided her back up to the top deck where he thanked the captain for his help.
“I’ll have one of my men row you back to shore,” the captain said as he shook Simon’s hand. He then offered Ida a short bow. “My apologies for the way you’ve been treated. I’m glad Lord Fielding reached us before it was too late to save you.”
“Thank you.” Ida leaned against Simon as if seeking comfort, so he made sure to hold her close and infuse her with reassurance and hope.
“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he said once he and Ida were back in the hackney and heading for Mayfair. “And we’re getting married as soon as possible, so I can protect you with my name.”
During their walk back to the hackney, he’d told her of Mr. St. John’s arrest. Now, comfortably seated with her beside him, he held her hand tight while she rested her head against his shoulder.
“I still can’t believe I’m here with you. It feels like a dream.”
“A wonderful one,” he whispered against the top of her head.
She nodded and they rode on in comfortable silence until the carriage drew to a gentle halt. Simon opened the door and stepped down onto the pavement before reaching up to help Ida alight.
“What are we doing here?” Her brow knit with confusion. “I thought you would take me to Bedford Street.”
With a shake of his head Simon guided her up the front steps of Fielding House. “Miranda isn’t there anymore. She’s here with the rest of the servants. And besides, this is to be your home, so I see no reason why you should not start using it right away.”
She gaped at him. “We are unmarried.”
“That will soon change,” he insisted, not breaking his stride.
“People will talk.”
He paused on the front step and turned to face her. “Do you care?”
“No, but—”
“Then neither do I.”
Dumbfounded by the degree to which Simon had changed, Ida entered his home – soon to be their home – and instantly wished she could hide from the butler who came to greet them. But if the man found any fault with her filthy appearance, he gave no indication of doing so. Instead, he welcomed her with deference and promptly began issuing orders to footmen and maids with the sort of efficiency that left her in awe.
“He’s very good,” Simon told her once everyone had been given a task and a hot bath was being prepared. “All my servants are. I’ll introduce you to them properly in the morning. But first—”
Ida gasped as he swept her up into his arms. “What are you doing?”
“Taking advantage of your weakened state.” He grinned down at her while starting up the stairs.
Her arms wound their way around his neck, and she pressed her cheek into his solid warmth. “I can’t say I mind.”
A satisfied rumble and the press of his hand against her back were his only responses, but it made her feel more secure than any words ever could have. He turned at the top of the landing and strode toward the door at the end of the hallway. Two footmen carrying a large brass tub followed them into what turned out to be a spacious bedchamber. Maids bustled about, heating water over an already blazing fire, laying out towels and soap. Clean clothes appeared as if they’d been spun from thin air.
Simon set Ida on her feet and led her toward a chair where he encouraged her to sit. “I need a comb.”
What the—
Before Ida could blink the item was placed in his hand, and then he was pulling pins from her hair, untangling the knots and using the comb to carefully put her to rights. He, the Earl of Fielding, was tending to her himself, and whenever a maid offered to help – even when Miranda did so – they were shooed away and ordered to do something else.
“The bath is ready, my lord,” one of the maids said a short while later.
“Thank you, Tara.” Simon set the comb aside and placed his hand on Ida’s shoulder. “You may leave us now. All of you. I’ll ring if there’s anything else we require.”
The flushed faces and averted gazes were not lost on Ida. She felt a swift wave of embarrassment over having the whole household know he would bathe her, but then she was in his arms again and all her concerns flittered away. His mouth found hers in a kiss wrought from longing and fear and the future they’d now secured. It conveyed each emotion she had experienced since her arrest, reminding her she wasn’t alone. She had him. She had Simon with whom to share all her ups and downs – her best friend, closest confidant, lover, and soon-to-be husband.
Not letting her go, he unbuttoned her gown, then unlaced her stays. Every piece of clothing she wore fell away until she was bared to his gaze. The edge of his mouth lifted as he trailed one finger across her shoulder and down the length of her arm. “You are so beautiful.”
“So are you.”
His smile broadened. He offered his hand. “Let me bathe you, Ida. Let me show you how much I love you and how beautiful you truly are.”
She placed her palm in his and allowed him to help her into the tub. Warm, welcoming water caressed her body, soothing it until she sighed with pleasure. A sponge stroked its way over her back. Soap followed, along with firm hands working over her skin and up into her hair. A sigh left her as weightless bliss filled her bones.
“Close your eyes,” Simon murmured before pouring water over her head.
Once she was out of the tub and he’d bundled her in a towel, he stripped his own clothes, tossed them in a corner together with hers, and gave himself a quick wash while she watched from her position on the edge of his bed. There was something incredibly intimate about being together like this – about the rightness of it.
“Are you hungry?” he asked while he dried himself off. “I can have a tray of food brought up.”
She was actually starving. The stale bread she’d received immediately after her trial had not been enough to fill her stomach. And yet there was something she needed first, much more than food. “I’d like that. A little later.”
His movements slowed until he was standing utterly still. Meeting his gaze, she unwound her towel and allowed it to fall. His smoldering gaze swept over her body. Desire spiked through her.
“Ida.” The rawness in his voice promised he’d soon lose control.
She could scarcely wait. “Simon.”
His name was enough. Without blinking he tossed his towel aside, closed the distance between them, and lifted her onto the bed. She gasped as he followed her down, then again when he made a snug space for himself between her thighs. Lord, the weight of his body felt good, so right, so safe a
fter what she’d been through.
“I love you,” he murmured against her lips.
“I love you too.” Her fingers dug into his back, forcing him closer.
Fire burned in his eyes as he pushed his way forward. “You’re mine, Ida. You’ll always be mine.”
“Yes,” she assured him.
They belonged together, to each other. Nothing would ever come between them again. She simply wouldn’t allow it, and she knew he wouldn’t either.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Thank you for seeing me,” Simon told Coventry a few days later when he was admitted to the other man’s study. It was time for Simon to clear his conscience and put the past to rest so he could move forward, unburdened by guilt.
The duke stood to greet Simon. His expression, while not unkind or unpleasant, was serious. Coupled with his size, the man was imposing enough to remind Simon that he was not the sort to be trifled with. Ignoring the unease that always crept through him when he was in Coventry’s presence, Simon stuck out his hand.
“I’m eager to learn what you wish to discuss.” Coventry glanced at Simon’s hand only briefly before he took it. His handshake was solid and full of powerful authority. “Please have a seat.”
Simon claimed one of the leather chairs facing the duke’s. A wide desk stood between them, adding some distance. Perhaps he should have brought Ida with him for support. She had offered to accompany him, which would have been lovely if it weren’t for the fact that he needed to do this alone. This was his dragon to slay. It was past time he manned up and did it.
A maid entered with a tray containing a coffee pot, two cups, milk, sugar, and a plate of biscuits. She arranged everything on Coventry’s desk, served the men, and left. The door closed with a muted click.
“I’ve come to apologize to you for the way in which I handled things nine years ago,” Simon said. He’d decided it was best to get the words out as quickly as possible. Get it over with. “Knowing Jack as I did, I should have realized he would run from obligation. And as head of the family, I’ve always felt responsible for how he behaved. Your sister was denied the respectable union she deserved, and you weren’t given the chance to defend her honor.”
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