"Among other things."
Emily nodded again and resumed waltzing. She slid Simon another speculative glance. "I do not suppose you are jealous of Lord Ashbrook, by any chance, are you?"
"Because of the nonexistent Unfortunate Incident or because he waltzed with you tonight?"
"Either one," Emily said eagerly. Her heart leapt at the possibility.
"Should I be jealous?" Simon's voice was utterly emotionless.
"No, not for a single second," Emily assured him grandly. "I made a very foolish mistake five years ago. The truth is, I realized almost immediately after we left Little Dippington that I did not really want to marry Richard. It was all very exciting dashing off to the border like that and Richard kept quoting the most beautiful poetry. But I was soon obliged to face the fact that I did not love him. I could not possibly have married him."
"And the waltz tonight? Did you discover any new feelings toward him when he took you in his arms?"
"No." Emily tilted her head, thinking about her reactions. "No, not at all. It was rather like meeting an old acquaintance whom one has not seen for some time."
She decided then and there that she did not want to tell Simon about Ashbrook's generous offer to take a look at her manuscript. Not yet, at any rate. After all, nothing was certain. Ashbrook might declare The Mysterious Lady completely unpublishable. It would be humiliating enough just having Ashbrook know it was unsuitable. "I see. Like meeting an old acquaintance."
"Yes. Precisely." Emily hummed a few more measures of the waltz. "Do you know, Simon, it is very strange, but I do not seem to be able to calm myself tonight. I am still very excited."
"You should be exhausted." Simon leaned back against his black lacquered desk. He had already taken off his jacket and unknotted his cravat. The length of white silk hung loose around his throat.
"I know, but I am not the least bit tired." Emily took a sip of brandy. Her gaze fell on the nearest of the large, tasseled pillows. "Simon, tell me, did you get these pillows from some Turkish harem?"
"No. I had them made up here in London, as it happens." He sipped his brandy. "Do you fancy them?"
"They are marvelous." Emily put down her glass and threw herself full length onto the nearest gold satin pillow. She lounged back in what she thought was the sort of languid, sensuous position that a harem lady might adopt. "How do I look? Could I pass for a sultry Eastern courtesan?"
Simon's eyes moved slowly from the tip of her dragon-embroidered emerald satin slipper to the cascade of red curls at the top of her head. "Perhaps," he finally allowed.
"You look unconvinced. Maybe the spectacles mar the effect." She took them off and set them on the nearest lacquered table. Then she leaned back on the pillow again and essayed a killing glance from beneath her lashes. Simon was a large, dark blur across the room. "Is that any better?"
"A bit more authentic-looking, I believe."
Emily stretched out on her side. The skirts of her gown edged up the length of her leg, revealing her stockings. She pursed her lips and tried for a harem lady's pout. "There. How is that?"
"Emily, are you by any chance flirting with me?" Simon asked softly.
"Well, as to that…" It helped not to be able to see his expression clearly. Emily felt the warmth rising in her cheeks as she considered the question carefully. "Yes, I believe I am." She held her breath, waiting for his response.
"You are in a rather strange mood tonight, are you not?"
"I am happy, Simon," she said, waving one hand to encompass the whole world. "I feel as if I am floating. I have had the most exciting, most wonderful evening of my whole life."
"And now you want to conclude it by having me make love to you?"
Emily sighed and flopped onto her back, her arms stretched high above her head. She contemplated the blurry ceiling. "I told you, Simon, I am a creature of excessive passions. Perhaps my sensibilities have been overstimulated by all the excitement tonight."
"A possibility."
"Simon?"
"Yes, Emily?"
She drew a deep breath. "You told me that the last time we made love I did not quite get the hang of it."
"I told you that you needed practice, as I recall," he murmured.
She rolled back onto her side and propped herself on her elbow. "Yes. Practice. I believe I should like very much to practice tonight."
There was a faint pause. Then Simon's voice came, low, dark, and silky with sensual menace. "I also told you something else, Emily."
Emily sat up on the pillow, drawing her knees up under her chin so that her skirts foamed around her toes. She groped for the brandy glass. When she found it she took a large swallow and put the glass carefully back down on the table. Then she wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees.
"You told me I would have to beg you to make love to me," Emily finally said, hugging her knees very tightly.
"I will settle for being asked very nicely. The point is, my dear, I do not wish there to be any accusations in the morning. You are not going to be able to say I tricked you."
"I will not say that, Simon." She waited in an agony of anticipation mixed with uncertainty. "Simon?"
"Yes, Emily?"
"Will you please make love to me?"
A strange stillness settled on the dark, exotic room.
There was a faint clink and Emily knew Simon had just set his brandy glass down on the desk. She watched him come toward her. She was unable to see his expression without her spectacles but her whole body was tingling with awareness. She could sense the heavy, enveloping aura of his masculinity and knew that could only be because they really did communicate on a higher plane.
Simon halted at the edge of the huge satin pillow, the most powerful dragon in a room full of the creatures. Without a word he lowered himself down beside Emily and took her into his arms.
Slowly, deliberately, he pushed her back down onto the gold brocade. Leaning over her, he looked down into her face. He was so close now that Emily could see the molten gold in his eyes.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" Simon stroked the delicate line of her jaw with his thumb.
"Yes," she whispered, almost unable to get the single word out because of the tightness in her throat. The odd breathless feeling was sweeping through her again, as it always did when Simon took her in his arms. "Please, Simon."
"Very well, Emily." He bent his head and dropped a heated kiss on the top of her breast, which was exposed by the low neckline of her ball gown. "Just remember in the morning that this was all your idea."
"Yes, Simon." She wrapped her arms slowly around his neck. Then she smiled tremulously. "It was not nearly so bad as you probably thought it would be, you know."
"What was not so bad?" He slid the puffy little sleeve of the gown slowly down over her shoulder.
"Begging you to make love to me." Her smile turned into an exuberant little laugh. "It was not so bad at all."
"I am glad." Simon eased the bodice of the gown lower and one apple-shaped breast was freed. He circled the nipple with his forefinger. "Perhaps you will ask me again sometime."
"I expect I will," Emily said complacently. "If it turns out to be as transcendent an experience as you have promised."
Simon gave a husky laugh that turned into a groan. "I can see that I shall have to do it properly this time."
Emily shivered as she felt his finger trace another circle around the tip of her breast. She stirred restlessly, her legs sliding over the brocaded satin. Simon's mouth came down over hers and at the same time he pinned her thighs with one of his own.