her while he held her hand. It was startling for any number of reasons, though perhaps most of all because it felt good. There was an incomprehensible rightness to it that almost caused her to gasp when he finally pulled away.
Her heart thumped wildly against her breast. Fielding wasn’t for her. He never would be. In fact, he was all wrong and…
And yet she mourned the loss of his touch.
Don’t be foolish.
She wracked her brain for something to say. Something to get her past this peculiar moment. “My father suspected three men of being behind his arrest.”
“Those who’d been most eager to befriend him, I trust?”
A nod was all she could manage at first. She’d kept this information close to her heart for so long. There was an almost superstitious hesitation within her – a fear that speaking the names would prevent her from finding the justice she sought.
“Will you tell me who they are?” Fielding asked in a near whisper. “Will you trust me?”
She wondered if he realized how much he was asking of her.
Probably not.
Men like him were accustomed to loyalty. Not betrayal.
But if she chose not to place her faith in him, to let him help her so she could move forward, what then? Her safety was compromised here in London, so if she stayed and did nothing, she’d always have to look over her shoulder.
“There’s a reason you thought me dead.” She fiddled with her cup. “You see, I was almost killed once before.”
“What?”
“That man who attacked me yesterday – he’s not the first to make an attempt on my life.”
“My God.” His features grew strained, his eyes wide with horror. “What happened?”
She hated having to think back and relive that part of her life. And yet, Fielding needed to know the details if he was to help her. “As you know, I attended the hanging. It was the only way for me to see my father for the last time, and to try and convince the people of his innocence.”
“Go on.” Fielding’s hand clasped hers once more.
Ida swallowed. “I made my way to the front of the crowd and told them loudly of my conviction, but rather than outrage, I received scorn. In the end, all I could do was stand there, utterly helpless while the accusation was read. Seeking my father’s gaze I held it, offering him my love and regret until the hangman placed a hood over his head. And then it happened, faster than I’d expected, and before I was ready.” Her lips began to tremble. “There was this awful snap in response to the pull of the rope. I’d never witnessed a hanging before so I didn’t expect…I thought he’d be still right away but he wasn’t. His body kept moving for an infernal length of time.”
She drew a shuddering breath. “When it was over, I publically cursed those who cheered his death and vowed to hunt down the real traitor. Someone clearly didn’t like that idea, or I wouldn’t have been shot in the back while making my way back to Amourette’s.”
“Jesus.”
“One of Guthrie’s men found me and brought me to The Black Swan where I was stitched up and cared for until I recovered. Once I did, I moved in with my aunt, who made me promise to go along with the assumption that I was dead. Guthrie arranged for a notice to be placed in the paper and I’ve remained hidden ever since.”
He squeezed her hand, released it, and sat back. “Was it your intention to do so forever?”
“No. My plan was to wait for the funds I’m due to receive on my twenty-first birthday and then leave the country.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her lips curved. “What’s done is done. Truth be told, I would have hated to just run away without trying to see justice served. It would have felt cowardly.”
“You said your father suspected three men?” Fielding prodded.
“Yes.” Bracing herself for the revelation, she took a deep breath and told him softly, “The Earl of Elmwood, the Marquess of Kirksdale, and Mr. Elliot Nugent.”
A flicker of recognition crossed Fielding’s face before he managed to school his features. He cleared his throat. “I see.”
I see?
She’d just delivered the names of three upper class gentlemen, two of them titled and at least one of them guilty of treason, and all Fielding had to say was, I see? He tugged at his sleeves. Discomfort was written all over his restless body. And then it hit her.
“You know them.”
“Of course I do. They’re