by Amanda Quick
“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.”
“I must say, Simon, you handled that brilliantly.” Emily sat down in the chair near the fire and watched her husband as he locked the door of the bedchamber he had booked for the night.
Earlier he had taken one brief look at the room assigned to Emily and his mouth had tightened grimly. He’d ordered that a new chamber be prepared at once. The innkeeper had hastily retrieved Emily’s possessions and moved them into the larger, more comfortable room.
“The thing is, Simon, you made it all sound so perfectly normal and matter of fact. Quite as if we had simply encountered Celeste on our honeymoon trip and had taken her under our wing.”
The Marquess and Marchioness of Northcote had left for town a few minutes ago in their fast, comfortable traveling coach. If all went well they would have Celeste safely abed in her own bedchamber by early morning. It had been agreed that the simplest approach to the whole matter was to arrive home at dawn with their daughter as if they were all returning from a ball. No one would be the wiser.
“I am glad you approve of the way I dealt with the matter. I confess I am not as accustomed to inventing romantic tales on the spur of the moment as you are.” Simon crossed the room and dropped languidly into the chair across from Emily. He stretched his booted feet out in front of the fire and regarded his runaway wife with a hooded gaze.
“Well, you certainly did a magnificent job,” Emily assured him happily. “You even managed to figure out quite quickly what I had already told Celeste so that our stories meshed rather nicely.”
“You dropped several useful hints, my dear.” Simon’s brows climbed. “Parted tragically on the morning after our wedding, were we? It was extremely fortunate for you that Lady Celeste did not inquire into the exact nature of the tragedy that had separated us.”
“You have a point.” Emily considered that closely for a moment. “I wonder if her mother will inquire.”
“I doubt it. I do not think there will be any further questions from that direction. Northcote will accept my version of the story about being delayed with the carriage and sending you on ahead to get you out of the storm. He and his wife were far more concerned with their daughter’s plight than with yours.”
“Poor Celeste. At least she was saved from having to wed the wrong man.” Emily brightened. “It was a marvelous rescue, Simon. Quite what I would have expected of you.”
“You flatter me.” Simon propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, laced his fingers under his chin, and fixed his wife with an unwavering gaze. “And now I think the time has come for you to make a few explanations of your own.”
“Explanations?”
“I warn you, I do not wish to hear any of that nonsense you wrote in your note about broken hearts and broken urns. I have alrea
dy read that particular poem, if you will recall. It was not one of your better efforts.”
Emily’s elation over the successful culmination of her adventure with Celeste faded rapidly under the implacable expression in Simon’s eyes. She lowered her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap. “You once called that poem very affecting.”
“Somehow it left a different impression this time around. Perhaps it was the circumstances under which I read it. Your maid was sobbing into one of my best linen handkerchiefs at the time. Duckett was hovering about like a mourner at a funeral. Mrs. Hickinbotham was ranting and raving about how I would undoubtedly find you shot dead on the road by a highwayman. Or worse.”
Emily was momentarily diverted. “What could have been worse than being shot by a highwayman?”
“I believe Mrs. Hickinbotham had visions of you suffering a fate worse than death,” Simon explained blandly.
Emily gave her husband a quick, accusing glance. “Some might say I already suffered that last night, my lord.”
Simon surprised her with a faint smile. “Was it really that bad, Emily?”
She heaved a sigh. “Well, no, actually. As I told Celeste, it was a night of near-transcendent bliss.”
“Good God,” Simon muttered.
“I have been thinking about it a great deal and I have decided it was not entirely your fault that the experience was not what it should have been, my lord. After all, you did tell me you had never done that sort of thing before.”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes, you did. So I imagine part of our problem was that we were both a bit inexperienced at creating transcendental unions and such. Bound to be a few problems in the early stages.” She gave him a hopeful look. “Do you not agree, my lord?”
“It is very generous of you not to blame me entirely for failing to transport you to a higher plane, my dear.”
Emily frowned, detecting sarcasm. “Yes, well, perhaps the problems with the physical portion of our union were not all your fault, but that does not excuse you for what happened later. You were most unkind and I left you that note with the lines from my poem about urns and such because I thought it rather apt.”
“Apt? You get yourself embroiled in a potentially dangerous situation, we are miles from home on a wet and exceedingly unpleasant night, we are obliged to put up in a shabby little inn with bad food and worse beds, and all because you chose to indulge yourself in a fit of the sulks. Madam, let me tell you I did not find romantical references to broken hearts and broken urns at all apt.”
“My heart was broken,” Emily declared passionately.
“You broke it this morning when you told me that last night had meant nothing to you.”
“I did not say that, Emily.”
“Yes, you did. You told me that what I took to be a transcendent union of like souls was nothing more than mere lust.” All the resentment welled up inside her once again. “What’s more, you were perfectly horrid to me simply because I had gone out into the gardens to say farewell to my father. I know he has his faults, but he is my father and you have no right to forbid me to see him or the twins.”
“I did not forbid you to see them, Emily. I merely said you would not see them on your own.”
“I cannot allow you to restrict me like that.”
“You are my wife,” Simon reminded her, his voice growing dangerously soft. “I have every right to restrict you in any way I feel is appropriate. The actions I have taken are for your own good.”
“Rubbish.” Emily flared. “They are to prevent me from continuing to manage my family’s financial affairs. It is another element in your revenge plot and that is all there is to it.”
“Your father has taken advantage of your business talents for years.”
“What does that signify? You married me for those same talents. You only want to use me, too.”
“You were the one who begged me to marry you,” Simon said through set teeth. “Or have you forgotten so soon how you bargained with me that day by the stream? You have gotten what you wanted, Emily. You are now my countess. You must abide by the terms of our agreement.”
Emily’s fingers twisted together as she looked at her husband in defiant anguish. “I did not realize you meant to cut my family off completely from me.”
“It is only the financial connections I am severing completely.”
“But you allowed my father to think you would not cut him off entirely,” she reminded him.
Simon smiled coldly. “Yes, I did dangle that lure for a while. It made everything so much easier, you see.”
“You are taking your vengeance too far, my lord.”
“You, my sweet, know nothing about vengeance.”
“And you do?”
“Oh, yes,” Simon said softly. “I have spent twenty-three years dreaming of it. Now, I have had enough of this topic. My notion of revenge need no longer concern you. You are my wife and you will henceforth conduct yourself in a manner befitting your title as Countess of Blade. Is that quite clear, Emily?”
Emily’s heart sank. “What if I do not wish to be your countess any longer?”
“That is most unfortunate because it is too late to change your mind. You surrendered to your romantic impulses and excessive passions, my dear, and now you must pay for the experience.”
“But, Simon, we shall both be so grossly unhappy if we continue as we are. Surely you must see that.”
“Nonsense,” Simon said heartlessly. “There is no reason this marriage should not work very well. If I had not reached that conclusion several weeks ago, I would not have gone through with it. You will make me a suitable countess once you have settled down to the business. In any event, there is no going back. An annulment is out of the question and I will certainly not allow you to contemplate a divorce. I know you treasure your scandalous past, but a divorce would be too much even for you to handle. And I, of course, have my title to consider.”
“Yes, of course.” Emily studied her clenched hands, aware of a guilty sense of relief. A divorce was naturally out of the question. She was bound to Simon for the rest of her life.
The rest of her life. Emily’s mood began to lighten. Much could change in a lifetime, she told herself with renewed optimism, including a man’s attitude toward his wife.
Simon’s gaze grew even more stern. “Now, listen well, Emily, because I do not wish to find myself forced to chase after a runaway wife again. There will be no more haring off for parts unknown whenever you happen to feel unsatisfied with your lot in life. There will be no more miserable little poems left behind with your maid. I am prepared to grant you a fair amount of freedom but you will obey the few rules I do impose, the principal one being that you are not to see any member of your family unless I am present. Do I make myself clear?”
Emily eyed him through lowered lashes. “Very clear, my lord. It all sounds perfectly horrid. Not at all what I had envisioned marriage to you would be like.”
Simon’s mouth curved faintly. “You must look on the bright side, my dear. You are a creature of excessive passions. Now you are free to indulge those passions. Concentrate on that end of things and the rest will fall nicely into place.”
That was too much. Emily was incensed by the condescending words. “Elias Prendergast once offered me the same opportunity. I was not interested then and I am not interested now. I can restrain my excessive passions until such time as they can be indulged with someone who is capable of a truly noble, spiritual, and metaphysical connection.”
All signs of complacency vanished from Simon’s expression in the blink of an eye. The dragon’s golden gaze was suddenly ablaze. “I am well aware that married women of the ton frequently conduct affairs, but you will not even contemplate a liaison with another man. Understand me well, Emily. I do not share what is mine and as of last night you are most definitely mine.”
Emily eyed him uneasily. “Celeste said you had picked up strange notions living in the East.”
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br /> “If it is any consolation, I have always been inclined to guard what is mine. Living in the East only served to teach me various ways of doing so more thoroughly and efficiently.”
Emily believed him. She was not particularly alarmed, however, as she certainly could not envision making love with any other man except Simon. “You need not fret, my lord. I was not so overly impressed with what we did last night that I would immediately seek out the experience with anyone else.”
The dangerous fire in Simon’s eyes faded. It was replaced with a distinctly annoyed expression. “I promise you that you will enjoy it more next time.”
Emily chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip and narrowed her eyes mutinously. “Since we are on the subject, my lord, I may as well tell you that I am not interested in trying it a second time.”
Simon looked away from her. He reached out, seized the poker, and began stoking the flames on the hearth with stabbing motions. “As I said, you will soon feel differently about the matter.”
Emily gathered her courage. “No, my lord. I do not think so.”
Simon glanced at her over his shoulder. “What do you mean by that?”
“Simply that I do not wish to have you make love to me again,” Emily said bravely. She was determined on her course of action now. She knew what she had to do. “That is, not unless certain conditions are met.”
“Emily,” Simon began ominously, “I realize you are in something of a state because of your recent adventures, but I warn you, I will not tolerate—”
She held up a palm to silence him. “Pray, allow me to finish, my lord. I do not want you to make love to me again until we have truly established a pure and transcendent relationship, the sort of relationship I believed us to have when I asked you to marry me. You are not to trick me into lovemaking again, Simon, do you understand?”
“I did not trick you into lovemaking,” he said through his teeth. “I explained to you that I merely eased your normal, maidenly wedding night anxieties. Some would say I behaved like a very thoughtful and concerned husband.”
“Rubbish. You tricked me. And you will not do so again. That is final.”
