“No, by God, it does not. I will speak to Emily. She is a smart little thing, even if she is inclined to indulge foolish romantic fantasies. I will convince her that you are up to no good.”
“You are welcome to try, of course, but I doubt you will have any luck changing her mind,” Simon said confidently. “Face it. Your only hope of ever seeing Emily again is to agree to what I want.”
“Damme, this is a diabolical piece of business. She is my only daughter. I will make her see reason.”
“You must suit yourself on that score. Why don’t we ask Emily if she’s likely to come around to your way of thinking?” Simon strode over to the bookcase, found the hidden lever in the bottom of the cabinet, and pressed it.
The bookcase slid soundlessly away from the wall and Emily, who had obviously had her ear pressed against the wood on the other side, spilled into a colorful heap at Simon’s booted feet.
“Bloody hell,” Emily muttered.
“Good God, what is this?” Broderick stared in astonishment, first at the opening in the wall and then at his daughter.
Emily sat up, attempting to douse the candle she had been carrying, straighten her skirts, and adjust her spectacles all at the same time. She peered up at Simon, who towered over her. “How did you know I was back there, my lord?”
“You must attribute my uncanny knowledge to the fact that we obviously do communicate on a higher plane, my dear. In the metaphysical realm such things as mental communication are no doubt everyday occurrences. We shall have to accustom ourselves to the experience.”
“Oh, of course.” Emily smiled in delight.
Simon reached down, helped her up, and set her lightly on her feet. He smiled down into her brilliant eyes and wondered if he should add that her presence on the other side of the bookcase had been a safe enough guess on his part. He knew her well enough by now to know she would have been unable to resist the opportunity to eavesdrop. Especially not when there was a secret passageway conveniently available in which to do so.
Emily sighed philosophically as she brushed at the dust on her peach-colored muslin gown. “So much for my dignity. But at least the business is completed, is it not?” She looked up at him quite hopefully. “We are engaged to be married?”
“We are, indeed, my dear,” Simon assured her. “I have many faults, as you will no doubt discover soon enough, but I am not stupid. I could not possibly pass up the chance of making the best investment of my life.”
On a dreary, damp morning two weeks later Simon sat in the library of his Grosvenor Square townhouse reading the letter from Emily that had arrived at breakfast. It contained, as usual, a lively report on the discussions at the latest meeting of the literary society, discussions which seemed to have been devoted entirely to Byron again. There was also a long paragraph describing the new verses being added to The Mysterious Lady and a few desultory remarks about the weather.
When he finished reading, Simon was vaguely aware of an odd flicker of disappointment. It was obvious Emily had fought valiantly to resist the temptation to put anything into her note that might be interpreted as an excess of passion.
Simon gently refolded the letter and sat gazing into the fire. After a moment’s contemplation, he reached out to pick up the beautifully enameled Chinese teapot that sat on a nearby table. He poured the Lap Seng into a gossamer thin cup decorated with a green and gold dragon. As he started to lift the cup, he paused, studying the figure of the mythical beast.
Emily had called him a dragon. And her eyes had been full of wonder and passion and sweet, feminine adoration when she said it.
Simon glanced around the room in which he sat. When she saw his townhouse she would undoubtedly term it a suitable lair for a dragon.
The entire house was done in the rich, exotic shades he had grown to appreciate while living in the East: Chinese red, dark green, midnight black, and glowing gold.
The lush library was filled with reminders of the strange lands he had traveled. The richly hued Oriental carpet was a suitable backdrop for the black lacquered cabinets with their fabulous motifs. The heavily carved teak settee and armchairs were covered with red velvet and trimmed with gold tassels.
The desk was a massive thing, intricately inlaid and worked by master craftsmen. He’d had it made in Canton. Incense urns from India filled the room with a fragrance that had been blended in Bombay to his exact specifications. Huge golden silk brocade pillows large enough to double as beds were arranged near the hearth.
And everywhere there were dragons, beautifully sculpted images of ferocious mythical creatures from the folklore of the Far East. The dragons were green, black, red, and gold and each was encrusted with a fortune in gems. Wherever one happened to look in the library one saw fantastic beasts with emerald and ruby eyes, golden scales, onyx claws, and topaz-studded tails.
Simon had a hunch the creatures would appeal to Emily.
He inhaled the smoky-scented tea as he leaned his head back against the crimson cushion of his chair and thought about his forthcoming marriage. He did not know quite when he had decided to marry Emily Faringdon. He’d certainly had no such intention when he’d laid his initial plans several months past. But life, he had learned over the years, had a way of reshaping a man’s intentions.
He was mentally composing a reply to Emily’s letter when his singularly ugly butler announced Lady Araminta Merryweather. Simon got to his feet as a vivacious woman in her late forties swept into the room amid a cloud of expensive scent.
Lady Merryweather was, as usual, dressed in the first style of fashion. Today she was wearing a pale blue merino wool gown cut with long, tight sleeves and a delicate flounce. Her height, which was unusual for a woman, gave her a regal air. Her hat was a charming little confection perched rakishly atop her graying curls. Her eyes were the same yellow gold as Simon’s. Her handsome, patrician features were flushed from the cold.
“Simon. I have only just got back to town and discovered the news of your engagement. To a Faringdon, no less. I came around at once, of course. I can scarcely believe it. Absolutely astonishing. And never a hint. You must tell me all about it, dear boy.”
“Hello, Aunt Araminta.” Simon kissed the back of her hand and invited her to seat herself in front of the fire. “I appreciate your coming here this morning. As it happens, I was going to call on you tomorrow.”
“I could not have waited until tomorrow,” Araminta assured him. “Now, then, I want to know precisely what is going on here. How on earth did you come to get yourself engaged to the Faringdon girl?”
Simon smiled faintly. “I am not precisely certain of just how it happened myself. Miss Faringdon is a most unusual creature.”
Araminta’s eyes grew speculative. “But you are far too clever to have gotten caught up in any woman’s toils.”
“Am I?”
“Of course you are. Simon, do not play games with me. I know you are up to something. You are always plotting. I vow you are the most devious creature I have ever met and there is not a soul in town who does not agree with me. But surely you can trust me.”
Simon smiled faintly. “You are the only person in the whole of England whom I completely trust, Araminta. You know that.”
“Then you know I would never breathe a word of your plans. Have you developed some monstrous scheme that will bring down the entire bunch of Flighty, Feckless Faringdons?”
“There have been some modifications in the original scheme,” Simon admitted. “But I will be getting St. Clair Hall back.”
Araminta arched her elegantly thin brows. “Will you, indeed? How did you arrange that?”
“The house will be my wife’s dowry.”
“Oh, my. I know you have been obsessed with that house since the day your father died, but was it worth shackling yourself to a Faringdon in order to get it?”
“Emily Faringdon is not an ordinary Faringdon. Soon, she will not be a Faringdon at all. She will be my wife.”
“Do not tell
me this is a love match,” Araminta exclaimed.
“More of a business investment. Or so I am told.”
“A business investment. This is too much, by half. Simon, what on earth are you about?”
“I am thirty-five years old.” Simon studied the flames on the hearth. “And the last of my line. You have been telling me for some time that I should do my duty and set up my nursery.”
“Granted. But you are the Earl of Blade and you have accrued a sizable fortune during the past years. You could have your choice on the marriage mart. Why choose Miss Faringdon, of all people?”
Simon’s brow tilted. “I believe it was the other way around. She chose me.”
“Dear heaven, I do not believe I am hearing this. I assume she has the Faringdon looks, at least? Tall and fair?”
“No. She is rather short, has bright red hair and freckles, a nose that tilts upward, and she is almost never without a pair of spectacles. She looks rather like an intelligent elf and she has a habit of saying ‘bloody hell’ when she is overset.”
“Good heavens.” Lady Merryweather was genuinely appalled. “Simon, what have you done?”
“Actually, I think she will become something of a sensation when you take her out into Society, Aunt Araminta.”
“You want me to introduce her?” Araminta looked horrified at first and then rather intrigued by the challenge. “You want me to turn an elf into a social triumph?”
“I cannot think of anyone more suited to the task. It will be a delicate business, I fear. Emily will definitely need some guidance, as she has never been out in Society, but I would not have her spirits depressed or dampened by too many rules and strictures. You, I think, are quite capable of appreciating her unusual qualities and finding ways to set them off to their best advantage.”
“Simon, I am not certain there is a best way to set off a short, redheaded elf who says things such as ‘bloody hell’ when she is overset.”
“Nonsense. You will find a way. I have complete confidence in you.”
“Well, I shall certainly do my best. Lord knows, it is the least I can do for you after all you have done for me, Simon. I would still be stuck in that moldering pile of stones in Northumberland if you had not rescued me from genteel poverty a few years ago.”
“You owe me nothing, Araminta,” Simon said. “It is I who shall be forever grateful to you for helping me take care of Mother and for selling the last of your jewels to buy me a commission.”
Araminta grinned. “Giving you a start in life was the best investment I could have made. The jewels and clothes I am able to buy now are worth a great deal more than the paltry few I had back in those days.”
Simon shrugged. “You deserve them. Now, then, as to the matter of introducing my wife to Society. As I said, I shall leave the project largely in your hands. But I will undertake to quash the one potential problem that looms on the horizon.”
Araminta eyed him cautiously. “What is the nature of this potential problem, Simon?”
“My fiancée is a rather impetuous sort and there apparently was a rather Unfortunate Incident a few years back.”
“An Incident?” Araminta demanded in distinctly ominous tones. “Just how bad was this Incident?”
“As Emily explains it, she was temporarily overcome with an excess of romantic passion and ran off with a young man.”
Araminta leaned her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes in horror. “Dear God.” She promptly opened her eyes and shot her nephew a shrewd glance. “How bad was it? Did her father stop the pair before they got to the border?”
“There is every indication that the man involved had no real intention of making it to Gretna Green. In any event, Emily ended up spending the night with him at an inn. Faringdon caught up with her the next day and brought her home.”
“The next day? He did not find her until the following day?” Araminta was clearly beyond shock now. She leaned forward, her eyes fierce. “Simon, you cannot be serious about any of this. It is all some sort of bizarre joke you are playing on your poor aunt. Confess.”
“It is no joke, Aunt Araminta. I am about to marry a lady with a past. But you need not fret. I shall see to it that her past effectively ceases to exist.”
“Good God, Simon. How?”
He shrugged without any concern. “My title and fortune will prove a most effective stain remover. We both know that. And I will personally blot up any small leftover drips that may appear.”
“Dear heaven. You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Araminta gazed at him in sudden comprehension. “You are having yourself another great adventure.”
“Emily has a way of adding spice to one’s life, as you will no doubt soon learn.”
“Simon, I am going to be blunt. The chit may be an original and I know you are attracted to the unusual. But you must think of what you are doing. We both know you simply cannot marry a young female who is not a virgin, no matter how charming she is. It is one thing for a woman to have discreet affairs after she is married, quite another for her to have been involved in a scandal with a man before marriage. You are the Earl of Blade. You must think of your name and position.”
Simon took his gaze off the fire and gave his aunt an amused, quizzical glance. “You misunderstand, Aunt Araminta,” he said gently. “There is no question about my wife’s innocence. She is, I assure you, as pure as snow.”
“But you just said there was a great scandal in her past. You said she ran off with some young man and spent the night with him.”
“I do not know yet precisely what happened that night,” Simon mused. “But I am quite satisfied that Emily did not share a bed with the young man.”
“How can you be so certain?” Araminta retorted, and then her brows climbed. “Unless you have already been to bed with her yourself?”
“No, I have not, more’s the pity. I assure you, I am certainly looking forward to my wedding night. I am persuaded it will be a most interesting experience.”
“Then how can you be sure she is innocent?” Araminta asked, exasperated.
Simon smiled to himself. “It is rather difficult to explain. I can only say that Emily and I have established a unique form of communication that takes place on a higher plane.”
“A higher plane?”
“I refer to the metaphysical world. Your problem is that you do not read very much modern poetry, Aunt Araminta. Let me assure you that certain things are very clear on the transcendental level where two like minds may meet in an excess of pure, intellectual emotion.”
Lady Merryweather stared at him speechlessly. “Since when have you concerned yourself with higher planes and pure intellectual emotion? I have known you long enough to realize you are up to some dark business here, Blade. I can feel it.”
“Can you really? How fascinating. Perhaps you have access to a higher plane of knowledge yourself, Aunt Araminta.”
Lord Richard Ashbrook did not normally frequent the same clubs Simon favored. It was necessary, therefore, to seek out the dashing young poet at one of the smaller clubs in St. James that catered to the dandy set.
Simon eventually located his quarry in a card room. Ashbrook was playing with the sort of devil-may-care recklessness that was quite the height of fashion.
Simon could see at a glance that the poet was obviously every maiden’s dream, assuming said maiden did not mind the weakness about the eyes and chin. Ashbrook was indisputably handsome in a Byronic manner: black hair, brooding dark eyes, and a jaded, somewhat petulant tilt to his mouth.
Simon waited quietly in a winged chair, amusing himself with a bottle of hock and a newspaper until his quarry left the tables around midnight. Ashbrook joined a companion and together they strode toward the door of the club muttering something about going to look for more interesting action in the hells.
Simon got up and followed slowly, delaying his move until Ashbrook had summoned a carriage and leapt into the cab. When the poet’s companion made to follow, Si
mon stepped forward and tapped his shoulder. The man who turned in annoyance to confront him was older and far more dissipated-looking than Ashbrook. He was also quite drunk. Simon recognized him as a gamester named Crofton who frequented the hells.
“What’s this? Who are you?” Crofton demanded in a surly, slurred voice, his once handsome face twisted in irritation.
“I require a word with Ashbrook. I fear you will have to wait for another carriage.” Simon gave Crofton a small push, just enough to send him staggering backward.
“Damn you,” Crofton snarled as he tried to catch his balance.
“Grosvenor Square,” Simon said to the coachman as he stepped up into the carriage and slammed the door.
Inside the darkened carriage Ashbrook lounged in the shadows and scowled. “What the devil is this all about? You’re Blade, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I am Blade.” Simon sat down as the carriage lumbered forward through the crowded street.
“What have you done with Crofton? He and I had plans for this evening.”
“This will not take long. You can return to pick up your friend after you have set me down at my townhouse. In the meantime you and I must come to an understanding about a small matter.”
“What the deuce are you talking about? What understanding?” Looking almost overcome with ennui, Ashbrook removed a small snuffbox from his pocket and took a pinch.
“You may congratulate me, Ashbrook. In case you have not yet heard, I am about to be married.”
Ashbrook’s gaze sharpened warily. “I heard.”
“Ah, then you must also have heard that the young lady I am going to marry is not unknown to you.”
“Emily Faringdon.” Ashbrook turned his head to stare out the window of the cab.
“Yes. Emily Faringdon. It would appear that you and my fiancée shared a small adventure some years back.”
Ashbrook’s head came around swiftly. “She told you about that?”
“Emily is a very honest young woman,” Simon said gently. “I do not think she would know how to lie if she tried. I am also well aware that nothing of a, shall we say, intimate nature occurred between the two of you that night.”