by Amanda Quick
Ashbrook groaned and turned his gaze back to the darkened streets. “It was a fiasco from the start.”
“Emily can be unpredictable.”
“No offense, sir, but Emily Faringdon is not only unpredictable, she is dangerous. I suppose she told you everything?”
“Everything,” Simon echoed softly.
“I had a sore head for three days from the blow she gave me with that damn chamber pot.”
“Did you, indeed? Emily is quite strong for her size.”
“Nearly caught my death of cold from spending the night on a pallet in the hall. That bastard of an innkeeper said he did not have a spare room. Personally I think his wife told him to say that. God knows why she felt so protective of Miss Faringdon. She’d never even seen the chit before that night.”
“Many people find themselves feeling protective toward Miss Faringdon. She has any number of friends. But from now on it will be my privilege to protect her and you may be assured that I will do so.”
Ashbrook slid him a quick glance. “Are you trying to say something, Blade?”
“I merely wish to tell you that should the subject of your adventure with Miss Faringdon ever come up in conversation, you will make it very clear that there never was any adventure.”
“You want me to pretend it never happened?”
“Precisely.”
“But it did happen. I assure you, I have no intention of discussing it, but you can hardly pretend it did not occur.”
“You would be amazed at what can be made to vanish when one has power, fortune, and title. And a little cooperation from certain parties.”
Ashbrook stared. “You think you can make the scandal just disappear?”
“Oh, yes. I can make it disappear.”
Ashbrook hesitated, looking momentarily uneasy. Then he smiled insolently and took another pinch of snuff. “What do you expect me to say if someone raises the question?”
“If anyone is so impertinent as to inquire into the matter, you will inform him that you were nowhere near Little Dippington at the time and you know nothing about any scandal. You will say you were up in Cumberland worshiping in the footsteps of Coleridge, Wordsworth, and the other Lake poets.”
“Must I?” Ashbrook drawled. “Such a dreary, dull lot.”
“Yes, I fear you must.”
Ashbrook watched him in silence for a few taut seconds, clearly attempting to take Simon’s measure. “They say you are a mysterious sort, Blade. Full of dark schemes that others do not discover until too late. You must be up to something. What game are you playing with the Faringdon girl?”
“My plans do not concern you, Ashbrook.”
“Why should I bother to assist you by lying about what happened five years ago?”
“If you do not, I will do what one of the Faringdons should have done five years ago. I will call you out.”
Ashbrook straightened with a jerk. “The devil you will.”
“If you check with the crowd that practices at Manton’s gallery, you will find that I am accounted an excellent shot. Now, I will bid you good night, Ashbrook. It has been a most informative evening.” Simon used his stick to tap on the roof of the carriage. The vehicle came to a halt.
Ashbrook leaned forward as Simon opened the door. His dark eyes were suddenly intent. “You did not know, did you? Until I told you about the chamber pot and sleeping in the hall, you did not know that nothing had happened between me and Emily that night. It was all a bluff.”
Simon smiled fleetingly as he stepped down onto the street. “You are wrong, Ashbrook. I knew from the beginning that nothing of a serious nature had transpired. My fiancée has a taste for adventure but she is far from stupid. I simply was not aware of all the particulars of the incident. Be grateful for that chamber pot, by the way.”
“Why?”
“It is the only reason I am letting you live now.”
Ashbrook leaned back against the cushions again and reached for his snuffbox. His eyes glittered angrily in the shadows as he looked at Blade. “Damnation. What they say about you is true. You are a cold-blooded bastard. Do you know? I believe I pity little Emily.”
Ten days later Simon was again sitting down in his dragon-infested library to enjoy a letter from Emily when he was again interrupted by his butler informing him of unexpected visitors.
“Two gentlemen by the name of Faringdon to see you, my lord. Are you at home?” Greaves announced forebodingly. His naturally ferocious features were accented with a variety of old scars including an interesting knife slash that had once laid open most of his jaw. Simon had been the only one on hand to sew the wound closed and he had done his best. He was the first to admit, however, that while his stitches were functional, they had lacked artistry.
Simon reluctantly refolded the letter. “Show them in, Greaves. I have been expecting them.”
A moment later Charles and Devlin Faringdon strode into the room, looking as stern and determined as it was possible for two such handsome men to appear.
“Ah, my future brothers-in-law. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” He motioned the two young men to chairs across from his own.
“We have decided it is imperative to speak to you personally, sir,” Devlin announced. “We are fully aware you are playing some devilish game with this nonsense of an engagement to Emily. We thought you would show your cards before you went through with the wedding.”
“But now you appear determined to actually marry her,” Charles concluded darkly.
“I most certainly am determined to go through with it.” Simon rested his elbows on the crimson velvet arms of his chair and steepled his fingers. He regarded the two Faringdons through hooded eyes. “I would not dream of doing anything so ungentlemanly as crying off. So if that is your concern, you may rest assured that this wedding will go through as scheduled.”
“Now, see here,” Devlin said, “Charles and I are men of the world. You ain’t fooling us, Blade. You’re up to something and we know it. We’ve thought this thing through and we’ve decided there’s only one reason why you would want to marry Emily.”
“And that reason is …?” Simon inquired softly.
Charles held his chin at a challenging angle. “You have decided she can make you a second fortune on ’Change. This way you get it all, don’t you? St. Clair Hall, your revenge on Father, and the promise of a second fortune from the stock exchange.”
“You are planning to use our sister in a most unprincipled fashion,” Devlin announced. “And she, poor chit, is so foolish and so romantically inclined, she does not have a hint of your true intentions.”
Simon considered that briefly. “What makes you think I am not marrying your sister simply because I have become quite fond of her and have decided she will make me an excellent wife?”
“It won’t fadge, Blade,” Devlin snapped. “You ain’t in love with her. Only the promise of having her make you a second fortune could make you overlook the scandal in her past.”
“Damn right. We ain’t fools, y’know. You could do a lot better for yourself than marry a silly young female who’s gone and ruined herself,” Charles added with a man-to-man air. “Not to put too fine a point on it, our poor Emily is soiled goods.”
Simon got languidly to his feet and took two steps over to where Charles was sitting. He reached down, took a fistful of Charles’ immaculately tied cravat, and hauled the younger man bodily to his feet. Charles’ eyes widened.
“What the devil …?”
The remainder of his comment was lost as Simon pivoted swiftly in the graceful movements of the ancient fighting art he had learned in the East. He knew his unorthodox, potentially lethal method would have astounded the young bloods who practiced boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s academy. They would have been even more perplexed by the elaborate techniques for establishing mental discipline and control that the monks had taught along with the physical skills.
Charles went spinning wildly toward the fireplace. The
young Faringdon fetched up against the mantel, cracking his chin on the black marble. With a stunned look in his handsome eyes, Charles collapsed slowly to the carpet.
“Good God, sir.” Devlin shot to his feet and took a step toward his brother. “What have you done to him?”
Simon caught Devlin in midstride and sent him flying ignominiously after his brother. Devlin hit the wall, doubled over with a muffled cry, and then sprawled on the carpet beside Charles.
The two brothers, dazed and furious, glared at Simon as they struggled to recover themselves.
“What was that for, you bloody bastard?” Devlin hissed as he wavered to his feet.
“That was for insulting your sister, of course. What did you think it was for?” Simon absently checked his cravat. It was still perfectly tied. “It was also, I believe, for failing to call Ashbrook out five years ago as you ought to have done.”
“Emily wouldn’t let us,” Charles growled, rubbing his chin as he staggered over to a chair and sat down heavily. “Said the whole thing was as much her fault as his. Told us Ashbrook was going to be a great poet someday and we shouldn’t deprive the world of a great talent.”
“Emily should have had nothing to say about it.” Simon surveyed the two handsome young cubs with a look of disgust. “It was your duty to take care of the matter.”
“Father said the whole thing should be hushed up as much as possible. Calling out Ashbrook would have caused an even bigger scandal,” Devlin muttered.
“As it happens, Emily took care of her own honor that night. But, then, Emily has always had to fend for herself, hasn’t she?”
Devlin looked at Simon, scowling. “What are you talking about? She spent the night with him, for God’s sake. She lost her honor.”
“No, she did not. She hit Ashbrook over the head with a chamber pot and he wound up sleeping in the hall.”
“Well, we know that’s what actually happened,” Charles said impatiently. “Emily explained it all the next morning. But the damage to her reputation was done, right enough. Father said so.”
“As of now,” Simon said coldly, “the Incident never occurred. And I will personally destroy anyone, anyone at all, who says it did. Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?”
The twins gaped open-mouthed at him and then exchanged bemused glances with each other.
“You cannot make the great blot on her reputation simply vanish, sir,” Charles finally ventured carefully.
“Watch me,” said Simon.
“That will be all, Higson. You may go now.” Simon heard the uncharacteristic impatience in his own voice as he dismissed his valet. He frowned. The fact that this was his wedding night should not have affected his ironclad self-control in any way.
“If that will be all, then, sir, may I take the liberty of congratulating you on your marriage?” Higson, a short, stocky, powerfully built man who looked a little like a bulldog and who had remained in the earl’s employ for the past ten years because he had many of the valuable attributes of one, paused at the door. He showed no sign of having taken offense at Simon’s abrupt tone. In fact there was a distinct twinkle of amusement in his pale eyes. A man who had once fought pirates side by side with his employer could occasionally take liberties.
“Thank you, Higson,” Simon said curtly.
“Sir.” Higson inclined his head and let himself out into the hall.
Simon’s gaze went instantly to the door that connected his bedchamber to Emily’s.
Something in him tightened. There had been no sounds of activity from the other room for the past several minutes. His wife was obviously in bed waiting for him.
His wife. Simon stared at the connecting door, remembering how Emily had looked earlier that day as she had entered the crowded village church. She had walked rather cautiously down the aisle, owing to her stout refusal to wear her spectacles. But the slight hesitancy in her steps, together with the shy excitement in her green eyes, had given her the aura of a fairy princess venturing into a strange new world. Her white gown with its silver ribbon trim had enhanced the effect. Simon had been astonished to find himself feeling at once very protective and extremely possessive.
The entire town had turned out in all its country finery. There was no doubt that Little Dippington had put its seal of approval on the alliance. Among the members of the literary society there was not a single dry eye.
His unexpected fascination with his new bride had caused him to virtually ignore the presence of Broderick Faringdon and Emily’s two brothers. All three had watched the proceedings with satisfyingly gloomy expressions, looking as though Emily were about to be transported to Australia rather than become a wealthy countess.
Of course, Simon reminded himself as he walked toward the connecting door, for all intents and purposes, Emily was now as lost to the Faringdons as if she had been transported across the sea. After tonight she would belong completely to her husband. She would no longer be a Faringdon. Simon was determined that none of the remaining Faringdons ever forgot that.
Hand on the doorknob, Simon glanced around the master bedchamber that had once been occupied by his father. A fierce sense of elation swept over him. St. Clair Hall and everything in it was once again in the hands of a Traherne.
“Rest assured I will not lose it the way you did, Father,” Simon vowed to the ghost who hovered in the back of his mind.
Twenty-three years was a long time to wait, but it had been worth it. And the revenge was just beginning. Watching the Faringdons slide inevitably down into financial disaster was going to be as satisfying as taking St. Clair Hall back today had been.
Simon opened the door and stepped into the darkened bedchamber that adjoined his.
“Emily? Why did you not have your maid leave a candle burning? Are you feeling shy, my dear?” Simon moved farther into the room, letting his eyes adjust to the shadows. “There’s no need. You and I have established communication on a higher plane, remember?”
He halted at the foot of the canopied bed and frowned as he realized there was no redheaded elf under the covers. “Emily?”
Then he saw the note neatly folded and left on the pillow. A flicker of alarm went through him. Simon strode around the side of the bed and snatched up the piece of paper. He carried it back to the open doorway to read it by the light that filtered in from his bedchamber.
My Dearest Simon:
If you have found this note it is because you have felt obliged to carry out the conjugal duties of a husband. How very like you to abide by the dictates of honor and responsibility even when your personal inclinations are otherwise! But I promise you it is entirely unnecessary.
Please be assured that I have no intention of burdening you with my excessive passions tonight or any other night until such time as you are able to feel a spark of true emotion and affection for me. I am fully prepared to wait as long as necessary, even if it takes years.
Your Loving Wife.
“Hell and damnation.” Simon crumpled the note in his hand. Then a rueful smile edged his mouth, replacing the flare of irritation. Well, he had known that his wedding night had been virtually guaranteed to be out of the ordinary. Elves were an unpredictable lot.
He wondered where one would go to hide and remembered that this particular elf would undoubtedly be unable to resist scribbling in her journal tonight of all nights.
Simon went out into the darkened hall and headed toward the staircase. The house was very still and quiet tonight. Other than himself and Emily, there were only the servants around and they had long since retired.
Simon had refused to allow his new in-laws to spend so much as a single night under his roof. The three Faringdon men had been told they would have to find other accommodations immediately after the wedding ceremony. Simon did not particularly care where they spent the evening. He was under the impression they had all left for London, however, and that suited him. The sooner they returned to the gaming hells, the sooner they would slide into disaster.
Simon opened the door of the library and walked into the room. Emily, seated behind the big desk, was writing furiously in a bound volume. She glanced up as she heard the door open. She was wearing her prim little chintz dressing gown and her hair was tucked into a frilly white cap. Her eyes widened behind the lenses of her spectacles as she stared at him.
“Simon.”
“Good evening, my dear. Don’t you think this a rather odd place to spend your wedding night?” Simon closed the door and walked over to the cold hearth. He went down on one knee to light the fire that had been laid there. “Not nearly as comfortable as your bedchamber.”
“Simon, what are you doing here?” Emily jumped to her feet. “Did you get my note?”
“Oh, yes, I got your note.” Simon rose and took the crumpled paper out of his pocket. He tossed it into the flames he had just ignited. Then he turned his head and smiled at Emily over his shoulder. “Very thoughtful of you, my sweet, to consider my delicate sensibilities in this matter.”
Emily blushed and looked down at the top of the desk. “It is only that I do not wish to burden you with my excessive passions, my lord.”
Simon rested one arm along the mantel and contemplated his wife. He had himself a bride who had convinced herself she was in danger of intimidating her husband with passion. Only Emily could have come up with such a twist on a wedding night. “I would have you know, my dear, that I do not consider your passions a burden. I look forward to carrying out my responsibilities as a husband.”
“That is very kind of you but it is quite obvious that you would merely be doing your duty tonight if you were to make love to me and I could not bear that.”
“I see. And you felt you could not explain that to me in person? You had to leave a written message?”