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.”
