The Formidable Earl (Diamonds in the Rough #6) - Sophie Barnes Page 0,99

course I wasn’t,” Elliot blustered. “Matthew Strong brought that on himself.”

“But he was involved in Ida’s,” Guthrie said, “and I cannot allow that to pass.”

“Neither can I,” Simon said. He returned his attention to Elliot. “You have to retract the charges. Right now.”

“And let that madwoman lose on the City?” Elliot shook his head. “The world is a safer place with her behind bars.”

“Listen to me, you awful man,” Simon seethed. Leaning over his uncle he braced his hands on the armrests and stared him straight in the face. “Ida Strong is going to be the Countess of Fielding. I have proposed and she has accepted. Now tell the truth, damn you, so I can get my future wife out of prison.”

“With both your parents gone, it falls on me to guide you. It is my duty to make sure you safeguard your reputation and the continuation of the Fielding title. I will not allow you to throw either one away on a whore you picked up from the gutter.”

Blind with rage, Simon pulled back his arm and sent his fist flying straight into Elliot’s face. There was a cracking sound followed by a thick groan. Simon panted for breath and blinked a few times. His vision cleared and he realized his knuckles were aching. He stared at his fist, then at Elliot’s face where a large splotch of red was spreading across one cheek.

“Get out,” Elliot spat. “Both of you. Leave!”

“Come on,” Guthrie said. He placed a firm hand on Simon’s arm. “He’s not going to budge. We’ll have to find another way.”

“Let’s think this through,” Simon said once they’d returned to Fielding House and made themselves comfortable in the parlor. The house lay a short walk from Elliot’s home, so Simon had suggested Guthrie accompany him there so they could talk. “If we can figure out who the real traitor was, then Matthew Strong’s name will be cleared and we’ll be able to prove to my uncle that Ida deserves his sympathy, not his loathing.”

“At this point it looks like it may be your intention to marry her that has him sticking to his story,” Guthrie said.

“You’re right. He’s impossible to reason with. But I still think finding the man who’s been trying to kill her may be the key to securing her freedom. It will at the very least prove she acted out of genuine fear for her life when she shot my uncle. A good solicitor ought to be able to use that in her defense, don’t you think?”

“I do. Especially since it can be proved that she’s a stellar shot. She would have put that lead ball through his heart if she’d really been trying to kill Mr. Nugent.”

“We’ll prove him a liar and an obstructer of justice.”

“His reputation will suffer.”

“Do you honestly think I give a damn?”

The edge of Guthrie’s mouth quirked. “No. Not anymore.”

A knock at the door brought Deerford into the room. “My lord. Another courier has responded to your advertisement. Should I ask him to wait or—”

“Please show him into my study.” As soon as Deerford was gone, Simon gave Guthrie an update on the couriers, how they’d responded to the advertisement, and how Simon hoped one of the men who eventually showed up would be the same one who’d delivered the forged letters to Murdoch. He and Guthrie both stood.

“Sounds like an unlikely gamble,” Guthrie said, as they exited the room.

Two loud raps from the front door knocker caught Simon’s attention. Knowing Deerford was presently occupied with the courier, he himself went to see who it could be and was shocked to find Huntley looking like he’d just run all the way from his house. His hair was mussed – Simon noted he wore no hat – and his jacket was slightly askew.

Unsettled by his appearance, Simon ushered him inside and shut the door.

“I’ve just learned who the judge will be. My solicitor managed to acquire the information from one of the Bow Street clerks who used to work for him.” The words were spoken in a rush and punctuated by a gasp for air.

“And?” Guthrie asked, not the least bit sympathetic with Huntley’s exhaustion, it seemed.

Huntley took a few more breaths. “It’s going to be Judge Vincent St. John.”

Simon’s lips parted. His brain felt like it was being cooked. He couldn’t think straight. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Do you know him?” Huntley asked.

“No, but I think we may all be acquainted with a certain relation of his.” Simon tried to gather