Scandal

Chapter 9

Simon glanced again at the tall clock in the library as he paced back and forth in front of it. It was nearly six and Emily had still not come downstairs to join him for a glass of sherry before dinner.

He was beginning to realize that he had probably crushed her completely that morning. She was such a romantical little creature, completely addicted to happy endings.

Simon rarely lost his temper. He prided himself on controlling it as well as he controlled his other passions. But something had snapped inside when he had arrived home from his morning ride to discover that his new bride was already meeting Broderick Faringdon in a secretive fashion.

That news, coming as it did on top of the mixed emotions Simon had about his wedding night, had been more than enough to light the flames of rage.

Simon examined the golden sherry in his glass and recalled how Broderick Faringdon had boldly tried to talk Emily into secretly continuing to manage his business affairs.

The bastard. Did he really believe he could get away with such tricks? Simon wondered. Of course, he did. Faringdons were a sneaky, conniving lot who would try anything they thought they could get away with undetected. But their financial genius of a daughter belonged to him now and Simon knew how to protect what was his.

He had enjoyed informing Faringdon at the wedding that he had no intention of allowing Emily to continue making investments for her father and brothers. It had been extremely satisfying to see the expression on his old enemy's face when he had yanked back the lure he had dangled in front of Faringdon for the past few weeks.

Typical of Broderick Faringdon to come nosing around the very next day after losing his valuable daughter to see what could be salvaged from the disaster.

Simon sighed. And typical of Emily not to have realized that her new husband intended to make his vengeance complete.

She'd actually had the nerve to tell him he should let go of the past and work on forging a pure, romantic, transcendental union with her.

The unfortunate part, Simon realized ruefully, was that she genuinely believed all that nonsense about love on a higher plane. She had badly needed a dose of reality and he had finally lost his temper and administered it.

Still, it had been unkind of him to demolish her sweet, romantical notions in such a heartless fashion. On the other hand, he assured himself now, there had not been much choice. After seeing Faringdon with her, Simon had been forced to make Emily's situation crystal clear to her.

She was no longer a Faringdon. She was his wife now and she had to know what that meant. It had precious little to do with the romantic wonders of the metaphysical plane. It had everything to do with giving her complete and unswerving loyalty to her husband. Simon saw no reason he should not be able to command the same degree of loyalty from Emily as he did from every member of his staff.

He glanced irritably at the clock again. Then he pulled the velvet bell rope.

Duckett appeared almost instantly, his expression graver than usual. "Yes, my lord?"

"Send someone upstairs to see what is detaining Lady Blade."

"Immediately, my lord." Duckett retreated and closed the library door.

Simon watched the clock as time ticked slowly past. He wondered if Emily was going to be one of those annoying females who collapsed in tears and took to their beds with their vinaigrette whenever a man showed them the edge of his temper. If so, she would soon learn he did not intend to allow such excessive displays of feminine sensibilities.

The library door opened. Duckett stood there looking as though he were about to announce a death in the family.

"Well, Duckett?"

"Sir, I regret to report that madam is not here."

Simon scowled and glanced out the window. "Is she fooling about in the gardens at this hour?"

"No, my lord." Duckett coughed tentatively. "My lord, this is rather difficult to explain. Apparently madam ordered the carriage this afternoon after you left to visit Lord Gillingham. I am told she went to see the Inglebright sisters. She sent Robby back with the carriage saying she would walk home but she has yet to return."

"Good God. What does she think she's doing discussing that silly romantic poetry with her friends today? This is her honeymoon."

"Yes, my lord."

Simon swore. "Send someone around to Rose Cottage and fetch her ladyship home."

Duckett coughed behind his hand again. "Sir, I fear there is more. Robby says that madam wore a carriage gown and took two rather large items of luggage with her."

Simon went cold. "What the devil are you trying to say, Duckett?"

"I believe, sir, that you may wish to interview her maid, Lizzie," Duckett said bluntly.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"The girl is crying in her room and she apparently has a note she has been requested to give directly to you."

Simon did not need any special mental powers to guess that he was about to discover his bride of barely twenty-four hours had run off. "Get the maid in here at once, Duckett. And send around to the stables for Lap Seng. I shall want to leave within fifteen minutes."

"Yes, my lord. May I say, sir, that staff is extremely worried about madam's safety." The unspoken accusation hung in the air. It was obvious the new master of St. Clair Hall was being blamed for bruising madam's delicate sensibilities and causing her to run off.

"Thank you, Duckett. I shall inform her of that fact at the earliest opportunity."

Madam, Simon thought grimly as Duckett closed the door, had better prepare herself to have more than her delicate sensibilities bruised when her husband catches up with her.

How dare she leave like this? She belonged to him now. It was she who had made the marriage bargain. She could bloody well abide by it.

Emily stood in the middle of the tiny inn bedchamber, her pitiful collection of belongings at her feet, and nearly broke into tears all over again. She was exhausted, she was hungry, and she had never felt so lost and alone in her life.

Now she was going to be obliged to spend the night in this dingy little chamber that looked as if it had not been properly cleaned or aired in years. She was certain she could smell the acrid scent of masculine body odor emanating from the yellowed bed linens.

Emily had never traveled by stage before. She had been amazed at the discomfort involved. She had been squashed between a massively built gentleman who had snored the entire trip and a pimply-faced youth who had kept leering at her. Twice she had been forced to use her reticule to push his hand off her knee.

The only consolation was in knowing she would be in London the next day. Her father and brothers would no doubt be surprised to see her but Emily was certain they would welcome her with open arms. She was not looking forward to being told she had made a fool of herself, of course, but there was no help for it. She should have listened to her family rather than her foolish, romantic heart.

Emily leaned down and hoisted one of the heavy bags onto the bed. First things first. She was exceedingly hungry and she knew she must keep up her strength. Emily set about preparing herself for dinner in the inn's public dining room.

A few minutes later she went hesitantly downstairs, fully aware that ladies never traveled alone unless they were extremely poor. She was inviting trouble by appearing in the dining room without an escort or a maid. But there was no help for it. She could not bear to stay another minute in the wretched little bedchamber. Perhaps she would be invited to join another party of travelers, one that included ladies. She was, after all, a countess now.

The first person Emily saw when she glanced into the dining room was exactly what she was looking for, an attractive, well-dressed young woman of obviously good background. Emily heaved a sigh of relief. She would introduce herself, explain she was also alone, and ask to share the young lady's table. Everything would be fine.

The young woman was sitting alone by the fire in the small, uncrowded dining room. Emily approached cautiously and saw with a shock that the lady had a suspicious redness about the eyes which indicated a recent spate of crying. Her elegantly gloved hands were clenched tightly in the lap of her expensive traveling gown. Obviously there was more than one heartbroken female in the vicinity tonight.

"I beg your pardon, miss," Emily said hesitantly. "I see you are all alone and I wondered if perhaps you would care to share a table. My name is Emily Faringdon…" she paused and then added scrupulously, "Traherne." She did not feel it was necessary to inform the woman of her recently acquired title. She had only been a countess for a mere day and the truth was Emily did not feel like one at all.

The pretty young blonde, who could not have been much above nineteen, looked up with a start. Then a relief as great as Emily's own shone in her damp hazel eyes.

"Please join me, Miss Faringdon-Traherne," she begged. "I would be ever so grateful." She looked frantically about the empty dining room and then added in a very low voice, "My name is Celeste Hamilton."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hamilton. Are you traveling to London?" Emily sat down across from her new friend.

"London? Dear God, no," Celeste burst out in a heartfelt wail. She began crying and quickly reached into her reticule for an already crumpled hankie. "I only wish that were the case. Oh, Miss Faringdon-Traherne, I am so miserable. I have made a terrible mistake. I fear I am bound for Gretna Green."

Emily was amazed. "You are running away to be married?"

"Yes." Celeste sniffed into the hankie.

"But you are all alone, Miss Hamilton. I do not understand. Where is your husband-to-be?"

"Seeing to the carriage and horses. There was an accident and a wheel came off. He will be back any minute. To tell you the truth, I was very glad when the accident occurred. I had begun to realize I had made a grave error in judgment. I saw the accident as a way to escape the situation."

Emily frowned. "But it did not work out that way?"

Celeste blew her nose daintily into the hankie and shook her head. "Nevil says we will continue on as soon as the wheel is fixed but we will not reach the border until tomorrow. I will be forced to marry him, come what may, as my reputation will be in ruins. What can I do? I realize now that I really do not love him." She sighed deeply. "To be perfectly truthful, I do not even like him very much anymore. He is not the man I thought him to be. But I will be tied to him for the rest of my life. And my parents will be so hurt. Oh, Miss Faringdon-Traherne, I would rather die than face what lies ahead of me."

"My dear Miss Hamilton. You have my deepest sympathy." Emily reached across the table and patted Celeste's hand. "I know exactly what you are going through. I understand everything, including the great tragedy of marrying the wrong man. But there is no need to worry. You are fated to be more fortunate than I."

Celeste looked at her with a distraught expression. "What do you mean?"

Emily smiled reassuringly. "Is it not obvious? I am here. You shall stay with me tonight and in the morning we shall travel on to London together. Your parents will no doubt be quite angry with you but your reputation will survive intact because it will be common knowledge that you had a woman companion with you overnight." She leaned forward and added conspiratorially, "I am actually a countess, you know. The Countess of Blade, which might be extremely useful under the circumstances. I shall be able to lend all sorts of countenance to this situation."

Celeste gazed at her with startled wonder in her eyes. "It was rumored he had married. You are truly the Countess of Blade?"

Emily nodded gloomily. "I was married only yesterday but the damage has been done."

"Dear heaven. I have never been introduced to Blade but I have heard my father speak of your husband. Blade is reputed to be very mysterious. I distinctly recall Papa telling Mama once that the earl was an extremely dangerous man to cross." Celeste confided softly, "Blade spent years in the East Indies and picked up strange notions, they say."

"Who says that?"

"The young ladies on the marriage mart, of course. They are all quite terrified of him. Especially Lucinda Canonbury, Lord Canonbury's granddaughter. She actually had the vapors once when Blade walked into a ballroom where she happened to be in the crowd. Fainted dead away, I am told. I suppose she thought he might ask her to dance."

Emily wrinkled her nose. "How silly. Blade would never dance with a female who was prone to the vapors."

"Lucinda Canonbury is not the only one who fears him," Celeste said. "Several young ladies have been known to admit that they were terrified Blade would make an offer for them and that their parents would be unable to refuse it. Apparently Blade can be extremely intimidating. There will be great relief all around on the marriage mart when it is confirmed he is safely wed."

"Hah! Any relief expressed will be no more than sour grapes," Emily declared stoutly, not stopping to wonder why she felt obliged to defend the earl. "I'll wager all the young ladies were quite fascinated with him and will be secretly disappointed to hear he has married. In any event, please do not call me Lady Blade. I do not really feel like a countess. Call me Emily."

"But if you were married yesterday, where is your husband? Attending to the horses? Good grief, Lady Blade—I mean, Emily—you must be on your honeymoon."

"No," Emily said sadly. "My honeymoon is over. One night of transcendent bliss that ended at dawn." She hesitated and then added honestly, "Well, one night of near-transcendent bliss. I must admit the whole event was not quite what I had hoped it would be. But that is neither here nor there now."

"But why only one night?"

Emily thought swiftly. She realized abruptly she could not bear to humiliate Simon by telling Celeste the truth about him. "I fear a tragic twist of fate has parted us."

"Good heavens," Celeste whispered, suitably impressed. "How perfectly awful for you."

"Yes, it is, rather. But my misfortune shall be your salvation," Emily announced briskly, rallying instinctively to take charge of the situation. "You shall have a respectable female companion from now until you are safely back in the bosom of your family and all will be well with your reputation."

Celeste's lovely face started to brighten and then immediately crumpled again. "But there is Nevil to consider. You do not know him, Emily. Indeed, I did not know him, either, as it turns out. He is quite nasty and he has become most insistent on this marriage. I confess I must admit Father was right. Nevil was all along planning to marry me for the sake of my inheritance. And I trusted him."

Emily's heart ached with sympathy. "I know just how you must be feeling. But you must not worry about Nevil."

"You do not comprehend. He is quite strong and possessed of a terrible temper. I had no notion until the accident occurred just how vicious he could be. I am afraid of him, Emily. He will drag me away with him when he returns and you will not be able to stop him."

Emily shot a quick glance toward the door. "I have it. We shall both go straight upstairs to my room and lock ourselves in for the night. Perhaps I can persuade the innkeeper's wife to send up some food. Come, we must hurry before Nevil returns."

Emily got to her feet and went quickly toward the door. After a start of surprise, Celeste jumped up and hurried after her. Emily paused in the hall long enough to beg the innkeeper's wife for a cold collation and then both young women scurried upstairs to safety.

The food arrived a few minutes later. It was not particularly exciting fare, consisting as it did of two slices of game pie and some bread and cheese. Nevertheless, Emily and her new friend attacked it with healthy appetites.

The dreaded Nevil arrived shortly after the spartan meal had been consumed. A furious pounding on the locked door was the first indication that the man did not intend to be thwarted.

"Celeste, I know you are in there! What the devil is going on here? Come out at once," the man roared through the door.

"Go away, Nevil. I told you I no longer wish to marry you," Celeste called back. "You are not the man I thought you were."

"You damn well are going to marry me, you little bitch. I have bloody well not gone through all this trouble for naught. In any event, it is much too late to change your mind, you silly creature. You must marry me or you'll be ruined and well you know it. Come out of there immediately." Nevil began kicking the door with his booted foot.

"Dear God." Celeste stared at the shuddering door in abject horror.

"If you do not come out this minute, I shall have the innkeeper up here with his keys," Nevil vowed. The door trembled again under the onslaught of his boot. "Open up now, damn you, you stupid bitch."

Emily realized the door might not hold. She leapt into action. "Help me move this under the doorknob," she urged Celeste as she began dragging a heavy chair across the room.

Celeste grabbed for the chair as the pounding continued. She was nearly in tears again. Nevil hurled several threats about what he intended to do to her as soon as he was her husband and there was a great deal more shouting and kicking.

"Pay no attention to him," Emily said, panting, as she shoved the chair into position. She started to push a heavy chest next to the chair.

"He is going to break down the door." Celeste gasped, pale with terror.

"I do not think he can manage that." But Emily eyed the door uneasily. It did not look all that stout, even with the chair and chest in front of it. "Perhaps we should push something else in front of it," she whispered to Celeste.

"There is nothing else except the bed."

"Damn you, you bitch," Nevil yelled. "I shall take a horsewhip to you when I have you out of there. Do you hear me, you stupid little chit? A horsewhip, by God. We'll see how long you defy me after I've given you a taste of the lash."

And then a new voice cracked down the hall: dark, intimidating and totally in command. "What the bloody hell is going on here?"

Emily, who had grabbed a poker just in case the door gave way, swung around to stare at the locked door with a startled gasp. "It's Simon."

"Simon?" Celeste looked at her, confused and terrified. "Who is Simon?"

"My husband." Emily smiled in exultant relief. "Do not worry, he will take care of everything."

"But you said you had been tragically parted from him," Celeste reminded her.

"That's another matter entirely." Emily dismissed this problem with a wave of the poker. "The important thing at the moment is that he will take care of Nevil for you."

"He will?" Celeste looked extremely uncertain. "Why should he bother to do that?"

"Blade has a very noble and gallant nature," Emily assured her.

Nevil's voice rose out in the hall. "See here, this is none of your business, my good man," Nevil informed Simon in a very loud and aggrieved tone. "My fiancee has locked herself up in this room with some other female. I am not leaving until I have Celeste out of there."

"The other female in there with her, according to the innkeeper, is my wife," Simon said icily. "Get away from that door or I shall break your damn neck."

"Who the hell do you think you are to order me about?" Nevil squawked. "I will not tolerate any interference. I'm on my way to the border and I'll thank you to… What the hell?"

Emily brightened as she heard the startled squeak with which Nevil ended his question. It was followed by a yell and a loud crashing noise. Emily put down the poker and turned proudly to Celeste. "I told you Simon would take care of Nevil."

"Emily?" Simon's voice sounded astonishingly calm on the other side of the door. "Are you in there?"

"Yes, Simon, I am in here." Emily hurried toward the door.

"Open up at once. I have had enough of this nonsense."

"One moment, Simon," Emily called back, dragging the chair away from the door.

Celeste cringed. "He does not sound very pleased to have found you after being tragically parted from you."

"Details. In any event, if I do not open the door, you can be certain he will find a way to break it down in a much more efficient fashion than your Nevil did."

"Oh, Emily, you poor thing. He sounds a perfect beast."

"A dragon, actually." Emily was panting again with the exertion of moving the chair and the chest. She finally managed to clear them away from in front of the door.

Then she hastily unlatched the locks and a few seconds later yanked open the door with a triumphant smile. Simon stood there in a damp greatcoat, riding breeches, and mud-spattered boots. His expression was calm and totally controlled except for the banked flames in his golden eyes.

"Well, Emily?"

Emily did not hesitate. She hurled herself straight into his arms. "Simon, you saved us. I told Celeste you would."

Simon hesitated, clearly taken by surprise at his welcome. Then his arms went around her, squeezing her so tightly she could not breathe. Emily was swamped in the multiple capes of the heavy greatcoat for a minute or two. When she finally struggled free of them to glance down the corridor, she saw a young man lying crumpled and ominously still on the floor.

"Oh, excellent work, Simon." She looked up at her husband with glowing approval. "You certainly took care of that wretched man. Is he dead?"

Simon cocked a brow at her expectant expression. "You are a bloodthirsty little thing, are you not? Strange. I had not realized. No, he is not dead. But I do not think he will be kicking in any more doors for a while."

A new voice sounded from the top of the stairs. "Sir, sir, what is all this fuss about?" The innkeeper hurried forward, wringing his hands. "I run a respectable establishment. I cannot allow fighting in the halls. The other guests will be most annoyed by the noise."

Simon gave the small man a lethal look. "In respectable establishments young ladies of quality do not find themselves obliged to barricade their doors."

The innkeeper glanced nervously at Emily and then at Celeste, who was peeking out of the bedchamber. "Well, yer lordship, as to that, neither of these young ladies was traveling with a companion or a maid and I naturally had to assume they were not genuinely of the quality, if you take my meanin'."

Simon's glance grew even more dangerous. "You obviously made some very stupid assumptions. This lady is my wife and the lady with her is a friend. They had arranged to rendezvous here and wait for me. I was temporarily delayed by the weather. You may have noticed there is a severe storm going on outside."

"Yes, yer lordship," the innkeeper agreed immediately. "Coming down in buckets, it is."

Simon smiled thinly. "I expected my wife and her friend to be safe and comfortable here while I took care of other matters."

The beleaguered innkeeper looked more harried than ever. His anxious, darting glance went from Emily, who was smiling at him with a very superior sort of smile, to the silent, still Nevil. "I beg your pardon, sir. I did not properly understand the situation. Obviously there has been a mistake."

"Obviously." Simon nodded curtly toward the man on the floor. "I suggest you remove him at once."

"Yes, yer lordship, I shall see to it immediately." The innkeeper turned away to bellow down the stairs for his servant. "Owen, come up here and lend me a hand, boy. Hurry."

Simon glanced over Emily's head into the bedchamber where Celeste was hovering. His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. Then he looked down at Emily again. "Now, suppose you and your friend come downstairs at once and explain precisely what is going on here, madam?"

"Of course, Simon." Emily beamed. "It is really very simple."

"Somehow, I find that difficult to believe. Pray, do not keep me waiting long." Simon turned toward the stairs, the greatcoat swinging around him like an elegant cape.

"Yes, Simon. We will be right down," Emily called after him.

But he was already on the stairs and did not bother to acknowledge her obedience. Emily stepped back into the room and found Celeste gazing at her with huge eyes. The hankie in her hand was crushed into a mangled lump.

"What on earth is wrong now?" Emily asked.

"I fear your husband is quite angry," Celeste said weakly. "Perhaps he will blame me for getting you into this situation."

"For pity's sake, Celeste. Simon is not about to blame you. He is a very just and honorable man. We shall soon have it all sorted out. I think it would be best if we do as he instructed, however. Are you ready to go downstairs?"

"Yes. I suppose there is no help for it." Celeste dabbed at her eyes with the hankie. "I wish Mama were here."

"Well, she is not, so we shall have to muddle through on our own. You may leave all the explanations to me. I am very good at that sort of thing." Emily straightened her spectacles, shook out her skirts, and led the way toward the stairs.

Simon was waiting for them in a private parlor. He had removed his greatcoat and hat and was sitting in front of the fire, a mug of ale in his hand. He rose with grave politeness as Emily and Celeste entered.

Emily rushed to properly introduce Celeste, who looked more nervous than ever. There was a deliberate pause before Simon responded to the introduction.

"Northcote's daughter?" he finally murmured, his gaze hooded.

Celeste nodded mutely. Emily started to ask why she had given her last name as Hamilton, but Simon was speaking again.

"You were running off to Gretna Green?" he asked Celeste. "I imagine your father will have a few words to say about that."

Celeste looked down at the floor. "Yes, my lord. He probably will."

Emily frowned at Simon as she hugged Celeste reassuringly. "Do not worry, Celeste. Blade will talk to your father and all will be well."

"Will I, indeed?" Simon took a swallow of ale and eyed his wife over the rim of the mug. "Just what do you suggest I say to the marquess?"

Emily blinked. "Marquess?"

"Your new friend is the eldest daughter of the Marquess of Northcote."

"Oh." Emily considered that. "I believe I have heard of him."

"No doubt," Simon said dryly. "He is one of the richest and most powerful men in London." He glanced at Celeste. "And I presume he will be close on the heels of his fleeing daughter."

Celeste burst into tears once more. "Papa will never forgive me."

"Of course he will," Emily said bracingly. "I told you, Blade will explain everything."

"I have no particular interest in explaining anything to Northcote at the moment," Simon said. "As it happens, I am expecting a few explanations myself, madam."

Emily chewed on her lower lip. "Did you get my note?"

"Yes, madam, I got your note. We will discuss it later in private, however."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Emily was not certain she cared for the sound of that but before she could say anything further there was a commotion out in the hall. A few seconds later the door of the small parlor was thrown open to reveal a patrician-featured man in his mid-forties and an elegant, dark-haired woman dressed in an extremely fashionable traveling gown.

"Mama." Celeste broke into tears all over again and ran toward the dark-haired woman, who hugged her close. "Mama, I am so very sorry."

"My dearest daughter, I have been frantic with worry. Are you all right?"

"Quite all right, Mama, thanks to Lady Blade." Celeste pulled free of her mother's arms and smiled tearfully at Emily. "She saved me from a terrible fate, Mama. I owe her more than I can say."

The Marchioness of Northcote looked uncertainly at Emily. There was a certain watchfulness in her gaze. "I regret we have not yet been properly introduced, Lady Blade," she said somewhat stiffly. "But I have a feeling I am forever in your debt."

"Do not be ridiculous, Lady Northcote," Emily said cheerfully. "You are not at all in my debt."

Relief flickered in the marchioness's eyes. She glanced at her daughter again and then back at Emily. "All is well, then?"

"Quite well, madam." Emily chuckled softly. "Celeste has had an adventure, but there was no harm done and Blade took care of Nevil for you."

The Marquess of Northcote glanced sharply at his daughter and then he looked at Simon. He spoke for the first time, his eyes even more cautious and watchful than those of his wife. "Blade."

Simon inclined his head in a rather casual acknowledgment of the greeting. "Northcote."

"It would appear my wife is correct. We are apparently in your debt, sir."

"Not mine," Simon said coolly. "It was my wife who befriended your daughter and kept her out of that young rogue's clutches until I arrived."

"I see." Northcote closed the door and came farther into the room. "Would you mind explaining just what transpired here?"

Simon shrugged. "Why not? I was warned I would be stuck with the explanations."

"Are they that complicated?" Northcote gave him a searching glance.

"Not at all." Simon's expression was one of cold satisfaction. "I suggest you and your lady sit down, however, and order some ale. This may take a little time."

Northcote nodded, looking grimly resigned. "Peppington, Canonbury, and now me. You finally have us all where you want us, don't you, Blade?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Simon murmured. "You were the last. I shall consider you a wedding present from my bride."