"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 fiancee 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.