Chapter 15
Emily stopped pacing her bedchamber at the sound of carriage wheels on the street outside. She flew to the window when she realized the vehicle was coming to a halt in front of the townhouse. She pushed the heavy drapes aside just in time to see Simon alight. His caped greatcoat swung around his boots as he started up the steps. Hastily she shoved open the window and peered down.
"Simon," she called softly. "Are you all right? Is everything settled?"
Simon glanced up and said in a distinctly irritable voice, "For God's sake, woman, get back inside and close the window. Whatever will the neighbors think?" He went on up the steps.
Everything must have been settled in a reasonable fashion, Emily decided cheerfully as she yanked the window closed. Things could not be all that bad if Simon was worrying about the neighbors.
She was getting to understand his moods quite well, Emily told herself happily. She tapped her slippered foot on the carpet and waited for the sound of footsteps in the upstairs hall. Her communication with her husband in the metaphysical realm was definitely growing stronger every day. A direct result, no doubt, of their improved communication on the physical plane.
She heard his step in the hall and hurried over to the connecting door. But just as she started to open it she heard Higson's voice and realized the loyal bulldog of a valet had waited up for his master.
Dismayed at the delay, Emily silently eased the door shut and resumed her pacing until she heard Higson being dismissed for the night.
She rushed straight back to the connecting door and threw it open.
Simon was sitting in the shadows near the window, a glass of brandy in his hand. He was wearing his black satin dressing gown. There was a single candle burning on the table near the bed. His dark hair was tousled and in the faint glow of the flame his face looked as if it had been carved from the side of a mountain. He glanced up as Emily came into the room, his golden eyes glinting strangely.
"Ah, my reckless, impulsive, troublesome little wife. I imagine you are bursting with curiosity."
"Oh, yes, Simon. I have been waiting in agony for the past few hours." Emily dropped into the chair across from his and studied him carefully. "Is all well?"
"The matter is settled, if that is what you mean," Simon said coolly. "There will be no duel." He took another swallow of brandy and contemplated the glass. "But I am not certain if all is well."
A fresh uneasiness gripped Emily as she sensed that his mood was growing odder by the moment. "What is wrong, my lord?"
"Wrong?" He turned the brandy glass between his palms and rested his head against the back of the chair. "That is difficult to explain, my dear."
She peered at him more closely through her spectacles. "Simon, you are not hurt, are you?" she demanded in some alarm.
"Not a drop of blood was shed."
"Thank God." Emily grinned suddenly. "No, it is you I have to thank for fixing the matter, not God, and I am well aware of it. I am very grateful to you for resolving the situation, Simon."
"Are you?" He took another sip of brandy.
Emily bit her lip. "You are in a rather strange mood, my lord."
"Now, I wonder why that should be," he mused. "It has been a perfectly normal evening, has it not? Nothing untoward or unusual has occurred. Just the routine sort of thing. I find my wife promenading the Dark Walk at Vauxhall at midnight seeking an appointment with a member of the criminal class. I let myself get talked into rescuing a damn Faringdon from his own foolishness. I am obliged to put a potentially profitable investment at risk in order to scare off one of the most vicious young bloods of the ton. And I come home to discover my lady wife hanging out the window, calling down to me like a hoyden."
Emily sighed. "Somehow my life's little adventures always sound much worse when you describe them."
"I have noticed that."
Emily brightened. "Still, I must tell you I thought your plot to lure me to Vauxhall was a wonderful notion. That was very clever of you, Simon. Do you know, it never even occurred to me to be suspicious when I got your note. Now I realize that a member of the criminal class would be highly unlikely to read and write."
"Your praise is heartwarming, I assure you. But looking back on the matter, I conclude that I must have been temporarily mad to concoct such a scheme."
"No, no, you wanted to teach me a lesson, did you not?"
"I had some vague notion of doing so, yes." Simon took another sip of brandy.
"And you came up with a truly brilliant scheme."
"Really? I did not notice you looking appropriately chastened. You stood there and bargained like a shopkeeper with a man you thought to be a cutthroat and when he attempted to frighten you by demanding your favors in exchange for his services, you promptly threatened him with your husband's wrath."
It dawned on Emily that Simon was genuinely furious.
"Now, Simon, I do not see why you are so angry with me. You are the one who arranged the meeting at Vauxhall."
"As I said, I must have been mad." He swirled the remaining brandy in his glass and downed it in a single swallow.
"Actually, I think it was the deeply romantic element in your nature that prompted you to construct such a wonderful plot," Emily decided. "It was just like an incident from a tale of romance and adventure and you knew I would respond to it. I expect that is because we are so attuned to each other on the higher plane."
"Christ, Emily, will you cease prattling on about metaphysics and higher planes? I swear by God that if I am not already mad, I soon will be."
Without warning Simon surged to his feet and hurled the empty brandy glass into the fireplace with a swift, violent motion of his hand.
There was a sharp, nerve-jarring explosion of sound that echoed through the bedchamber. The glittering shards fell into the cold ashes.
Emily gasped and sat very still in her chair as the last of the glass cascaded down the stone wall of the fireplace. She stared at the hearth and then turned her head slowly to look at Simon.
The rigid expression on his face and the fierce glitter in his eyes told her instantly that he was far more shocked by his own loss of control than she was. After all, she knew him to be a man of deep passions. But he did not always accept the truth about himself.
"Damnation." Simon stood staring into the fireplace. A great silence descended.
Emily's hands tightened in her lap. "I did not mean to annoy you, my lord," she said quietly.
"'Tis unnatural, do you realize that?" He swung around to confront her, his face demonic in the flickering candlelight. "Damn unnatural."
"What is, my lord?"
"The addlepated manner in which you persist in thinking of me as some sort of hero. Once and for all, madam wife, I am not a character from an epic poem. I do not make my decisions or carry out my actions for the sole purpose of indulging your frivolous romantic whims and fancies. I am not a creature of passion like yourself. Every move I make is carefully calculated. Everything is done to achieve my own ends. Do you comprehend that?"
Emily took a deep breath. "You are annoyed with me because you were obliged to rescue my brother tonight."
"Annoyed with you, madam? That does not begin to cover the present state of my temper. I let you manipulate and cajole me into doing something I have sworn never to do."
"You mean help a Faringdon?" She risked a glance up at him through her lashes.
"Yes, goddamn it. Yes, that is exactly what I mean. I do not know what came over me tonight."
"I do not think your actions so strange, my lord," Emily said softly. "You acted like the noble, honorable man I know you to be. In your heart you are aware that my brothers were not responsible for your father's losses twenty-three years ago."