Scandal

Chapter 15

Emily stopped pacing her bedchamber at the sound of carriage wheels on the street outside. She flew to the window when she realized the vehicle was coming to a halt in front of the townhouse. She pushed the heavy drapes aside just in time to see Simon alight. His caped greatcoat swung around his boots as he started up the steps. Hastily she shoved open the window and peered down.

"Simon," she called softly. "Are you all right? Is everything settled?"

Simon glanced up and said in a distinctly irritable voice, "For God's sake, woman, get back inside and close the window. Whatever will the neighbors think?" He went on up the steps.

Everything must have been settled in a reasonable fashion, Emily decided cheerfully as she yanked the window closed. Things could not be all that bad if Simon was worrying about the neighbors.

She was getting to understand his moods quite well, Emily told herself happily. She tapped her slippered foot on the carpet and waited for the sound of footsteps in the upstairs hall. Her communication with her husband in the metaphysical realm was definitely growing stronger every day. A direct result, no doubt, of their improved communication on the physical plane.

She heard his step in the hall and hurried over to the connecting door. But just as she started to open it she heard Higson's voice and realized the loyal bulldog of a valet had waited up for his master.

Dismayed at the delay, Emily silently eased the door shut and resumed her pacing until she heard Higson being dismissed for the night.

She rushed straight back to the connecting door and threw it open.

Simon was sitting in the shadows near the window, a glass of brandy in his hand. He was wearing his black satin dressing gown. There was a single candle burning on the table near the bed. His dark hair was tousled and in the faint glow of the flame his face looked as if it had been carved from the side of a mountain. He glanced up as Emily came into the room, his golden eyes glinting strangely.

"Ah, my reckless, impulsive, troublesome little wife. I imagine you are bursting with curiosity."

"Oh, yes, Simon. I have been waiting in agony for the past few hours." Emily dropped into the chair across from his and studied him carefully. "Is all well?"

"The matter is settled, if that is what you mean," Simon said coolly. "There will be no duel." He took another swallow of brandy and contemplated the glass. "But I am not certain if all is well."

A fresh uneasiness gripped Emily as she sensed that his mood was growing odder by the moment. "What is wrong, my lord?"

"Wrong?" He turned the brandy glass between his palms and rested his head against the back of the chair. "That is difficult to explain, my dear."

She peered at him more closely through her spectacles. "Simon, you are not hurt, are you?" she demanded in some alarm.

"Not a drop of blood was shed."

"Thank God." Emily grinned suddenly. "No, it is you I have to thank for fixing the matter, not God, and I am well aware of it. I am very grateful to you for resolving the situation, Simon."

"Are you?" He took another sip of brandy.

Emily bit her lip. "You are in a rather strange mood, my lord."

"Now, I wonder why that should be," he mused. "It has been a perfectly normal evening, has it not? Nothing untoward or unusual has occurred. Just the routine sort of thing. I find my wife promenading the Dark Walk at Vauxhall at midnight seeking an appointment with a member of the criminal class. I let myself get talked into rescuing a damn Faringdon from his own foolishness. I am obliged to put a potentially profitable investment at risk in order to scare off one of the most vicious young bloods of the ton. And I come home to discover my lady wife hanging out the window, calling down to me like a hoyden."

Emily sighed. "Somehow my life's little adventures always sound much worse when you describe them."

"I have noticed that."

Emily brightened. "Still, I must tell you I thought your plot to lure me to Vauxhall was a wonderful notion. That was very clever of you, Simon. Do you know, it never even occurred to me to be suspicious when I got your note. Now I realize that a member of the criminal class would be highly unlikely to read and write."

"Your praise is heartwarming, I assure you. But looking back on the matter, I conclude that I must have been temporarily mad to concoct such a scheme."

"No, no, you wanted to teach me a lesson, did you not?"

"I had some vague notion of doing so, yes." Simon took another sip of brandy.

"And you came up with a truly brilliant scheme."

"Really? I did not notice you looking appropriately chastened. You stood there and bargained like a shopkeeper with a man you thought to be a cutthroat and when he attempted to frighten you by demanding your favors in exchange for his services, you promptly threatened him with your husband's wrath."

It dawned on Emily that Simon was genuinely furious.

"Now, Simon, I do not see why you are so angry with me. You are the one who arranged the meeting at Vauxhall."

"As I said, I must have been mad." He swirled the remaining brandy in his glass and downed it in a single swallow.

"Actually, I think it was the deeply romantic element in your nature that prompted you to construct such a wonderful plot," Emily decided. "It was just like an incident from a tale of romance and adventure and you knew I would respond to it. I expect that is because we are so attuned to each other on the higher plane."

"Christ, Emily, will you cease prattling on about metaphysics and higher planes? I swear by God that if I am not already mad, I soon will be."

Without warning Simon surged to his feet and hurled the empty brandy glass into the fireplace with a swift, violent motion of his hand.

There was a sharp, nerve-jarring explosion of sound that echoed through the bedchamber. The glittering shards fell into the cold ashes.

Emily gasped and sat very still in her chair as the last of the glass cascaded down the stone wall of the fireplace. She stared at the hearth and then turned her head slowly to look at Simon.

The rigid expression on his face and the fierce glitter in his eyes told her instantly that he was far more shocked by his own loss of control than she was. After all, she knew him to be a man of deep passions. But he did not always accept the truth about himself.

"Damnation." Simon stood staring into the fireplace. A great silence descended.

Emily's hands tightened in her lap. "I did not mean to annoy you, my lord," she said quietly.

"'Tis unnatural, do you realize that?" He swung around to confront her, his face demonic in the flickering candlelight. "Damn unnatural."

"What is, my lord?"

"The addlepated manner in which you persist in thinking of me as some sort of hero. Once and for all, madam wife, I am not a character from an epic poem. I do not make my decisions or carry out my actions for the sole purpose of indulging your frivolous romantic whims and fancies. I am not a creature of passion like yourself. Every move I make is carefully calculated. Everything is done to achieve my own ends. Do you comprehend that?"

Emily took a deep breath. "You are annoyed with me because you were obliged to rescue my brother tonight."

"Annoyed with you, madam? That does not begin to cover the present state of my temper. I let you manipulate and cajole me into doing something I have sworn never to do."

"You mean help a Faringdon?" She risked a glance up at him through her lashes.

"Yes, goddamn it. Yes, that is exactly what I mean. I do not know what came over me tonight."

"I do not think your actions so strange, my lord," Emily said softly. "You acted like the noble, honorable man I know you to be. In your heart you are aware that my brothers were not responsible for your father's losses twenty-three years ago."

"They are Faringdons. They are in their father's image, by God."

"No, my lord. My father would never have agreed to fight a duel over a lady's honor. Charles and Devlin are not like him. They have been raised by him and they have followed in his footsteps only because they have had no other pattern to follow. But they are different, I swear it. And somewhere deep inside you, you understand that or you would not have helped Charles tonight."

"I do not want to hear another word about why I did what I did, Emily. You can have no notion of why I acted as I did. Even I am not entirely certain." Simon flexed one hand into a fist and struck the mantel. "I vowed vengeance against the entire Faringdon clan twenty-three years ago. I swore to myself I would bring down the entire family."

"Then why did you marry one?" Emily demanded with sudden fierceness.

Simon narrowed his eyes. "Because it amused me. Because it served the purpose of separating your father and brothers from the source of their income. Because you begged me to marry you and because I rather enjoyed having a Faringdon woman groveling at my feet."

That stung. "I did not grovel, my lord. I presented the entire matter to you in terms of a business arrangement, if you will recall."

He ignored that. "And last, but not least, because I find your excessive passions, as you term them, quite amusing in bed. There. Now you know why I married you. It was not because our souls meet and mingle over tea on a higher plane, damn it."

Emily shivered. The dragon was breathing fire tonight. It was the first time she had ever seen him in such a mood and there was no doubt but that it was extremely intimidating. "Please, Simon, do not say any more."

"Why not, pray tell? Because it will break your silly, romantic little heart?"

"Yes, my lord."

"By heaven, you need to face reality, you little goose." Simon swung around and began to pace the room. "Not that I seem to have been successful thus far in forcing you to do so."

That was too much. Emily leapt to her feet. "Bloody hell, Simon."

"Stop saying bloody hell," he ordered. "Such language does not suit the Countess of Blade."

"I do not care what befits the Countess of Blade," she shot back passionately. "You go too far when you tell me I must face reality. You do not know how much reality I have had to face all my life. You have no notion of how much reality my poor mother had to confront. Rest assured that there were times when I hated my father just as much as you must have hated yours."

Simon turned his head abruptly to glare at her. "What the devil are you talking about now? I never hated my father."

Emily looked at him. "How could you not have been furiously angry after what he did to you?"

"You must be mad. Why should I hate him, for God's sake?"

"Because he put a pistol to his head and killed himself, leaving you behind with the full responsibility for your mother. Because he took the quick way out of the disaster he had created and left you to face it. Because you were only twelve years old, far too young to be able to undo the great damage that had been done. Dear God, Simon, how could you not have hated him?"

Simon stood, feet braced, and stared at her as if she had suddenly turned into a hydra-headed monster. "You are raving."

Emily turned her back to him. "If it is any consolation, I was in much the same situation."

"In what way?"

"The money ran out the year I turned seventeen. But by then my father discovered I had a head for economy and financial matters. He was ecstatic. It was clear I was expected to be the family's salvation. And I did not mind studying investments and making the decisions. Indeed, it was enjoyable, in a way. But I could never forget for a moment that the reason I had to become an expert was because my father was an irresponsible spendthrift. I still remember how he made Mama cry." Emily dashed a tear away from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.

"Pray, do not start sniveling, Emily."

She blew her nose on a hankie she found in the pocket of her loose wrapper. "She cried often, you know. But almost never around my father. She loved him, you see, in spite of his ways. She used to tell me it was no use blaming him for his excessive gaming. It was in the blood, she would say."

"Emily, your emotions are overset. You had better go to bed."

"Oh, do stop being so bloody condescending, my lord." Emily sniffed back the last of the tears and stuffed the hankie into her pocket. "When my mother and brothers realized I could keep the family afloat financially, they told me it was my duty to do so. I shall never forget that on her deathbed my mother took my hand and told me I must look after my father and brothers. Without me they would all soon find themselves under the hatches, she said, and poor Papa could not live without plenty of money."

"I really do not wish to hear any more of this nonsense, Emily."

"It is not nonsense. It is reality. The reality you told me I never face. Well, you may rest assured I have faced it all my life, my lord. And I bloody hell do not like it. But it will not go away, so I shall continue to confront it when I must."

"Including the reality of our marriage?" he drawled in a dangerous voice.

"Our marriage is a different matter altogether. It is a pure and noble union of souls, even if you do not yet see it that way."

"No, Emily, it is not pure and noble. It is damn real. Just as real as your father's profligate ways and my vengeance. Perhaps it is time I made you confront that fact."

She frowned at the strange tone in his last words. "What are you talking about, my lord?"

"I am talking about teaching you to face the truth about why I married you. I am no hero, Emily."

"Yes, my lord, you are. You simply resist seeing yourself in that light. Probably because you fear it will make you appear weak to yourself or to others."

"Good God, woman, you are incredible. I know of no other female who can concoct such fancies," Simon said between his teeth. "You really do need a lesson." There was a deliberate pause and then he spoke again, his voice lower and harsher than ever. "Come here, Emily."

She did not move. Her own emotions were in a turmoil.

"Come here to me now, madam. I am in no mood to humor any of your romantic notions tonight."

She turned very slowly to confront him. She was suddenly, deeply wary. "What do you want of me, my lord?"

His hard mouth curved in a cold, taunting smile. "What do you think I want, wife? I told you the reasons I married you."

"So you did, my lord. I believe you said it amused you to marry me. And it suited your notions of vengeance."

"There was another reason, if you will recall. You are as yet rather unschooled in the delights of the boudoir, but you are learning fast. And you show such enthusiasm for the task, my dear. I would like you to demonstrate a bit of that enthusiasm now, if you please. Come here and apply yourself to your wifely duties."

The iciness of the command was alarming. There was no warmth or passion in Simon's face, only a savagely controlled fury.

"You are truly enraged with me because I prevailed upon you to rescue Charles," Emily whispered. "I did not realize it would make you so angry, my lord. Such fury can only stem from the fact that you think you have shown great weakness in obliging me. Please, Simon, do not view your rescue of Charles in such a light, I beg you."

"As much as I enjoy having you beg occasionally, you may do so some other time, madam. Right now, I want to bed you."

Simon stripped off his dressing gown and stalked across the bedchamber to the massive, four-poster bed. He was completely naked and the candlelight flickered on his skin, emphasizing the smoothly sculpted muscles of his back, his flat, taut stomach, and his hard buttocks. The soft light also revealed his aroused manhood.

Even as Emily watched uneasily out of the corner of her eye, his shaft swelled and hardened further. She clutched the lapels of her wrapper in one hand and looked away.

"You see the effect you have on me?" Simon asked as he slid into the bed. "You should be pleased, madam. It is a form of power, is it not, to be able to make a man react so instantly to your charms?"

"Not everyone thinks in terms of power and manipulation, my lord."

"You are wrong, Emily. Just as you are wrong about so many other things. Come here."

Emily hesitated and then very slowly she obeyed. She approached the bed with great caution, still clutching her wrapper tightly. She realized suddenly that she was dealing with a wounded dragon tonight. They were old wounds, true enough, but they had been freshly opened. The pain could cause even a man of Simon's nobility and character to slash at any hand that came within reach.

But she also knew that the dragon needed warmth and love tonight. He needed her. And while he might scorch her a bit with a few stray flames, he would not really hurt her.

Simon would never hurt her, never in a million years. She remembered the promise he had made to her on their wedding night: I vow I will always protect you, Emily. Whatever else happens, know that I will always take care of you.

Emily let the wrapper slide to the floor as she came to a halt beside the bed. She saw Simon's eyes go to the outline of her hips revealed through the fine lawn of her gown. That heated gaze traveled slowly, deliberately upward to where her nipples were pushing against the delicate fabric.

Emily felt exposed. She was accustomed to seeing controlled passion in Simon's expression but not this laconic, taunting look. She quickly got into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She waited nervously for him to touch her. She was certain that once he did, all would be well.

Simon made no move. He folded his arms behind his head and studied her with mocking amusement. "Well, madam? How do you expect to ensnare me with your excessive passions from under that pile of blankets?"

Emily blinked. "You are waiting for me to… to do something?"

"I am waiting for you to show me what you have learned thus far as a wife."

"Oh." Emily absorbed the implications. He wanted her to make love to him. The notion intrigued her greatly. She could explore him to her heart's content if she were in charge of the lovemaking. She could indulge herself, learn the feel of him, show him how much she loved him.

Emily turned on her side to face Simon. Tentatively she put out a hand and touched his shoulder. He did not move. She edged closer under the covers and kissed his bare chest. The scent of him stirred her senses.

Emily twisted her fingers gently in the crisp hair. She moved still closer and kissed one flat, masculine nipple. Simon drew a deep breath.

"You appear to learn quickly, madam wife," he muttered.

Emily paid no attention to the cutting edge of his tongue. "I love to touch you, Simon. You are so hard and sleek and strong. Like one of your beautiful, jeweled dragons come to life."

"You are not afraid I will rend you to pieces?"

She smiled faintly, bent her head, and touched the tip of her tongue to his chest. "You would not do that."

"You are very confident of your power, are you not? Perhaps a little too confident."

"It is not a matter of power, Simon. It is a matter of love."

Growing bolder now, she began to stroke him slowly, lingeringly. She felt the tension in the muscles of his thighs and realized with surprise that he was having to exert enormous control over himself.

"Relax, my lord." She squeezed the taut muscles slowly. "You are far too tense. I expect it is a result of all your efforts on behalf of my brother."

"You think me tense?"

"Very. Here, I will see if I can help you grow calm." Emily threw off the last of the covers and knelt beside Simon. Ignoring the blatantly thrust shaft of his manhood, she began to gently, firmly squeeze and stroke the long muscles of his thighs and calves.

"What the devil are you doing?" Simon demanded, eyeing her through slitted lids.

"I have seen my father do this to his horses after a long, bruising ride. He says it helps keep them from stiffening up." Emily kept up the rhythmic squeezing and stroking. Slowly she worked her way from upper thigh to ankle, kneading the muscles of Simon's left leg.

When she was finished, she leaned across and began to work on the right leg. The gossamer folds of her nightdress fluttered over Simon's upthrust manhood. A spasm went through his whole body.

"Hell and damnation," Simon muttered.

"Are you all right, my lord?" Emily paused in her ministrations to glance at him.

"I believe I am still a bit tense in places."

Emily smiled reassuringly. "We shall soon have you soothed and quieted, my lord." She continued down his right leg and then patted him gently. "Turn over, please."

He hesitated, glowering at her. His eyes were fierce and hot with arousal now. "Turn over?"

"So that I can work on the muscles of your back. Have you not noticed how stiff one's shoulders get when one's nerves are overset?"

"Emily, I assure you, I am not suffering from the vapors." Nevertheless, Simon reluctantly turned onto his stomach. He grimaced and reached down to adjust himself.

Emily started to work on his broad shoulders, found the position awkward because she could not bring proper pressure to bear, and shifted closer. When the new position did not work, either, she hitched up the skirts of her nightdress, boldly put one leg over Simon's hips, and knelt astride him.

"Stop squirming about," Simon growled into the pillow.

"Yes, my lord." Emily inhaled suddenly as she leaned forward and began kneading the muscles of his upper back. This was certainly stimulating to a passionate creature such as herself, she realized. She could feel Simon's hard thighs between her knees and the sensation was rather like being on the back of a blooded stallion. Or a dragon.

"Emily, are you giggling?"

"No, my lord." She worked more intensely, rubbing, stroking, probing, and prodding. Some minutes passed and there was no sound from the depths of the pillow. "Do you feel any calmer now, my lord?" Emily finally asked.

"No."

Emily was dismayed. "Are you quite certain?"

"Quite certain. You may dismount now."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." Simon stirred and started to turn over.

Emily quickly scrambled off his back and again knelt amid the bedclothes.

"Simon?"

He lay back against the pillows and reached for her. "Come here, elf," he muttered, pulling her astride him once more. He pushed the hem of the nightdress up over her thighs. "If you want to ride me, then you must do it properly."

"Simon." Emily gasped sharply as he reached down and guided the broad tip of his throbbing manhood to the damp place between her thighs.

He grasped her hips and held her still while he surged upward, pushing through the natural resistance at the entrance of her body and on into the damp, clinging passage. He filled her completely in one long thrust. Emily stifled a small, startled exclamation and splayed her fingers across his chest.

"Now you will ride me, madam." His fingers tightened on her thighs. "Hard."

Eyes closed, her breath coming in soft gasps of excitement, Emily obeyed his command and quickly adjusted to the pace and rhythm Simon established.

"Yes. Faster. Harder." Simon's voice was hoarse now. His hands tightened on her. "Damn, that feels good, elf. So damn good. Show me how much you want me. Tell me you belong to me. Tell me."

"I want you, Simon. I have waited all my life for you. There could never be anyone else." The words were torn from Emily in small, gasping cries. She was shivering with her own need, slick with desire. Her nails were digging into Simon's chest, leaving small, fierce marks on his skin.

"That's it, sweetheart," he muttered. "Give yourself to me."

"I love you," Emily whispered. "I love you with all my heart." And then the delicious excitement overwhelmed her. She went rigid and at the same time felt Simon surge deep into her one last time.

"Emily. Oh, God, Emily." Simon's words were thick with passion and release. He pulled Emily down across his chest and his arms went fiercely around her. He crushed her to him as he let himself flow endlessly into her.

Emily's last coherent thought was that she had mastered the fine art of dragon riding. She looked forward to trying it again in the near future.