“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.
