The Formidable Earl Page 3

  Ida stumbled and spun. She barely had time to take a deep breath before strong hands grabbed her. A solid wall dressed in superfine wool and infused with the rich scent of leather, musk, and a hint of coffee, held her in place. The familiar smell of the man who’d caught her was unmistakable. It was the same man from last night. For all she knew, she’d escaped one attacker only to land in the arms of another.

  Increasingly frightened, Ida jammed her heel into his shin.

  “Bloody hell.” He promptly released her. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “Help?” She glared at him. “I was almost killed because of you.”

  He frowned. “Because of the article in the paper?”

  “Why else?”

  He glanced around. “I can think of any number of reasons in this area.”

  “That wasn’t an ordinary robbery.” Keeping a cautious eye on him, she went to collect the satchel she’d dropped in the scuffle. “I was perfectly safe at Amourette’s. No one knew I was there until you came along and ruined everything.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were hiding.” He stepped toward her and she lurched back, placing her satchel between them. “Please. I mean you no harm.”

  She scoffed in response. “Forgive me, but I don’t know who you are, which means I have no reason at all to trust you. On the contrary, you’ve proven extremely unhelpful thus far.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting that I just saved you?”

  “Like I said, doing so wouldn’t have been required if you’d kept your mouth shut in the first place.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine,” she echoed and started backing away.

  “Listen to me,” he said.

  Instead, she turned and set off once more.

  “Your father was a friend of mine,” he called after her. “We fought together in Spain.”

  Ida stilled. If he truly wanted to hurt her, he probably would have done so by now. Instead, he’d come to her rescue, and while she still had no clue who he was, it might be wise to actually hear him out.

  Expelling a breath, she gave a small nod and turned to face him. “Who are you?”

  He seemed to be studying her with the same degree of uncertainty she felt for him. “Simon Nugent. The Earl of Fielding.”

  “Well. I’m sorry about your shin.”

  His lips quirked. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

  Ida hid a smile. “Good.”

  A brief silence followed before he asked, “Were you being honest just now? When you said you were almost killed because of me?”

  “Yes, although to be perfectly fair, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  “Does it by any chance have something to do with the statement you made right after your father’s hanging, about finding the man who ought to have died in his stead? As I recall, you went missing immediately after.” When she didn’t respond, he said, “I’d like to know more. Perhaps I can even help.”

  “Really?” She gave him a dubious look. “You’re a peer of the realm and I’m supposedly a traitor’s daughter. Do you honestly think a collaboration between us would work?” She shook her head when she saw the hesitance in his expression and swung away from him once more. “I don’t need your help, Lord Fielding. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

  “I’m not leaving you after what just happened,” he said when he caught up and fell into step beside her. “Do you at least have somewhere safe you can go?”

  “Yes.” She would find Guthrie and ask him for help, not with running away, but with facing the villain responsible for her father’s death and for the attacks on her own life. The man deserved to be found and brought to justice. Her father deserved to have his name cleared.

  Four years ago she’d relented because she’d been scared, but she was older now and more furious than ever before.

  Nothing was going to stop her from finding out who was behind this.

  “Good. Then I will escort you there.”

  “You really don’t have to.”

  “I absolutely insist.”

  Ida clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on her satchel. He clearly wasn’t going to leave her side, and the truth was she wasn’t keen on walking alone after what had just happened. So they continued to wind their way through the intricate maze that was St. Giles. The air was thick with the pungent stink of refuse, and with dusk starting to fall, the streets here would soon be filled with criminals.

  “Come on,” she said, cutting across to Crown Street where they were less likely to be accosted. Quickening her pace, she led Fielding north toward Soho Square.

  “I should have known you’d come here,” Fielding said when they reached Windham House.

  Ignoring him, Ida climbed the steps and knocked. The heavy iron knocker fell hard against the front door. First once, then twice, until Guthrie’s butler finally answered.

  With one raised eyebrow and a pinched expression, the butler regarded them with reserved interest. “Yes?”

  “Is Guth…er…the duke at home?” Ida asked.

  “No. He is not.”

  Ida’s stomach clenched, but she refused to give up just yet. “What about the duchess?” Ida had met Regina a few times before and considered her a friend.

  “I’m afraid she’s also away.”

  “Away?” A horrible sense of foreboding settled over Ida’s shoulders.

  The butler raised his chin a notch. “The duke and duchess have travelled to Scotland. They’re not due back for another three weeks.”

  “Dear God.”

  As if sensing her distress for the first time, the butler’s expression relaxed a little. “If you have urgent business, you may leave a note, and I shall make sure it is posted to them.”

  Ida considered the offer. By her estimation it would take one week, possibly more for her message to reach them and at least another for them to respond, at which point they would almost be back in London anyway. Not to mention she really didn’t want to disturb their holiday with her concerns. “Thank you,” she said, “but there’s no need.”

  “Perhaps you would care to leave your name?”

  “No. I should go.” As it was she’d already stood about on the front step for too long. “I will call again once the duke and duchess return.”

  “As you wish,” the butler murmured. And then the door closed, leaving Ida alone with Fielding without the slightest clue what to do next.

  He grabbed her upper arm and drew her swiftly around the side of the building.

  “I propose we go somewhere more conducive to conversation,” he said as he glanced around. “There’s a decent tavern about a mile’s walk from here.”

  “I’d rather not.” Even if Fielding had known her father, he was still a stranger to her. The last thing she wanted to do was depend on him in some way or become his burden.

  As if disagreeing with her, her stomach rumbled.

  “You’re obviously hungry. Making sure you’re properly fed is the least I can do after all the trouble I’ve caused.” He leaned in, causing a prickly heat to wash over her skin. “I can assure you I harbor no ill will toward you. If I did, you would already be on your way to my secret lair.”

  “Nevertheless,” Ida stubbornly muttered while trying to picture what Fielding’s secret lair might look like. Judging from his neat appearance it was probably sparsely furnished and tidy, with furniture upholstered in—

  “Nevertheless?”

  She stared at him. “Are we hiding for my sake right now or for yours?”

  Fielding blinked. “Yours, of course.”

  “Really?”

  “Very well, if you must know I think discretion would serve us both well at the moment.” When she prepared to argue, the edge of his mouth drew upward in a manner that served to disarm her completely. He swept his arm forward. “Windham can’t help you right now, but I am prepared to do so instead. Shall we proceed?”

  Seeing no other option, Ida relented with a small nod and stepped
past him, only to hear him sigh. “It’s not that way, Miss Strong.”

  Ida turned, waited for him to indicate the right direction, and promptly adjusted her course. He fell into step behind her, telling her where to turn as they went.

  Besides this, they refrained from speaking until they were comfortably seated in a private corner of The Red Cockerel, each with a tankard of ale. On the table between them was a platter containing a tempting selection of various hams and cheeses. Ida grabbed a couple of pieces and popped them into her mouth.

  “I was very sorry to hear of your father’s passing,” Fielding said while Ida continued to eat. “Considering everything he and I went through together, it came as quite a blow.”

  Ida snorted. “Really?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Well, I don’t recall you coming to his aid when he needed help.”

  He sighed, scrubbed his jaw with his hand, and eventually took a long gulp of his drink. “You’re right. I should have done more.”

  Ida waited for him to return the tankard to the table then asked, “Why didn’t you?” When he didn’t answer, she snorted again and pushed back her chair. “You’re just like everyone else.”

  She started to leave but he caught her wrist and pulled her back. “You’re wrong about that.” His eyes moved to the chair she’d vacated. “Please sit.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because unlike everyone else, I believe your father was innocent.”

  Ida lowered herself into her seat and gave him a hesitant look. “He never mentioned you.” She felt like it was a fact worth stating if only to see how Fielding responded.

  “To do so would have forced him to speak of the war, to relive the horror. I’m sure that’s something he not only wished to avoid but to spare you from having to hear of.”

  “Perhaps.” It was true that her father had never once told her of his experience in battle. Whenever she’d pressed him to do so, he’d changed the subject or told her it wasn’t worth talking about.

  Fielding took another sip of his drink. “The fact is Matthew Strong saved my life.”

  Ida couldn’t look away. Not with this new piece of information hanging between them. So she stared into Fielding’s brown eyes, noting the dark mahogany outer ring circling the lighter gold center. His dark blonde hair had since fallen into disarray with several stray locks now brushing his brow. Square-jawed with an aquiline nose and a perfectly shaped mouth, the earl possessed the sort of looks with which it was hard to find fault. So Ida was oddly pleased to see that the left side of his mouth rose slightly higher than the right when he smiled. An almost unnoticeable flaw to offset his perfection.

  She leaned forward, curious to hear his story and ridiculously eager to learn more about her parent. Fielding might be a stranger, but if he’d fought side by side with her father during the war, he offered her a connection she couldn’t pass up.

  Provided what he said was true, that was.

  She eyed him with apprehension. “Explain.”

  Simon didn’t hesitate.

  “Wellington had besieged Burgos in the north of Spain, but the French launched a counteroffensive in an attempt to recapture Madrid.” Simon dropped his gaze to his tankard and paused for a moment to compose himself. When he looked up, he met her gaze with renewed resolve. “The attack forced the army’s retreat into Portugal and led to thousands of lives being lost. I was shot in the back while riding alongside your father. When he saw me go down, he pulled his horse to a halt and risked his own life to save mine. There’s no doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for him.”

  Angling her head in a pensive manner, Miss Strong seemed to scrutinize his appearance. Her next words proved him correct. “You don’t look like a soldier. And as the current Earl of Fielding, you must have been earl back then as well or at the very least your father’s heir, which would have made your participation in war unlikely.”

  She doubted him and while he couldn’t blame her for that, he desperately wanted her trust. Without it, she’d never accept his help, and while he had to admit he’d wanted nothing more than to apologize and ask a few questions of her when he’d set out for Amourette’s earlier, the situation had changed. He’d seen someone try to kill her. All because of something he’d done.

  “Wellington isn’t hindered by being one of the highest ranking peers in the land. He’s both a duke and a field marshal.” He sighed when she failed to comment. “I was a twenty-year-old viscount when I set off to liberate Spain from the French. My motive for joining the army had more to do with proving my worth to my father than helping a country I felt no allegiance toward, and while my mother protested my decision, no one else did. So I left, secure in the knowledge that my younger brother would step in as heir if I were unable to do so.”

  Simon tightened his grip on his tankard and tried not to let his thoughts linger on Jack. His brother with his ready smiles and debonair manner had been incredibly charming. He’d been the one all the women preferred. The scoundrel no one saw coming. Simon cast the unpleasant thought aside and cleared his throat.

  “While I appreciate your telling me this,” Miss Strong said, “I prefer not to rely on a stranger I met in a brothel.”

  Simon’s mouth dropped open. “Are you honestly going to judge me for being at Amourette’s when you yourself work there?”

  Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “Forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”

  He stared at her. “Of course you did, but that’s beside the point.” Her eyes widened and he allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction over shocking her in return. It wasn’t something he had a habit of doing, and yet it had the most curious appeal. Studying her, he asked, “Do you know the identity of the person who wants you dead?” When she didn’t respond he decided to ask a different question. “Do you know how they managed to pin the blame on your father?”

  “It’s really none of your concern.” She glanced at the door and drummed her fingers against the tabletop.

  “Perhaps not.” He covered her hand with his and almost snatched it back again at the jolt of awareness the contact caused. It had been an impromptu gesture intended to show support and reassurance. Instead, it made his heart thump harder. Still, he fixed his gaze firmly on hers and tried to ignore the look of surprise in her eyes. And then he said, “But I would like it to be.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I owe it to him and to you to do more.” Simon curled his fingers around hers and held on tight. “Miss Strong, he saved my life and yet I failed to defend him. Please, let me be of assistance.”

  She shook her head. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m no longer going to run and hide. After what happened today, I plan to resume the work I began four years ago.” When he raised one brow in question she said, “Vengeance is what I seek. Against the man who committed the crime my father was accused of carrying out.”

  Simon withdrew his hand from hers and sat up straight. “Do you have any leads?”

  She tightened her jaw. “In spite of your wishes, it’s probably best if you don’t get involved.”

  When she prepared to leave, he grabbed her wrist once more and held her in place. “It would take a powerful man to do as you suggest. A member of the upper class.”

  She gave a small nod.

  “Then all the more reason for you to accept my help.” When she glanced at the exit he quietly added, “I know you’d prefer the Duke of Windham’s assistance, but since he’s not here, I’ll have to do.”

  The dubious look she gave him prompted him to add, “I have means, connections, and access to Society, without which you won’t get very far.”

  Apparent disagreement forced her eyebrows up a notch. “I’m not completely helpless, you know. I can afford a room to let for the next few months.”

  Panic rushed through him. “The devil you can. My God, if you
think for one second I’m letting you wander off on your own without protection after someone just tried to kill you, you’re in for a surprise, Miss Strong.”

  Her lips quirked. “All right. If it means so much to you.”

  “It does.”

  Expelling a sigh, she resumed her seat, took a sip of her ale, and popped another piece of ham in her mouth. “Just as long as you don’t complain when you start regretting your offer.”

  Simon relaxed with a grin. Besides being the loveliest woman he’d ever seen, Miss Strong was also without a doubt the most stubborn and cynical. Working with her would likely be a challenge. But for a man who was starting to realize how bored he was with the humdrum of everyday life – of always playing by the rules – the opportunity Miss Strong offered, the chance to seek out a bigger adventure and be more daring, was one he couldn’t pass up. Least of all when it gave him the chance to do right by Matthew.

  First, however, there were some practical matters to discuss. He studied her for a moment, then said, “You’ll need a place to stay.”

  “An inn could work,” she said while munching on another piece of cheese. “With more people about than at a boarding house, I should be safer though it probably would be pricier.”

  Simon shook his head. “You’re not staying at an inn or anywhere else I can’t keep an eye on you.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off. “Our goal will be to unmask the man who led to your father’s wrongful conviction and caused his death. Considering the attempt that was already made on your life today, I’d say he plans to get rid of you fast. We have the small advantage of him not knowing where you’ve gone for now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t manage to find you again eventually. Especially if you plan on hunting for him as well.”

  “My lord—”

  “I own an extra townhouse.” He’d bought the place for his mother to live in when he and Gabriella had gotten engaged. For some peculiar reason, letting Miss Strong use it, knowing where she would be day and night, held a curious appeal. “There’s no staff there at the moment, but it shouldn’t take long to hire a cook and a maid, perhaps even a good-sized footman to keep you safe. I’ll set you up there as soon as we’re done here.”