Scandal

by Amanda Quick

  Simon’s eyes gleamed dangerously, reflecting the flames on the hearth. And then he appeared to relax slightly, like a hunter who is content to lie in wait before pouncing on his quarry. “Very well, madam.”

  Emily was nonplussed by his ready acceptance of her mandate. “You agree you will not force yourself on me?”

  Simon shrugged. “I have no particular interest in forcing myself on an unwilling wife.” He put down the poker and sat back. His fingers drummed briefly on the arm of the chair. There was a lengthy silence and then his mouth curved coldly once more.

  Emily did not like the looks of that smile. “What are you thinking, my lord?”

  “Merely that I am content to wait until you come to me, Emily. In fact, I believe it will be infinitely preferable that way.” He nodded, as if confirming some private conclusion. “Yes. Much better.”

  Emily hesitated, wondering if she had overlooked some glaring hole in her clever plan. Simon’s acceptance of it was much too quick. “What if I do not come to you, my lord?”

  “You will. And very soon.” Simon got to his feet and poured two glasses of sherry from the decanter on the table. “I do not believe I shall have long to wait, you being a creature of excessive passions, and all. You are intelligent enough to know very well that while last night might not have lived up to your romantic expectations, there is more to be discovered on the physical plane. Surely you have not forgotten your experience that night I sat you down on the library desk, parted your thighs, and introduced you to your own passionate nature?”

  Emily blushed and looked away. “No,” she admitted quietly. “I have not forgotten.”

  “Imagine how it would have felt to go through that same rush of sensations with me buried deep inside you,” Simon said deliberately. “Think about how much more truly transcendent the experience would have been. How very metaphysical. How stimulating to all your sensibilities. How damn exciting. Because, my dear, that is what it will be like the next time we make love. You have my personal guarantee on the matter.”

  Emily was suddenly feeling much too warm and she knew it had nothing to do with the heat from the fireplace. “You are trying to trick me again. Simon, I do not want to discuss this. I have made my decision and I insist you honor it.”

  “By all means, madam.” He began to pry off his boots. “Not another word on the subject until you come to me and ask me very nicely to show you what you are missing and how much you have left to experience.”

  “Do not hold your breath waiting for that event, my lord,” she shot back.

  Simon started to unfasten his shirt. He smiled with a hunter’s anticipation. “My sweet, rest assured you will not merely ask for it next time, you will beg me to bed you.”

  “Never,” she vowed, driven to rashness by Simon’s cool, masculine certainty.

  “A woman of excessive passions should be very careful about making such sweeping statements.”

  “I will make any sort of statement I wish. Simon, what are you doing?” Emily’s eyes widened in shock as he stripped off the linen shirt and slung it carelessly over the back of the chair.

  “Getting ready for bed. I have had a very hard day, my sweet, as you well know.” He started to unfasten his breeches.

  “But I have just told you, I will not make love with you.”

  He nodded. “I heard you. I intend simply to go to bed and sleep as best I can on that lumpy-looking mattress. In the morning I shall hire a post chaise to take us home as soon as possible. I have no wish to spend any extra time here at this depressing inn.”

  “You are going to sleep on the bed?” Emily looked around, fully appreciating her surroundings for the first time. “Simon, there is only one bed.”

  “It is big enough for both of us.” He started to step out of the breeches. Firelight gleamed on the sleek contours of his back and buttocks.

  Emily stared, utterly fascinated, at the sight of her husband’s lean, hard body. He stood with his back to the fire as he undressed but in the shadows she could see that he was half aroused. His manhood jutted boldly from its thicket of crisp, black hair. She remembered touching that broad staff last night, remembered the instant response of his flesh. She remembered, too, the way he had used that part of himself to forge a path into the very core of her being.

  “Is anything the matter, Emily?” Apparently oblivious to her longing gaze, Simon strolled across the room to the bed and pulled back the covers. He got in and folded his arms behind his head on the pillow. “Well?”

  Emily touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips. “No. No, there is nothing the matter.” She yanked her spectacles off and put them on the table. It was better not to be able to see too clearly at the moment. She jumped to her feet and began pulling a footstool into position in front of the hard wooden chair.

  “What are you doing?” Simon asked, sounding curious.

  “It is not obvious? I am preparing myself a place to sleep tonight.” She stalked over to the bed, grabbed a blanket, and stalked back to the chair. Then she sat down, propped her feet on the stool, and arranged the blanket over herself.

  “That chair is going to be very uncomfortable by morning. And when the fire dies, this bedchamber will get exceedingly cold,” Simon warned.

  “I do not expect to be comfortable, my lord. I expect to suffer. I shall consider it a punishment for my crimes of bad judgment and worse luck.” Emily blew out the candle and settled down to ponder her wretched fate.

  Half an hour later, Simon, who had been kept awake by a series of small, restless, miserable little noises from the vicinity of the chair, lay gazing up at the ceiling. The fire was now a mere pile of glowing coals but there was just enough light to reveal Emily’s small form huddled under the blanket. She was no doubt freezing and Simon told himself he had no wish to have her get sick. An ailing wife would be a genuine nuisance.

  He contemplated the best way to get Emily into the warmth of the bed. He was well aware it was only her pride keeping her in the chair. But pride was a very powerful thing, as he knew from personal experience. Sometimes it was all one had.

  There was no need for Emily to suffer unduly tonight, Simon decided. Her feminine pride was due for a major blow soon enough. It would come when she was forced to finally admit defeat in this small war she had instigated.

  He regretted having to set her up for the humiliation she would face when she finally surrendered. But there was no help for it. She would have to learn the hard way that he intended to be master in his own home and in his own bed.

  In any event, it was Emily who had drawn the battle lines when she had made that rash vow not to grant him his rights in bed. Apparently there was still enough Faringdon in her to lead her to believe she could manipulate him, Simon reflected grimly. He would soon eradicate that element in her nature. They would both be happier and more content once Emily had accepted her new role in life.

  In the meantime Simon decided he had no wish to listen to any more squirming about in the chair. He opened his mouth to order Emily over to the bed. But he was interrupted before he could speak.

  “Simon?” Emily’s voice was a soft, tentative thread of sound in the darkness. “Are you asleep?”

  “No.”

  “I was just wondering about something.”

  Simon smiled to himself in satisfaction. Even better, of course, if she made the first move tonight. Would she ask straight out to join him in the bed or try the more subtle tactic of telling him she was cold and needed to get under the covers? he wondered. Either way he would make it easy for her.

  “What were you wondering about, Emily?”

  “Did you really cause Lucinda Canonbury to have a fit of the vapors when you entered a ballroom?”

  “What the devil are you talking about?” Simon glowered at the figure in the chair.

  “Celeste says that’s what happened in London. She says all the young ladies on the marriage mart, including Lucinda Canonbury, were quite terrified of you and of the
possibility that you would make an offer of marriage.”

  “I never noticed any of the silly chits having the vapors when I walked into a ballroom,” Simon muttered. He had been informed, of course, that the Canonbury girl had fainted, but he had not actually noticed at the time. The ballroom had been quite crowded.

  Emily giggled in the darkness. “I told Celeste it was all a lot of fustian. I am quite certain all the young ladies on the marriage mart were completely enthralled by you and you probably piqued them terribly by failing to even notice them.”

  It occurred to Simon that Emily still apparently had no real inkling of the reputation he enjoyed in town. As usual, she had romanticized the situation.

  “You are quite right,” he said evenly. “It is all a lot of nonsense.” A thought struck him. He toyed with it for a moment and then made his decision. “Emily, would you like to go to London?”

  “Oh, yes. Very much. But do you think I ought to do so? Papa always said I must not go into town too frequently lest someone mention the scandal in my past. I would not want to embarrass you, Simon.”

  “There is no longer a scandal in your past, Emily.”

  “There isn’t?” She sounded confused.

  “No. I have informed the few people, including Lord and Lady Gillingham and Prendergast, who know something of your little adventure five years ago that it is never again to be mentioned. That goes for you, as well. As far as you are concerned, Emily, there was no scandal.”

  “But, Simon—”

  “We will not discuss it. There is nothing to discuss. And if anyone attempts to discuss it, you are to tell me immediately. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but, Simon, I really think—”

  He softened briefly. “I know you cling to the memory of the Unfortunate Incident as one of your life’s more thrilling moments, but I believe I can provide you with even more exciting moments to remember.”

  “Well, I thought so, too,” she said candidly. “That is why I asked you to marry me. But now I am not so certain. I seem to have made a large mistake.”

  “Your only mistake, my dear, is in thinking you can manage me the way you manage your business affairs. I am not so easily controlled, madam.”

  “What a ghastly thing to say.”

  “It is the truth. But we shall soon remedy the problem. You will come to me and apologize very prettily for setting yourself against me. Then you will plead with me to take you back into my bed and that will be the end of it.”

  “Bloody hell, it will.”

  “I believe we were discussing a trip to London.”

  “We were discussing your insufferable arrogance,” she retorted.

  “We shall leave for town as soon as practicable.”

  “Why?” Emily demanded. “Why must we suddenly rush off to London?”

  “Because,” Simon said, thinking of the profound gratitude of the Marquess and Marchioness of Northcote, “I believe this would be a most opportune time for you to enter Society.” Northcote, like Peppington and Canonbury, was now vulnerable at last. The marquess could be useful and Simon fully intended to use him and his lady to introduce Emily into Society.

  Emily was silent for a long moment. “Do you really think so, Simon?”

  He smiled again to himself. “Yes.” He pushed back the covers and stood up. “Now, I find I am getting quite cold and uncomfortable. I must insist you come to bed and bring that blanket with you.”

  Emily sat up in alarm as he moved toward her, clutching at the blanket. She peered warily up at him in the shadows. “I have told you, I will not allow you to make love to me, Simon.”

  He reached down and scooped her out of the chair. “You may relax, my dear. This is a matter of practical comfort and health. I gave you my word I would not force myself on you.” He stood her on her feet and began methodically and efficiently stripping off her clothing.

  “Hah! Do you think I will beg you to make love to me once you get me into your bed?” she challenged as she batted ineffectually at his hands. “Do you believe I am so weak-willed?”

  “You are not weak-willed, my sweet.” Simon dropped the carriage gown over the chair, leaving Emily in only a thin muslin shift. “You are high-spirited, passionate, and impulsive. It is not at all the same thing.”

  Emily stopped slapping at his hands and looked up at him, squinting to see his face more clearly. “Do you really think so, Simon?”

  He grinned briefly as he picked her up and carried her over to the bed. “I am quite certain of it, my dear. And even though you are presently annoyed with me, I know you would not wish me to freeze to death tonight. As we cannot both use the blanket unless we share the bed, we have no choice. You must join me.”

  Emily sighed in resignation and slithered quickly under the sheet. She lay rigidly on the far right edge of the bed, staring up at the ceiling as Simon got in beside her. “Very well. For the sake of our health, I will agree to share the bed. But you are not to make love to me, Simon.”

  “Do not concern yourself, Emily. I shall not pounce upon you in your sleep. I am content to wait until you come to me.”

  “That will not happen until I am convinced that what you feel for me is akin to what I felt for you until you broke my heart last night,” she vowed.

  “We shall see, madam wife. In the meantime, I suggest you get some sleep. You have had a very busy day.”

  “It was all rather exciting,” she admitted, yawning. “I must say, it was very romantic of you to come after me the way you did. I feel there is hope for us, Simon.”

  His jaw set. “Because I followed you? Do not pin too many romantical hopes on that fact. I came after you because you belong to me and I keep what is mine. Do not ever forget that again, Emily.”

  There was silence from the other side of the bed. Simon waited for some acknowledgment of his stern admonition. When none was forthcoming he turned on his side and looked at Emily.

  She had fallen fast asleep.

  Simon watched her in the shadows for a moment and then he carefully gathered her close. Without waking, Emily snuggled against him as if she had slept in his arms for years.

  A few minutes later, Simon, too, fell asleep.

  Simon looked up from the papers on his desk at the sound of loud commotion out in the hall. Apparently his aunt and Emily had returned from their shopping expedition. Curious about the results of the foray to Oxford Street, Simon stood up and crossed the lair full of jeweled dragons. He opened the library door and smiled in amusement at the sight that greeted him.

  The two footmen were hastening to fetch a vast quantity of parcels from the carriage that stood at the bottom of the steps. Emily, dressed in one of the pastel morning gowns she had brought with her from the country, was dashing about giving orders in an excited voice. Her red curls were partially concealed under a flower-trimmed straw bonnet and she had her spectacles perched slightly askew on her nose.

  Lady Araminta Merryweather stood aside to watch the scene, obviously as amused as Simon.

  “Please take it all straight upstairs,” Emily said, inspecting each package as it came out of the carriage. “Tell Lizzie she is to unpack everything immediately. I shall come up at once and just make certain all is in order. Oh, do be careful with that, Harry. It’s the most beautiful parasol you have ever seen. It’s got little green and gold dragons all over it.”

  “Aye, ma’am,” Harry said, giving his mistress a broken-toothed grin that had been known to make grown men flee in terror. “No need to sass. I’ll look after it as if it were something I’d snaffled for meself.”

  There were a few other things broken and missing on the beefy ex-pirate besides some teeth. The list included a broken nose that had never healed properly and a missing left hand that had been replaced by a vicious-looking hook. Due to the footman’s unpredictable effect on visitors, Greaves did not allow him to serve at the dinner table on the rare occasions when Blade entertained at home. But when the butler, on Simon’s orders, had cauti
ously assigned Harry to serve the new lady of the house, Emily had been completely unperturbed by the hook. Harry had been won over instantly.

  “Thank you, Harry. That is very kind of you.” Emily gave the footman a brilliant, grateful smile.

  Simon watched Harry blush and stammer like a schoolboy and wondered fleetingly if Emily understood that snaffled was thieves’ cant for stolen.

  Emily turned a delighted face toward Lady Merryweather. “I have had an absolutely thrilling morning, Araminta. How can I ever thank you?”

  “It was my pleasure, Emily.” Araminta stood back as an especially large box was brought into the hall.

  “Gracious, do have a care, George,” Emily instructed the other footman as he carted a parcel up the steps and through the door. She hurried over to check anxiously on the condition of the box. “It came from Madam Claude’s and it is the cleverest little hat in the world.” She caught sight of Simon lounging in the doorway and her eyes brightened. “Wait until you see it, my lord. The hat is a la militaire, and I have ordered a beautiful riding habit to accompany it. It will have epaulets and frogging and all sorts of military details and it will be positively dashing.”

  “I look forward to seeing you in it,” Simon said gravely.

  George, the footman, a hatchet-faced individual who had led a boisterous life on the rough docks of the Far East, headed for the stairs cradling the precious hatbox as if it were a baby.

  Emily spotted yet another parcel being unloaded and scurried forward to supervise. “These are my new half boots,” she told Simon over her shoulder. “I also bought several pairs of slippers and pumps. It was a fearful expense but your aunt said I must have a different pair for every gown.”

  Simon folded his arms across his chest and cocked a brow at his fashionable aunt. “Lady Merryweather would know.”

  Araminta gave him a serene smile.

  “I also got several fans and four new reticules,” Emily called back over her shoulder as she flew up the stairs. “I shall be down in a few minutes.”

  She vanished at the turn on the landing, the pale skirts of her gown sailing out behind her.