Scandal

Chapter 7

"That will be all, Higson. You may go now." Simon heard the uncharacteristic impatience in his own voice as he dismissed his valet. He frowned. The fact that this was his wedding night should not have affected his ironclad self-control in any way.

"If that will be all, then, sir, may I take the liberty of congratulating you on your marriage?" Higson, a short, stocky, powerfully built man who looked a little like a bulldog and who had remained in the earl's employ for the past ten years because he had many of the valuable attributes of one, paused at the door. He showed no sign of having taken offense at Simon's abrupt tone. In fact there was a distinct twinkle of amusement in his pale eyes. A man who had once fought pirates side by side with his employer could occasionally take liberties.

"Thank you, Higson," Simon said curtly.

"Sir." Higson inclined his head and let himself out into the hall.

Simon's gaze went instantly to the door that connected his bedchamber to Emily's.

Something in him tightened. There had been no sounds of activity from the other room for the past several minutes. His wife was obviously in bed waiting for him.

His wife. Simon stared at the connecting door, remembering how Emily had looked earlier that day as she had entered the crowded village church. She had walked rather cautiously down the aisle, owing to her stout refusal to wear her spectacles. But the slight hesitancy in her steps, together with the shy excitement in her green eyes, had given her the aura of a fairy princess venturing into a strange new world. Her white gown with its silver ribbon trim had enhanced the effect. Simon had been astonished to find himself feeling at once very protective and extremely possessive.

The entire town had turned out in all its country finery. There was no doubt that Little Dippington had put its seal of approval on the alliance. Among the members of the literary society there was not a single dry eye.

His unexpected fascination with his new bride had caused him to virtually ignore the presence of Broderick Faringdon and Emily's two brothers. All three had watched the proceedings with satisfyingly gloomy expressions, looking as though Emily were about to be transported to Australia rather than become a wealthy countess.

Of course, Simon reminded himself as he walked toward the connecting door, for all intents and purposes, Emily was now as lost to the Faringdons as if she had been transported across the sea. After tonight she would belong completely to her husband. She would no longer be a Faringdon. Simon was determined that none of the remaining Faringdons ever forgot that.

Hand on the doorknob, Simon glanced around the master bedchamber that had once been occupied by his father. A fierce sense of elation swept over him. St. Clair Hall and everything in it was once again in the hands of a Traherne.

"Rest assured I will not lose it the way you did, Father," Simon vowed to the ghost who hovered in the back of his mind.

Twenty-three years was a long time to wait, but it had been worth it. And the revenge was just beginning. Watching the Faringdons slide inevitably down into financial disaster was going to be as satisfying as taking St. Clair Hall back today had been.

Simon opened the door and stepped into the darkened bedchamber that adjoined his.

"Emily? Why did you not have your maid leave a candle burning? Are you feeling shy, my dear?" Simon moved farther into the room, letting his eyes adjust to the shadows. "There's no need. You and I have established communication on a higher plane, remember?"

He halted at the foot of the canopied bed and frowned as he realized there was no redheaded elf under the covers. "Emily?"

Then he saw the note neatly folded and left on the pillow. A flicker of alarm went through him. Simon strode around the side of the bed and snatched up the piece of paper. He carried it back to the open doorway to read it by the light that filtered in from his bedchamber.

"Hell and damnation." Simon crumpled the note in his hand. Then a rueful smile edged his mouth, replacing the flare of irritation. Well, he had known that his wedding night had been virtually guaranteed to be out of the ordinary. Elves were an unpredictable lot.

He wondered where one would go to hide and remembered that this particular elf would undoubtedly be unable to resist scribbling in her journal tonight of all nights.

Simon went out into the darkened hall and headed toward the staircase. The house was very still and quiet tonight. Other than himself and Emily, there were only the servants around and they had long since retired.

Simon had refused to allow his new in-laws to spend so much as a single night under his roof. The three Faringdon men had been told they would have to find other accommodations immediately after the wedding ceremony. Simon did not particularly care where they spent the evening. He was under the impression they had all left for London, however, and that suited him. The sooner they returned to the gaming hells, the sooner they would slide into disaster.

Simon reached the bottom step and saw a bar of light shining under the closed door of the library. He grinned fleetingly and strode across the marble-tiled hall. Tracking down an elusive wife was not so very difficult.

Simon opened the door of the library and walked into the room. Emily, seated behind the big desk, was writing furiously in a bound volume. She glanced up as she heard the door open. She was wearing her prim little chintz dressing gown and her hair was tucked into a frilly white cap. Her eyes widened behind the lenses of her spectacles as she stared at him.

"Simon."

"Good evening, my dear. Don't you think this a rather odd place to spend your wedding night?" Simon closed the door and walked over to the cold hearth. He went down on one knee to light the fire that had been laid there. "Not nearly as comfortable as your bedchamber."

"Simon, what are you doing here?" Emily jumped to her feet. "Did you get my note?"

"Oh, yes, I got your note." Simon rose and took the crumpled paper out of his pocket. He tossed it into the flames he had just ignited. Then he turned his head and smiled at Emily over his shoulder. "Very thoughtful of you, my sweet, to consider my delicate sensibilities in this matter."

Emily blushed and looked down at the top of the desk. "It is only that I do not wish to burden you with my excessive passions, my lord."

Simon rested one arm along the mantel and contemplated his wife. He had himself a bride who had convinced herself she was in danger of intimidating her husband with passion. Only Emily could have come up with such a twist on a wedding night. "I would have you know, my dear, that I do not consider your passions a burden. I look forward to carrying out my responsibilities as a husband."

"That is very kind of you but it is quite obvious that you would merely be doing your duty tonight if you were to make love to me and I could not bear that."

"I see. And you felt you could not explain that to me in person? You had to leave a written message?"

"I thought it would be easier if I simply left that note informing you that I do not expect anything of you." She clasped her hands in front of her and stared down at them. "It is a little awkward to talk about that sort of thing in person, my lord, if you see what I mean."

"Surely not for us," Simon said gently. "As you have pointed out, our communication takes place on a higher plane. You and I are free to discuss matters that other couples can only allude to in the vaguest of terms."

"Do you really think so, Simon?" She raised her eyes to meet his.

Simon saw the anxiety and hope in her gaze and he smiled to conceal a surge of cool complacency. The lady was about to fall into his palm like a ripe peach. "Yes, Emily, I am certain of it." He went over to the brandy table and picked up the decanter. "I thought you were certain of it, too. You were, after all, the one who explained it to me."

"Well, I had hoped it was true," Emily said candidly. "But after I realized exactly why you were marrying me, I could not be altogether certain that you were experiencing the same sense of pure, metaphysical communion as I am. At least, not at the moment."

"But you have hopes that I will come to experience it?"

"Oh, yes, Simon. I am pinning all my hopes on such an event. That is precisely why I talked you into marrying me. But in the meantime, I do not want you to feel obligated in any way to perform the duties of a husband. It is bad enough that I coerced you into this venture."

Simon coughed once as a mouthful of brandy went down the wrong way. "I assure you I did not feel coerced into marriage, Emily. I rarely do anything I do not wish to do."

"I can well believe that, my lord, but in this instance, you must allow I produced some rather forceful arguments in favor of an alliance between us. I would not have it on my conscience that I also demanded that you perform your husbandly duties in bed on top of everything else. You have already given me so much simply by giving me your name. It would be unjust and incredibly greedy of me to expect any more of you."

"Very thoughtful, my dear." Simon regarded her with solemn consideration. She looked so tragically determined to take the noble course and resist her own sweet passion. Meanwhile just the sight of her aroused him as no other woman had in years. It was all he could do to control a sudden, savage impulse to pull Emily down onto the carpet and make her his right then and there.

A shudder of raw desire went through him. The realization that his unshakable self-control might be threatened startled Simon. He had never lost that sense of control around a woman.

"Simon? Is something wrong?"

He shook his head and carefully put down the half-empty brandy glass. Damnation. He was the one in charge here. He was the one who had made the decision to marry, whatever Emily might think. He had decided on his course of vengeance. It was a vengeance that would bring down an entire family. Bedding Emily tonight was simply the next step in the process. Broderick Faringdon must be gnashing his teeth at this very moment. Faringdon was, after all, a man and a father. He would understand that by morning his daughter would belong completely to the enemy in a way that only a woman can belong to a man. She would be lost to the Faringdons forever.

But first the elf had to be coaxed into surrendering to her own charming passion, Simon reminded himself.

"No, my dear," he said thoughtfully. "I was simply reflecting on one very salient fact that you appear to be overlooking."

"What is that?"

"You say we are capable of a rare metaphysical form of communication."

"I believe that with all my heart, Simon. I would never have pushed for marriage otherwise. I swear it."

He nodded. "And you would wish this unique communication between us to be deepened and enhanced, is that not correct?"

"Oh, yes, my lord." Her eyes shone like jewels. "I wish that with all my heart. It is my ultimate goal and I am prepared to work very hard to achieve it."

"A worthy objective and I assure you I share your goal."

"Simon, you cannot know how happy it makes me to hear you say that."

"Now, then. I have given this problem some thought. It seems to me you would do well to consider that one method of, shall we say, enhancing our unusual metaphysical relationship, would be to extend it into the physical realm as swiftly as possible."

Emily stared at him. "Extend it into the physical realm, my lord?"

"Precisely. It seems logical, does it not, that the physical and the metaphysical must be closely connected?"

"Well…"

"What happens on one plane must surely affect what happens on another. Don't you agree?"

Emily frowned in concentration. "You think that the events on the metaphysical level may be shadows of what happens on the physical plane? It is a fascinating notion. And you are quite right, my lord. There is a certain logic to it."

"With that theory in mind, I propose that you consider the merits of allowing me to perform my husbandly duties tonight."

"Oh, but, Simon, I could not possibly—"

He held up a palm to silence her. "Not for your sake, but for mine."

"Your sake?" She looked stunned by the concept.

"Precisely. If I am right, then the end result can only be in both our best interests. Our powers of transcendental communication will be vastly increased. I am just as eager to strengthen our metaphysical union as you are, Emily."

Emily's beautiful eyes filled with a heart-wrenching expression of deep feminine longing. Her hands were clasped so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. Her soft mouth trembled. "Simon, do you really believe that would be the result?"

Simon decided no woman had ever looked at him with such honest need. His whole body reacted to it with violent force. Desire swirled in his veins like a potent drug. Memories of the night he had brought her to her first shivering climax burned in his brain. She was his and soon all that feminine heat and passion would belong irrevocably to him.

"Yes, Emily, I believe that would be the result." Simon realized his voice was growing husky, his words thickening. "I assure you I have no objections to such an experiment, my dear. Shall we try it and see what happens?"

"Oh, Simon." Emily flew around the edge of the desk and hurled herself into his arms. "My lord, you are so generous, so noble. I cannot believe I have been so lucky as to marry you."

Simon smiled into the red curls that peeked out from under the lacy white cap. Anticipation made him throb with desire. "It is I who am the lucky one, Emily."

"No, no, I am the fortunate one. I probably do not deserve a wonderful husband such as you, not after the way I ruined myself five years ago, but I have got you and I am so very grateful. It must be destiny."

"Very likely." He kissed her brow and gently removed her cap and spectacles. Her hair tumbled like fire around her shoulders. Then he kissed her eyelids. Her lashes fluttered like small butterflies.

"Simon?" She looked up at him, clutching at the lapels of his black brocade dressing gown.

"Hush, love. We've done enough talking for tonight. The time has come for us to learn to communicate in other ways." His mouth closed over her parted lips and he heard the soft little moan that caught in her throat.

Simon groaned softly as he let his tongue slide into the warmth of Emily's mouth. The hunger in him was so strong now that he could not think clearly. He vaguely realized that he ought to take his bride by the hand and lead her upstairs, but somehow her bedchamber seemed much too far away. He wanted her now. He had never wanted a woman with such intensity. He was on fire with his need.

And she wanted him. He could feel it. The sweet desire Emily was experiencing was causing her to tremble in Simon's arms. She was shaking with it and the knowledge that she was weak with longing for him made him feel incredibly powerful.

He unfastened her wrapper and slipped it off her shoulders. Emily made no demur as the garment pooled at her feet. Simon looked down and saw the small, dark circles of her erect nipples pushing against the fine muslin of the nightdress.

"You want me," he whispered against her throat.

"More than anything else in the world. I love you, Simon." She wound her arms around his neck and shyly kissed his jaw. "I shall be a good wife to you, I swear it."

"Yes, you will, elf. You most definitely will."

He eased her down onto the carpet in front of the fire. She went willingly, clinging to him and burying her flushed face against his dressing gown. Simon could hear the small catch in her breath as she shivered again.

"Are you cold?" he asked, stretching out beside her.

"No." She looked up at him quickly and then veiled her eyes behind her lashes. "No, the fire is quite warm. I am not cold, but I seem to be somewhat nervous, for some reason."

He smiled and slid his hand up under the hem of her nightdress. Then he bent his head and kissed the base of her throat. "It is a very understandable reaction, under the circumstances."

"Do you think so?" Her gaze was anxious.

"It is just that you are not accustomed to this type of communication on the physical plane."

"Are you?"

Simon was jolted by the question and even more startled by his response. "No," he heard himself say thickly. It had never been like this before in his life. The need had never been so raw and uncontrollable. "No, this is new to me, my sweet."

Her answering smile was tremulous. "Then we shall explore this strange realm together, voyagers on a mysterious journey."

"Indeed we shall," he vowed.

His fingers shook slightly as he undid the ties of the nightdress and slowly tugged it free of her body. He drew a deep breath as he propped himself on one elbow and stared down at the treasure he had uncovered. He was awed by the graceful, womanly curve of her small breasts, fascinated by the sensual flare of her hips, mesmerized by the sleek shape of her legs.

"Emily, you are lovely." He reached out to trace the rosy circle that crowned one creamy breast. Then he caught the nipple between thumb and forefinger and rolled it gently back and forth. It felt ripe and full, like a luscious berry about to burst. Unable to resist, Simon bent his head and captured the small fruit between his teeth.

Emily gasped aloud and arched herself against his mouth. Her fingers clenched wildly in his hair. "Simon."

He was aware of the tension singing through her and he gloried in it. His own body was clamoring in frantic response. His hand crept down over her hip, seeking the tight, red curls between her legs. When he found the hot, flowing honey he thought he would go mad. The raging hunger was consuming him now. His entire body was on fire.

"Simon, I feel so strange."

Dazed, he raised his head and saw the new, languid sensuality in her face. Catching hold of her hand, he guided it beneath his dressing gown. "I know, love. So do I. Touch me, Emily." He shrugged out of his dressing gown. "Touch me." He pushed her palm firmly against his engorged manhood.

Emily's eyes widened in shock and wonder. "Simon, are you all right?"

"No, but you will soon put me right." He kissed her lips reassuringly but he did not allow her to pull her hand away. "That feels so good, my sweet. Ah, yes, curl your fingers around me. Hold me." He moved himself slowly between her fingers, torturing himself until he thought he would go up in flames.

When she stopped trying to withdraw her fingers and instead seemed to grow intrigued by his body's response, Simon released his grip on her hand. Then he touched the silken skin of her thighs, tracing a random pattern that ended at the plump petals that guarded her secrets. Slowly he eased one finger inside the small, tight opening. At the same time he found the little nubbin of sensitive feminine flesh with his thumb.

Emily cried out and her hand tightened convulsively around his shaft. Simon sucked in his breath as his control cracked and fractured without further warning. It was then he realized he could not wait another minute. Her effect on him was too powerful. He would not humiliate himself by climaxing in her fingers, spewing his seed over her soft belly.

"Emily, 'tis time. God help me, I cannot wait." He rolled on top of her, reaching down to spread her thighs wide apart. He guided his shaft to her small, humid hearth.

"Simon?"

"Do you trust me, little one?"

"Oh, yes, Simon. I trust you completely." She looked up at him through her lashes, her arms wound around his back.

"I vow I will always protect you, Emily. Remember that. Whatever else happens, know that I will always take care of you."

"Yes, Simon."

Simon gazed down at her for a few seconds thinking he had never seen anything so wonderful as the sight of Emily hovering on the brink of her own passion. The tip of her tongue ran across the fullness of her lower lip. There was a lovely flush on her cheeks. Her body felt firm and resilient and amazingly erotic. He must be careful with her, he reminded himself. She was a virgin and he did not want to hurt her.

But his need to bury himself within Emily's warmth was overwhelming his senses. He parted her with his fingers, stretching her slightly before he pushed himself slowly into her. Then he was fighting to control the surging forces of his own body. Sweat broke out on his brow and dampened his chest.

"Simon?" Emily sounded confused. There was a different sort of tension gripping her body now, one based on trepidation rather than sensual anticipation.

"This first time may not be easy for you," he managed. "You are so small and tight."

"I am not sure I like this part, Simon."

He groaned. "Try to relax. Trust me, little one. Hold on to me and give yourself over to me."

"Do you really believe this will enhance our communication on a higher plane?" she asked with a touch of desperation.

"Yes. God, yes." He could not hold back any longer. With a sharp, strong, thrusting movement, he surged deeply into her. Simultaneously he locked her close and his mouth covered hers, drinking the small gasp of astonishment from her lips. He felt her nails dig into his back.

"Bloody hell, Simon." Emily's eyes were squeezed shut. She was breathing rapidly and her whole body was trembling.

Simon willed himself to hold still for a moment, drawing in great gulps of air while he waited for Emily to adjust herself to the invasion. She did not move. It was obvious she was afraid to do so.

"Emily. Emily, my sweet, look at me," Simon pleaded. He was at the ragged edge of his control. "Did I hurt you?"

Her lashes fluttered and lifted. All traces of sensuality were gone from her gemlike eyes. They had been replaced with a brave, determined look. "Is it over?"

Simon swore softly. She was so small and slender and soft. He felt big and heavy and awkward and he could not seem to stop shuddering as he struggled to hold himself in check.

"No," he muttered. "It is not quite over."

"That is…" she licked her lips, "unfortunate."

"Damnation, Emily. I have not managed this well. I am sorry. I should have gone more slowly."

"That might have helped," she agreed breathlessly. "But you must not blame yourself, my dearest Simon." She stroked his back experimentally. "This sort of communication apparently takes a bit of practice."

Simon choked back an exclamation that might have been either a laugh or a groan. He was not sure which. His senses were straining like a team of blooded stallions under the reins.

"Yes. Practice," Simon said. "We shall practice a great deal, you and I." Cautiously, exerting every ounce of willpower he could still summon, he began to move within her. He eased himself almost all the way out of her tight passage and then he forged slowly back into her.

Simon felt Emily wriggle hesitantly beneath him, trying to accommodate herself to the strangeness of having a man inside her. The small, delicious movement was too much. It sent him over the edge.

"Emily, no, love. Hold still…"

It was too late. With a harsh, muffled shout, he was pumping himself into her, crushing her into the carpet, holding her as though he would never let her go. The heat from the dancing flames on the hearth seemed to combine with the warmth of Emily herself. Simon surrendered to the overpowering climax, lost in a woman's body as he had never been lost before.

For an endless moment he hovered in midair and then, with a low groan, he collapsed on top of Emily. For a long time he lay there, his body slick with perspiration, every muscle relaxed. He was vaguely aware he had never felt so utterly replete and satisfied in his life. Slowly he caught his breath and opened his eyes.

Emily was smiling tentatively up at him, her gaze full of curiosity and questioning wonder. "Well?" she demanded when she saw his lashes lift.

Simon stared down at her, feeling extremely dull-witted. "Well, what?"

"Did it work, do you think?"

Simon realized he had lost the thread of the conversation. He tried to concentrate. "Did what work?"

"Our experiment in enhancing metaphysical communication. Do you feel any closer to me now on the transcendental plane, Simon?"

"Good God." He blinked and slowly rolled to the side, wrapping her against his bare chest. For a few seconds he stared at the high ceiling, trying to clear his mind.

"Simon?" She shyly touched the hair on his chest.

"Hell and damnation, yes," he growled, thinking that metaphysical communication was the last thing he wanted to contemplate at the moment.

"I am glad," she said simply, putting her head down on his shoulder.

Simon looked at her red curls glowing in the reflected heat of the fire. Like polished copper, he thought. Then reality hit him full force. "This is our wedding night."

"Yes."

"Our wedding night and I just bedded you on the floor of the library. The library, for God's sake."

"I prefer to think that you just made love to me on the floor of the library," Emily said, yawning hugely.

"I must have taken leave of my senses." Simon sat up abruptly, running his fingers through his hair. "We should be upstairs in your bed. Or my bed."

"Do not fret, Simon. It does not particularly matter to me where we spent our wedding night." Emily smiled sleepily. "I can leave the details out of my journal, if you like."

"Good God. By all means leave the details out of your damn journal." He got to his feet and hastily donned his dressing gown. Then he reached down, tugged Emily to her feet, and dropped the muslin nightdress over her head. He saw that it was stained with the results of their lovemaking and the evidence of her virginity and he realized she must have been lying on the garment when he had taken her. He quickly tucked her into her chintz wrapper. A vague flicker of guilt washed over him.

"Emily, are you all right?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I feel sticky. And a bit sore. But otherwise I am fine. What about you? Are you feeling all right, Simon?"

"Yes, I am quite all right," he told her gruffly. He swung her up into his arms and started toward the door.

But he was not all right. He was feeling very strange and he did not like the sensation. He had completely lost his self-control with this woman.

That had never happened to him before. He should have been in command of the situation from start to finish. He ought to have handled the whole business with far more finesse. Instead he had been swept up into the vortex of a passion that had swamped his control.

Simon acknowledged grimly that his redheaded elf of a wife had been the one in command tonight, whether she knew it or not. She had led him a pretty dance from the moment he had found the note on her pillow. Simon wondered if she had any inkling of just how much power she had wielded this evening. Women were never slow to comprehend their own power and a Faringdon female would be quicker than most to take advantage.

But she was no longer a Faringdon, Simon reminded himself. She was his now.

"Simon"—Emily peered uncertainly up at him as he carried her toward the staircase—"are you angry?"

"No, Emily," he told her as he started up the red-carpeted steps. "I am not angry."

"You have a rather odd expression on your face." She smiled serenely. "I expect it is the aftereffects of our efforts to communicate on both the physical and the metaphysical plane simultaneously. Very fatiguing, is it not?"

"Bloody damn fatiguing," Simon said.