by Amanda Quick
He had argued with himself for the past several hours, questioning his sanity as well as his intelligence. He had everything he wanted within his grasp. Faringdon was about to destroy himself. This was no time to weaken.
But weaken he had.
Simon located Broderick at a table in the corner of the crowded, noisy room. He was alone, having apparently just finished a bottle of claret and a hand of cards. The irrepressible Faringdon grin flared to life when he looked up and saw his nemesis standing in front of him.
“A bit too soon to gloat, Blade. Still some life in the old horse.”
Simon eyed his enemy, astonished, in spite of himself. By rights, the man should have been desperate by now. “I congratulate you, Faringdon. You certainly do not have the air of a gentleman who cannot meet his debts of honor.”
“I fully intend to meet my vowels, sir. Never fear.”
Simon sat down slowly, wondering how in hell the man could be so confident when it was clear he was facing disaster. “I trust you know better than to expect help from your daughter.”
“Emily’s a good daughter. Always been able to rely on her.” Faringdon hoisted his port and took a deep swallow.
“Not this time, Faringdon.”
“We shall see.” Broderick scanned the room as if looking for other players who might be ready for a game.
Simon watched him. “Does this mean you would not be interested in a bargain, Faringdon?” he asked softly.
Broderick’s head came around swiftly, blue eyes keen. “What are you talking about?”
“I am willing to pay off your debts under certain conditions.”
Broderick had the look of a hunting hound on the scent of a rabbit. “Good God. Did she get to you, then? Talk you into doing the right thing by me? Knew she would. She’s a good girl, she is, just like I always said. Got a real sweet way about her, don’t she? Just like her mama.”
“This has nothing to do with Emily. This is between you and me, Faringdon. Are you interested?”
Broderick grinned. “’Course I am. Always interested in a financial proposition. What are you offering, Blade?”
“To pay off your debts in full in exchange for your agreement to accept a position as manager of my estates in Yorkshire.”
“Yorkshire.” Broderick choked on his last swallow of wine.
“I am breeding horses there and it occurs to me that your one undeniable skill is your eye for first quality bloodstock. You would have to give me your word that you would not return to London or your gaming habits. This would be a position, Faringdon, and I would expect you to work at it with the same industriousness with which you have always pursued gaming.”
“You must be out of your bloody mind,” Broderick sputtered. “Send me off to Yorkshire to run some damn breeding farm? Not on your life, Blade. I’m a man o’ the world, not a farmer. Get out of here. I don’t need your goddamn offer of a position. I can take care of my own debts.”
“Without the help of your daughter?”
“Who says my daughter won’t help me, by God?”
“I do.” Simon stood up, disgusted with himself for even making the offer. “That part will not change, Faringdon. Not ever. I will never again allow you to use Emily.”
“Bastard. We shall see about that.”
Simon shrugged, picked up his hat, and walked toward the door.
It baffled him why anyone was particularly attracted toward the occasional, inexplicable impulse to be forgiving. It was obvious the world did not appreciate such naive qualities and acting on them only left one feeling like an idiot.
Still, Simon was rather glad he had made the crazed offer to Broderick. He made a note to mention his generous act to Emily after the soiree. She would look at him with her customary adoration and tell him how she had known all along he would be generous and heroic in victory. The fact that her father had failed to accept the offer in Yorkshire would be Broderick’s problem, not Simon’s.
Simon would no longer have to feel the lash of guilt whenever he looked into Emily’s eyes.
Yes, he decided as he walked out of the hell, he was already feeling much better. He would like to tell Emily about his good deed tonight but she was frantic with soiree preparations. She would not be able to be suitably grateful and adoring. Much better to wait until the household had been restored to a semblance of calm.
• • •
“Emily can relax,” Araminta murmured to Simon the next evening. “Her soiree is a brilliant success. The house is packed with guests, the street is clogged with carriages, the buffet is a perfect combination of the exotic as well as sturdy English fare, and the music is of excellent quality. Tomorrow morning everyone will be calling this a highlight of the Season.”
Simon nodded coolly as he glanced around the crowded rooms. Laughter and music and conversation hummed through the townhouse. Emily’s soiree was, indeed, a stunning success. “Have you seen Emily recently?”
“I noticed her talking to Lady Linton a short while ago.” Araminta scanned the crowd. “I do not see her now. Perhaps she has gone to check with Greaves to see that the staff has everything under control. She has fretted over every detail of this evening. It’s a wonder she has not collapsed from sheer exhaustion.”
Simon frowned, aware of a vague sense of unease. It had begun a few minutes ago and was intensifying rapidly. “If you will excuse me, I believe I shall attempt to find her.”
“Good luck. You might check with your butler. He has been keeping an eye on things.”
“I will do that.” Simon made his way through the knots of elegantly dressed people, pausing occasionally to exchange civilities and acknowledge compliments on Emily’s charm as a hostess.
He eventually reached the hall, which was as crowded as the drawing room. He quickly located Greaves.
“Have you seen Lady Blade recently?” Simon asked.
“A few minutes ago, my lord.” Greaves glanced around. “I do not see her now. Shall I have one of the footmen look for her?”
The uneasy sensation was getting worse. “Yes,” Simon said. “Immediately. I shall check the kitchens.”
“I doubt she would be in there, sir.” Greaves gave a disapproving frown. “I advised her it would be best if she stayed with her guests and left the staff to see to the replenishment of the refreshments.”
“Perhaps she is taking a short rest in the library. I will try there first.”
The uneasiness had turned into a strong sense of urgency. Simon let himself into the library, which had been declared off limits to guests, and closed the door behind him.
It was something of a relief to step into the quiet sanctum. Simon saw at once that Emily was nowhere in sight, however, and the urgency crystallized into a genuine sense of foreboding.
He walked to the windows and glanced out into the gardens. There was just enough light pouring from the house to reveal a flicker of shadow near one of the hedges.
Simon froze as he recognized the swirling hem of a familiar dark cloak.
He told himself it was undoubtedly a guest who had gone outside for some fresh air but even as he tried to reassure himself he knew something was wrong.
Acting on instinct, Simon opened the window, threw one leg over the sill, and dropped lightly down onto the damp grass.
A moment later he was slipping silently along in the shadow of the tallest hedge. He caught sight of his quarry a short time later.
It was Emily, he realized grimly. There was no doubt about it. She was wearing her black velvet cloak.
Even as Simon watched, she unlocked the gate and stepped cautiously out into the dark alley. Simon started forward, his stomach cold with dread. He stopped short as a familiar masculine voice rose out of the darkness on the other side of the wall.
“Well, well, well,” Crofton drawled contemptuously. “So you managed to pull it off, did you? I hope you have had the good sense to bring me one of Blade’s better specimens concealed under your cloak, my dear. I woul
d not want to have to send you back for another so soon.”
“There will be no more, Mr. Crofton,” Emily said fiercely.
“Oh, I think there will, Lady Blade. Your husband’s wealth is a matter of much speculation, but there is no doubt it is considerable. I do not think he will miss one or two more of his odd statues.”
“You are a bastard, Mr. Crofton.”
Crofton chuckled evilly. “Remember what will happen if you do not cooperate, my dear. The husband you so obviously adore will be held up to public ridicule because of the scandal in your past. He will be humiliated forever because of you. But we both know you will do anything to protect Blade, don’t we? Such a loving wife.”
Simon found a chink with the toe of his boot and hoisted himself silently up to the top of the broad stone wall. Crouching on the rough surface, he looked down and saw two figures dimly illuminated in the weak moonlight. His hand clenched into a tight fist as the rage washed through him.
Emily had the hood of her cloak pulled up over her face, her hands buried inside the folds of velvet. Crofton stood a few feet from her, dressed in an enveloping greatcoat and a hat pulled down low over his eyes to conceal his face.
“Are you quite certain you will not give up this dreadful scheme?” Emily asked quietly. “Is there no hope of appealing to your better nature?”
“None whatsoever, my dear. None whatsoever. Do you know, I have grown vastly curious. I believe I would be interested to find out just why Blade finds you so amusing. I think we shall arrange for another meeting very soon, madam. Someplace private, I think, where you can show me how clever and amusingly eccentric you are—in bed.”
“You are a monster, Crofton.”
“Tut, tut, my dear. Just remember what will happen if you do not cooperate with me. I know you are probably too eccentric to care about your own reputation, but you will do what you have to in order to protect Blade from humiliation, won’t you? And I shall so enjoy the experience of bedding you, madam. I feel certain it will be quite a novelty. Has he taught you any interesting Eastern tricks for entertaining a man?”
“You are correct about one thing, Crofton. I will do anything to protect my husband.”
Emily’s hands came out from under the cloak. Simon saw moonlight reflect off the small pistol she was clutching and he realized with a shock what she was about to do.
Emily was about to put a bullet through Crofton in order to protect him from the scandal in her past.
Crofton’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the weapon. His eyes widened in stunned surprise. “Damnation, woman, are you mad? Put down that pistcl.”
“I gave you your chance, Mr. Crofton. And I hoped against all odds that I would not have to go to such extreme lengths to make you disappear. But you would not go away. There is only one way to protect my husband from you.” She aimed, set her teeth, and started to pull the trigger.
“Bloody hell,” Simon muttered. It was a heartwarming gesture, of course, and one he would treasure until his dying day, but he really could not allow Emily to shoot Crofton for him.
Simon dropped straight down from the wall, colliding with Emily an instant before she fired the pistol.
Emily felt as though the garden wall itself had fallen on her.
“It’s me, damn it,” Simon growled in her ear as the impact of his body sent her sprawling along the damp pavement stones. “Don’t shoot.”
“Simon! What on earth …?” The pistol was knocked from Emily’s hands. She heard it skitter across the narrow alley. The swirling folds of her voluminous cloak protected her from the dirt and grit of the pavement but they also blinded her. For a moment she could see nothing.
“Blade! So the bitch told you, did she? I warned her not to say anything,” Crofton yelled. “She was a fool. I’ll kill you both, by God.”
Simon’s weight was suddenly gone from her as he leapt to his feet. Emily sat up quickly, jerking the black velvet away from her face. She got free of the cloak, only to realize she could see nothing but the blurred shapes of the two men. Her spectacles had fallen off in the struggle. She groped frantically about and her fingers closed around the delicate metal frames. They were unbroken, she realized in relief.
Emily put her spectacles back on just in time to see Crofton drawing a pistol out from the pocket of his coat. He aimed it straight at Simon.
“No,” Emily gasped, struggling to her feet.
But in that instant Simon lashed out with his foot, catching Crofton’s hand with such force that something cracked and the pistol went flying.
Crofton’s eyes widened in genuine terror as Simon closed in on him. He sidled backward but there was no time to run. He grabbed a stone lying on the pavement and flung it at Simon’s head, but missed and hit the alley wall. Then Crofton dove for the pistol Emily had dropped.
Simon closed the short distance between himself and the other man in the blink of an eye. He slashed at Crofton’s neck with the edge of his hand just as the man grabbed the pistol.
Crofton crumpled to the pavement and lay very still.
Emily looked down at the fallen man and then raised her eyes to Simon’s savagely controlled face. He gazed back at her, golden gaze burning in the pale moonlight.
“I told him I would bring a dragon with me tonight,” Emily whispered.
“Go back to the house,” Simon said quietly. “Find Greaves. Tell him to send either George or Harry out here at once. Then return to your guests.”
Emily shook off the odd paralysis that seemed to have gripped her. “Simon, wait, I had a very clever plan.”
“Did you?” Simon came toward her, eyes still glittering strangely.
Emily instinctively took a step back. “Yes, my lord. I was going to make it appear as though he had been attacked by a footpad out here in the alley. I spent a great deal of time working out the details.”
“I will take care of the details.”
“Is he dead?”
“No. I do not think it will be necessary to kill him. There are other ways of getting rid of his type.” Simon’s hand closed over her arm and he hauled her toward the garden gate. “You will go back to the house at once and you will do precisely as I have instructed. Is that quite clear, madam?”
“Yes, Simon.”
Emily glanced back once over her shoulder and a small shudder went through her at the sight of Crofton lying on the damp pavement. Then she was back in the safety of the garden, hurrying toward the warm lights and the sounds of laughter that spilled from the house.
The last of the guests did not leave until nearly dawn. Just before being handed into her carriage, Lady Merryweather took Emily aside and assured her that the entire affair had been an enormous success and that the soiree would be the talk of the town by noon.
If only she knew just how exciting the soiree really had been, Emily thought as a yawning Lizzie finally finished preparing her mistress for bed and left the bedchamber.
The sound of the door of Simon’s bedchamber opening and closing told her that Higson was also through with his tasks. Emily jumped out of bed, grabbed her wrapper, and rushed across the carpet to the connecting door. She had been seething with impatience ever since Simon had quietly returned to the soiree and rejoined the guests.
For the remainder of the evening he had acted as if nothing untoward had occurred and naturally Emily had been obliged to behave in the same fashion. Together they had played the role of host and hostess for the next few excruciatingly long hours. Now, at last, they could talk.
Emily yanked open the door and saw Simon standing near a small table in the corner. He was wearing his dressing gown and was in the process of pouring himself a glass of brandy from a decanter. He glanced over his shoulder as Emily burst into the bedchamber.
“Do come in, madam,” Simon said blandly. “I have been expecting you.”
“Simon, I have been going mad. Is everything all right? Did you get rid of Crofton? What have you done with him?”
“K
indly keep your voice down, madam. We do not wish to alarm the servants.”
“Yes, of course.” Chastened, Emily sat down on the side of the bed. “Simon, please,” she urged in a loud whisper. “You must tell me everything.”
“No, Emily, I think it is you who should do the explaining.” Simon crossed the floor and sank down onto the other side of the bed. He propped himself up against the pillows and stretched his legs out in front of him. His eyes met hers as he swirled the brandy in his glass. “From the beginning, if you please.”
Emily twisted around and peered anxiously at him. She heaved a deep sigh. “It is rather difficult to explain.”
“Try.”
“Yes, well, you remember me telling you that my father was in dun territory?”
“Very well,” Simon agreed. “I assume that Crofton was the gamester who held the vowels?”
“Yes. I encountered both Crofton and Papa at the theater the other night.”
“Where they had no doubt been lying in wait for you.”
“Most probably,” Emily admitted. “In any event, Papa said he had gotten quite downcast when he’d realized he’d lost the last of his fortune. He apparently drank too much one night. While he was in his cups he had talked to Crofton and told him about the Unfortunate Incident in my past.”
“You refer to the nonexistent Incident, I presume?”
Emily frowned. “Well, yes, but Crofton knew it was a fact, you see.”
“Blackmailing bastard.” Simon sipped his brandy.
“Crofton said that unless I helped Papa pay his gaming debts, he would spread gossip about the Incident throughout Society.”
“I see.”
“I did not mind the threat to myself, of course. I long ago learned to live with the blot on my reputation. And in Little Dippington nobody seemed to mind, anyway. But if the truth emerged here in town it would create a dreadful scandal. It would result in a terrible stain on your title. You would be humiliated and it would be all my fault and I could not bear that, Simon. I know you married me on the assumption that you would be able to keep the scandal hidden.”
