Scandal

Chapter 5

Emily frowned intently over the letter from her father's man of affairs, Mr. Davenport.

Emily smiled with satisfaction and jotted down a note to tell Davenport to go ahead with the investment in the Northumberland mining project. When she was finished she reached up and pulled the bell rope that hung beside her desk. Duckett, the butler, appeared almost at once.

"Oh, there you are, Duckett." Emily grinned cheerfully. "Please advise the staff that the South Sea annuities and India bonds have come to fruition. Your investments realized a handsome profit and were sold on Monday. The draft is in the bank."

Duckett's dour features lit up with gratitude and pleasure. "Staff will be most delighted, Miss Faringdon. Most delighted, indeed. Please accept our most earnest appreciation. You cannot know what a great relief it is to contemplate a financially secure retirement." He hesitated briefly. "Circumstances being what they are."

Emily wrinkled her nose. "We have known each other for many years, Duckett. We can be honest with each other. I know perfectly well that if the household staff relies upon my father's remembering to set aside something for their pensions, you will all starve in your old age."

"A rather dramatic statement, but quite probably true." Duckett permitted himself the briefest of smiles. "In any event, we are exceedingly grateful for your investment advice and services, Miss Faringdon."

"I am the one who is exceedingly grateful, Duckett," Emily said very seriously. "You all take excellent care of me. I do not know what I would do without you. It would be very lonely around here, that is for certain."

"Thank you, Miss Faringdon," the butler said gently. "We do try."

She smiled. "And succeed very ably. Oh, Duckett, one more thing before you leave."

"Yes, miss?"

Emily paused, searching for just the right words. She was loath to offend. "Does Mrs. Hickinbotham have any, uh, questions concerning this afternoon's arrangements?"

Duckett's eyes softened. "Not at all, Miss Faringdon. I assure you that in the course of her previous employment, Mrs. Hickinbotham had a great deal of experience serving tea to guests."

Emily was immediately embarrassed to have called the housekeeper's qualifications into question. "Yes, of course. I expect I am just the tiniest bit anxious. We do so little entertaining here at St. Clair Hall. And we have never had an earl to tea before."

"I believe Mrs. Hickinbotham once mentioned she had supervised preparations for tea for a marquess a few years back."

"Wonderful." Emily felt humbled and relieved. "Thank you, Duckett."

"You are most welcome, Miss Faringdon. I assure you all will go quite smoothly this afternoon."

"I am certain you are right. Just one more thing. Will you ask Mrs. Hickinbotham to see if we have any of the Lap Seng tea left? If so, I would like her to serve it rather than the Congou blend."

"The Lap Seng? I will inquire."

"Thank you. It is for the earl, you see. For some reason he has named his horse Lap Seng, so I assume he has a strong preference for that particular type of Souchong tea."

"His horse?" Duckett looked slightly startled but recovered himself instantly. "I see. I will speak to Mrs. Hickinbotham at once, Miss Faringdon." The butler let himself quietly out of the library.

Emily watched the door close, thinking that one of these days she must remember to ask Simon just why he had named the chestnut stallion Lap Seng. There were so many things to ask him, she thought, so many fascinating topics waiting to be discussed. It was going to be quite wonderful being married to a man with whom she could share an intellectual connection, one with whom she could communicate on a higher, transcendental plane, a man of refined sensibilities.

Of course, their communication on the more mundane physical plane was going to be quite exciting, also. Emily felt herself growing quite warm, even though there was no fire on the hearth.

She stared dreamily out the window for a moment. Never in her life had she experienced anything quite like that shattering sense of release she had experienced last night here in the library. It had given her a whole new insight into certain poetical passages written by her favorite authors.

It had also given her a whole new understanding of the phrase an excess of passion.

A small tingle of pure, unadulterated happiness went through her like a jolt from one of the electricity machines people used for scientific experiments. The whole thing was incredible. It was almost too much to comprehend.

She was not accustomed to good luck in anything except financial matters.

"Bloody hell," Emily whispered aloud. Then she promptly scowled. She really must stop cursing in such an unladylike fashion. She would be a countess soon and she was quite certain countesses did not curse.

She hoped Simon's high and noble standards would not oblige him to insist on a long engagement. Year-long engagements were not unusual among the ton. There were generally a great many details to be resolved, the sort of details that all came under the vague heading of "settlements." Emily did not think she could bear to wait a year.

Reluctantly Emily turned her attention back to the letters, journals, and notes piled high on her desk. The last thing she felt like doing this morning was work on her investments. But at the rate the Faringdon men went through money, constant attention to finances was essential. Her mother had often explained to Emily that someone had to look after Papa and the twins. Indeed, Mrs. Faringdon had impressed that notion on Emily one last time from her deathbed.

Unenthusiastically Emily pulled the latest issue of The Gentleman's Magazine toward her and opened it to the monthly summary of stock exchange prices. She scanned the daily fluctuation in prices on canal bonds, India bonds, bank stock, and the funds, making a few quick notes to herself before turning the page.

Then she ran her fingertip down the summary of recent prices paid for wheat, rye, oats, and beans in the inland counties and compared them to the prices paid in the maritime counties. Again she picked up her quill and jotted down a comment or two. Next she checked the average prices of flour, sugar, hay, and straw for the preceding month, looking for trends.

When she was finished noting recent prices on commodities, Emily turned to the monthly meteorological table. This she gave only a cursory glance. It was still winter and the daily temperatures and rainfall amounts were not as important to her calculations now as they would be in the spring and summer. In a couple of months she would begin watching them closely in an attempt to anticipate the harvests.

When she had finished gleaning what she could from The Gentleman's Magazine, she turned to her correspondence. Sir Alfred Chumley had news of a new coal mining enterprise and a certain Mrs. Middleton had written to inquire about Emily's interest in a ship that would be leaving soon for the West Indies. It was expected to return with a sizable profit, just as the last one had.

Mrs. Hickinbotham found the Lap Seng.

Emily watched anxiously as Simon took his first sip of the exotic, smoky brew. When he smiled at her over the rim of the cup and gave her a knowing look, she wanted to hug Mrs. Hickinbotham. The housekeeper's eyes sparkled but her expression remained appropriately restrained as she curtsied and left the members of the literary society to their discussions.

Emily had changed her mind three times about which dress to wear before Lizzie finally talked her into the ruff-necked, flounced muslin. The gown was a pale yellow with tiny little white stripes and Lizzie claimed it set off the color of Emily's hair. Emily was not at all certain it was a good idea to set off red hair but Lizzie overrode her mistress's concerns.

The ladies of the literary society had arrived with an air of great expectation. They were growing accustomed to having an earl in their midst these days and his attentions to Emily had not gone unnoticed. The good ladies were all secretly thrilled by the high-minded romance blossoming in their midst and they now greeted Simon with friendly cordiality.

As usual, once seated among them, he looked like a dark, golden-eyed beast surrounded by a bunch of lively, chirping birds. Simon did not appear to mind the contrast. But, then, it was blazingly clear to Emily that the earl was quite unflappable.

The whole event, including refreshments and conversation, went off with such effortless ease that Emily began to suspect she had a heretofore undiscovered talent for entertaining. She really must do more of it, she decided as the discussion became quite lively.

"And how is your poem coming along, Emily?" Miss Bracegirdle asked after they had concluded a spirited debate of the merits of Samuel Coleridge's lectures on Shakespeare. No one present had actually attended the lectures but reports had been widely circulated and the general conclusion was that they were not of the high caliber expected from Coleridge.

"I am working on expanding the verses to include a new adventure," Emily announced. She glanced at Simon and a slight flush warmed her cheeks. "I have a marvelous idea for a scene in a secret passageway."

"How exciting." Miss Ostly, who enjoyed Minerva Press novels more than most, was clearly entranced. "And perhaps a ghost? I dearly love a ghost."

Emily's brows rose above the frames of her spectacles as she considered the addition of a ghost to The Mysterious Lady. "Ghosts are always an excellent thing in a tale of adventure and romance. But it is difficult to find things to rhyme with ghost. One always ends up with toast or boast."

"Or roast," Simon offered.

Miss Hornsby, who had earlier accepted a glass of sherry instead of tea, giggled. Lavinia Inglebright shot her a quelling frown. She opened her mouth to suggest another possible rhyme but was interrupted by the sound of carriage wheels and horses' hooves in the drive. She looked at Emily in surprise. "I do believe you have visitors."

Emily went very still, her glance flying to Simon's unperturbed face. She almost never had visitors and everyone in the drawing room knew it. "My father and brothers, no doubt." So Elias Prendergast's letter had reached London and had had the expected result. "I was not expecting them." Not now. Not so soon.

But Simon, who obviously knew precisely what she was thinking, merely smiled his inscrutable smile and sipped his smoky Lap Seng.

There was the stamp of booted feet in the hall, the drone of impatient masculine voices, and a moment later the drawing room door was thrown open.

The three magnificent Faringdon men strode into the room like three gilded whirlwinds. Tall, handsome, and dressed to the nines in the latest riding clothes, they all looked dashingly disheveled from their journey. The twins, Devlin and Charles, quickly scanned the group for a pretty female face and, upon finding none to their liking, glowered at Simon.

Broderick Faringdon, Emily's father, was losing some of his hair and what he had left was turning from gold to silver, but he still managed to maintain the same stylish appearance as his sons. His hawklike nose and blue eyes together with his air of raffish dissipation still made him very attractive to women.

"Good afternoon, ladies. Blade."

As the ladies murmured a rush of polite greetings, Broderick Faringdon inclined his head brusquely at Simon.

Emily felt the sudden chill in the room. Something was very wrong. Her instincts told her there was more going on here than a disgruntled father dealing with an unapproved suitor. Her eyes flew to Simon.

But the dragon merely acknowledged her father's greeting with a mocking inclination of his head and went back to sipping his Lap Seng.

"Papa." Emily jumped to her feet. "You sent no word ahead. We did not know to expect you."

"I sent no word because I knew I'd be here before the post. Got a new stallion that can beat anything on four feet. Come and give your papa a proper greeting, miss."

Dutifully, Emily went toward him and gave him the requisite peck on the cheek. Then she stepped back, eyes narrowing. Now that the first shock was over, she was annoyed at having her tea party interrupted. "Really, Papa, I do think you could have given me some warning."

"This is my home, girl. Why should I announce myself like a visitor?"

Behind Emily the covey of literary society ladies were quickly getting to their feet, preparing to leave.

"Really must be off," Priscilla Inglebright said. "Thank you so much for having us in this afternoon, Emily."

"Yes, a lovely treat," Miss Bracegirdle said stoutly as she picked up her reticule.

The farewells came fast and furious after that. Emily stood at the door with a determined smile on her face while she fumed inwardly. Her father and brothers had ruined everything. Only Simon was delaying his departure.

Out in the hall wraps were hastily donned and bonnets were quickly tied. In a moment all of the ladies were being handed up into the carriage Emily had ordered to take them to their respective residences.

A cold, dangerous silence descended on the drawing room.

Bloody hell, thought Emily. She whirled to confront her father. "Well, Papa, to what do I owe the honor of this rushed visit?"

"Ask Blade. I expect he knows the answer to that." Broderick Faringdon glowered at Simon, who was calmly finishing his tea. "What the devil do you think you're about, sir?"

Simon's brows rose slightly. "I should think that was obvious, Faringdon. I was invited to tea and I am enjoying a very fine cup of Lap Seng."

"Don't try to fob me off with that tea nonsense. You're up to something, Blade."

Simon smiled his coldest smile and put down his empty cup. Something that might have been satisfaction or triumph blazed in his eyes. "In that case, I will call on you tomorrow at three to discuss it."

"The hell you will," Faringdon snarled.

Emily was startled by the ugly red flush in her father's face. Devlin and Charles were staring at her as if she had brought disgrace and ruin to herself a second time.

"Yes. I most certainly will." Simon rose to his feet with lethal grace, taller than even the tall Faringdon men. "Until tomorrow, Faringdon." He walked over to Emily, took her hand, and kissed it. His eyes gleamed at her. "Thank you for tea, Miss Faringdon. I enjoyed myself very much. But, then, I always do in your presence."

"Goodbye, my lord. Thank you for attending our salon this afternoon." Emily suddenly wanted to grab the tails of his beautifully cut blue coat and hold him fast there in the drawing room. She did not want to face her father and brothers alone. But there was nothing she could do.

A moment later Simon had collected his curly-brimmed beaver hat and York tan gloves from Duckett and sauntered out the front door to where the Gillinghams' curricle waited. There was a clatter of hooves and wheels and he was gone.

Emily clasped her hands in front of her and glared at her father and brothers. "I hope you are all satisfied. You have quite ruined my tea. We were having a wonderful time until you burst in here without so much as a by-your-leave."

"I told you, this is my home, girl. Don't need to ask permission to walk into my own drawing room. Devil take it, Emily, what's going on here?" Broderick Faringdon faced his daughter, his hands on his hips. "I had a letter from Prendergast telling me you were being courted by the Earl of Blade, for God's sake."

"I am. I should think you would be pleased and proud, Papa."

"Proud?" Devlin poured himself a glass of claret from a bottle that had been set out for Simon. He shot a pitying look at his sister. "Have you lost your wits, Em? You know what will happen when Blade finds out about the Incident. What made you lead him on in the first place? You know how it's going to end."

Charles shook his head. "How could you let things come to such a pass, Em? Bound to be an embarrassing scene now. All the old mud will be dredged up and you're going to feel like a prize fool."

"He already knows about the scandal," Emily shouted, her hands clenching into small fists. "He already knows and he does not care. Do you hear me? He does not care a fig about it."

There was an acute silence. And then, with a weary air, the senior Faringdon helped himself to a glass of claret.

"So that's his game," Broderick said quietly. "Knew he was hatching some vicious scheme. Man's bloody damn dangerous. Everyone in London knows it. I wish to God he'd stayed out there in the East Indies. Why in hell did he have to come back?"

"What scheme?" Emily demanded. "What are you talking about, Papa? The man is going to ask for my hand in marriage. He knows I am socially ruined but he loves me anyway."

"Emily, my dear. You are so bloody naive." Broderick threw himself down onto the sofa and gulped his claret. "Men like Blade do not marry women such as yourself. Why should they? With his title and the fortune he has made for himself in the East Indies, Blade can have his pick of the pretty little virgins that come up in the marriage mart every Season. Why should he take soiled goods?"

Emily flushed, fighting back the old humiliation. "He does not seem to care about such things, Papa."

"Every man cares about such things," Charles told her with brotherly ruthlessness.

"Is that so?" Emily flashed furiously. "Then why do you go to such lengths to seduce every poor, wretched female you can find and turn them into soiled goods?"

"Here, now," Devlin snapped. "Charles and I are gentlemen. We don't go about seducing innocent young women of quality."

"Just the innocent young women of the lower classes? The ones who have no choice? I suppose you think their inferior social status makes it all right?"

"Enough!" Broderick Faringdon roared. "We stray from the subject. Emily, I will be blunt. You have gotten all of us into a very serious situation and I am only just now beginning to suspect what it will cost us."

"Why will it cost us anything?" she shouted back. "I am going to be married. What is wrong with that?"

The glass in her father's hand hit the table with a loud crack. "Damn, girl, don't you see what's up here? Blade don't intend to marry you. Not for a moment."

"Then why is he going to offer for me?"

Broderick Faringdon went quiet for a moment. He was a man who had grown very adept at reading the intentions of his opponents in high-stakes games. "What he'll no doubt offer is a trade."

"Damn. You're right, Father." Charles poured himself more claret.

"Hell and damnation. Of course. Should have seen it coming," Devlin muttered.

Emily stared at her father. "A trade? Papa, what on earth are you talking about?"

Broderick shook his head. "Don't you get it yet, girl? Blade don't want to marry you. What he intends to do is threaten to run off with you unless I give him what he wants." He cast a brooding eye around the elegant drawing room. "And I think I know what he will demand in exchange for doing us the great favor of getting out of our lives."

Devlin looked at him sharply. "What does he want, Father?"

"St. Clair Hall." Broderick swallowed the remainder of the claret in his glass in one gulp. "Bloody bastard hates me. He's waited twenty-three years to get his vengeance and now he's finally found a way to do it."

Emily felt dazed. She sank stiffly down onto a brocade chair, her eyes never leaving her father. "I think you had better explain, Papa. Now."

Broderick surveyed his three offspring for a long moment and then sighed heavily. "Wish your mama was still with us. She always used to handle this kind of unpleasantness. Had a way about her. I could leave it all up to her."

Devlin glanced at Charles and then looked directly at his father. "Charles and I understand part of this. We know Blade is trying to use Emily somehow. But what is this about St. Clair Hall? Why would he want it in exchange for not running off with Em? Man's rich as Croesus. He could buy a dozen houses as fine as this one."

Emily clenched her fingers tightly together. "He said this was his home at one time," she said slowly. "He lived here as a boy."

Broderick wore a hunted expression. "He told you that?"

"Oh, yes, Papa. We are very close." Emily narrowed her eyes defiantly behind the lenses of her spectacles.

"How close?" Devlin demanded abruptly. "Intimately close? For God's sake, has that bastard already seduced you, Em? Is that why he thinks you'll run off with him?"

"The earl has been a perfect gentleman," Emily informed him proudly.

"Well, at least we can be grateful the man's got some shreds of a conscience left," Broderick observed wearily. "Doubt they'll do me much good, though."

"Papa," Emily said sharply, "You will explain all of this and you will do so now."

The elder Faringdon nodded glumly. "You will have to know all of it sooner or later. Blade has made certain of that, the damn bloody bastard. The long and the short of it is, I did not purchase St. Clair Hall after a particularly good run of luck, as I once told you. I won it and the bulk of the Traherne fortune directly from Blade's father in a card game twenty-three years ago. The earl paid his debt like the gentleman he was."

"And?" Emily scowled at him. "I know there is more to this, Papa."

"And then the fool came back here and put a bullet through his head."

Emily closed her eyes in horror. "Dear God in heaven."

Charles spoke up. "I fail to see the problem. It was a debt of honor and the man paid. The fact that he committed suicide later is no concern of ours."

Emily shuddered. "How can you be so callous? Don't you realize what must have happened?"

Broderick swore heavily. "There's not much more to the tale. The young boy and his mother vacated the house and went to live somewhere in the north. The mother never made another appearance in Society as far as I know. She died several years back, I understand."

"What about Blade?" Devlin asked. "What happened to him?"

"Some relative—an aunt, I believe—eventually scraped together enough blunt to buy him a commission. Probably did it to get rid of him. Blade went to the Peninsular Wars for a couple of years. Then he sold out and headed for the East Indies."

"Because he had no fortune of his own," Emily put in fiercely. "You had stolen his inheritance, stripped him of his rightful lands and property. After his father killed himself, Simon and his mother were thrown out of their home, penniless. They became dependent on the charity of relatives. How Blade must have hated that. He is so proud. How could you have done such a thing, Papa?"

Broderick shot her a fulminating glance. "I won everything in a fair game and don't you ever forget that, Missy. That's the way of the world. A man's got no business playing if he can't afford to pay."

"Papa."

"In any event, Blade's done all right for himself. Word in the clubs is he lived like a pasha out there on some island. Did some favors for the East India Company and they rewarded him with a slice of the tea trade. He's got a fair-sized fortune of his own now. God knows, he don't need anything from us."

"But he feels you owe him St. Clair Hall?" Devlin asked.

Broderick nodded. "Vengeful bastard. I've only seen him a couple of times over the years. He looked me up before he left for the wars and again just before he sailed to the East. Both times all he said was that someday I would pay for what I had done to him and his family. He swore my family would suffer as much as his had. He also vowed to get St. Clair Hall back. I thought it was all bluster."

"And now he thinks he's found a way to force you to give him the house," Charles said, glowering at his sister. "But if he's so rich, why don't he just offer to buy it back?"

"Expect it's the principle of the thing. He thinks I owe it to him. I told you, he wants vengeance. And he probably knows I would not sell it, even if he made a decent offer."

"Why not?" Charles demanded impatiently. "We're hardly ever in residence, anyway. Except for Emily, of course."

Broderick looked around again, savoring the furnishings of the beautiful room. "This is the finest home any Faringdon has ever owned, by God. Finer than anything my father ever acquired or my grandfather or the baron himself, the stingy bastard. I've done better than any of 'em. First Faringdon to ever amount to something. And this house proves it."

Devlin shot a narrow glance at Emily's white face. "This could get very nasty, indeed. Blade ain't the type to bluff. Emily, you surely ain't been so stupid as to lose your heart to Blade?"

" 'Course she has," Charles muttered. "Look at her. Thinks that son of a bitch really wants to marry her. And that's what he'll tell her when he invites her to run off with him. She'll believe him, just like she believed Ashbrook. Christ, what a mess. We'll have to lock her up."

"Do not be idiotic," Emily said. "I could escape from any room in this house." She drew herself up proudly, rage pouring through her veins like red fire. "But you will see. Blade is going to ask for my hand and I am going to marry him."

"He don't want you, girl. Not for his wife. Ain't that clear enough?" Charles shook his head in exasperation. "He ain't going to offer for you tomorrow at three. He's going to blackmail Father, instead."

"He bloody hell will make a respectable offer," Emily retorted, her voice high and tight with tension. "I know him, damn you."

Broderick sighed heavily. "No, Emily, you do not know him. No one knows Blade. You have not heard the talk in the clubs. The man is cloaked in mystery. Bloody powerful, too. They say even men like Canonbury and Peppington are under his thumb. All anyone is certain of is that he is both very rich and very dangerous."

"Do not tell her such things, Father," Devlin muttered. "You will only make him sound more intriguing to her. You know her romantic imagination."

"Listen to me, Emily, you're a sensible girl when it comes to managing finances," Broderick said in cajoling tones. "I expect you to be sensible about this matter, too. This is not some damn romantic novel. This is real. Your future is at stake. Blade's game is an old one, although I'll grant you 'tis not one usually played by men of his rank. The usual routine is for some impoverished scoundrel to offer to drop his suit for the daughter of the house in exchange for a large sum of money."

"The only difference here," Charles said, "is that Blade ain't impoverished."

"I am convinced you are wrong," Emily said through her teeth. "The earl's offer will be a valid one and I am going to accept it, even if you do not give your permission, Papa. You cannot stop me."

Broderick massaged his temples. "Remember that disaster five years ago, m'dear. You cannot be wanting to go through that humiliation and heartbreak again. You pined for days."

"It is not the same," Emily cried. "The earl will marry me."

"It is the same, damn it all," Broderick shot back. "And Blade will never marry you. But by the time you figure that out, we'll all be—" He broke off abruptly.

"You'll all be what, Papa?" But a sudden realization had just struck Emily. When it came to financial matters, she was rarely blinded by romance. Her eyes widened in comprehension. "Ah, I think I am beginning to perceive the full extent of the earl's threat. He is very clever, is he not?"

"Now, Em, don't go worrying your head about the details here," Charles said quickly. "Let Father handle this." He traded a worried glance with Devlin, who was frowning darkly.

"It is not just the threat to my reputation that worries you, is it?" Emily said slowly. "After all, you've already suffered that trial once before. No, the real risk is that Blade might indeed take me away for some time. Months, perhaps. Even a year or two. And once deprived of my financial skills, all three of you would lose St. Clair Hall and everything else soon enough at the tables."

"Damme, Emily, that ain't it at all. It's you I'm worried about, girl. You're my only daughter. D'you think I want to see you ruined for a second time?" Broderick glared at her.

Emily crossed her arms under her breasts and nodded in satisfaction. "Very clever, indeed. I'll wager that without me to repair your fortunes periodically on 'Change, you three would not be able to keep this house, or your expensive bloodstock, or much else for more than a year, at most."

"That ain't true," Charles snapped. "It's you we're concerned about. Your reputation and happiness are what's important here."

"Thank you," Emily said dryly. "So kind of you."

"Now, see here, Em—" Devlin began furiously.

"Do you know," Emily mused thoughtfully, "the most interesting question here is how the earl came to understand just how crucial I am to your financial status, Papa."

"Damn good question," Broderick muttered as he poured himself another glass of claret. "Which ain't to say your brother ain't right," he added quickly. "I am concerned about you, girl. Very concerned."

"So are we," Charles assured her. "The money ain't got anything to do with it."

"I am relieved to hear that," Emily murmured. "So nice to know one's family cares about one." She got up and walked out of the room.

Behind her Broderick Faringdon poured himself the remainder of the claret. He and his sons sank into a gloomy silence.

Emily went straight to her sanctuary, the library. There she sat behind the big mahogany desk and stared unseeingly out into the gardens. For a long while she did not move. Then she opened a drawer and removed the beautiful box that contained the carefully bound stack of Simon's letters.

It was time to step out of the romantic haze in which she had been living for the past several days. Her father had been right about one thing: Her whole future was at stake. It was time to do some serious thinking about the problem that confronted her.

It was time, in fact, to apply the same razor sharp intelligence she normally brought to bear on financial matters to the situation in which she now found herself. Emily opened the first letter in the bundle. She had read it countless times and could have quoted it from memory.

After an hour of rereading the letters and rethinking everything that had been said between herself and Simon during the past few days, Emily forced herself to confront certain inescapable conclusions.

The first conclusion was that her family was right. Simon had established a relationship with her for the sole purpose of using her to extract vengeance against her father. The entire chain of events she had been attributing to a benevolent fate now exhibited a terrible, implacable logic.

But Emily had reached a second conclusion after rereading Simon's letters. The man who had written those sensitive, intelligent notes could not be the kind of monster her father claimed he was.

The third inescapable conclusion was that she was still in love with the mysterious, golden-eyed dragon of the East.

She came from a long line of gamblers, Emily reminded herself. It was time she took a risk for the sake of her own future happiness.

Pulling a piece of foolscap toward her, she picked up her quill and penned a short note.

Emily frowned over the note as she folded it and rang the bell to summon a footman. She hoped the wording was vague enough not to give anything away in the event the message was intercepted. One had to be very careful when one arranged clandestine meetings.

Simon was waiting for her at the pond. Emily heaved an enormous sigh of relief when she saw the chestnut stallion loosely tethered to an elm.

The dragon came toward her through the trees, his golden eyes unwavering. Emily steeled herself.

"As you can see, I received your note, Miss Faringdon." The earl reached up to help her dismount.

"Thank you, my lord." Emily deliberately kept her voice formal and totally devoid of emotion. The heat of his hands warmed her through the fabric of her habit. She stepped back from Simon as soon as her feet touched the ground. Briskly she turned to walk toward the stream. "I will not take up much of your time. It is getting late."

"Yes, it is." He followed her, his black Hessians making no noise on the soft carpet of old leaves that blanketed the ground.

Emily sat down primly on the boulder where Simon had first kissed her and risked a quick glance up at him from under the brim of her chip straw bonnet. He did not smile. He simply braced himself with one booted foot on the boulder, rested his elbow on his knee, and waited.

This man is good at waiting, Emily realized. He had waited twenty-three years for vengeance.

"I have been speaking with my father and brothers. Several things have become clear," Emily began slowly.

"Have they indeed?"

She looked toward the stream. "I want you to understand, my lord, that I fully comprehend your reasons for this rather bizarre course of vengeance you have embarked upon. In your shoes, I would most likely have tried something just as drastic. We are not unalike in some ways."

"Your father has been quite talkative, I see."

"He has explained about what happened all those years ago. How my family acquired St. Clair Hall. And about the terrible tragedy of your father's death. You have a right to pursue revenge."

"You are very understanding, my dear."

She wondered if he was mocking her. It was impossible to tell from his cool tone. Emily drew a breath and kept going. She was committed now. "I realize that you have no real intention of extending a legitimate offer for my hand. You plan to threaten to run off with me and keep me tucked away as your mistress for a few months or so unless my father hands over St. Clair Hall. You will not doubt keep me dangling emotionally during that time by promising marriage."

"Only for a few months?"

Emily nodded. "Just long enough to ensure that my family comes to some financial disaster that is severe enough to force them to give up the great house. Without me to guide their investments and restrain their excesses the way Mama used to do, that should not take long. Especially if you arrange for them to be lured into particularly deep play at the tables. Once you have St. Clair back you no doubt intend to send me home to my family in disgrace."

"How very Machiavellian of me."

"It is quite a brilliant plan, actually." Emily felt obliged to give credit where it was due.

"Thank you," Simon said softly. "But I assume it will all come to naught now that you have discovered my scheme?"

"Oh, no, you can still make it work. All you need is my cooperation. And you know well enough you have that, my lord."

"You are telling me that you are willing to run off and live for a time as my mistress?" He picked up a small twig and toyed with it.

Emily folded her hands together. "Yes. If that were my only option. You know my feelings for you are very deep, my lord. I would, however, prefer to marry you. I would like to live with you for the rest of my life, not just for a few months or a year."

"I see."

"I know marriage was not your initial intent but I would like you to consider certain aspects of this matter that may not have occurred to you."

Simon did not respond to that for several seconds. And then the twig snapped in his fingers. "What aspects?"

She did not look at him. "I realize I am not precisely what a man of your position would wish for in a wife. I have no looks or position to speak of and you cannot have any affection for any Faringdon at the moment. And then, of course, there is the Unfortunate Incident in my past. But I feel I can make up for my deficiencies in several ways."

"Miss Faringdon, you never cease to amaze me. I cannot wait to hear the rest of this."

"I am very serious, my lord. First, I would like to point out that if you marry me, you will have achieved your goal of vengeance just as surely as if you had merely run off with me. You will have made my family financially dependent on you. They would only have access to my investment skills by applying to you for permission to consult me. Would that not be a suitable sort of revenge?"

"An interesting notion."

"You can keep all the Faringdons dangling on your financial puppet strings forever."

Simon looked thoughtful. "That is true."

Emily bit her lip anxiously. "Please consider something else, my lord. I think you will find that I will make you an excellent wife. I understand you, you see. I feel I know you very well through your letters. We have a great deal in common intellectually. We will have a certain conversational rapport that most couples never achieve."

"In short, you will not bore me over dinner, is that it?"

"I am certain we shall find much of mutual interest to discuss through the years. Surely that sort of companionship would be very rewarding to a man of your intellectual nature?"

"You are proposing that our relationship continue on the higher plane that characterized it in the beginning? You foresee our union as an intellectual association of two like-minded people?"

"Yes, precisely," Emily said, gaining enthusiasm as she saw he was paying close attention. "My lord, I fully comprehend now that you are not in love with me. Knowing that, I also realize you will not welcome any excesses of romantic passion on my part and I assure you I will not press for any from you."

"Miss Faringdon, you shock me."

"And you mock me," she retorted, stung.

"Not at all. I merely wonder what led you to conclude that I would not welcome any excesses of passion from you."

She looked down at her clasped hands, her face burning. "A detailed analysis of last night's events in the library, my lord."

"What about last night?"

She stifled a small sigh. "I thought at the time that you refused my offer of an illicit affair because you were being quite noble and gallant. I assumed you halted your lovemaking because you could not bring yourself to take advantage of a woman you cared about, even if she already had a sordid past."

"In other words, you assumed I was behaving like the gentleman I claim to be?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes. I realize now that you rejected my quite shameless offer because you are not in love with me."

"I see."

"And as you were not planning to actually marry me and were very unlikely to be forced into running off with me because my father is certain to give in to your demands, there was no real need to pretend to a passion you did not feel. Actually, under the circumstances you did behave like a gentleman." She frowned thoughtfully. "That is to say, as a gentleman plotting revenge might behave. I believe you are innately noble and generous, Blade."

"Now you flatter me."

"My lord, let me finish this business. I will summarize the advantages involved in marrying me. You will have achieved your goal of having a most excellent revenge against my family. You will be acquiring a wife with whom you can communicate on a higher plane. You will have a guarantee that I will not pester you with my ungoverned romantic passions. And there is one more thing."

"I am already overwhelmed by my good fortune, but pray continue."

Emily lifted her chin to face him. She was counting on this last item to carry the day for her. "Why, it is obvious, my lord. You will have full advantage of my financial abilities."

Simon's eyes glittered briefly. "That is certainly an interesting notion."

"My lord, consider," Emily said earnestly. "I know you are very wealthy but I would bid you remember that even the greatest fortune is subject to disaster. A few bad decisions in one's investments, a few reckless nights in the gaming hells, a bad spell in the funds, and all can soon lie in ruins."

"But with you around I will be assured of being able to recoup any losses I might sustain in the years ahead, is that it?"

Emily's hopes soared. She sensed she had finally driven home the bargain. "Yes, that is it exactly, my lord. Think of it as something like marrying an heiress. My talents on 'Change and related financial matters will constitute a sort of economic security for you, just as they have for my family in recent years."

"In other words, my dear, you are telling me that marrying you would be a particularly shrewd investment on my part?"

Emily relaxed for the first time since her tea party had been ruined. She smiled brilliantly. "Precisely, my lord. Marrying me will no doubt be the best investment you have ever made." She paused as honesty got the better of her. Her smile faded. "There is, of course, the Unfortunate Incident to be considered. I realize that it is a great strike against me. But perhaps if I stay in the country and do not attempt to enter Society, no one will notice?"

"Miss Faringdon, I assure you, the Unfortunate Incident is the least of my concerns."

"You believe we can successfully keep the scandal hidden?" she asked eagerly.

"I can safely promise you, Miss Faringdon, that if we wed, the scandal will cease to exist."