Scandal

Chapter 4

Emily came to the end of the Scottish reel, aware that she was laughing too gaily and feeling much too flushed. Her mood was one of unnatural cheerfulness and she knew the cause. She was fortifying herself for the task that lay ahead.

Her conscience would no longer allow her to put off telling Simon about the scandal.

This evening as she had dressed for the Gillinghams' party she had vowed to herself she would do what had to be done without further delay. As much as she loved the fantasy in which she was living, Emily knew she could no longer abide waiting for the ax to fall. She had to get the matter over and done. The longer things went on like this, the more she was going to feel sorry for herself when Simon eventually discovered the truth and walked away in disgust.

She had deliberately chosen to wear her very best gown, which had been made for her by the village seamstress. Tonight was the first time she had worn the pale green muslin trimmed with yellow ribbons and several rows of deep flounces. Her quizzing glass dangled discreetly on a ribbon attached to her gown.

The quizzing glass was a nuisance, but Emily refused to wear her spectacles tonight.

The deep neckline of the high-waisted dress had been designed to reveal a magnificent bosom. When Emily had ordered it she had somehow hoped it would magnify her less than impressive curves. When she had dressed earlier tonight, however, she had fretted that all it succeeded in doing was calling attention to the smallness of her own shape.

"Not a bit o' it," her maid, Lizzie, had insisted as she admired her mistress with delighted eyes. "It makes you look all airy and delicate like. As if you could fly away in the moonlight or somethin'."

Emily hoped she was right. She did not feel particularly light and airy tonight. There was a ball of lead in her stomach that seemed to be growing larger by the minute.

The Gillinghams' small ballroom was filled to the brim with the local gentry turned out in their finest. Lord and Lady Gillingham had a reputation for being kind enough to invite their less fashionable neighbors in once or twice a year. Simon's presence in their household appeared to have been an excuse for such an event. Champagne and a buffet of sweets and savories had been set out.

Simon had made himself and Emily the focal point of attention earlier when he had danced the first dance with her. Without her spectacles and lost in a romantic haze, Emily was able to ignore the many stares and curious looks she knew she and the earl had received. Simon, as usual, had not appeared to notice them either but that was because he never condescended to notice such things.

Emily could not imagine anything making a dent in Simon's calm self-confidence. That sense of inner strength and sureness that was so much a part of him could be a bit daunting at times, but it was certainly impressive.

Emily raised her quizzing glass for a few seconds and surreptitiously scanned the crowd until she spotted Simon talking to the vicar. Blade was, she decided, quite definitely the most glorious man in the room tonight. Of course, she was slightly biased. But there was no denying the fact that in his austere black and white evening attire Simon was dangerously attractive in a room that was overcrowded with brightly colored jackets and waistcoats.

"Good evening, Miss Faringdon. May I get you a glass of lemonade?"

Emily stifled a groan at the unwelcome sound of Elias Prendergast's voice. She lowered her quizzing glass, not needing any assistance in seeing the familiar fat, florid, heavily bewhiskered face.

Nor did she need her spectacles or the glass to see that the portly Mr. Prendergast had strapped himself into his corsets for the occasion. She could hear them creak when he moved.

"No, thank you," Emily murmured, thinking that what she really needed was a glass of champagne. She opened her fan and began fanning herself industriously as Prendergast leaned closer. The man smelled as if he had not bothered to bathe for the party. Prendergast was of the old school and had a strong distrust of the new fashion for frequent use of soap and water. He much preferred to utilize a quantity of perfume instead.

"Been meanin' to call on you now that I'm out of mourning, Miss Faringdon," Prendergast began with an air of importance. "Feel there is somethin' we should discuss."

Emily smiled politely. "I am persuaded that would not be at all correct, sir. Surely you will want to wait until my father is in residence."

"That's just it, damme," Prendergast said with obvious annoyance. "Yer father don't spend much time here in the country. Unpredictable in his comings and goings, ain't he?"

"He is very busy with his affairs in town. Lovely party, is it not?" Emily waved her fan in a graceful arc that took in the entire brightly lit room. "But, then, Lady Gillingham is always a gracious hostess."

Prendergast's bushy brows drew together in a scowl. He cleared his throat. Emily's heart fell. She had an awful premonition of what was coming next.

"Miss Faringdon, my dear, I feel that I am by way of being something of an adviser to you since your parent is so often absent," Prendergast said in ominous tones. "And it has come to my attention that we have a visitor in the neighborhood who has been seeing rather a lot of you lately."

"You shock me, sir. I had no idea you made it your business to pay heed to local gossip. I vow it must be very tiresome keeping up with it."

Prendergast snorted and glowered intimidatingly. It was well known that when she had been alive, Mrs. Prendergast had been a little mouse of a creature who would never have dreamed of making such a snippy remark.

"Now, see here, young lady. I am only too well aware of how a woman's head can be turned by the sort of romantical attention that Blade is lavishing upon you, Miss Faringdon, if you don't mind my saying so."

"But I do, sir. Mind your saying so, that is." Emily's smile grew bright and sharp as anger began to ignite within her. Prendergast was well on his way to spoiling what little time she had left with Simon.

Prendergast's heavy face congealed into a thunderous expression that Emily could see quite clearly without her glass.

"I speak only out of the deepest concern for your reputation, Miss Faringdon."

"Everyone knows my reputation is already beyond repair, sir. Pray do not concern yourself with it."

"Now, now, you must not be so hard on yourself," Prendergast admonished. "It's true enough that there is a nasty bit of scandal in your past. But you were young and foolish and made a mistake. These things happen to young gels. I, being a man of the world and not without some experience in schooling high-spirited females, am prepared to overlook the Incident."

"How very kind of you, sir."

"Well, yes, 'tis, rather. Blade, naturally, won't be able to do so. Got his family name and title to think of, y'know."

Emily's fingers clenched on the fan. "Pray, do not trouble yourself with any further advice, sir."

Prendergast drew himself up to his full height. He loomed over Emily, his corsets groaning. "Miss Faringdon, you once allowed your excessive passions to run way with you and in doing so brought social ruin upon yourself. Surely you have not forgotten the lessons learned on that unhappy occasion?"

"I assure you, I have forgotten nothing," Emily said through her teeth. "But you are beginning to annoy me, sir."

"Miss Faringdon, you misunderstand me. My intentions are quite honorable. I only wish to assist you by providing you with a respectable outlet for your rather high-spirited tendencies." He caught hold of her hand and crushed it between his damp, beefy palms.

"Please give me back my hand, sir." Emily tried unsuccessfully to withdraw her fingers from his sweaty grip.

Prendergast ignored her efforts, his fingers tightening painfully. He leaned closer until his bad breath and thick perfume nearly overpowered his victim. Then he lowered his voice to confidential tones.

"Miss Faringdon, I fully comprehend how difficult it must be for a woman of your high passions to be forced to be subjected to the depressing strictures of society. I feel certain that you would be far happier married. Within the sanctity of the marriage bed you would be able to give free rein to those impulses which you are now obliged to keep under control."

"Sir, if you do not let go of me this instant, I vow I will be forced to do something drastic."

But Prendergast was very intent on his mission now. "You need a man who can accommodate your excesses of emotion, my dear. I assure you I am that man. Furthermore, I intend to call upon your father at the earliest opportunity to tell him of my intentions."

"No," Emily gasped, horrified at the very thought.

"To that end," Prendergast continued as if he had not heard the alarm in her voice, "I have written him a letter informing him of the danger you are presently facing and assuring him that I will look after you until he returns to protect you from Blade's attentions."

"Attend to your own business, sir. I do not wish to be protected from his attentions."

"He is merely toying with your affections, my dear. Just as that other rake did five years ago."

Emily finally lost her temper. She folded her fan with a snap and brought it down quite sharply on the back of Prendergast's hand. The blow contained such stinging force that the sticks snapped.

"Yeow." Prendergast released her fingers abruptly, rubbing the back of his hand. The color in his plump cheeks was high. "Ah, Miss Faringdon, you are, indeed, a creature of great passions. I cannot wait until we are wed. I assure you I will manage you very well, my dear. Very well, indeed."

"Best not hold your breath waiting for that momentous occasion," Simon advised in his cold, dark drawl.

Emily jumped and whirled around to find that the earl had materialized at her elbow. She smiled brilliantly up at the dragon. He was satisfyingly large and ferocious, she thought, and he had lots of strong, white teeth. Furthermore, they were his own, which was more than could be said about Elias Prendergast's.

"Hello, my lord," Emily said happily. "I trust you are enjoying yourself?"

"Very much. I thought you might need this." He handed her a glass of champagne.

"How very perceptive of you, sir." Emily's fingers closed gratefully around the glass.

"Miss Faringdon prefers lemonade," Prendergast announced.

"You are wrong." Emily took a swallow. "At the moment Miss Faringdon has a strong preference for champagne."

Prendergast glowered at her unrepentant features. "We will discuss this matter further at a more convenient time, Miss Faringdon."

"What matter? My preference for champagne? I assure you, there is nothing to discuss."

"I was referring to other, more pressing concerns," Prendergast hissed. He inclined his head in a jerky motion. "If you will excuse me, I must speak to a friend." He took himself off with a great dignity that was somewhat marred by the sound of his creaking corsets.

Emily stifled a small sigh. As obnoxious as Prendergast was, he was also right in one respect. She could not continue to lead Simon on any longer. She took another swallow of champagne and looked up at the earl. She was standing close enough to him to see that he was watching her with a familiar mocking amusement in his gleaming eyes.

"It would seem I have competition for your hand," Simon murmured.

Emily shook her head quickly, her curls bouncing. "Pay no heed to Mr. Prendergast. He has been something of a nuisance ever since his poor wife finally faded away. Simon, I must speak to you."

"You have my full attention."

"No, not here. Not now." She glanced furtively around, squinting to see if there was anyone standing too close. "Simon, I must speak to you in private."

"That sounds promising."

"I fear it is not a joking matter, my lord. Indeed, it is most serious. Please, when can I see you? This has gone on long enough and there are…" Emily broke off, raised her quizzing glass for another quick glance around, and then added in a very low, unhappy voice, "There are things you must be told."

"Ah."

"I have been very remiss in not informing you of these particular matters earlier in our relationship. It was quite cowardly of me, but I suppose I assumed someone else would perform the task for me."

"You alarm me, my dear. I feel like a character in a Minerva Press novel. I believe I am beginning to tremble with the Uneasy Dread of the Unknown."

"My lord, you know very well that nothing could make you tremble with dread," Emily said crossly. "I vow this is difficult enough as it is. Please do not mock me."

"I would not dream of it. Very well, if I am not allowed to tremble with dread, I shall muster my courage and meet you for this terrifying pronouncement. How about your library at, say, one o'clock this morning? You will be safely home by then and your servants should be in bed."

Emily dropped her quizzing glass in shock. "My library? You mean to come to St. Clair Hall? Tonight?"

"Can you arrange to be in the library alone at that time?"

"Well, yes. Of course I can. I frequently work in the library after the servants have gone to bed." She frowned, thinking about the practical problems involved. "I shall have to unbolt the front door for you."

"No need." He sipped his own champagne and watched the couples who were promenading between dances. "Just be sure you are in the library at one. I will come to you there."

Emily raised her quizzing glass and searched his face. As usual, she could tell almost nothing about what he was thinking from his expression. She found it perfectly amazing that he could disguise his sensitive, passionate nature so completely behind that facade of cool detachment.

"Very well, my lord. One o'clock."

Emily had to admit that, even though the evening was destined to end in heartbreak, the mysterious manner in which Simon was setting up their final clandestine meeting was wonderfully intriguing. But, then, nothing was ever ordinary around the Earl of Blade. She would remember his brief courtship all of her life and those haunting memories would inspire her writing and her dreams for years to come.

A few minutes before one that morning, Emily sat down at the mahogany desk and stared fixedly at the brandy decanter. She had put her spectacles back on but she was ready to whip them off and stuff them into the top desk drawer as soon as Simon arrived.

The brandy decanter looked very inviting.

The decanter was full and Emily was cold with nerves and anticipation. For the past half hour she had been deliberating about whether to pour herself a fortifying glass.

The hands on the face of the tall clock near the fireplace were moving so slowly that Emily was beginning to wonder if they had stopped altogether. A couple of candles glowed nearby but that was the only illumination in the room. The fire had been laid for morning but she dared not light it. One of the staff would notice tomorrow that she had been up late again and they would all worry that she was working too hard. As a result the room was growing quite chilly.

With a start, Emily felt the gooseflesh on her arms as a sudden draft of chilled air rushed into the room behind her. She shivered in her frilled dressing gown and wondered if a window had blown open. She started to rise from her chair.

In that same instant she sensed another presence in the room.

Emily leapt to her feet, her lips parting in a scream, as she grabbed the letter opener that was laying on the desk.

But the scream was never uttered. A large masculine hand clamped quite firmly over her mouth and Emily was pulled quickly back against a hard male body.

She went limp with relief as she realized who held her.

"I would feel a great deal more welcome if you would put down that letter opener," Simon said, lowering his hand from her mouth. He extinguished the candle he held in his other hand.

"Simon. Bloody hell." Emily tossed aside the letter opener and spun around to glare up at him through her spectacles. "You gave me a terrible fright. Where did you come from? How on earth did you sneak up on me like that? I have been watching the door for an age."

Simon unfastened his greatcoat and stepped aside. He nodded casually toward a section of bookshelving that was slowly, silently sliding back into place against the wall. Emily saw the dark entrance that yawned in the stone behind the bookcase and her eyes widened in amazed delight.

"A secret passageway. Simon, this is wonderful." She darted around him and scurried toward the rapidly disappearing passageway. All thoughts of the long-planned confession vanished in the face of the promise of high adventure.

"Contain your enthusiasm, Miss Faringdon." Simon reached out and caught her arm, drawing her to a halt. "The bookcase will close on you. It is far too heavy for you to open by hand. One must use the hidden lever."

"What hidden lever? Where is it? Oh, this is so thrilling. Just like something out of one of those bloodcurdling Minerva Press novels you spoke of earlier this evening. I can hardly believe it. To think I have lived here nearly all my life and never knew about this secret."

"Calm yourself." Obviously amused by her irrepressible excitement, Simon glanced around the room until he spotted the brandy decanter. He tossed the heavy greatcoat down over a chair. "There are two levers," he explained as he crossed to the small table where the brandy stood.

"Two?"

"One in the passageway behind the wall and one hidden inside the bookcase itself." He poured two glasses of brandy as he spoke. "The man who built St. Clair Hall believed in maintaining emergency escape routes."

"But how did you know about the secret passageway?" Emily watched with regret as the bookcase sealed itself against the wall once more.

"Have you not reasoned that out yet? You astonish me. I know about the passageway because I used to live here."

That captured her full attention. Emily swung around quickly and saw that he was leaning against the desk with languid ease, sipping his brandy. She realized he had changed out of his evening clothes. He was dressed very casually in breeches, boots, and a linen shirt. He was not even wearing a cravat. He looked like a man relaxing in the comfort of his own home.

His own home.

Wordlessly Simon offered her the second glass of brandy. Just as if he were the host and I the visitor, Emily thought suddenly.

"St. Clair Hall was your family's country home?" Emily took the brandy glass in both hands, searching his face. "What an amazing coincidence."

"Yet another one for you to note in your journal." He swallowed a mouthful of brandy.

Emily chewed on her lower lip, uncertain of his mood. "You must have been a very young boy when you left."

"Twelve."

"Why did you not mention that the hall had once been your home?"

He shrugged. "It did not seem particularly important."

Emily took a sip of the brandy, frowning again. She had the distinct impression she was missing something here, but for the life of her she could not think what it was. Her romantic imagination took hold once more.

"It is obvious this strange coincidence is just one more haunting element in our doomed relationship, my lord," Emily finally announced.

Simon gave her a sharp glance. "Doomed, did you say? I confess I am not as well schooled in the elements of romantic literature as yourself. Perhaps you will explain?"

Emily took another sip of brandy and began pacing the room. Her soft slippers made no sound on the carpet. "I must tell you, my lord, that there can be no happy ending for us. And it is all my fault."

He watched her through narrowed, hooded eyes. "Why is that?"

Emily clutched the brandy glass so fiercely that her knuckles went white. She could not meet Simon's eyes as she turned at the end of the room and started pacing back toward the desk. Best to say it quickly and get it over and done, she decided.

"My lord, I must confess I have misled you most shamefully. I have flirted outrageously with you. I have led you on in a shocking fashion and allowed you to believe that I would welcome an offer of marriage from you."

There was a short, charged silence from the vicinity of the desk. Then Simon asked coldly, "Are you trying to tell me you would not welcome such an offer?"

"Oh, no, my lord. It is not that at all." She threw him an anguished glance, spun around on her heel, and strode bravely back toward the opposite end of the room. "I assure you I would be deeply honored by such an offer. Deeply honored. But I cannot in good conscience allow you to make one."

"How do you intend to stop me?"

"By telling you the truth about myself. A truth that I fully expected someone else to have told you long before now." Emily frowned for an instant. "Indeed, I cannot imagine why someone has not mentioned the Unfortunate Incident to you before this but since the good people of Little Dippington have seen fit to keep their mouths shut, I must confess all."

"The confession must be an interesting one, indeed, if it must be made in secret at this hour of the night."

The sound of crystal clinking gently on crystal came from the brandy table. Emily risked a quick sidelong glance and saw that the earl had poured himself another brandy. It struck her that she could do with another one herself.

"My lord, I shall try to make this as brief as possible so that you may get on about your affairs." Emily took a deep breath and steeled herself. "The horrid truth is that you cannot possibly ask for my hand in marriage for the simple reason that I am a ruined woman."

"Ruined for what? You look in fine fettle to me. Healthy as a horse."

Emily squeezed her eyes shut and came to a halt facing the bookshelves at the far end of the room. "You mistake my meaning, my lord," she said quietly. "I am trying to tell you that I am socially ruined. To be blunt, there is a great scandal in my past."

"A scandal?"

"A scandal involving a man. The scandal is of such proportions that I have been assured by my family that no decent man, especially a man with a duty to a noble title such as yours, could possibly wish to marry me."

There, Emily thought bleakly. It is done. She waited for the storm that must surely come. The Earl of Blade would not appreciate the fact that she had allowed him to make a cake of himself for more than a sennight.

"Are we by any chance discussing that bit of nonsense that occurred when you were nineteen?" Simon asked blandly.

Emily was thrown into instant confusion. "You have heard about the Incident, my lord?"

"Rest assured, my dear, I always try to fortify myself with as much information as possible before I set out on a project. It is an old habit of mine. One I picked up during my years in the East."

She turned to stare at him, not understanding how he could be taking this so lightly. "My lord, it was not a trifling matter. It was an elopement. Or rather, it was supposed to be an elopement. I fear I foolishly surrendered to an excess of romantic passion and paid the price."

"This grows more interesting by the moment."

"Bloody hell, Blade, this is not a joke. Do you not understand? I ran off with a man. My father caught up with us but it was…" she cleared her throat with a small cough, "it was too late."

"Too late?" The earl cocked a brow, not looking in the least alarmed.

"We were obliged to spend the night on the road," Emily mumbled. She averted her gaze from Simon's gleaming eyes. "My father did not find me until the next morning."

"I see. Tell me something, Emily. Why is it I have the distinct impression you do not entirely regret the Incident?"

Emily resumed her pacing. "I assure you, I do now. But I confess that at the time, it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me." She sighed forlornly. "But my father soon explained that it was the only exciting thing that would ever happen to me because after that no decent man would have me. He brought me home and said I must devote my life to my studies of the stock exchange and investments."

"Do you enjoy those studies?"

"Oh, yes, at times. There is a certain fascination to it all, you know." She waved a hand vaguely. "But that is neither here nor there." She drew a breath. "My lord, I appreciate that in light of this information you must, of course, abandon your intention of asking for my hand in marriage."

"I rarely abandon any of my intentions, Emily. I have a reputation for following through to the finish. Just ask anyone in London."

"Well, you can hardly mean to do so in this matter," she shot back. "Men of your position do not marry women who have been ruined. Now, then, my lord, I have made my confession and if you have not taken a complete disgust to me, I would like to say something else."

"I assure you, Emily, I am not about to leave now. I am fascinated to hear whatever else you have to say."

"Very well, then, you may be wondering why I wore my dressing gown to this clandestine meeting."

"I assumed it was because you are freezing and your wrapper is no doubt considerably warmer than that very charming gown you had on earlier this evening. This room was always cold."

Emily groaned. She wondered for the first time if the Earl of Blade was just a trifle dense on some matters. She kept her eyes focused on the bookcase as she forced herself to continue. "I wore my dressing gown because I am about to offer you an illicit connection of a romantic nature."

"I fear I do not understand, my dear. We already have a legitimate connection of a romantic nature."

She whirled around, glowering in exasperation. "I thought you a man of the world, sir. Pray, pay attention. As there is no possibility of a marriage between us and as I have fallen quite hopelessly in love with you, I have come up with the notion of offering you a… a liaison."

"A liaison?" He gazed at her quizzically.

"I am offering you an affair, you blockhead." Emily sucked in a horrified breath as she realized what she had just said. She closed her eyes in mortification. Her face flamed. "My lord, forgive me. I did not mean to call you a blockhead. I fear my nerves are quite overset and I must own that I have something of a temper. Occasionally it gets the better of me."

"You are obviously a woman of strong passions, just as Prendergast observed."

"And you are obviously a man who appears to be amused at the oddest things." She put down her brandy glass. Clearly she'd had more than enough to drink. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her dressing gown. "Well?" she demanded testily. "What about my offer?"

The earl straightened slowly and set aside his empty glass. He crossed the room to where she stood, his strong hands closing warmly around her shoulders. "Emily, my dear, please be assured that I am deeply honored by your charming offer."

Her heart sank. "But?"

"But I think that, as you are a creature of excessive passion and possessed of a spirited romantic temperament, it would be best if you allowed me to guide you in this matter."

"Why?" she asked baldly. "Do you think you can be cold-blooded about this sort of thing the way you try to be about everything else?"

"Those who know me will tell you I can and usually am quite cold-blooded about everything. Be warned, Emily."

"Fustian. It is just an attitude you affect. It is no use trying to tell me you are cold-blooded because I know the truth. Do not forget I have learned a great deal about you from your letters, my lord. Our thoughts have met and mingled on a higher plane. We have looked deeply into each other's souls."

"Believe what you wish, my dear. Nevertheless, you will allow that, if nothing else, I am older than you and have seen far more of the world."

"No doubt. I have been stuck in Little Dippington all of my life."

"Then you will grant me the advantage of wider experience and allow me to make the decisions regarding the course of our future relationship."

"I will?"

"Yes, Emily," he said quite gently. "You will." He bent his head and kissed the tip of her nose. "I am convinced it would be best if you wait until your wedding night before you surrender completely to another bout of excessive romantic passion."

"Then I shall wait forever, my lord," she snapped, "because I certainly do not intend to wed Elias Prendergast and he is about the only one who is likely to offer for me."

"No, my dear, he is not. I am going to offer for you. Just as soon as your father returns to Little Dippington."

Emily looked up at him in blank incomprehension. "You are going to offer for me? But, my lord, I just finished explaining that I am a ruined woman."

"I think," Simon said coolly, "that we will not discuss the Unfortunate Incident in your past again."

"We will not?"

"You begin to understand." He brushed his mouth lightly across hers and then drew back, smiling faintly.

She caught one of his big hands in her two small fists. "Simon, do you mean it? You intend to go through with making an offer for me regardless of the great scandal in my past?"

"Oh, yes, Emily. I fully intend to ask your father for your hand."

She could hardly believe it. Joyous excitement threatened to swamp her. "And you do not wish to begin an illicit romantic liaison tonight instead?"

"It is, naturally, difficult to resist a woman of such warm passions as yourself, Emily, but I intend to wait until our wedding night to consummate our union."

"Oh."

Simon laughed softly at the rueful disappointment in her eyes. He brought one of her hands to his lips and kissed her wrist, his eyes never leaving hers. "Which is not to say, my sweet, that we cannot avail ourselves of a taste or two of forbidden fruit."

She glowed up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Does that mean you are going to kiss me?"

"Among other things." He lowered his head, his dragon's eyes the color of molten gold. His mouth was warm on the curve of her throat.

"Oh, Simon."

"I like it when you say my name in just that manner. I like it very much. Almost as much as the way you shiver when I touch you."

He gripped her firmly around her waist and lifted her up off the floor. She looked down at him with a sense of wonder, her hands braced on his shoulders as he carried her over to the mahogany desk.

Simon seated her on the edge of the desk and then very deliberately began to unfasten Emily's chintz wrapper. His eyes held hers in thrall as he slowly parted the edges of the garment to reveal the embroidered, high-necked muslin nightdress underneath.

Emily felt herself going pink from head to toe. No doubt he could see the way her nipples were thrusting against the soft fabric. She reminded herself she was a ruined woman and he would be expecting some level of sophistication about this sort of thing from her.

She cleared her throat. "My lord, is this what you call kissing?" she said in what she hoped was a suitably blase fashion.

"No, this is what I call tasting forbidden fruit." He smiled down into her eyes and bent his head to cover her mouth with his own. His hand went to her breast.

Emily stiffened with shock and then moaned softly. Her arms tightened around his neck. Simon's thumb moved over her nipple, causing it to form a tight bud of desire. His mouth slid druggingly across hers. The heat of his body as he leaned close kept away the chill of the room.

Lost in the wonder and excitement of Simon's kiss, Emily barely noticed when his hands went to her legs. He pushed the hem of the nightdress up to her thighs and then he gripped her knees very firmly. Slowly, gently, he forced her legs widely apart and then, in a shockingly intimate move, stepped boldly between them.

Emily's eyes flew open. "My lord… Simon, I…"

"Hush, my sweeting." He did not lift his mouth from hers as he spoke. His fingers slid along the insides of her thighs in seemingly random patterns. "You are very soft. Like warm silk."

Instinctively she tried to close her legs and found his hard, muscled thighs in the way. She could feel the rough texture of his breeches against her bare skin, the sensation sending an alarmed thrill through her body.

"Close your eyes and do not think about what I am doing," Simon ordered softly.

His hands moved closer to Emily's most secret places. She closed her eyes, suddenly short of breath.

"Kiss me, Emily." Simon's voice was husky and coaxing.

Emily realized with a flare of guilty alarm that her entire attention had been fixed on the movement of his hands. She was obviously supposed to be paying more attention to returning his kiss.

Anxious not to disappoint him, she caught his face between her palms and urgently ground her mouth against his until their teeth clinked.

"Much better, my sweet," Simon murmured encouragingly. "But you must relax a little. Open your mouth for me."

With a shudder, Emily did so. Simon's tongue immediately thrust deep inside and at the same time his fingers found the flowing warmth between her legs.

Emily froze. She tried to speak and could not. She tried to take a deep breath and could not. She tried to think of how a sophisticated, ruined woman would react to such an intimacy and could not. The whole thing was simply too overwhelming. Her senses were reeling.

Simon did not seem to expect anything from her but the small shivers that were making her tremble from head to foot. His mouth stayed locked on hers as his fingers stroked her with a shockingly gentle intimacy.

Emily began to forget about the strangeness of the whole thing as a tide of heat and tension rose in her lower body. Her fingers clenched violently into the fabric of Simon's linen shirt.

"Simon," she finally managed, tearing her mouth free from his for an instant and staring up at him with huge, questioning eyes.

"Hold on to me very tightly, elf," he advised softly. "I promise you, all will be well. Remember what the poets say. One must open oneself to the world of sensual experience if one is to know the truth concerning the nature of the metaphysical world. Open yourself, Emily. Give yourself over to me."

Not knowing what else to do, feeling utterly at sea in a wave of stunning, unfamiliar emotions, Emily obeyed. She closed her eyes and clung to Simon as though her life depended on it.

His fingers were damp now and moved with slick ease over the delicate petals that shielded her secrets. And then those gentle, probing fingers seemed to find a very special place. Emily arched her back helplessly as the sense of urgency within her threatened to explode. She was in desperate need of something but she did not know what that something was. She finally decided it was Simon's touch. Instinctively she widened her legs even farther, silently pleading for more of the astounding sensations.

"Yes." Simon kissed her throat and his hand moved on her. "Yes, my sweet. Now, Emily. Show me what a passionate creature you really are." One finger slid gently just inside her damp sheath.

Emily gasped. She opened her mouth on a keening cry of excitement as her whole body convulsed. Simon's mouth swooped down over hers, muffling the soft, feminine scream of release.

Emily felt herself hovering on what could only be described as a truly metaphysical plane for several seconds and then she slowly collapsed in a soft heap against Simon's chest.

"Bloody hell," she muttered in a dazed voice against his shoulder.

Simon made a small, choked sound that might have been a laugh or a groan. It was impossible to tell. "Ah, Emily. You are indeed a creature of great passions." He slowly withdrew his hands from between her legs and gently rearranged her clothing.

Emily lifted her head from his shoulder. She still felt dazed and she seemed to have difficulty focusing on his face.

Then she realized that at some point he had removed her spectacles.

"Oh, Simon."

"Oh, Emily." He kissed the tip of her nose and handed her the spectacles with courtly grace.

When she got them on, she saw that he was smiling his faint, unreadable smile. But his eyes were hooded and glowing with yellow fire. Never had he looked more dangerous or more compellingly attractive. Then Emily glanced down and saw the distinct bulge in his tight breeches. "Simon?"

Some of the fire dimmed in his eyes as his gaze followed hers with rueful awareness. "Do not worry, Emily. I will be quite all right. But to avoid surrendering any further to the delightful temptation you are offering tonight, I believe I had best be on my way. The long walk home in the cold night air will take care of my current problem." He stepped away from her and picked up the greatcoat.

"I will see you soon?" She wished desperately that he need not leave.

"If I recall correctly, I and the other members of the literary society have accepted an invitation to tea here at St. Clair Hall tomorrow afternoon. I am looking forward to it."

Emily smiled her most dazzling smile and jumped down off the desk. She staggered and had to grasp the edge to steady herself. Her eyes filled with laughter as she suddenly realized she was feeling extraordinarily good, although the dampness between her thighs was disconcerting.

"Yes, that's right. Tea tomorrow. My lord, if you are not inclined to taste any more forbidden fruit tonight, would you please do me a very great favor?"

He eyed her with watchful amusement as he shrugged into the caped coat. "And what would that favor be?"

"Would you show me how to open the entrance to the secret passageway?"

The earl grinned wryly. "It is obvious that learning the secret of the hidden passage is every bit as exciting a thought for you as surrendering to a night of illicit passion."

Emily was afraid she had offended him. She patted his hand placatingly. "It is just that I am very fond of things like secret passages, my lord. And I would dearly love to use this one in my poem, The Mysterious Lady. I vow it would suit the story perfectly."

"Who am I to stand in the way of your literary muse?" Simon took her hand and led her over to the bookcase.