by Amanda Quick
“Several card games, I fear,” Emily confided. “And the final one was a disaster. Oh, Simon, it is all so perfectly awful and I do not know what to do. I know I cannot ask you for help in this matter.”
Simon’s brow quirked. “Are you by any chance under the hatches, elf? I am aware that the ladies occasionally play a bit deep among themselves, but I never imagined you as the sort to get into dun territory.”
“It is not me who is under the hatches,” Emily burst out, “it is my father. Oh, Simon, he sent me a note today saying he has lost everything and more.”
Simon did not move but in the glass his eyes were suddenly blazing. His big hands clamped around Emily’s bare shoulders. “Has he, indeed? Yes, of course. I should have guessed. It was only a matter of time, naturally, but I had rather expected him to last a bit longer than this.”
Emily saw the savage satisfaction in his face and something in the pit of her stomach shriveled and died. She knew then that a part of her had hoped against hope that when the inevitable occurred, Simon would soften toward her father, just as he had softened toward the twins, Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington.
“Simon?” she whispered helplessly.
“You are quite right, my dear,” he murmured. “You cannot ask me to help this time. I have waited too long for this moment.” His hands fell from her shoulders. He looked down and frowned at the red marks he had left on her soft, white skin. He touched one imprint gently and then turned toward the door. “I will see you later at the Bridgetons’.” He paused briefly, hand on the knob. “Emily?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Remember that you are no longer a Faringdon.”
The door closed softly behind him.
Emily sat with her hands clenched in her lap, telling herself she must not give in to the tears again.
But the truth was she had not felt this helpless and trapped since the day her mother had died, leaving her to assume the full financial responsibility of her father and brothers.
Covent Garden was filled with boisterous theater-goers from several levels of Society. The ton glittered in the boxes and promenaded in the lobbies. Lesser mortals filled the galleries and the pits. All were exuberant and fully prepared to let the actors know exactly what they thought of the performance. Many had brought vegetable peelings, bells, and assorted noisemakers to aid in conveying their opinions.
“Did you bring your new pair of opera glasses?” Celeste asked as the small party made its way through the crowded lobby. Lady Northcote had paused briefly to speak to a friend.
“Yes, I have them with me.” Emily glanced blindly around, having stashed her spectacles in her reticule. All she could see was a blur of color and movement.
She and Celeste were being jostled about and Emily was about to put on the spectacles to better defend herself when she felt a man’s hand on her arm.
“What on earth?” Emily whirled around and saw a vague halo of graying blond hair. Her heart sank. She was aware of Celeste’s curiosity. “Papa! What are you doing here?”
“Happened to be attending the performance and spotted you entering the lobby,” Broderick Faringdon said with a false joviality. “How are you, my dear?”
“I am fine, Papa. Allow me to present my friend.” Emily quickly ran through the introductions, praying Lady Northcote would return and whisk them off to their boxes.
Broderick acknowledged the introduction with the usual Faringdon charm. Then he tugged firmly on Emily’s arm. “If you don’t mind, I would like a few words in private, m’dear. Haven’t seen you in an age.”
“I cannot leave Celeste alone,” Emily said desperately.
“Do not worry about me, Emily,” Celeste said blithely. “I shall join Mother. Your father can escort you to our box.”
“Yes, of course,” Emily said, knowing there was no escape. She rallied herself as Celeste disappeared into the crowd. “Well, Papa?”
“You got my note?” Broderick asked bluntly, dropping any pretense of civility at once. It was obvious he was under enormous strain.
“Yes. I am sorry, Papa. You know there is nothing I can do. Oh, Papa, how could you be so foolish?”
“T’weren’t foolishness. Just a run o’ bad luck. It happens.” Her father leaned closer to mutter in her ear. “Listen, Em, I know I can come about with a little financial assistance from you.”
“Perhaps, given time, Blade will soften on this matter. But it is much too soon to expect anything from him. You must know that, Papa.”
“Damn and blast, Em, I ain’t got time. Got to settle my debts.”
“Have you truly sold everything?”
“Everything,” Broderick confirmed gravely. “The thing is, Em, it don’t quite cover my vowels.”
Emily was shocked in spite of herself and her knowledge of her father’s reckless ways. “Papa, how could you lose the entire amount? I worked years to build up that security for you and the twins. This is terrible. Utterly terrible. What are we to do?”
“No need to panic, m’dear. First, you have got to get Blade to cover my debts, Em.”
Emily looked up, trying to make out his expression. “But, Papa, you know he will never do that.”
“You have to, Em. Don’t you understand? This is an emergency. Emily, m’dear, I must tell you I have made a horrendous mistake. Had a few too many bottles the other night. You know how it is when a man’s in his cups. Talked a bit freely, I’m afraid.”
“About what? To whom?” Emily was frantic now, trying to understand the note of strain in her father’s voice. This sounded worse than just a horrific loss at the tables.
A dark shadow loomed at Broderick Faringdon’s elbow. “Your papa made the mistake of talking to me, Lady Blade,” said a familiar, sardonic voice.
“Mr. Crofton?” Emily turned vague eyes toward the dark shadow. A sense of dread now gripped her as she made a violent effort to collect herself. “I am afraid I do not understand. What is going on here?”
Crofton moved closer, his voice lowering to a slimy, confidential tone. “Your father and I have become close friends of late. He was most distressed after his defeat at the tables, Lady Blade. I am certain you comprehend and sympathize with how he must have felt as he contemplated how he would pay his debts of honor. He went through several bottles, I fear, and in the end he let slip the news about the rather appalling scandal in your past.”
Emily’s mouth went dry. She stared at her father. “Papa?”
“It’s true, girl,” Faringdon said morosely. “God help me, but I told him about the Unfortunate Incident. I was drunk as a lord, you know. And a trifle overset by my losses. I know you’ll understand. But the thing is, he’s threatened to spread it around town if I don’t pay up.”
“I fear the unsavory gossip about his wife’s past will have the rather unpleasant effect of ruining Blade socially,” Crofton murmured. “He will be cut by virtually everyone and will no doubt be obliged to quit town and retire to the country. And I do not think he will thank you for that, my dear.”
“He will more likely destroy you for that, Mr. Crofton,” Emily said fiercely.
“But the damage will be done. People will talk. Think of the scandal that will ensue, the slur on Blade’s title, the humiliation he will be forced to endure. Your husband has fought hard for the power and position he presently holds, madam. But he has made enemies along the way. There are those who hate him and will not hesitate to use the scandal in your past to bring him down. And it will be all your fault, Lady Blade.”
Emily felt nauseous but she kept her features as expressionless as possible as she peered up at the dark, hovering blur that was Crofton’s face. “You do not value your life very highly, Mr. Crofton?” she inquired coldly.
“Do not threaten me with your husband’s temper, madam. It is a bluff. I do not think you will allow things to come to such a pass. That would be letting them go too far and the damage would be done, would it not?”
“Mr. Crofton …”
“You will see to it that your father’s debts are paid in full, Lady Blade. The whole world knows how much you adore your husband. Not to put too fine a point on the matter, you have a rather charming habit of making a complete cake out of yourself when it comes to Blade. I believe you will do whatever needs to be done to protect him from the scandal.”
Emily took a deep, steadying breath. “And just how do you expect me to pay my father’s debts? I receive a quarterly allowance, but that will probably not begin to cover Papa’s losses.”
Crofton chuckled. “Blade is said to be extremely indulgent toward you, my dear. Lord knows why, but there you have it. ’Tis an open secret. He apparently finds you amusing. I do not think it will be too difficult for you to claim the gaming losses are yours and beseech him very prettily to cover them for you. You may say you lost to Lady Malcolm or to Bridgeton’s wife. They are both noted for deep play.”
“Are you mad?” Emily breathed. “He would easily uncover such a lie.”
“If you do not fancy the notion of coaxing the ready out of your husband in that manner, try a more feminine approach. Blade is, as I mentioned, said to be indulgent with you. You may have more success wheedling a diamond necklace or a string of pearls out of him. You can have it copied and sell the original to a discreet jeweler.”
“That would never work. Blade would recognize the copy the first time I wore it. He has an excellent eye for such things.”
“Then you must be more creative, madam, if you would save your husband from humiliation and scandal. Let me see. Perhaps a simple bit of theft will work best.”
“Theft?”
“Yes, why not? I have heard tales of the fabulous collection of jeweled dragons Blade is reputed to have brought back with him from the East Indies. They say he has statues of the beasts sitting casually around his library and that each one is worth a fortune. Who would notice one missing? And even if it was missed it would be simple enough to blame the loss on a servant.”
“Dear God. Papa, stop him.” Emily turned desperately toward her father, but she knew no help lay in that direction.
“I’m damn sorry, Em,” Faringdon said, clearly unhappy about the turn of events but apparently ready to shrug aside the responsibility for them, just as he always had in the past. “None of this would have happened if you had not insisted on losing your foolish heart to Blade. I did warn you, but you had to marry the man.”
“Sad, but true,” Crofton agreed. “Now, then, Lady Blade, I have a notion as to how you may successfully carry out the theft with no threat of being discovered and blamed. You will wait until the night of your soiree and arrange to remove one of the dragons then. Everyone in town will be there. The house will be packed with people and extra servants. When the dragon is eventually discovered to be missing one of the extra servants can be blamed.”
“But you could never pawn anything so exotic as one of Blade’s dragons,” Emily said quickly. “Any jeweler would be suspicious of it.”
“There is no need to pawn the entire statue. I shall simply remove the stones embedded in it and sell them off one at a time.” Crofton chuckled. “Yes, an excellent plan, don’t you agree?”
“Bloody hell,” Emily whispered as she felt the cage door close behind her.
“Such colorful language, my dear,” Crofton said mockingly. “No wonder Blade finds you amusing. His tastes have always tended toward the unusual.” He bowed ironically to Emily and her father. “Now, then, if you two will excuse me, I must be off to find my box. Othello is such an interesting play, is it not? The enraged husband smothering his innocent wife at the end is my favorite part. Of course in your case, Lady Blade, the situation is somewhat different. After all, you are not so innocent.”
Emily watched with seething helplessness as the dark shadow moved off into the crowd. When Crofton had vanished, she whirled to confront her father. “How dare you, Papa? How dare you do this to my husband?”
“Here, now, girl, you cannot go blaming me.” Broderick Faringdon was righteously incensed at the accusation. “Blade’s the one who set up the situation when he dragged you away from the bosom of your family.”
“He did not drag me away, Papa, and you know it.”
“’Twas those damn romantical notions of yours that made you think yourself in love with the man. No sensible female would have made such a fool of herself. This whole situation is entirely your fault, Em. I knew there was no way he could keep your soiled past a secret. He should have known it, too. In all honesty, I have to say this mess is as much his fault as it is yours. He ought to be made to pay for it, by God.”
“Bloody hell.” Emily swung around on the heel of her new green kid pump and walked blindly away from her father.
Hours later Emily lay alone in her bed, staring up at the embroidered canopy. She had not been able to sleep at all since she had come home from the Bridgetons’.
She had heard Simon moving about in his bedchamber an hour ago and had waited tensely for him to come to her as he did nearly every night. But he had not opened the connecting door. It was very quiet in the other chamber now. Simon must have gone to bed alone.
Emily turned on her side and pounded the pillow in frustration and anger. Her mind was in a turmoil. She still did not know how she had managed to get through the performance of Othello without letting on to Lady Northcote and Celeste that something was dreadfully wrong. At one point Celeste had been obliged to remind Emily to use her new opera glasses.
When the terrible scene came in which Othello avenged himself on his innocent wife, Emily had watched in frozen horror, Crofton’s words burning in her mind. You are not so innocent.
But it was not a question of innocence. It was a question of scandal. Blade had married her on the assumption that the dreadful scandal would not follow her from Little Dippington.
And now it was threatening to do precisely that.
Emily sat up and punched the pillow again. Then she shoved back the covers and got out of bed. She must find a way to save Simon from the humiliation and disgrace that would descend upon his shoulders if the social world discovered her past.
Her father was right. This whole mess was her fault. Emily began to pace the floor. She was the one who had talked Simon into offering marriage. She had done so by telling him what an excellent bargain of a wife she was. A built-in hedge against financial disaster.
Emily wanted to cry. Simon did not need insurance against a downturn in his fortunes. He needed insurance against the threat of a scandal in her past.
Emily frowned and came to a halt as a thought struck her. Insurance was precisely what was needed here. Insurance that Crofton would keep silent.
Emily started pacing again, her mind seizing on the first rational, useful thought she’d had all evening. The more she considered the problem, the more the answer became obvious.
If she was to protect Simon from scandal, she would need to insure herself of Crofton’s silence. What was needed was a plan for getting rid of Crofton. Permanently.
Emily sat down abruptly in the chair near the window. Permanently sounded so very permanent. Finding some way to pay off her father’s debts would not solve the problem. Crofton would always be there, threatening to ruin the power and position Simon had worked so hard to build for himself.
Emily thought about the matter for a very long time and came to the conclusion that there were really only two options available to her if she was to protect Simon from her past.
The first was to arrange to disappear forever from Simon’s life and allow everyone to think she had died tragically. The problem was that she knew Simon well enough to know he would search for her until he found her or her body.
The other option was to make Crofton disappear forever.
That last thought took away Emily’s breath for a moment. Make Crofton disappear.
When Emily was able to breathe again, she began to think logically and clearly. In the end she knew what she had to do.
&n
bsp; After a long moment she stood up and moved to the connecting door, opening it with shaking fingers.
Simon’s room was cloaked in darkness. She could barely make out the shadowed bed without her spectacles. For a moment she stood there gazing into the room as the fierce protectiveness and the equally strong sense of longing and love welled up inside her.
“I will protect you, dragon,” she whispered.
“Emily?” Simon’s voice was a husky growl in the darkness.
Emily jumped. “I am sorry, my lord. I did not mean to wake you.” She had not spoken to him since he had made a brief appearance at the Bridgetons’. He had not asked her to dance—indeed, had barely spoken to her. He had acknowledged her presence and then disappeared.
“Have you come to plead with me, elf?” Simon asked emotionlessly. “Because, if so, you had better know that you would be wasting your time. I will not rescue your father the way I did your brother. Nor will I let him off the hook the way I did with Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington. This is a different matter entirely.”
Emily heard the implacable chill in his voice and knew he spoke the truth. “I will not ask you to pay Papa’s debts, Simon. I know that would be asking too much.”
“You might as well be asking for the stars. I have waited too long for my vengeance.”
“I am aware of that, my lord.”
There was silence from the bed. After a moment Simon spoke again, his voice harsher than ever. “Well? Are you just going to stand there in the doorway all night? You look like a dismal little ghost in that nightdress.”
Emily instinctively glanced down at the fine, pale muslin that floated around her body. “Do you really think so, my lord? I have never actually seen a ghost.”
“I have,” Simon said flatly. “My father’s. I swear the damn specter has haunted me since the age of twelve. But at long last it is about to be banished. Go to bed, Emily.”
“Yes, my lord.” Obediently, she stepped back into her own bedchamber and started to close the door.
