Simon cocked a brow at her expectant expression. "You are a bloodthirsty little thing, are you not? Strange. I had not realized. No, he is not dead. But I do not think he will be kicking in any more doors for a while."
A new voice sounded from the top of the stairs. "Sir, sir, what is all this fuss about?" The innkeeper hurried forward, wringing his hands. "I run a respectable establishment. I cannot allow fighting in the halls. The other guests will be most annoyed by the noise."
Simon gave the small man a lethal look. "In respectable establishments young ladies of quality do not find themselves obliged to barricade their doors."
The innkeeper glanced nervously at Emily and then at Celeste, who was peeking out of the bedchamber. "Well, yer lordship, as to that, neither of these young ladies was traveling with a companion or a maid and I naturally had to assume they were not genuinely of the quality, if you take my meanin'."
Simon's glance grew even more dangerous. "You obviously made some very stupid assumptions. This lady is my wife and the lady with her is a friend. They had arranged to rendezvous here and wait for me. I was temporarily delayed by the weather. You may have noticed there is a severe storm going on outside."
"Yes, yer lordship," the innkeeper agreed immediately. "Coming down in buckets, it is."
Simon smiled thinly. "I expected my wife and her friend to be safe and comfortable here while I took care of other matters."
The beleaguered innkeeper looked more harried than ever. His anxious, darting glance went from Emily, who was smiling at him with a very superior sort of smile, to the silent, still Nevil. "I beg your pardon, sir. I did not properly understand the situation. Obviously there has been a mistake."
"Obviously." Simon nodded curtly toward the man on the floor. "I suggest you remove him at once."
"Yes, yer lordship, I shall see to it immediately." The innkeeper turned away to bellow down the stairs for his servant. "Owen, come up here and lend me a hand, boy. Hurry."
Simon glanced over Emily's head into the bedchamber where Celeste was hovering. His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. Then he looked down at Emily again. "Now, suppose you and your friend come downstairs at once and explain precisely what is going on here, madam?"
"Of course, Simon." Emily beamed. "It is really very simple."
"Somehow, I find that difficult to believe. Pray, do not keep me waiting long." Simon turned toward the stairs, the greatcoat swinging around him like an elegant cape.
"Yes, Simon. We will be right down," Emily called after him.
But he was already on the stairs and did not bother to acknowledge her obedience. Emily stepped back into the room and found Celeste gazing at her with huge eyes. The hankie in her hand was crushed into a mangled lump.
"What on earth is wrong now?" Emily asked.
"I fear your husband is quite angry," Celeste said weakly. "Perhaps he will blame me for getting you into this situation."
"For pity's sake, Celeste. Simon is not about to blame you. He is a very just and honorable man. We shall soon have it all sorted out. I think it would be best if we do as he instructed, however. Are you ready to go downstairs?"
"Yes. I suppose there is no help for it." Celeste dabbed at her eyes with the hankie. "I wish Mama were here."
"Well, she is not, so we shall have to muddle through on our own. You may leave all the explanations to me. I am very good at that sort of thing." Emily straightened her spectacles, shook out her skirts, and led the way toward the stairs.
Simon was waiting for them in a private parlor. He had removed his greatcoat and hat and was sitting in front of the fire, a mug of ale in his hand. He rose with grave politeness as Emily and Celeste entered.
Emily rushed to properly introduce Celeste, who looked more nervous than ever. There was a deliberate pause before Simon responded to the introduction.
"Northcote's daughter?" he finally murmured, his gaze hooded.
Celeste nodded mutely. Emily started to ask why she had given her last name as Hamilton, but Simon was speaking again.
"You were running off to Gretna Green?" he asked Celeste. "I imagine your father will have a few words to say about that."
Celeste looked down at the floor. "Yes, my lord. He probably will."
Emily frowned at Simon as she hugged Celeste reassuringly. "Do not worry, Celeste. Blade will talk to your father and all will be well."
"Will I, indeed?" Simon took a swallow of ale and eyed his wife over the rim of the mug. "Just what do you suggest I say to the marquess?"
Emily blinked. "Marquess?"
"Your new friend is the eldest daughter of the Marquess of Northcote."
"Oh." Emily considered that. "I believe I have heard of him."
"No doubt," Simon said dryly. "He is one of the richest and most powerful men in London." He glanced at Celeste. "And I presume he will be close on the heels of his fleeing daughter."
Celeste burst into tears once more. "Papa will never forgive me."
"Of course he will," Emily said bracingly. "I told you, Blade will explain everything."
"I have no particular interest in explaining anything to Northcote at the moment," Simon said. "As it happens, I am expecting a few explanations myself, madam."
Emily chewed on her lower lip. "Did you get my note?"
"Yes, madam, I got your note. We will discuss it later in private, however."
"Oh. Yes, of course." Emily was not certain she cared for the sound of that but before she could say anything further there was a commotion out in the hall. A few seconds later the door of the small parlor was thrown open to reveal a patrician-featured man in his mid-forties and an elegant, dark-haired woman dressed in an extremely fashionable traveling gown.
"Mama." Celeste broke into tears all over again and ran toward the dark-haired woman, who hugged her close. "Mama, I am so very sorry."
"My dearest daughter, I have been frantic with worry. Are you all right?"
"Quite all right, Mama, thanks to Lady Blade." Celeste pulled free of her mother's arms and smiled tearfully at Emily. "She saved me from a terrible fate, Mama. I owe her more than I can say."
The Marchioness of Northcote looked uncertainly at Emily. There was a certain watchfulness in her gaze. "I regret we have not yet been properly introduced, Lady Blade," she said somewhat stiffly. "But I have a feeling I am forever in your debt."
"Do not be ridiculous, Lady Northcote," Emily said cheerfully. "You are not at all in my debt."
Relief flickered in the marchioness's eyes. She glanced at her daughter again and then back at Emily. "All is well, then?"
"Quite well, madam." Emily chuckled softly. "Celeste has had an adventure, but there was no harm done and Blade took care of Nevil for you."
The Marquess of Northcote glanced sharply at his daughter and then he looked at Simon. He spoke for the first time, his eyes even more cautious and watchful than those of his wife. "Blade."
Simon inclined his head in a rather casual acknowledgment of the greeting. "Northcote."
"It would appear my wife is correct. We are apparently in your debt, sir."
"Not mine," Simon said coolly. "It was my wife who befriended your daughter and kept her out of that young rogue's clutches until I arrived."
"I see." Northcote closed the door and came farther into the room. "Would you mind explaining just what transpired here?"
Simon shrugged. "Why not? I was warned I would be stuck with the explanations."
"Are they that complicated?" Northcote gave him a searching glance.
"Not at all." Simon's expression was one of cold satisfaction. "I suggest you and your lady sit down, however, and order some ale. This may take a little time."
Northcote nodded, looking grimly resigned. "Peppington, Canonbury, and now me. You finally have us all where you want us, don't you, Blade?" he asked softly.