Scandal

Chapter 13

"Well, Blade?" the Marquess of Northcote asked quietly. "My wife tells me your wife feels that the old debt is repaid. Is that true?"

Simon slowly lowered his newspaper and regarded Northcote with a cool gaze. The familiar, subdued sounds of masculine conversation, rustling papers, and gently clinking bottles behind him indicated the club was busy this afternoon. But he and Northcote had this corner of the room to themselves.

"My wife enjoyed herself very much last night," Simon said without inflection. "Lady Merryweather assures me Emily is well launched in Society. Please convey my gratitude to your lady."

Northcote lowered himself into the chair beside Simon's and reached for the bottle of port that stood on the end table. He poured himself a glass. "I am not talking about our wives and you know it. I am asking if you now consider matters between us to have been evened out."

Simon shrugged. "It would appear so. A husband must honor his wife's promises and obligations and Emily appears to have taken it upon herself to let you off the hook." He went back to scanning the newspaper.

"Damn it, Blade, do not play any of your deep games with me. Just tell me straight out if you consider the old debt fulfilled."

"You have my word on it." Simon did not look up from his perusal of the latest dispatches from the Continent. But beside him he sensed Northcote relax.

"Thank you, Blade. You are known to be as hard as iron but your word is equally solid. My wife was in hysterics that night at the inn. She was convinced Celeste's future had been shattered by that damn fortune hunter."

"I assume you took care of the wretched Nevil?"

"He will not be returning to London at any time in the near future," Northcote confirmed, not without satisfaction.

"Then all is well." Simon turned the page.

There was silence from the other chair for a long moment as Northcote sipped his port. Then he said in a low voice, "You may not believe this, but I regret what happened all those years ago, Blade. I apologize for my father's behavior."

Simon lowered the paper and met Northcote's steady gaze. He let another beat of silence pass and then he nodded curtly, surprised by the apology. "Consider the matter settled."

Northcote stretched out his legs and studied his glass of port. "I was the last one, was I not? You eventually managed to trap all of us. Me, Canonbury, and Peppington. And of course, Faringdon. It was devilishly clever of you, Blade. I regret that my father did not live long enough to appreciate your brilliance."

"I share your regret," Simon said with mocking sincerity.

"It took you long enough to find a way of bringing pressure to bear on me. Finding my daughter that night at the inn was a stroke of luck for you."

"It was useful," Simon agreed, pouring himself a glass of port. "But sooner or later something would have turned up. It always does if one knows how to wait."

"And you are very good at waiting for an opportunity. I am well aware that I got off lightly. I am greatly relieved that all you wanted from me was my wife's social connections. If my father had still been alive, I imagine you would have demanded a much higher payment for what he did to you."

"Yes."

Northcote sighed. "If it is any consolation, he told me before he died two years ago to keep an eye on you. He said you would return one day and when you did, you would be dangerous. When are you going to make Canonbury and Peppington pay?"

"I prefer to keep them dangling for a while."

"Living with financial uncertainty is their true punishment, is it not?"

Simon sipped his port. "Revenge is best savored slowly, not gulped."

"Slow, steady torture." Northcote smiled grimly. "A very Eastern sort of vengeance, I believe. Again, I can only be grateful that your wife is impulsively generous."

"I shall keep a closer eye on her impulsive gestures in the future," Simon assured him dryly.

Northcote grinned. "Lady Blade has made a most delightful splash in the social world."

"So I am told."

"I must tell you, Blade, that both my wife and daughter are genuinely fond of your lady, in spite of the fact that she is married to you. How does she figure in your vengeance?"

"She is not involved," Simon said flatly.

"But she is a Faringdon," Northcote pointed out with a shrewd glance.

"Not any longer," Simon said.

"It has not escaped my notice that she belongs to you now and so does St. Clair Hall." Northcote hesitated. "My father, Canonbury, and Peppington all owed you because they turned their backs on your family after your father's death. But the Flighty, Feckless Faringdons owed you the most of all. It was a Faringdon who caused your father to take his own life. It was a Faringdon who took away your home and effectively destroyed your family. And in the end you will crush Broderick Faringdon and his clan, will you not?"

"It is a logical conclusion," Simon agreed in a neutral tone. "But my wife is no longer a member of that clan."

"Do you know, Blade, I am extremely grateful that my father's offense was a relatively minor one and that you consider the debt repaid," Northcote said with some humor. "I would not like to be a Faringdon at this moment."

Emily emerged from Asbury's Book Shop feeling extremely cheerful. Her maid Lizzie and the hatchet-faced footman named George were trailing behind her, their arms piled high with a collection of the latest romances and epic poetry which Emily had just finished selecting in the shop.

The little parade made its way to where the black and gold carriage waited near the curb. George was hurrying to open the door for his mistress when a familiar blond-haired Adonis jumped out of a nearby vehicle and rushed forward.

"Hello, Em. Fancy meeting you here."

"Devlin!" Emily smiled happily at her handsome brother. "How wonderful to see you. Where is Charles?"

Devlin cast an uneasy glance at the footman and maid and then took his sister's arm and led her a short distance away. He lowered his voice. "It is because of Charles that I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak to you, Em. Something terrible has happened."

"Dear God." Emily's eyes widened in sudden horror. It dawned on her that she had never seen Devlin looking so grim. "Is he hurt or ill? Dev, tell me, is he… is he dead?"

"Not yet," Devlin said roughly. "But he likely will be quite soon."

"He is ill, then. Good heavens, I must go to him at once. Quick, get into the carriage, Dev. Have you sent for a doctor? What are the symptoms?" She made to turn away but halted as her brother grabbed her arm again.

"Wait, Em. It ain't like that. That is, Charles ain't exactly ill." Devlin scowled at the waiting maid, footman, and coachman. All three scowled back. Devlin lowered his voice another couple of notches. "You may as well know the full truth, Em. He's going to fight a duel in two days' time."

Emily raised her gloved hand to her mouth. "Bloody hell."

"It don't look good, Em. Charles and I have had some experience at Manton's gallery, of course, but God knows neither one of us is a crack shot." Devlin shook his head. "I am acting as one of his seconds. We are looking for another."

"I do not believe this." Emily was shaken. "Who challenged him?"

"Well, it was Charles who did the challenging," Devlin admitted. "Had to, you know. Matter of honor."

"Dear God. But who did he challenge?" Emily demanded.

"An out-and-outer named Grayley. The man's said to have fought two other duels and won them both. Wounded his opponents seriously on each occasion but they both lived, so there was no scandal. The thing is, Em, there ain't no guarantee Grayley won't kill Charles. They say it's just luck that the other two survived. The man's a cold-blooded marksman."

"I do not believe this," Emily whispered.

Devlin looked down at her. "Look, Em, I know you ain't supposed to socialize with your family now that you're married to Blade. But you're our sister, damn it. And I figured you'd want to say goodbye to Charles."

Emily straightened her shoulders. "I intend to do a great deal more than say goodbye to him. I intend to put a stop to this foolishness. Take me to him at once, Dev." She swung around and headed for the carriage.

"Dash it, Em, there ain't no way to stop the thing." Devlin hurried after her. "Matter of honor, as I said."

"Nonsense. It is a matter of idiocy." Emily climbed into the carriage, followed by Lizzie and her brother. She was aware that her maid and the ferocious-looking George were both eying Devlin with disapproval but she ignored them.

"Give the coachman the direction to your lodgings, Devlin," she said firmly.

Devlin raised the trapdoor in the carriage roof and quickly issued instructions. Then he dropped into the seat across from Emily and Lizzie. "Damn and blast. Hope I'm doing the right thing here."

"Of course you are." Emily frowned. "Where is Papa?"

"I went around to his lodgings first thing this morning but he ain't there. Place is locked up for the week, I was told. He's ruralizing with friends in the country. Had a bit of bad luck at the tables. No time to find him and bring him back." Devlin heaved a morose sigh. "Wouldn't do any good even if we did locate him."

Emily opened her mouth to ask another question but she saw the warning look in Devlin's eyes and paused. She realized her brother was silently cautioning her not to let Lizzie know what was happening. Emily sat back and waited with seething impatience for the carriage to reach the lodgings Charles and Devlin had taken.

The door opened as the vehicle drew to a halt. George looked more forbidding than ever. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but are you sure this is where you want to be set down?"

Emily glanced over her shoulder. "Is this the correct address, Dev?"

"Yes." He grabbed his walking stick and jumped down behind her. Then he used the stick to rap once on the coachman's box. "You may wait for your mistress out here. She won't be long."

"Aye, sir." But the coachman looked as dubious as George.

Emily paid no attention to any of the forbidding looks she was receiving from her staff as she walked up the steps on her brother's arm.

A moment later she stepped into the rooms shared by the twins. Curiously, she glanced around at the comfortable, masculine surroundings. She had been aware that her brothers lived the life of carefree bachelors on the town but she had never actually seen their lodgings.

There was a pleasant view of the park from the bay window, two desks piled high with an assortment of papers, a liquor table, and two large, wing-backed leather chairs.

Charles Faringdon was sprawled in one of the chairs. He was steadily working his way through a bottle that sat on the table beside him. His blue eyes narrowed in astonishment when his sister and brother walked through the door.

"What the devil is she doing here, Dev?" Charles slammed his glass down onto the table.

"What a silly question, Charles." Emily sat down in the other wing-backed chair and peered anxiously at her attractive brother. "I had to come."

"Dev should never have brought you." Charles shot to his feet and began to pace restlessly around the small room. "This ain't your affair."

"I had to fetch her." Devlin crossed the room to pour himself a drink. He gulped it down in one swallow. "She's got a right to say goodbye to you."

"Damn it all, who says I'm going to cock up my toes day after tomorrow? It may be Grayley who does that." Charles glared first at his brother and then at Emily. "You shouldn't have come here, Em. I know you think you can talk me out of this, but there ain't no way you can do it."

"Why on earth did you challenge this Grayley to a duel?" Emily demanded softly. "Was it over a card game?"

"Not bloody likely," Devlin muttered, pouring himself another drink. He paused dramatically. "It was a woman."

Emily could not believe her ears. She pinned Charles with a stunned gaze. "You are proposing to fight a duel over a woman? What woman?"

"Her name must not be mentioned," Charles declared in solemn accents. "Suffice it to say she is as innocent and pure as a newborn lamb and she has been grossly insulted. I have no option but to demand satisfaction."

"Oh, dear," Emily murmured, sinking deeper into the chair. She forced herself to think. "Are you in love with this female?"

"I am. And if I survive the duel, I intend to ask for her hand in marriage."

"Won't do much good to ask," Devlin said from his position near the window. "Word is already getting about that our days are numbered. Everyone is saying Blade has cut the purse strings and you, me, and father will soon be in dun territory."

"Maryann will marry me even if I am done up. She loves me."

"Well, her mama and papa don't," Devlin said bluntly.

Charles shot his brother an angry look. "I will worry about that later. Emily ain't going to turn her back on her family forever, are you, Em? Father says you'll take care of those wretched business matters sooner or later. When all's said and done, you're still one of us. You're a Faringdon, by God."

"Your financial situation is the least of your concerns at the moment," Emily said quickly. "We must find a way to halt this duel. You simply cannot fight this Grayley person, Charles."

"No choice," Charles said with great finality. He reached for the bottle. "A lady's honor is involved, after all."

"But, Charles, you might very well be shot dead by this horrid man." Emily began to feel desperate as she realized how intent her brother was on this dangerous course of action. "In any event, dueling is illegal."

"Everyone knows that, Em," Devlin said irritably. "That don't matter. A gentleman's honor is above the law."

Emily looked from one brother to the other and her heart sank. "You intend to go through with this, don't you, Charles?"

"No choice."

"Stop saying that," Emily retorted. "You do have a choice. Surely you can apologize or something to this Grayley."

"Good God. Don't even suggest an apology." Charles looked genuinely shocked. "A gentleman has to do what's right where a lady's honor is involved."

"Bloody hell," Emily said in disgust. She got to her feet and headed toward the door. "I can see there is no point talking to you about this."

"Emily, wait," Devlin said, coming after her. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Goodbye, Em," Charles said very quietly behind her.

She stopped and turned back toward him. "Charles, do not say that. Things will work out."

Charles gave her the reckless, charming Faringdon smile. "Yes, but just in case they do not, I want you to know I was always fond of you, little sister. And I hope you will be happy."

"Oh, Charles, thank you." Tears burned in Emily's eyes. She snatched off her spectacles and wiped the moisture away with the back of her gloved hand. Then she went across the room and kissed her brother lightly on the cheek. "All will be well. You will see."

She turned and hurried toward the door, her mind churning with the problem of what to do next. The answer was obvious, she thought as George handed her up into the carriage. The situation was quite desperate. She would go straight to Simon and ask for his help. He would surely understand.

Her dragon would handle everything.

As it turned out, Emily was forced to cool her heels for over an hour while she waited for Simon to return home. When Lizzie finally came upstairs to tell her that Blade was in the library, Emily leapt to her feet and practically flew down the stairs. Harry, the footman with the missing hand, jumped to open the door for her.

"Simon, thank heavens you are here," Emily exclaimed as she dashed into the room. "I must talk to you at once."

Simon eyed her with some amusement as he rose politely to his feet. "So I have been given to understand. Greaves said you had been inquiring after me every ten minutes or so for the past hour. Why don't you sit down, madam, catch your breath, and tell me what this is all about?"

"Thank you." Emily sank into the nearest chair, vastly relieved. "It is about Charles. A disaster has occurred, Simon."

The amused indulgence vanished from Simon's eyes. He sat down, leaned back in his chair, and drummed his fingers on the black lacquered surface of his desk. "We are speaking of Charles Faringdon?"

"Of course. What other Charles would I be discussing?"

"An interesting question, given the fact that I have told you quite plainly that you are not to see any of your family unless I am present."

Emily dismissed that with an impatient wave of her hand. "Oh, that is neither here nor there now. This is very serious, as you will understand once you have heard the whole story."

"I cannot wait."

"Yes, well, I encountered Devlin on the street outside Asbury's Book Shop and he took me straight to see Charles. He told me I might never see him alive again."

"Who? Charles?"

"Yes. Simon, the most terrible thing has occurred. Charles is planning to fight a duel with a man named Grayley. My brother will very likely be killed. At the very least, he will be badly wounded. Devlin says this Grayley has already fought two other duels and put bullets in both his opponents. You have got to stop it."

Simon studied her with a hooded gaze. "I told you that you were not to see your brothers alone."

"I know, Simon, but this is a matter of life and death. I realize you are not particularly fond of them, but surely you can see that you will have to put aside your personal feelings and do something about this disaster."

"Why?"

Emily stared at him, perplexed. "Why? Simon, Charles is my brother. And he knows almost nothing about fighting duels."

"I expect he will soon learn."

"Have you gone mad? This is not a joke. You have got to rescue him from this foolishness. He could be killed."

"I doubt it. Grayley will probably be content with wounding him. He's a good enough marksman to avoid killing your brother. No point in it. Killing his opponent would oblige Grayley to leave the country and he has no desire to do that."

Emily was speechless for a moment. When she finally got her voice back, it was faint. "Simon, please do not tease me like this. You must promise you will save Charles."

"You do not seem to have grasped a very essential point here, madam."

"What point is that?" Emily asked plaintively.

"I do not give a damn what happens to Charles or any other Faringdon. It sounds as if your brother is going to be the first of the clan to pave his own road to hell and I have no intention of getting in his way."

Emily's knuckles went white as she clutched the arms of her chair. "You cannot mean that."

"Every word, my dear. It ought to have been clear to you from the start that I have no interest in saving Faringdons. If it has not been made plain, then it can only mean you failed to pay attention."

"But, Simon, I was certain you would help me save him."

"Were you, my dear? Did you think, perhaps, that because you are now sleeping with me as a proper wife should that you can therefore manipulate me? Do you believe that I am so bemused by your charms in bed that I will allow you to control me outside of it? If so, you still have much to learn about your husband."

The chilling softness of the question and the accusation it carried swept over Emily like a cold wind. She rose unsteadily from the chair. "I was so certain you would help me," she said again, unable to believe the rejection.

"You have been looking after those rakehell brothers of yours long enough, Emily." Simon gave her an annoyed glance. "It is time they learned to take care of themselves."

"But they are my brothers."

"You owe them nothing." Simon got to his feet behind the desk, his gaze colder than ever. "Less than nothing. The duel they should have fought ought to have taken place five years ago. The fact that it did not gives me absolutely no inclination to halt this one."

"I do not understand what you are talking about." Emily walked blindly toward the door. "And I do not care. I cannot believe you will not help me save Charles. In fact, I simply will not believe it. I was so very certain—"

"Emily." Blade's voice was a whiplash cracking across the room full of dragons.

Emily paused, her hand on the doorknob. A flicker of hope flared to life. "Yes, my lord?"

"I have told you before, but it would appear I must repeat myself. It is high time you understood that you are no longer a Faringdon. When you married me, you severed all connection with your family. You belong to me now and you will do as you are told."

Emily did not attempt to find a response to that appalling comment. She went out the door without a word.

She walked listlessly up the stairs to her bedchamber and sat down in a chair near the window. Staring out into the gardens, she gave herself over to self-pity and the accompanying tears for several long moments.

When she had finished crying, she went over to the table that held the pitcher of water, splashed some into the bowl, and washed her face. Then she confronted herself in the mirror.

Something had to be done at once.

Dry-eyed now, Emily sat down at her small escritoire and picked up her quill. Idly she sharpened the nib with a small knife as she considered possible solutions to the enormous problem that confronted her.

After a few moments, the obvious became clear. She must find a way to make certain that Charles did not arrive for his dawn appointment. She must apply herself to the task of finding a plan to prevent that, just as she would apply herself to the business of inventing a plot for a tale of romance and adventure.

The ideas began to flow at once and Emily decided on a particularly brilliant scheme within a very short time. She began to feel much better as the outline of the whole thing took shape.

It seemed to Simon that the ticking of the library clock was much louder than usual. In fact, the silence in the room was growing oppressive. Now that he considered the matter, the entire house seemed unusually quiet.

It was odd how Emily's moods seemed to affect the staff these days. Hardened men who had once waded in blood up to their ankles now went around whistling or looking glum, depending on whether or not their mistress was smiling or dejected. It was ridiculous.

Simon got up from the desk and went to stand near the window. It was inevitable, he supposed, that sooner or later the elf would learn that his indulgence had definite limits. Emily had a disturbing tendency to go blithely through life applying her silly romantical notions to everything and everyone. She was a natural optimist, always looking for happy endings.

She also had a bad habit of believing she could cajole him into doing whatever she wished. That belief had evidently grown considerably stronger since last night's passionate session here in the library.

Simon's gaze flickered briefly toward the gold satin pillow where Emily had lain in his arms, her fingers desperately clutching handfuls of white silk. His body began to harden at the memory. He had never known such an exciting creature in his entire life as his bewitching green-eyed elf.

"My lord?"

Simon blinked away the image and regained control of himself. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder at his butler, who was standing in the doorway. "What is it, Greaves?"

"I am sorry to bother you, sir. I knocked, but you apparently did not hear me."

"I was lost in thought," Simon said impatiently. "What did you want?"

Greaves coughed discreetly, his scarred face looking more forbidding than usual. "I believe there is something you should know, sir. Lady Blade has, ah, delivered certain instructions to George, the footman."

"What instructions?" Simon walked back to his desk.

"She has asked George to find her a member of the criminal class who is skilled in the art of kidnapping."

Simon looked up swiftly, staring at his butler in stunned amazement. "Kidnapping! Are you certain?"

"Quite certain, sir. George was horrified, as you can imagine. He came straight to me and I have come directly to you. It seems my lady wishes to interview a successful villain who is in the market for temporary employment. Perhaps she is doing research for her epic poem, sir?"

"And perhaps she has decided to take certain matters into her own hands," Simon muttered. He sat down at his desk and reached for paper and pen. Quickly he dashed off a note.

Simon scanned the note, folded it carefully, and handed it to Greaves. "See that Lady Blade receives this in about an hour's time. And do not fret, Greaves. The situation is under control."

"Yes, my lord." Greaves looked somewhat relieved.

Simon waited until his butler had left the room before getting up to pour himself a glass of claret.

This was what came of overindulging females. Things had gone far enough. It was time Emily learned a very important lesson.