“Much better, my sweet,” Simon murmured encouragingly. “But you must relax a little. Open your mouth for me.”
With a shudder, Emily did so. Simon’s tongue immediately thrust deep inside and at the same time his fingers found the flowing warmth between her legs.
Emily froze. She tried to speak and could not. She tried to take a deep breath and could not. She tried to think of how a sophisticated, ruined woman would react to such an intimacy and could not. The whole thing was simply too overwhelming. Her senses were reeling.
Simon did not seem to expect anything from her but the small shivers that were making her tremble from head to foot. His mouth stayed locked on hers as his fingers stroked her with a shockingly gentle intimacy.
Emily began to forget about the strangeness of the whole thing as a tide of heat and tension rose in her lower body. Her fingers clenched violently into the fabric of Simon’s linen shirt.
“Simon,” she finally managed, tearing her mouth free from his for an instant and staring up at him with huge, questioning eyes.
“Hold on to me very tightly, elf,” he advised softly. “I promise you, all will be well. Remember what the poets say. One must open oneself to the world of sensual experience if one is to know the truth concerning the nature of the metaphysical world. Open yourself, Emily. Give yourself over to me.”
Not knowing what else to do, feeling utterly at sea in a wave of stunning, unfamiliar emotions, Emily obeyed. She closed her eyes and clung to Simon as though her life depended on it.
His fingers were damp now and moved with slick ease over the delicate petals that shielded her secrets. And then those gentle, probing fingers seemed to find a very special place. Emily arched her back helplessly as the sense of urgency within her threatened to explode. She was in desperate need of something but she did not know what that something was. She finally decided it was Simon’s touch. Instinctively she widened her legs even farther, silently pleading for more of the astounding sensations.
“Yes.” Simon kissed her throat and his hand moved on her. “Yes, my sweet. Now, Emily. Show me what a passionate creature you really are.” One finger slid gently just inside her damp sheath.
Emily gasped. She opened her mouth on a keening cry of excitement as her whole body convulsed. Simon’s mouth swooped down over hers, muffling the soft, feminine scream of release.
Emily felt herself hovering on what could only be described as a truly metaphysical plane for several seconds and then she slowly collapsed in a soft heap against Simon’s chest.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered in a dazed voice against his shoulder.
Simon made a small, choked sound that might have been a laugh or a groan. It was impossible to tell. “Ah, Emily. You are indeed a creature of great passions.” He slowly withdrew his hands from between her legs and gently rearranged her clothing.
Emily lifted her head from his shoulder. She still felt dazed and she seemed to have difficulty focusing on his face. Then she realized that at some point he had removed her spectacles.
“Oh, Simon.”
“Oh, Emily.” He kissed the tip of her nose and handed her the spectacles with courtly grace.
When she got them on, she saw that he was smiling his faint, unreadable smile. But his eyes were hooded and glowing with yellow fire. Never had he looked more dangerous or more compellingly attractive. Then Emily glanced down and saw the distinct bulge in his tight breeches. “Simon?”
Some of the fire dimmed in his eyes as his gaze followed hers with rueful awareness. “Do not worry, Emily. I will be quite all right. But to avoid surrendering any further to the delightful temptation you are offering tonight, I believe I had best be on my way. The long walk home in the cold night air will take care of my current problem.” He stepped away from her and picked up the greatcoat.
“I will see you soon?” She wished desperately that he need not leave.
“If I recall correctly, I and the other members of the literary society have accepted an invitation to tea here at St. Clair Hall tomorrow afternoon. I am looking forward to it.”
Emily smiled her most dazzling smile and jumped down off the desk. She staggered and had to grasp the edge to steady herself. Her eyes filled with laughter as she suddenly realized she was feeling extraordinarily good, although the dampness between her thighs was disconcerting.
“Yes, that’s right. Tea tomorrow. My lord, if you are not inclined to taste any more forbidden fruit tonight, would you please do me a very great favor?”
He eyed her with watchful amusement as he shrugged into the caped coat. “And what would that favor be?”
“Would you show me how to open the entrance to the secret passageway?”
The earl grinned wryly. “It is obvious that learning the secret of the hidden passage is every bit as exciting a thought for you as surrendering to a night of illicit passion.”
Emily was afraid she had offended him. She patted his hand placatingly. “It is just that I am very fond of things like secret passages, my lord. And I would dearly love to use this one in my poem, The Mysterious Lady. I vow it would suit the story perfectly.”
“Who am I to stand in the way of your literary muse?” Simon took her hand and led her over to the bookcase.
Emily frowned intently over the letter from her father’s man of affairs, Mr. Davenport.
My Dear Miss Faringdon:
This is to advise you that I have followed your instructions to sell the South Sea Annuities and the India Bonds. You will be pleased to know that the final price of both was most satisfactory.
Kindly let me know your decision on the mining investments you mentioned in your last letter.
Yr Humble Servant,
B. Davenport.
Emily smiled with satisfaction and jotted down a note to tell Davenport to go ahead with the investment in the Northumberland mining project. When she was finished she reached up and pulled the bell rope that hung beside her desk. Duckett, the butler, appeared almost at once.
“Oh, there you are, Duckett.” Emily grinned cheerfully. “Please advise the staff that the South Sea annuities and India bonds have come to fruition. Your investments realized a handsome profit and were sold on Monday. The draft is in the bank.”
Duckett’s dour features lit up with gratitude and pleasure. “Staff will be most delighted, Miss Faringdon. Most delighted, indeed. Please accept our most earnest appreciation. You cannot know what a great relief it is to contemplate a financially secure retirement.” He hesitated briefly. “Circumstances being what they are.”
Emily wrinkled her nose. “We have known each other for many years, Duckett. We can be honest with each other. I know perfectly well that if the household staff relies upon my father’s remembering to set aside something for their pensions, you will all starve in your old age.”
“A rather dramatic statement, but quite probably true.” Duckett permitted himself the briefest of smiles. “In any event, we are exceedingly grateful for your investment advice and services, Miss Faringdon.”
“I am the one who is exceedingly grateful, Duckett,” Emily said very seriously. “You all take excellent care of me. I do not know what I would do without you. It would be very lonely around here, that is for certain.”
“Thank you, Miss Faringdon,” the butler said gently. “We do try.”
She smiled. “And succeed very ably. Oh, Duckett, one more thing before you leave.”
“Yes, miss?”
Emily paused, searching for just the right words. She was loath to offend. “Does Mrs. Hickinbotham have any, uh, questions concerning this afternoon’s arrangements?”
Duckett’s eyes softened. “Not at all, Miss Faringdon. I assure you that in the course of her previous employment, Mrs. Hickinbotham had a great deal of experience serving tea to guests.”
Emily was immediately embarrassed to have called the housekeeper’s qualifications into question. “Yes, of course. I expect I am just the tiniest bit anxious. We do so little ent
ertaining here at St. Clair Hall. And we have never had an earl to tea before.”
“I believe Mrs. Hickinbotham once mentioned she had supervised preparations for tea for a marquess a few years back.”
“Wonderful.” Emily felt humbled and relieved. “Thank you, Duckett.”
“You are most welcome, Miss Faringdon. I assure you all will go quite smoothly this afternoon.”
“I am certain you are right. Just one more thing. Will you ask Mrs. Hickinbotham to see if we have any of the Lap Seng tea left? If so I would like her to serve it rather than the Congou blend.”
“The Lap Seng? I will inquire.”
“Thank you. It is for the earl, you see. For some reason he has named his horse Lap Seng, so I assume he has a strong preference for that particular type of Souchong tea.”
“His horse?” Duckett looked slightly startled but recovered himself instantly. “I see. I will speak to Mrs. Hickinbotham at once, Miss Faringdon.” The butler let himself quietly out of the library.
Emily watched the door close, thinking that one of these days she must remember to ask Simon just why he had named the chestnut stallion Lap Seng. There were so many things to ask him, she thought, so many fascinating topics waiting to be discussed. It was going to be quite wonderful being married to a man with whom she could share an intellectual connection, one with whom she could communicate on a higher, transcendental plane, a man of refined sensibilities.
Of course, their communication on the more mundane physical plane was going to be quite exciting, also. Emily felt herself growing quite warm, even though there was no fire on the hearth.
She stared dreamily out the window for a moment. Never in her life had she experienced anything quite like that shattering sense of release she had experienced last night here in the library. It had given her a whole new insight into certain poetical passages written by her favorite authors.
It had also given her a whole new understanding of the phrase an excess of passion.
A small tingle of pure, unadulterated happiness went through her like a jolt from one of the electricity machines people used for scientific experiments. The whole thing was incredible. It was almost too much to comprehend.
She was not accustomed to good luck in anything except financial matters.
“Bloody hell,” Emily whispered aloud. Then she promptly scowled. She really must stop cursing in such an unladylike fashion. She would be a countess soon and she was quite certain countesses did not curse.
She hoped Simon’s high and noble standards would not oblige him to insist on a long engagement. Year-long engagements were not unusual among the ton. There were generally a great many details to be resolved, the sort of details that all came under the vague heading of “settlements.” Emily did not think she could bear to wait a year.
Reluctantly Emily turned her attention back to the letters, journals, and notes piled high on her desk. The last thing she felt like doing this morning was work on her investments. But at the rate the Faringdon men went through money, constant attention to finances was essential. Her mother had often explained to Emily that someone had to look after Papa and the twins. Indeed, Mrs. Faringdon had impressed that notion on Emily one last time from her deathbed.
Unenthusiastically Emily pulled the latest issue of The Gentleman’s Magazine toward her and opened it to the monthly summary of stock exchange prices. She scanned the daily fluctuation in prices on canal bonds, India bonds, bank stock, and the funds, making a few quick notes to herself before turning the page.
Then she ran her fingertip down the summary of recent prices paid for wheat, rye, oats, and beans in the inland counties and compared them to the prices paid in the maritime counties. Again she picked up her quill and jotted down a comment or two. Next she checked the average prices of flour, sugar, hay, and straw for the preceding month, looking for trends.
When she was finished noting recent prices on commodities, Emily turned to the monthly meteorological table. This she gave only a cursory glance. It was still winter and the daily temperatures and rainfall amounts were not as important to her calculations now as they would be in the spring and summer. In a couple of months she would begin watching them closely in an attempt to anticipate the harvests.
When she had finished gleaning what she could from The Gentleman’s Magazine, she turned to her correspondence. Sir Alfred Chumley had news of a new coal mining enterprise and a certain Mrs. Middleton had written to inquire about Emily’s interest in a ship that would be leaving soon for the West Indies. It was expected to return with a sizable profit, just as the last one had.
Mrs. Hickinbotham found the Lap Seng.
Emily watched anxiously as Simon took his first sip of the exotic, smoky brew. When he smiled at her over the rim of the cup and gave her a knowing look, she wanted to hug Mrs. Hickinbotham. The housekeeper’s eyes sparkled but her expression remained appropriately restrained as she curtsied and left the members of the literary society to their discussions.
Emily had changed her mind three times about which dress to wear before Lizzie finally talked her into the ruff-necked, flounced muslin. The gown was a pale yellow with tiny little white stripes and Lizzie claimed it set off the color of Emily’s hair. Emily was not at all certain it was a good idea to set off red hair but Lizzie overrode her mistress’s concerns.
The ladies of the literary society had arrived with an air of great expectation. They were growing accustomed to having an earl in their midst these days and his attentions to Emily had not gone unnoticed. The good ladies were all secretly thrilled by the high-minded romance blossoming in their midst and they now greeted Simon with friendly cordiality.
As usual, once seated among them, he looked like a dark, golden-eyed beast surrounded by a bunch of lively, chirping birds. Simon did not appear to mind the contrast. But, then, it was blazingly clear to Emily that the earl was quite unflappable.
The whole event, including refreshments and conversation, went off with such effortless ease that Emily began to suspect she had a heretofore undiscovered talent for entertaining. She really must do more of it, she decided as the discussion became quite lively.
“And how is your poem coming along, Emily?” Miss Bracegirdle asked after they had concluded a spirited debate of the merits of Samuel Coleridge’s lectures on Shakespeare. No one present had actually attended the lectures but reports had been widely circulated and the general conclusion was that they were not of the high caliber expected from Coleridge.
“I am working on expanding the verses to include a new adventure,” Emily announced. She glanced at Simon and a slight flush warmed her cheeks. “I have a marvelous idea for a scene in a secret passageway.”
“How exciting.” Miss Ostly, who enjoyed Minerva Press novels more than most, was clearly entranced. “And perhaps a ghost? I dearly love a ghost.”
Emily’s brows rose above the frames of her spectacles as she considered the addition of a ghost to The Mysterious Lady. “Ghosts are always an excellent thing in a tale of adventure and romance. But it is difficult to find things to rhyme with ghost. One always ends up with toast or boast.”
“Or roast,” Simon offered.
Miss Hornsby, who had earlier accepted a glass of sherry instead of tea, giggled. Lavinia Inglebright shot her a quelling frown. She opened her mouth to suggest another possible rhyme but was interrupted by the sound of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves in the drive. She looked at Emily in surprise. “I do believe you have visitors.”
Emily went very still, her glance flying to Simon’s unperturbed face. She almost never had visitors and everyone in the drawing room knew it. “My father and brothers, no doubt.” So Elias Prendergast’s letter had reached London and had had the expected result. “I was not expecting them.” Not now. Not so soon.
But Simon, who obviously knew precisely what she was thinking, merely smiled his inscrutable smile and sipped his smoky Lap Seng.
There was the stamp of booted feet in the hall, the
drone of impatient masculine voices, and a moment later the drawing room door was thrown open.
The three magnificent Faringdon men strode into the room like three gilded whirlwinds. Tall, handsome, and dressed to the nines in the latest riding clothes, they all looked dashingly disheveled from their journey. The twins, Devlin and Charles, quickly scanned the group for a pretty female face and, upon finding none to their liking, glowered at Simon.
Broderick Faringdon, Emily’s father, was losing some of his hair and what he had left was turning from gold to silver, but he still managed to maintain the same stylish appearance as his sons. His hawklike nose and blue eyes together with his air of raffish dissipation still made him very attractive to women.
“Good afternoon, ladies. Blade.”
As the ladies murmured a rush of polite greetings, Broderick Faringdon inclined his head brusquely at Simon.
Emily felt the sudden chill in the room. Something was very wrong. Her instincts told her there was more going on here than a disgruntled father dealing with an unapproved suitor. Her eyes flew to Simon.
But the dragon merely acknowledged her father’s greeting with a mocking inclination of his head and went back to sipping his Lap Seng.
“Papa.” Emily jumped to her feet. “You sent no word ahead. We did not know to expect you.”
“I sent no word because I knew I’d be here before the post. Got a new stallion that can beat anything on four feet. Come and give your papa a proper greeting, miss.”
Dutifully, Emily went toward him and gave him the requisite peck on the cheek. Then she stepped back, eyes narrowing. Now that the first shock was over, she was annoyed at having her tea party interrupted. “Really, Papa, I do think you could have given me some warning.”
“This is my home, girl. Why should I announce myself like a visitor?”
Behind Emily the covey of literary society ladies were quickly getting to their feet, preparing to leave.
“Really must be off,” Priscilla Inglebright said. “Thank you so much for having us in this afternoon, Emily.”