Scandal

Chapter 19

Simon waited for Emily to appear in the library. He had sent for her a moment earlier. He told himself that it would be interesting to see if she responded to the polite summons with her usual alacrity. Normally she came flying through the library door within seconds after one of the staff informed her that the earl had asked to see her.

Emily had not yet learned the fine art of making her husband wait.

But this morning Simon was not certain what to expect. After he had carried Emily back to her own bedchamber last night he had lain awake for hours trying to wrest some satisfaction from his victory over her father. All he had been able to think about was how cold and empty the big bed had felt without Emily in it beside him.

There was a quick knock on the library door and an instant later Emily, wearing a morning gown trimmed with black and gold dragons, whisked into the room. She looked breathless and slightly disheveled. There was a smudge on her nose and a perky muslin cap sat slightly askew on her red curls.

"You sent for me, my lord?" She came to a halt in front of the desk, pushing her spectacles up on her nose as she gave him an inquiring look.

"I did not mean to interrupt you if you were involved in a task." Simon, who had risen politely as she entered the room, sat down again and motioned her to take a chair.

"I was supervising the cleaning of the drawing room," Emily explained. "The soiree is only two days away, after all. So many last-minute things still need to be done."

"Ah, yes. More preparations for the damn soiree. I should have guessed."

"I want everything to be perfect, my lord," Emily said quietly. "I am well aware that everything I do, including acting as your hostess, reflects on you."

"Do not fret about it overmuch, my dear. My position in Society is solid enough to sustain the discovery of a few stains on the drawing room carpets or a blot on the drapery." To his surprise, Emily paled and sank abruptly into the chair.

"Some stains and blots are especially difficult to hide, my lord. Sometimes one is obliged to take drastic measures."

He scowled at the odd note in her voice. "Emily, have you been working too hard on this soiree? I employ a decent-sized staff and I expect you to make use of everyone on it. If anyone is failing to do his duty, I would like to know about it at once. Greaves will handle the problem."

She rallied quickly at the implication that any of the staff might not be performing properly. "Your staff is wonderfully helpful, as I am certain you know, Simon. Everyone is working very hard."

He nodded, not entirely satisfied with the response. Emily was upset about something and he knew what that something had to be. She was worried about her bastard of a father. "Excellent. I am pleased to hear that. Now, then, I asked to see you so that I could return your manuscript to you."

"My manuscript?" For the first time Emily glanced at the package sitting on the corner of his desk. Her eyes flew back to his. "I do not understand, my lord. Why do you have my manuscript? Did Richard return it?"

"I asked him to send it back. I shall be quite blunt, Emily. He had not yet had a chance to read it and I did not think it proper for him to do so. I do not want you seeking his opinions."

"But he is a published author, my lord. I thought he would be able to judge whether there is any hope of my manuscript being made suitable for publication."

"I do not believe his judgment would be unbiased," Simon said flatly. "You will find he now agrees with me."

Emily flashed him a quick, hopeful glance. "Are you jealous of him, after all, Simon? I told you once before there was absolutely no need. My relationship with Richard is strictly professional, I assure you."

"I am not jealous of Ashbrook." Simon spaced each word very carefully. "And I expect you to have enough sense not to try to make me jealous."

"Yes, my lord. I mean, no. I would not do that." Emily chewed on her lower lip and eyed the manuscript for a few seconds. Then she jumped to her feet and snatched up the package. "If that is all you wanted, I had better get back to work. After the drawing room is properly cleaned I am scheduled to go over the buffet menu one last time with Smoke. Then I want to check the pantry with Greaves to make certain that all the supplies have arrived."

"A moment, if you please, madam."

Halfway to the door, Emily swung around to face him, clutching the manuscript to her breast. "Yes, my lord?"

"If you care to leave The Mysterious Lady with me, I can arrange to have it delivered to Whittenstall or Pound or one of the other publishers," Simon said softly.

Something that might have been amusement flashed in Emily's eyes. "I would not dream of allowing you to take my manuscript to a publisher, Simon."

"You trust Ashbrook more than you trust me?" he asked in silky tones.

She chuckled. "It is not that. The truth is, I know you too well. You would probably frighten Whittenstall or Pound into accepting my manuscript for publication or else you would pay one of them to publish it. Either way, I would not know for certain if my manuscript was capable of being accepted on its own merits. I would much prefer to take my chances like every other aspiring author."

Simon drummed his fingers lightly on the desk. "I see."

"In any event, while you may be able to get The Mysterious Lady published, you could not guarantee that it would sell to the public. There are some limits on even your considerable power in town, my lord. But I thank you for the offer." Emily whirled about and dashed from the room.

Simon watched the door close behind her and then he exhaled deeply. "Bloody hell."

She was right, of course. Getting the thing published would have been no great feat. Whittenstall or Pound would have been happy to do it for a price or a threat. But getting the public to buy Emily's epic romance would have been another problem.

He was brooding over the matter when the door opened again and Araminta Merryweather was ushered into the library. Simon got to his feet.

"Good morning, Aunt. I assume you are here to offer aid and council to the budding hostess?"

"I have promised to give a last-minute analysis of the plan of battle." Araminta smiled as she gracefully stripped off her gloves and took the chair Emily had recently vacated. "Your lady is determined that the soiree go perfectly so that you will not be humiliated in front of the beau monde."

Simon groaned. "I know. I told her not to fret about it."

"She is hardly likely to pay you any heed. The poor chit is so head over heels in love with you that she would do anything for you, Blade. And she feels enormous pressure not to embarrass you publicly. It is a grave responsibility you carry. I trust you are aware of it."

Simon gave her a sharp glance. "I assure you I am fully aware of my responsibilities toward my wife."

"Umm. Yes. She believes you are, too. Thinks you can do no wrong."

"Her opinion on that may have changed in the past twenty-four hours," Simon said grimly. "Her wastrel father has already ruined himself. Several months ahead of schedule, I might add. He had the gall to approach her for help."

Araminta's brows rose. "I see. And she turned to you?"

"She said she knew there was probably no point asking me to rescue him and I told her she was right." Simon slammed his palm flat against the desk and eyed the gaping jaws of a jewel-encrusted dragon that sat on the corner of the bookcase. "I will not do it, Araminta. I have waited too long for this moment. Rescuing her brother from that stupid duel and letting Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington off the hook was one thing. Saving Broderick Faringdon is another. Emily knew that from the beginning."

"Yes, but Emily is much given to romantical notions and happy endings. And up until now you have generally indulged her."

"If she had false hopes, that is her problem. She has no excuse for them."

"You are quite right, of course. She has no excuse for them at all, except that she thinks you incredibly heroic and the most marvelous husband on the face of the earth."

Simon narrowed his eyes. "You find that amusing?"

"Naive is what I find it," Araminta said bluntly. "But I expect you will eventually destroy her illusions. Emily is too intelligent to remain naive forever."

Simon squelched the surge of anger that went through him. "Do not taunt me, Aunt. This is none of your affair."

"Perhaps not." Araminta considered that briefly and shrugged. "Is Emily angry with you?"

Simon got to his feet and went over to the tea table. He picked up the gold-and-green-enameled teapot and poured two cups of Lap Seng. "To be perfectly frank, I cannot tell what Emily is feeling today. She is in an odd mood."

"How so?"

Simon handed a cup and saucer to Araminta and then stood sipping the delicate brew. "Distracted. Harried. Running around as if she had far more weighty matters on her mind than the fact that her father is about to be ruined. But she does not seem angry."

"Well, I expect you will know soon enough if she is furious with you."

"In what way will I discover such fascinating information?" Simon muttered.

"By her response in bed, naturally." Araminta smiled knowingly over the rim of her teacup. "Has she begun withholding her favors?"

Simon was startled to feel himself turning a dull red. "Damn it, Araminta, I do not intend to discuss my private life with you."

"Of course not."

He shot her a scathing glance. "Emily would not know how to use sex to get what she wants or to punish me."

"You are probably right." Araminta shook her head. "Your countess really is much too naive to use such standard feminine ploys."

"Will you kindly stop saying that?" Simon said furiously. "The fact that Emily does not have the usual bag of female tricks does not make her naive, damn it."

"How about the fact that she thinks you are a paragon among husbands? Does that make her naive?"

"Bloody damn hell." Simon started to say more but at that moment the library door opened once more and Emily blew into the room.

"Excuse me, my lord. Araminta, thank heaven you are here," Emily gasped. "I have just had word that the musicians would like a list of pieces I would prefer to have played at the soiree. I am attempting to make up my mind. Have you any suggestions?"

"Stick with Mozart, my dear," Araminta said as she put down her teacup and rose to her feet. "One can never go wrong with Mozart. Such a sophisticated composer."

"Yes, yes, you are quite right," Emily agreed instantly. "I definitely want the musical pieces to sound sophisticated. After all, everyone knows Blade is a man of the world. They will expect music that lives up to his standards."

"We certainly would not want his image to suffer, would we?" Araminta smiled serenely at Simon as she followed Emily from the room.

Simon stood alone in the empty library and wondered again why he did not feel the heady rush of triumph and satisfaction he ought to have been experiencing today.

Dealing with a blackmailer and planning a soiree simultaneously was really asking too much of a woman, Emily decided grimly the following day as she reluctantly left for Lady Turnbull's literary salon.

As the carriage jounced and swayed through the streets she frantically wracked her brain one last time for an alternative to her plan for dealing with Crofton. But she knew in her heart of hearts there was only one certain way to deal with a blackmailer, only one certain way to protect Blade. The moment Emily was ushered into the crowded drawing room and met Crofton's vicious, mocking eyes, Emily made up her mind once and for all. If she could not convince Crofton to give up his scheme, she would have to take drastic steps. She would find a way to frighten him off so that he would never return.

Emily swallowed hard and met Crofton's gaze as calmly as possible. He waited until the conversation had begun to grow animated before taking her aside. They went to stand by the window. No one was paying any attention.

"Well, Lady Blade? Have you made your plans?" Crofton sipped his claret and eyed her from beneath drooping lids. His cruel mouth was faintly curved with expectation.

"Be in the alley on the other side of Blade's garden wall at midnight tomorrow night, Mr. Crofton. I shall bring the dragon to you."

"The alley is a bit close and the streets will be crowded with your guests' carriages," Crofton murmured.

Emily tilted her chin. "The fact that the house and surrounding streets will be crowded should work to your advantage. No one will notice one more man moving about. I have made the arrangements, Mr. Crofton, and I intend to stick by them. I want this business over and done."

Crofton shrugged. "Very well, madam. The alley it is, then. It is no great matter where we meet. I shall be watching from a safe point. If you attempt to bring anyone with you—one of your brothers, say—I will not appear. And the next time my demands will be considerably higher"

"I shall be alone. But I want your oath that this will be the end of the matter. I never want to see you again Mr. Crofton. Is that quite clear?"

"Of course. One of Blade's dragons should be more than enough to cover the unpaid portion of your father's debts. I shall disappear from your life, my dear."

Emily looked straight into his terrible gaze and knew he lied. Crofton intended to come back again and again. He intended to bleed her dry and always the threat to Simon would be over her head. Blade would never be safe.

"Until later, madam." Crofton inclined his head with taunting gallantry and went back across the room to join Ashbrook and a handful of other guests.

Emily stood near the window a minute or two, taking deep breaths to collect herself. Then, chin high with determination, she crossed the room to join one of the small groups exchanging gossip about Byron.

Shortly after eleven that night Simon was still raging at himself for his inexplicable weakness even as he tracked Broderick Faringdon down in one of the gaming hells off St. James. He could not believe the decision he had made, could not credit what he was about to do.

When the notion had first occurred to him that afternoon, he had told himself Emily had somehow worked on his brain, softening it with her silly illusions and naive faith in his nonexistent heroic characteristics.

He had argued with himself for the past several hours, questioning his sanity as well as his intelligence. He had everything he wanted within his grasp. Faringdon was about to destroy himself. This was no time to weaken.

But weaken he had.

Simon located Broderick at a table in the corner of the crowded, noisy room. He was alone, having apparently just finished a bottle of claret and a hand of cards. The irrepressible Faringdon grin flared to life when he looked up and saw his nemesis standing in front of him.

"A bit too soon to gloat, Blade. Still some life in the old horse."

Simon eyed his enemy, astonished, in spite of himself. By rights, the man should have been desperate by now. "I congratulate you, Faringdon. You certainly do not have the air of a gentleman who cannot meet his debts of honor."

"I fully intend to meet my vowels, sir. Never fear."

Simon sat down slowly, wondering how in hell the man could be so confident when it was clear he was facing disaster. "I trust you know better than to expect help from your daughter."

"Emily's a good daughter. Always been able to rely on her." Faringdon hoisted his port and took a deep swallow.

"Not this time, Faringdon."

"We shall see." Broderick scanned the room as if looking for other players who might be ready for a game.

Simon watched him. "Does this mean you would not be interested in a bargain, Faringdon?" he asked softly.

Broderick's head came around swiftly, blue eyes keen. "What are you talking about?"

"I am willing to pay off your debts under certain conditions."

Broderick had the look of a hunting hound on the scent of a rabbit. "Good God. Did she get to you, then? Talk you into doing the right thing by me? Knew she would. She's a good girl, she is, just like I always said. Got a real sweet way about her, don't she? Just like her mama."

"This has nothing to do with Emily. This is between you and me, Faringdon. Are you interested?"

Broderick grinned. " 'Course I am. Always interested in a financial proposition. What are you offering, Blade?"

"To pay off your debts in full in exchange for your agreement to accept a position as manager of my estates in Yorkshire."

"Yorkshire." Broderick choked on his last swallow of wine.

"I am breeding horses there and it occurs to me that your one undeniable skill is your eye for first quality bloodstock. You would have to give me your word that you would not return to London or your gaming habits. This would be a position, Faringdon, and I would expect you to work at it with the same industriousness with which you have always pursued gaming."

"You must be out of your bloody mind," Broderick sputtered. "Send me off to Yorkshire to run some damn breeding farm? Not on your life, Blade. I'm a man o' the world, not a farmer. Get out of here. I don't need your goddamn offer of a position. I can take care of my own debts."

"Without the help of your daughter?"

"Who says my daughter won't help me, by God?"

"I do." Simon stood up, disgusted with himself for even making the offer. "That part will not change, Faringdon. Not ever. I will never again allow you to use Emily."

"Bastard. We shall see about that."

Simon shrugged, picked up his hat, and walked toward the door.

It baffled him why anyone was particularly attracted toward the occasional, inexplicable impulse to be forgiving. It was obvious the world did not appreciate such naive qualities and acting on them only left one feeling like an idiot.

Still, Simon was rather glad he had made the crazed offer to Broderick. He made a note to mention his generous act to Emily after the soiree. She would look at him with her customary adoration and tell him how she had known all along he would be generous and heroic in victory. The fact that her father had failed to accept the offer in Yorkshire would be Broderick's problem, not Simon's.

Simon would no longer have to feel the lash of guilt whenever he looked into Emily's eyes.

Yes, he decided as he walked out of the hell, he was already feeling much better. He would like to tell Emily about his good deed tonight but she was frantic with soiree preparations. She would not be able to be suitably grateful and adoring. Much better to wait until the household had been restored to a semblance of calm.

"Emily can relax," Araminta murmured to Simon the next evening. "Her soiree is a brilliant success. The house is packed with guests, the street is clogged with carriages, the buffet is a perfect combination of the exotic as well as sturdy English fare, and the music is of excellent quality. Tomorrow morning everyone will be calling this a highlight of the Season."

Simon nodded coolly as he glanced around the crowded rooms. Laughter and music and conversation hummed through the townhouse. Emily's soiree was, indeed, a stunning success. "Have you seen Emily recently?"

"I noticed her talking to Lady Linton a short while ago." Araminta scanned the crowd. "I do not see her now. Perhaps she has gone to check with Greaves to see that the staff has everything under control. She has fretted over every detail of this evening. It's a wonder she has not collapsed from sheer exhaustion."

Simon frowned, aware of a vague sense of unease. It had begun a few minutes ago and was intensifying rapidly. "If you will excuse me, I believe I shall attempt to find her."

"Good luck. You might check with your butler. He has been keeping an eye on things."

"I will do that." Simon made his way through the knots of elegantly dressed people, pausing occasionally to exchange civilities and acknowledge compliments on Emily's charm as a hostess.

He eventually reached the hall, which was as crowded as the drawing room. He quickly located Greaves.

"Have you seen Lady Blade recently?" Simon asked.

"A few minutes ago, my lord." Greaves glanced around. "I do not see her now. Shall I have one of the footmen look for her?"

The uneasy sensation was getting worse. "Yes," Simon said. "Immediately. I shall check the kitchens."

"I doubt she would be in there, sir." Greaves gave a disapproving frown. "I advised her it would be best if she stayed with her guests and left the staff to see to the replenishment of the refreshments."

"Perhaps she is taking a short rest in the library. I will try there first."

The uneasiness had turned into a strong sense of urgency. Simon let himself into the library, which had been declared off limits to guests, and closed the door behind him.

It was something of a relief to step into the quiet sanctum. Simon saw at once that Emily was nowhere in sight, however, and the urgency crystallized into a genuine sense of foreboding.

He walked to the windows and glanced out into the gardens. There was just enough light pouring from the house to reveal a flicker of shadow near one of the hedges.

Simon froze as he recognized the swirling hem of a familiar dark cloak.

He told himself it was undoubtedly a guest who had gone outside for some fresh air but even as he tried to reassure himself he knew something was wrong.

Acting on instinct, Simon opened the window, threw one leg over the sill, and dropped lightly down onto the damp grass.

A moment later he was slipping silently along in the shadow of the tallest hedge. He caught sight of his quarry a short time later.

It was Emily, he realized grimly. There was no doubt about it. She was wearing her black velvet cloak.

Even as Simon watched, she unlocked the gate and stepped cautiously out into the dark alley. Simon started forward, his stomach cold with dread. He stopped short as a familiar masculine voice rose out of the darkness on the other side of the wall.

"Well, well, well," Crofton drawled contemptuously. "So you managed to pull it off, did you? I hope you have had the good sense to bring me one of Blade's better specimens concealed under your cloak, my dear. I would not want to have to send you back for another so soon."

"There will be no more, Mr. Crofton," Emily said fiercely.

"Oh, I think there will, Lady Blade. Your husband's wealth is a matter of much speculation, but there is no doubt it is considerable. I do not think he will miss one or two more of his odd statues."

"You are a bastard, Mr. Crofton."

Crofton chuckled evilly. "Remember what will happen if you do not cooperate, my dear. The husband you so obviously adore will be held up to public ridicule because of the scandal in your past. He will be humiliated forever because of you. But we both know you will do anything to protect Blade, don't we? Such a loving wife."

Simon found a chink with the toe of his boot and hoisted himself silently up to the top of the broad stone wall. Crouching on the rough surface, he looked down and saw two figures dimly illuminated in the weak moonlight. His hand clenched into a tight fist as the rage washed through him.

Emily had the hood of her cloak pulled up over her face, her hands buried inside the folds of velvet. Crofton stood a few feet from her, dressed in an enveloping greatcoat and a hat pulled down low over his eyes to conceal his face.

"Are you quite certain you will not give up this dreadful scheme?" Emily asked quietly. "Is there no hope of appealing to your better nature?"

"None whatsoever, my dear. None whatsoever. Do you know, I have grown vastly curious. I believe I would be interested to find out just why Blade finds you so amusing. I think we shall arrange for another meeting very soon, madam. Someplace private, I think, where you can show me how clever and amusingly eccentric you are—in bed."

"You are a monster, Crofton."

"Tut, tut, my dear. Just remember what will happen if you do not cooperate with me. I know you are probably too eccentric to care about your own reputation, but you will do what you have to in order to protect Blade from humiliation, won't you? And I shall so enjoy the experience of bedding you, madam. I feel certain it will be quite a novelty. Has he taught you any interesting Eastern tricks for entertaining a man?"

"You are correct about one thing, Crofton. I will do anything to protect my husband."

Emily's hands came out from under the cloak. Simon saw moonlight reflect off the small pistol she was clutching and he realized with a shock what she was about to do.

Emily was about to put a bullet through Crofton in order to protect him from the scandal in her past.

Crofton's mouth dropped open at the sight of the weapon. His eyes widened in stunned surprise. "Damnation, woman, are you mad? Put down that pistol."

"I gave you your chance, Mr. Crofton. And I hoped against all odds that I would not have to go to such extreme lengths to make you disappear. But you would not go away. There is only one way to protect my husband from you." She aimed, set her teeth, and started to pull the trigger.

"Bloody hell," Simon muttered. It was a heartwarming gesture, of course, and one he would treasure until his dying day, but he really could not allow Emily to shoot Crofton for him.

Simon dropped straight down from the wall, colliding with Emily an instant before she fired the pistol.