by Amanda Quick
He grasped her hips and held her still while he surged upward, pushing through the natural resistance at the entrance of her body and on into the damp, clinging passage. He filled her completely in one long thrust. Emily stifled a small, startled exclamation and splayed her fingers across his chest.
“Now you will ride me, madam.” His fingers tightened on her thighs. “Hard.”
Eyes closed, her breath coming in soft gasps of excitement, Emily obeyed his command and quickly adjusted to the pace and rhythm Simon established.
“Yes. Faster. Harder.” Simon’s voice was hoarse now. His hands tightened on her. “Damn, that feels good, elf. So damn good. Show me how much you want me. Tell me you belong to me. Tell me.”
“I want you, Simon. I have waited all my life for you. There could never be anyone else.” The words were torn from Emily in small, gasping cries. She was shivering with her own need, slick with desire. Her nails were digging into Simon’s chest, leaving small, fierce marks on his skin.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Give yourself to me.”
“I love you,” Emily whispered. “I love you with all my heart.” And then the delicious excitement overwhelmed her. She went rigid and at the same time felt Simon surge deep into her one last time.
“Emily. Oh, God, Emily.” Simon’s words were thick with passion and release. He pulled Emily down across his chest and his arms went fiercely around her. He crushed her to him as he let himself flow endlessly into her.
Emily’s last coherent thought was that she had mastered the fine art of dragon riding. She looked forward to trying it again in the near future.
The library clock tolled eleven. Simon lounged in his chair and watched Emily. He had been engaged in the task for the past twenty minutes, possessing himself in patience while time ticked past and the rain poured down outside.
Studying Emily was not an unpleasant occupation. She appeared extremely fetching this morning in a green-and-gold-striped gown trimmed with flounces. There were several beautifully worked dragons embroidered around the hem. Her gleaming curls were drawn back in an artfully arranged style that gave the effect of a shower of flames cascading down her nape.
She was sitting on the opposite side of the black lacquered library desk, her head bent anxiously over a list of names. It was clear she was agonizing over the task to which she had been set, that of selecting those who were to receive cards for her first soiree.
“There is no need to work yourself up into a state over this matter,” Simon finally said gruffly. “Just put a checkmark beside the name of everyone you wish to invite. selecting investments, you know. I must make weighty decisions here. I do not want to offend anyone. It will reflect directly on you, Simon.”
Simon sighed and fell back into a brooding silence. He was feeling restless and uneasy and, he suspected, guilty.
Guilt was a new and disturbing emotion for him and he did not care for it. There was no room for it in his clearly focused life. He did not even begin to understand it. Until now his world had consisted of simple, straightforward concepts such as vengeance, justice, honor, and duty.
Simon’s gaze slid to the sweet curve of Emily’s breasts as he realized that passion had now been added to that list.
There was no doubt about it. He was in a strange and unpalatable mood.
He had been in this odd state since awakening early this morning, memories of the night still seething in his brain. One moment he would be contemplating his own weakness in going to the rescue of the Faringdon twin. The next he would find himself growing hard with desire as he recalled Emily’s sweet, generous passion.
He could still feel her gentle hands on his shoulders and the warmth of her thighs as she sat boldly astride him, charming and bewitching him until he thought he would go mad trying to hold on to his self-control.
But most of all, Simon found himself recalling her disturbing words: There were times when I hated my father just as much as you must have hated yours.
“The thing is, Simon,” Emily explained with an intense frown of concentration, “your secretary has prepared a very long list of names from which to choose. I do not know many of these people and I do not want to make any mistakes. Your aunt has explained to me how crucial it is to have all the right people at my first soiree.”
“You may rest assured there are no wrong people on that list,” Simon growled. “My secretary knows better than to include any inappropriate names. Furthermore, there is absolutely no risk involved in offending people by failing to invite them. It merely emphasizes and reinforces your power as a hostess.”
She looked at him wonderingly. “I had not thought of it like that. But I do not wish to hurt anyone’s feelings, my lord.”
The way I must have hurt yours last night? Simon wondered silently. “If it makes you feel better, send a card to everyone on the list.”
Emily’s eyes widened in astonishment. “But we could not possibly fit everyone inside this house.”
“You’ve been to enough balls and parties by now to realize that they’re not considered a success unless the place is crammed full. The carriages must be lined up and down the street for blocks. The guests must be stacked like cordwood in the drawing room. With any luck one or two ladies will faint from lack of air. Everyone must pronounce the event a dreadful squeeze and a great crush. Invite them all, Emily.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “I do not know, Simon. It sounds most uncomfortable. It would be much easier to converse and serve refreshments if we have a small crowd.”
“To hell with intelligent conversation and proper service, my dear. This is not the time or place for them. The point of this whole thing, as my aunt will no doubt explain to you, is to see that you make a proper debut as a hostess. To do that people must talk about the party afterward. In order to get people to talk, it must be an extremely large and noisy event. Invite everyone on the list, Emily.”
“What about Canonbury, Peppington, Adley, and Renton? I do not really know any of them and I—”
“Most especially Canonbury and Peppington,” Simon said softly. “We will make very certain they both receive invitations.”
Emily lowered the sheet of paper and looked at him, her head tipped thoughtfully to one side. “If you say so, Simon.” Then she frowned again in sudden concern. “What if nobody responds to the cards we send out?”
Simon stifled a thin smile of satisfaction. “Believe me, my dear, they will all accept.” He leaned across the desk and impatiently snapped the list from her fingers. “I will see that my secretary gets this and sends out the cards. Now, then, Emily, I want to talk to you.”
“Yes, my lord?” She waited with an air of alert expectation.
“Damn. Must you always look at me that way, elf? I vow that you are going to turn me into a Bedlamite with that unholy combination of naïveté and mischief. You almost make me forget that just yesterday you were busy trying to employ a cutthroat.”
“I am sorry, my lord,” Emily said, not appearing the least bit repentant. “Are you planning to lecture me again on that matter?”
“No.” Simon stood up and walked over to the window, turning his back on her. He studied the drenched garden behind the townhouse while he collected his thoughts. “I have a difficult task before me, Emily.”
“What is that, my lord?”
“I wish to apologize to you,” he said softly.
There was a small pause before Emily said carefully, “Whatever for?”
“For my unchivalrous behavior last night,” Simon muttered. “I did not treat you well, elf. I behaved in a most ill-mannered and ungentlemanly fashion.”
“You mean all that business about ordering me into your bed? Rubbish. Pray do not regard it, my lord,” Emily said lightly. “I had an excellent time once I got there.”
Simon shook his head in awe. “You are amazing, Emily.”
“Well, ’tis not as if you were unkind or cruel, Simon. You were simply in a temper and you
had every reason to be irritable, considering you had just been obliged to forgo a twenty-three-year-old vow of vengeance. If I had been truly alarmed, I would have escaped to my own room and locked the door. You did not frighten me in the least.”
“Apparently not.” He was silent for a long moment. “There is something else for which I must apologize.”
“Now you are beginning to alarm me, Blade,” she said, laughter in her voice. “What was your other grave sin?”
“I underestimated you, my dear. You come across as so naive and optimistic, so determined to see the bright side of everyone and everything, so damn certain that I am some sort of hero when I know perfectly well I am not, that I did not credit you with a proper comprehension of your family situation. I should have known that anyone as shrewd with investments and money as you are could not be entirely blind to human nature. Did you really hate your father at times in the past?”
“Yes.” Emily’s voice no longer held a light note.
“You were correct when you said I must have hated mine for leaving me to pick up the pieces after he put that damn bullet through his head.” Simon clenched his hand slowly and then forced himself to relax each finger. “I did not even realize just how much I hated him until you pointed it out last night.”
“It seems a perfectly natural reaction to me, my lord,” Emily said gently. “We were, both of us, given adult responsibilities at a very young age and expected to perform as adults. We were obliged to look after the welfare of others at a time when, by rights, someone should have been concerned about our welfare.”
“Yes. I had not thought of it that way.” Simon gazed out into the gray mist. “It was raining that night when I found him. He had come back from London two hours earlier. I heard my mother asking him what was wrong. He would not speak to her. He went into the library and announced he was not to be disturbed under any conditions. Mama went upstairs and cried. After a while we all heard the shot.”
“Dear God, Simon.”
“I reached the library first and opened the door. He was lying facedown across the desk. The gun had fallen from his hand. There was blood everywhere. And I saw that he had left a note. For me. Damn his soul to hell. He did not say goodbye or explain why he had to kill himself or tell me how in God’s name I was supposed to handle the mess he had created. He just left a damn note telling me to take care of my mother.”
“Simon. My dear Simon.”
He did not hear her rise from the chair, but Emily was suddenly there behind him, her arms going around his waist. She hugged him with a fierce protectiveness, as if she could somehow banish forever the sight of his father’s brains spattered on the wall behind the desk.
For a long while Simon did not move. He simply allowed Emily to hold him. He could feel her warmth and softness and he realized that this was akin to what he experienced when he made love to her, but slightly different. It was not passion he was feeling, but another kind of closeness, one he had never known before with any woman.
After a while it dawned on Simon that he was feeling calmer, more at peace with himself. The restlessness that had awakened him that morning was gone.
There was silence in the library until Greaves knocked on the door to announce the arrival of Simon’s secretary.
Emily entered the park at a brisk trot, followed by her groom. The mare she was riding was a beautiful gray with fine, sensitive ears, delicate nostrils, and spectacular conformation. The horse had been a gift from Simon, who had surprised her with it two days earlier after their conversation in the library. Emily and her maid had promptly decided that the very new, very dashing riding habit à la militaire complimented the animal perfectly.
“Ah, there you are, Emily,” Lady Merryweather said as she approached on a sleek bay. “You look spectacular in that black habit.” She examined the red and gold trim on collar and cuffs with a critical eye. “I confess I had a few doubts when we ordered it, but I am very pleased to see how it sets off your fair skin and red hair. Quite dramatic.”
Emily grinned. “Thank you, Araminta.”
“You really should have removed the spectacles, however,” Araminta admonished. “They do nothing for the habit.”
“Araminta, I cannot ride a horse without being able to see what I am doing or where I am going.”
“There must be some way to manage. We must work on the problem.” Araminta drew her horse up alongside Emily’s and the two started along the path, their grooms following at a discreet distance.
“Simon does not seem to mind my spectacles,” Emily pointed out.
“Simon has a rather odd sense of humor. He finds your various eccentricities extremely amusing. And I must admit that they do not seem to be hurting your social success. The ton is quite taken with you these days. Your poor husband had a difficult time obtaining even one dance with you last night at Lady Crestwood’s ball.”
Emily blushed. “He could have had as many dances as he wished and well he knows it.”
“Yes, I suppose that is true,” Araminta acknowledged with a knowing glance. “I am certain he is well aware that you would trample over an entire mountain of your poor, faithful admirers to get to him if he but crooked his finger at you from the far side of a dance floor. Everyone else in Society is certainly aware of that fact.”
“Really, Araminta, you make me sound like a hound who bounds straight to her master’s side whenever she is called.”
“Well, you do tend to make your preference for your husband quite clear. That is not particularly fashionable, my dear. And, to be perfectly frank, I am not altogether certain it is wise. You do not want Blade to begin to take you for granted.”
“Blade takes nothing for granted,” Emily stated. “He has a true understanding of everything he chooses to acquire and a full comprehension of the cost of whatever he does.”
Araminta chuckled. “I can see it is hopeless to lecture you on the advantages of not giving away your true feelings to your husband. Now, then, my dear, you must tell me how the plans are going for your first soiree. Did you send out the cards?”
“Yesterday. I invited everyone on the list Simon’s secretary prepared, Araminta. I trust I did the right thing. It is going to be a terrible crush.”
“Just what you want. Trust me, my dear. You must be certain that the house is so crowded it takes people half an hour just to get in the door.”
Emily grimaced. “That is what Simon said, but I still think it sounds uncomfortable.”
“It is not a question of comfort, it is a matter of cementing your position as a hostess among the haute monde.”
“Yes, I know. I must not embarrass Simon in any way,” Emily said earnestly. “Believe me, Araminta, I am well aware of how important this soiree is to my husband. As Blade’s wife it is my duty to make the affair a great success. The social world will be watching to see what sort of hostess the Earl of Blade has married and I am determined that Simon not be humiliated in any way.”
Araminta frowned. “I do not think you quite understand, Emily. This is your debut as a hostess. It is your soiree.”
“And everything I do will reflect on Simon,” Emily concluded firmly. “The soiree must be perfect in every detail. I have spent hours on the plans already. Very exhausting, if you must know the truth.”
Araminta gave up and nodded to a lady being driven toward them in a brown landau. “Smile,” she commanded Emily in a low voice. “That is Lady Peppington. I shall introduce you.”
Emily smiled cheerfully at the elegantly dressed middleaged woman as Araminta made the introductions. Lady Peppington inclined her head in a frozen nod and then looked away. The landau went briskly on down the path.
Emily was seized with panic. “Bloody hell.”
Araminta raised her brows. “What on earth is the matter now, Emily?”
“You said that was Lady Peppington,” Emily hissed.
“What of it?”
“She’s on my guest list and ’tis obvious she does not parti
cularly like me. What if she will not attend my soiree? Simon will be furious. He distinctly told me he wanted the Canonburys and the Peppingtons to come. Araminta, what shall I do?”
“Absolutely nothing. You may be certain the Canonburys and the Peppingtons will come to your affair, along with everyone else who gets an invitation.”
Emily shot her companion a speculative glance. “How can you and Simon be so positive of that?”
“Simon has not told you about Canonbury and Peppington, has he?”
Emily remembered the grimness in her husband’s expression when he had informed her that Canonbury and Peppington would attend the soiree. “Araminta, is there something I should know about these people?”
“It is not my place to tell you,” Araminta said, looking thoughtful, “but I believe I shall. It is in your own best interests to know what you are getting into here and I do not think Simon will rush to inform you. He is strongly inclined to keep his secrets to himself.”
“Araminta, do not beat about the bush. What is it, for heaven’s sake?”
“Northcote’s father, Canonbury, and Peppington were all close friends and business partners of Simon’s father.”
“Yes?”
“Simon was only twelve at the time his father shot himself, but he knew, because he had heard his parent discuss it, that Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington had all invested together with Simon’s father in a South Seas trading company venture. The night he shot himself, the earl left Simon a note telling him, among other things, that after paying his gambling debts, the only financial resources left for his son and wife would be whatever was realized from the trade venture.”
“Oh, dear,” Emily said, beginning to grasp what was coming.
“Simon sat down and, at the tender age of twelve, wrote to all three men asking them to advance his mother some money on the basis of the profit expected on his father’s shares.”
“And they refused?”
“They did not even bother to respond. Instead, they took advantage of a clause in the trading company contract to sell Blade’s shares to another investor. Simon and his mother were cut out of the partnership completely. They did not get a penny.”