Scandal

by Amanda Quick

“Wait,” Simon said with unexpected urgency.

  “What is it, my lord?”

  “Why did you come to my room, if not to plead with me?”

  “I do not know if I can explain it,” Emily said softly. “I just felt a … a desire to look in on you.”

  “You are quite certain you did not come here to beg me to forgo my vengeance?”

  “I know that would be useless, my lord. You are entitled to your revenge. I only hope it will bring you the peace you seek.”

  “Damnation, woman. At the moment you are the greatest threat to my peace of mind. You have been all evening.” There was an abrupt movement from the shadows of the bed as Simon threw back the covers and got to his feet. He started toward her.

  “Simon?” Emily retreated another step in confusion. “Are you angry with me?”

  “No, I am not angry.” He reached her and scooped her up into his arms before she could retreat any farther. Then he turned and started back toward the massive bed. “I do not know how I feel at the moment, nor do I care. You are here in my bedchamber and I find I want you in my bed. That is enough for now, madam wife.”

  Emily did not argue. When he settled her gently in the center of the bed and came down on top of her with a sudden, searing passion, she opened her arms and pulled him close.

  Simon’s mouth closed over hers, relentless and consuming. Emily clung to him as he claimed her and vowed silently that she would do anything to protect him.

  A long time later Emily awoke to find herself being carried back to her own bed. She stirred slightly in Simon’s arms, enjoying the power and strength in him.

  “Will you stay with me?” she asked sleepily as he set her down amid the tousled sheets of her own bed.

  “No.” Simon straightened beside the bed and stood looking down at her with brooding eyes. “I do not think I dare do that, elf. Not tonight. I am beginning to wonder if the Faringdons have played one last joke on me by convincing me to marry my greatest weakness.”

  “I am not your greatest weakness, my lord,” Emily said softly. “You have no great weaknesses.”

  “No? I only hope you are right. In any event, I intend to be cautious. I will not allow you to ruin everything I have plotted and waited for these past twenty-three years.”

  “I will not do that, Simon.”

  “It will be interesting to see if you still come to my bed as willingly as you did tonight after your father has been forced to leave town in disgrace. Good night, madam wife.”

  Simon went back to his own bedchamber, closing the door deliberately behind him.

  Emily lay awake, dry-eyed and clearheaded, until dawn. The details of her plan began to take shape in her mind. The night of the soiree would be perfect for what she had to do.

  The first task was to obtain a suitable pistol, something small that could be concealed in a reticule or under a cloak. Perhaps it would be wise to get two, just in case.

  And then there was the problem of the body.

  Emily was suddenly seized with an uncontrollable shivering. Her palms were clammy and cold and her heart was racing madly. She felt dizzy at the prospect of what she was planning.

  The heroine in The Mysterious Lady would not be so weak, she told herself bracingly. And had she not always thought of herself as that brave female who had set out to rescue her beloved? Shooting Crofton would not be a great deal worse than confronting a real ghost or monster.

  Emily prayed that her nerves would be steadier on the night of the soiree. She knew that if her plan did not work, she would not get a second chance.

  Having his wife arrested would be every bit as much of a scandal for Simon to endure as having the Unfortunate Incident in her past revealed.

  Simon waited for Emily to appear in the library. He had sent for her a moment earlier. He told himself that it would be interesting to see if she responded to the polite summons with her usual alacrity. Normally she came flying through the library door within seconds after one of the staff informed her that the earl had asked to see her.

  Emily had not yet learned the fine art of making her husband wait.

  But this morning Simon was not certain what to expect. After he had carried Emily back to her own bedchamber last night he had lain awake for hours trying to wrest some satisfaction from his victory over her father. All he had been able to think about was how cold and empty the big bed had felt without Emily in it beside him.

  There was a quick knock on the library door and an instant later Emily, wearing a morning gown trimmed with black and gold dragons, whisked into the room. She looked breathless and slightly disheveled. There was a smudge on her nose and a perky muslin cap sat slightly askew on her red curls.

  “You sent for me, my lord?” She came to a halt in front of the desk, pushing her spectacles up on her nose as she gave him an inquiring look.

  “I did not mean to interrupt you if you were involved in a task.” Simon, who had risen politely as she entered the room, sat down again and motioned her to take a chair.

  “I was supervising the cleaning of the drawing room,” Emily explained. “The soiree is only two days away, after all. So many last-minute things still need to be done.”

  “Ah, yes. More preparations for the damn soiree. I should have guessed.”

  “I want everything to be perfect, my lord,” Emily said quietly. “I am well aware that everything I do, including acting as your hostess, reflects on you.”

  “Do not fret about it overmuch, my dear. My position in Society is solid enough to sustain the discovery of a few stains on the drawing room carpets or a blot on the drapery.” To his surprise, Emily paled and sank abruptly into the chair.

  “Some stains and blots are especially difficult to hide, my lord. Sometimes one is obliged to take drastic measures.”

  He scowled at the odd note in her voice. “Emily, have you been working too hard on this soiree? I employ a decent-sized staff and I expect you to make use of everyone on it. If anyone is failing to do his duty, I would like to know about it at once. Greaves will handle the problem.”

  She rallied quickly at the implication that any of the staff might not be performing properly. “Your staff is wonderfully helpful, as I am certain you know, Simon. Everyone is working very hard.”

  He nodded, not entirely satisfied with the response. Emily was upset about something and he knew what that something had to be. She was worried about her bastard of a father. “Excellent. I am pleased to hear that. Now, then, I asked to see you so that I could return your manuscript to you.”

  “My manuscript?” For the first time Emily glanced at the package sitting on the corner of his desk. Her eyes flew back to his. “I do not understand, my lord. Why do you have my manuscript? Did Richard return it?”

  “I asked him to send it back. I shall be quite blunt, Emily. He had not yet had a chance to read it and I did not think it proper for him to do so. I do not want you seeking his opinions.”

  “But he is a published author, my lord. I thought he would be able to judge whether there is any hope of my manuscript being made suitable for publication.”

  “I do not believe his judgment would be unbiased,” Simon said flatly. “You will find he now agrees with me.”

  Emily flashed him a quick, hopeful glance. “Are you jealous of him, after all, Simon? I told you once before there was absolutely no need. My relationship with Richard is strictly professional, I assure you.”

  “I am not jealous of Ashbrook.” Simon spaced each word very carefully. “And I expect you to have enough sense not to try to make me jealous.”

  “Yes, my lord. I mean, no. I would not do that.” Emily chewed on her lower lip and eyed the manuscript for a few seconds. Then she jumped to her feet and snatched up the package. “If that is all you wanted, I had better get back to work. After the drawing room is properly cleaned I am scheduled to go over the buffet menu one last time with Smoke. Then I want to check the pantry with Greaves to make certain that all the supplies have arrive
d.”

  “A moment, if you please, madam.”

  Halfway to the door, Emily swung around to face him, clutching the manuscript to her breast. “Yes, my lord?”

  “If you care to leave The Mysterious Lady with me, I can arrange to have it delivered to Whittenstall or Pound or one of the other publishers,” Simon said softly.

  Something that might have been amusement flashed in Emily’s eyes. “I would not dream of allowing you to take my manuscript to a publisher, Simon.”

  “You trust Ashbrook more than you trust me?” he asked in silky tones.

  She chuckled. “It is not that. The truth is, I know you too well. You would probably frighten Whittenstall or Pound into accepting my manuscript for publication or else you would pay one of them to publish it. Either way, I would not know for certain if my manuscript was capable of being accepted on its own merits. I would much prefer to take my chances like every other aspiring author.”

  Simon drummed his fingers lightly on the desk. “I see.”

  “In any event, while you may be able to get The Mysterious Lady published, you could not guarantee that it would sell to the public. There are some limits on even your considerable power in town, my lord. But I thank you for the offer.” Emily whirled about and dashed from the room.

  Simon watched the door close behind her and then he exhaled deeply. “Bloody hell.”

  She was right, of course. Getting the thing published would have been no great feat. Whittenstall or Pound would have been happy to do it for a price or a threat. But getting the public to buy Emily’s epic romance would have been another problem.

  He was brooding over the matter when the door opened again and Araminta Merryweather was ushered into the library. Simon got to his feet.

  “Good morning, Aunt. I assume you are here to offer aid and council to the budding hostess?”

  “I have promised to give a last-minute analysis of the plan of battle.” Araminta smiled as she gracefully stripped off her gloves and took the chair Emily had recently vacated. “Your lady is determined that the soiree go perfectly so that you will not be humiliated in front of the beau monde.”

  Simon groaned. “I know. I told her not to fret about it.”

  “She is hardly likely to pay you any heed. The poor chit is so head over heels in love with you that she would do anything for you, Blade. And she feels enormous pressure not to embarrass you publicly. It is a grave responsibility you carry. I trust you are aware of it.”

  Simon gave her a sharp glance. “I assure you I am fully aware of my responsibilities toward my wife.”

  “Umm. Yes. She believes you are, too. Thinks you can do no wrong.”

  “Her opinion on that may have changed in the past twenty-four hours,” Simon said grimly. “Her wastrel father has already ruined himself. Several months ahead of schedule, I might add. He had the gall to approach her for help.”

  Araminta’s brows rose. “I see. And she turned to you?”

  “She said she knew there was probably no point asking me to rescue him and I told her she was right.” Simon slammed his palm flat against the desk and eyed the gaping jaws of a jewel-encrusted dragon that sat on the corner of the bookcase. “I will not do it, Araminta. I have waited too long for this moment. Rescuing her brother from that stupid duel and letting Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington off the hook was one thing. Saving Broderick Faringdon is another. Emily knew that from the beginning.”

  “Yes, but Emily is much given to romantical notions and happy endings. And up until now you have generally indulged her.”

  “If she had false hopes, that is her problem. She has no excuse for them.”

  “You are quite right, of course. She has no excuse for them at all, except that she thinks you incredibly heroic and the most marvelous husband on the face of the earth.”

  Simon narrowed his eyes. “You find that amusing?”

  “Naive is what I find it,” Araminta said bluntly. “But I expect you will eventually destroy her illusions. Emily is too intelligent to remain naive forever.”

  Simon squelched the surge of anger that went through him. “Do not taunt me, Aunt. This is none of your affair.”

  “Perhaps not.” Araminta considered that briefly and shrugged. “Is Emily angry with you?”

  Simon got to his feet and went over to the tea table. He picked up the gold-and-green-enameled teapot and poured two cups of Lap Seng. “To be perfectly frank, I cannot tell what Emily is feeling today. She is in an odd mood.”

  “How so?”

  Simon handed a cup and saucer to Araminta and then stood sipping the delicate brew. “Distracted. Harried. Running around as if she had far more weighty matters on her mind than the fact that her father is about to be ruined. But she does not seem angry.”

  “Well, I expect you will know soon enough if she is furious with you.”

  “In what way will I discover such fascinating information?” Simon muttered.

  “By her response in bed, naturally.” Araminta smiled knowingly over the rim of her teacup. “Has she begun withholding her favors?”

  Simon was startled to feel himself turning a dull red. “Damn it, Araminta, I do not intend to discuss my private life with you.”

  “Of course not.”

  He shot her a scathing glance. “Emily would not know how to use sex to get what she wants or to punish me.”

  “You are probably right.” Araminta shook her head. “Your countess really is much too naive to use such standard feminine ploys.”

  “Will you kindly stop saying that?” Simon said furiously. “The fact that Emily does not have the usual bag of female tricks does not make her naive, damn it.”

  “How about the fact that she thinks you are a paragon among husbands? Does that make her naive?”

  “Bloody damn hell.” Simon started to say more but at that moment the library door opened once more and Emily blew into the room.

  “Excuse me, my lord. Araminta, thank heaven you are here,” Emily gasped. “I have just had word that the musicians would like a list of pieces I would prefer to have played at the soiree. I am attempting to make up my mind. Have you any suggestions?”

  “Stick with Mozart, my dear,” Araminta said as she put down her teacup and rose to her feet. “One can never go wrong with Mozart. Such a sophisticated composer.”

  “Yes, yes, you are quite right,” Emily agreed instantly. “I definitely want the musical pieces to sound sophisticated. After all, everyone knows Blade is a man of the world. They will expect music that lives up to his standards.”

  “We certainly would not want his image to suffer, would we?” Araminta smiled serenely at Simon as she followed Emily from the room.

  Simon stood alone in the empty library and wondered again why he did not feel the heady rush of triumph and satisfaction he ought to have been experiencing today.

  Dealing with a blackmailer and planning a soiree simultaneously was really asking too much of a woman, Emily decided grimly the following day as she reluctantly left for Lady Turnbull’s literary salon.

  As the carriage jounced and swayed through the streets she frantically wracked her brain one last time for an alternative to her plan for dealing with Crofton. But she knew in her heart of hearts there was only one certain way to deal with a blackmailer, only one certain way to protect Blade. The moment Emily was ushered into the crowded drawing room and met Crofton’s vicious, mocking eyes, Emily made up her mind once and for all. If she could not convince Crofton to give up his scheme, she would have to take drastic steps. She would find a way to frighten him off so that he would never return.

  Emily swallowed hard and met Crofton’s gaze as calmly as possible. He waited until the conversation had begun to grow animated before taking her aside. They went to stand by the window. No one was paying any attention.

  “Well, Lady Blade? Have you made your plans?” Crofton sipped his claret and eyed her from beneath drooping lids. His cruel mouth was faintly curved with expectation.<
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  “Be in the alley on the other side of Blade’s garden wall at midnight tomorrow night, Mr. Crofton. I shall bring the dragon to you.”

  “The alley is a bit close and the streets will be crowded with your guests’ carriages,” Crofton murmured.

  Emily tilted her chin. “The fact that the house and surrounding streets will be crowded should work to your advantage. No one will notice one more man moving about. I have made the arrangements, Mr. Crofton, and I intend to stick by them. I want this business over and done.”

  Crofton shrugged. “Very well, madam. The alley it is, then. It is no great matter where we meet. I shall be watching from a safe point. If you attempt to bring anyone with you—one of your brothers, say—I will not appear. And the next time my demands will be considerably higher.”

  “I shall be alone. But I want your oath that this will be the end of the matter. I never want to see you again, Mr. Crofton. Is that quite clear?”

  “Of course. One of Blade’s dragons should be more than enough to cover the unpaid portion of your father’s debts. I shall disappear from your life, my dear.”

  Emily looked straight into his terrible gaze and knew he lied. Crofton intended to come back again and again. He intended to bleed her dry and always the threat to Simon would be over her head. Blade would never be safe.

  “Until later, madam.” Crofton inclined his head with taunting gallantry and went back across the room to join Ashbrook and a handful of other guests.

  Emily stood near the window a minute or two, taking deep breaths to collect herself. Then, chin high with determination, she crossed the room to join one of the small groups exchanging gossip about Byron.

  Shortly after eleven that night Simon was still raging at himself for his inexplicable weakness even as he tracked Broderick Faringdon down in one of the gaming hells off St. James. He could not believe the decision he had made, could not credit what he was about to do.

  When the notion had first occurred to him that afternoon, he had told himself Emily had somehow worked on his brain, softening it with her silly illusions and naive faith in his nonexistent heroic characteristics.