"Yes," Simon murmured. "You were the last. I shall consider you a wedding present from my bride."
Chapter 10
"I must say, Simon, you handled that brilliantly." Emily sat down in the chair near the fire and watched her husband as he locked the door of the bedchamber he had booked for the night.
Earlier he had taken one brief look at the room assigned to Emily and his mouth had tightened grimly. He'd ordered that a new chamber be prepared at once. The innkeeper had hastily retrieved Emily's possessions and moved them into the larger, more comfortable room.
"The thing is, Simon, you made it all sound so perfectly normal and matter of fact. Quite as if we had simply encountered Celeste on our honeymoon trip and had taken her under our wing."
The Marquess and Marchioness of Northcote had left for town a few minutes ago in their fast, comfortable traveling coach. If all went well they would have Celeste safely abed in her own bedchamber by early morning. It had been agreed that the simplest approach to the whole matter was to arrive home at dawn with their daughter as if they were all returning from a ball. No one would be the wiser.
"I am glad you approve of the way I dealt with the matter. I confess I am not as accustomed to inventing romantic tales on the spur of the moment as you are." Simon crossed the room and dropped languidly into the chair across from Emily. He stretched his booted feet out in front of the fire and regarded his runaway wife with a hooded gaze.
"Well, you certainly did a magnificent job," Emily assured him happily. "You even managed to figure out quite quickly what I had already told Celeste so that our stories meshed rather nicely."
"You dropped several useful hints, my dear." Simon's brows climbed. "Parted tragically on the morning after our wedding, were we? It was extremely fortunate for you that Lady Celeste did not inquire into the exact nature of the tragedy that had separated us."
"You have a point." Emily considered that closely for a moment. "I wonder if her mother will inquire."
"I doubt it. I do not think there will be any further questions from that direction. Northcote will accept my version of the story about being delayed with the carriage and sending you on ahead to get you out of the storm. He and his wife were far more concerned with their daughter's plight than with yours."
"Poor Celeste. At least she was saved from having to wed the wrong man." Emily brightened. "It was a marvelous rescue, Simon. Quite what I would have expected of you."
"You flatter me." Simon propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, laced his fingers under his chin, and fixed his wife with an unwavering gaze. "And now I think the time has come for you to make a few explanations of your own."
"Explanations?"
"I warn you, I do not wish to hear any of that nonsense you wrote in your note about broken hearts and broken urns. I have already read that particular poem, if you will recall. It was not one of your better efforts."
Emily's elation over the successful culmination of her adventure with Celeste faded rapidly under the implacable expression in Simon's eyes. She lowered her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap. "You once called that poem very affecting."
"Somehow it left a different impression this time around. Perhaps it was the circumstances under which I read it. Your maid was sobbing into one of my best linen handkerchiefs at the time. Duckett was hovering about like a mourner at a funeral. Mrs. Hickinbotham was ranting and raving about how I would undoubtedly find you shot dead on the road by a highwayman. Or worse."
Emily was momentarily diverted. "What could have been worse than being shot by a highwayman?"
"I believe Mrs. Hickinbotham had visions of you suffering a fate worse than death," Simon explained blandly.
Emily gave her husband a quick, accusing glance. "Some might say I already suffered that last night, my lord."
Simon surprised her with a faint smile. "Was it really that bad, Emily?"
She heaved a sigh. "Well, no, actually. As I told Celeste, it was a night of near-transcendent bliss."
"Good God," Simon muttered.
"I have been thinking about it a great deal and I have decided it was not entirely your fault that the experience was not what it should have been, my lord. After all, you did tell me you had never done that sort of thing before."
"Did I say that?"
"Yes, you did. So I imagine part of our problem was that we were both a bit inexperienced at creating transcendental unions and such. Bound to be a few problems in the early stages." She gave him a hopeful look. "Do you not agree, my lord?"
"It is very generous of you not to blame me entirely for failing to transport you to a higher plane, my dear."
Emily frowned, detecting sarcasm. "Yes, well, perhaps the problems with the physical portion of our union were not all your fault, but that does not excuse you for what happened later. You were most unkind and I left you that note with the lines from my poem about urns and such because I thought it rather apt."
"Apt? You get yourself embroiled in a potentially dangerous situation, we are miles from home on a wet and exceedingly unpleasant night, we are obliged to put up in a shabby little inn with bad food and worse beds, and all because you chose to indulge yourself in a fit of the sulks. Madam, let me tell you I did not find romantical references to broken hearts and broken urns at all apt."
"My heart was broken," Emily declared passionately. "You broke it this morning when you told me that last night had meant nothing to you."
"I did not say that, Emily."
"Yes, you did. You told me that what I took to be a transcendent union of like souls was nothing more than mere lust." All the resentment welled up inside her once again. "What's more, you were perfectly horrid to me simply because I had gone out into the gardens to say farewell to my father. I know he has his faults, but he is my father and you have no right to forbid me to see him or the twins."
"I did not forbid you to see them, Emily. I merely said you would not see them on your own."
"I cannot allow you to restrict me like that."
"You are my wife," Simon reminded her, his voice growing dangerously soft. "I have every right to restrict you in any way I feel is appropriate. The actions I have taken are for your own good."
"Rubbish." Emily flared. "They are to prevent me from continuing to manage my family's financial affairs. It is another element in your revenge plot and that is all there is to it."
"Your father has taken advantage of your business talents for years."
"What does that signify? You married me for those same talents. You only want to use me, too."
"You were the one who begged me to marry you," Simon said through set teeth. "Or have you forgotten so soon how you bargained with me that day by the stream? You have gotten what you wanted, Emily. You are now my countess. You must abide by the terms of our agreement."
Emily's fingers twisted together as she looked at her husband in defiant anguish. "I did not realize you meant to cut my family off completely from me."
"It is only the financial connections I am severing completely."
"But you allowed my father to think you would not cut him off entirely," she reminded him.
Simon smiled coldly. "Yes, I did dangle that lure for a while. It made everything so much easier, you see."
"You are taking your vengeance too far, my lord."
"You, my sweet, know nothing about vengeance."
"And you do?"
"Oh, yes," Simon said softly. "I have spent twenty-three years dreaming of it. Now, I have had enough of this topic. My notion of revenge need no longer concern you. You are my wife and you will henceforth conduct yourself in a manner befitting your title as Countess of Blade. Is that quite clear, Emily?"