"Perhaps your grasp of metaphysical science is not as fully developed as it could be," Ashbrook said. "Tell me, Emily, do you still dabble in poetry?"
She hesitated. "As it happens, I am working on an epic poem at the moment."
Ashbrook was amused. "Going to give me some competition, eh?"
Emily felt herself grow pink with embarrassment. Whatever else he might be, Ashbrook was a published poet and she had never published so much as a single verse. "Hardly," she muttered.
"What are you calling this epic?"
"The Mysterious Lady."
"It sounds promising," Ashbrook allowed thoughtfully.
Emily looked up quickly, raising her quizzing glass to see his expression. "Do you really believe so?"
"Definitely." Ashbrook paused with a deliberate air. "Excellent title. Quite suited to the sort of people who buy that kind of thing. Do you know, Emily, I might be able to take a look at your work and see if it does, indeed, appear promising. If so, I would be happy to introduce you to my publisher, Whittenstall."
"Richard!" Emily was stunned by the generous offer. "Do you mean it?"
"But, of course." Ashbrook smiled with a negligent confidence. "A word from me would certainly help to get Whittenstall's attention, I believe."
"Richard, it would be so very kind of you. I cannot believe this is happening. I shall have to get back to work on The Mysterious Lady immediately. I have been thinking of adding a ghost and a secret passageway to the story. What do you think?"
"Ghosts and secret passageways are always very popular. I have used them myself on occasion."
"I have not as yet allowed anyone else to read The Mysterious Lady. It needs some work before you see it." Emily reminded herself of all the changes, additions, and corrections she wanted to make on the poem. "But I shall start at once. Richard, this is so exciting. I cannot tell you how much your offer means to me. To undertake to introduce me to your own publisher. It is beyond anything."
"It seems little enough to do for an old friend."
"I do not know how to thank you, Richard."
He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "There is no need to thank me. But if you feel the necessity, you may do so by joining a small literary salon I attend on Thursday afternoons."
Emily was thrilled. "A real London literary salon? I would so enjoy that. I have missed my Thursday afternoon meetings of the literary society of Little Dippington." A pang of uneasiness assailed her. "But do you think your literary friends will want me there? They are probably much more widely read than I am and ever so much more sophisticated. I shall probably appear very rustic to them."
"Not at all," Ashbrook murmured. "I assure you Lady Turnbull and my other friends will welcome you. They will no doubt find you quite… charming."
Emily sighed happily. "It is almost too much to contemplate. My first important ball, an introduction to a literary salon, and an opportunity to have a real publisher look at my writing. Town life is certainly a great deal more exciting than life in the country."
"Yes," Ashbrook said. "It certainly is. And as a married woman," he added softly, "you will find you have a great deal more freedom here in London than you ever did as a spinster buried in Hampshire. The only rule in town, my dear, is to be discreet."
"Yes, yes, of course." Emily was totally unconcerned with the problem of discretion simply because she was not planning any indiscretions, least of all with this man who had once so casually ruined her. No woman who was married to a man like Blade could possibly be interested in a shallow creature such as Ashbrook.
Emily frowned thoughtfully. "Richard, do you really believe my title is a good one? I am not averse to altering it if you think it would make my work more interesting to a publisher."
"We shall discuss it after I have had occasion to read your poem," Ashbrook said, gazing over her head into the brilliantly lit ballroom. "And now, speaking of discretion, I believe we should return to the ball."
"You are quite right. Celeste will wonder what has happened to me."
Emily turned cheerfully to walk back through the open windows, her mind churning with ideas for The Mysterious Lady. She raised her glass for a quick glance around the room and nearly collided with her husband, who materialized like a large boulder out of nowhere.
"Oh, hello, my lord." She smiled up at him. "I was hoping you would arrive soon. It is all so exciting, is it not? I am having the most wonderful time. I was just speaking to…" She paused, glanced from side to side with her quizzing glass, and realized Ashbrook had not followed her back into the ballroom. "Never mind. Goodness, you look spectacular, Simon."
Blade, dressed in his elegantly severe evening clothes, gazed thoughtfully over her head into the garden for a few seconds. Then he looked down at Emily.
"I am glad to hear you are enjoying yourself, my dear. Will you honor me with this waltz?"
"Another waltz is to be played? I was under the impression Lady Northcote had only authorized one waltz tonight."
"I prevailed upon her to sanction another so that I could dance it with you." Simon led her out onto the floor.
"Simon, how wonderful of you," Emily breathed, thoroughly enchanted by the gesture.
"I was rather pleased with the notion myself." He swept her into the gracious pattern of the dance. "And Lady Northcote was, shall we say, cooperative."
All thoughts of The Mysterious Lady and her plans to join Ashbrook's literary circle flew out of Emily's head. She was dancing the waltz with her beloved dragon. Nothing could be more perfect.
Simon glided coolly around the room, aware that the eyes of the ton were upon him and his new bride. By tomorrow morning Emily would be the talk of the town. He and Emily made a compelling contrast on the dance floor and Simon knew it. The fact suited him.
What did not suit him was the flash of searing jealousy he had experienced when he had witnessed Emily returning from the garden with Ashbrook directly behind her.
Chapter 12
"I adore your house, Simon," Emily declared as she waltzed alone around the red, gold, green, and black library. As she whirled past each of the jeweled dragons, she reached out to affectionately pat the savage heads. The dark green skirts of her gown floated around her slippered feet.
The ball had ended an hour ago and it had taken almost that long to collect their carriage and get home through the crowded streets but Emily could not seem to stop dancing. She felt giddy and effervescent and transcendently alive. She hummed the strains of the waltz she had danced earlier with Simon. "And I especially adore this room," she continued with a definite little nod. "It is quite perfect, exactly how I had imagined it would be. Exotic and luscious and full of strange and mysterious objects." She patted a black and gold dragon as she waltzed past the fireplace.
"I am not surprised. I had a feeling you would like it." Simon poured two glasses of brandy and held one out to her.
"That only shows how well attuned we are." She took the glass from his hand as she danced past. "You see, Simon? I keep telling you that we communicate—"
"On a higher plane," he finished for her. "Yes, my dear. I have heard you comment on that fact often enough." He raised his glass in a small salute. "To you, madam wife. You were a great success tonight."
"Thanks to Lady Merryweather." Emily giggled and waltzed away toward the far end of the room. "And Lady Northcote. She was so kind. She and Celeste introduced me to absolutely everyone and I danced nearly every dance, Simon. Two of them waltzes."