"They are Faringdons. They are in their father's image, by God."
"No, my lord. My father would never have agreed to fight a duel over a lady's honor. Charles and Devlin are not like him. They have been raised by him and they have followed in his footsteps only because they have had no other pattern to follow. But they are different, I swear it. And somewhere deep inside you, you understand that or you would not have helped Charles tonight."
"I do not want to hear another word about why I did what I did, Emily. You can have no notion of why I acted as I did. Even I am not entirely certain." Simon flexed one hand into a fist and struck the mantel. "I vowed vengeance against the entire Faringdon clan twenty-three years ago. I swore to myself I would bring down the entire family."
"Then why did you marry one?" Emily demanded with sudden fierceness.
Simon narrowed his eyes. "Because it amused me. Because it served the purpose of separating your father and brothers from the source of their income. Because you begged me to marry you and because I rather enjoyed having a Faringdon woman groveling at my feet."
That stung. "I did not grovel, my lord. I presented the entire matter to you in terms of a business arrangement, if you will recall."
He ignored that. "And last, but not least, because I find your excessive passions, as you term them, quite amusing in bed. There. Now you know why I married you. It was not because our souls meet and mingle over tea on a higher plane, damn it."
Emily shivered. The dragon was breathing fire tonight. It was the first time she had ever seen him in such a mood and there was no doubt but that it was extremely intimidating. "Please, Simon, do not say any more."
"Why not, pray tell? Because it will break your silly, romantic little heart?"
"Yes, my lord."
"By heaven, you need to face reality, you little goose." Simon swung around and began to pace the room. "Not that I seem to have been successful thus far in forcing you to do so."
That was too much. Emily leapt to her feet. "Bloody hell, Simon."
"Stop saying bloody hell," he ordered. "Such language does not suit the Countess of Blade."
"I do not care what befits the Countess of Blade," she shot back passionately. "You go too far when you tell me I must face reality. You do not know how much reality I have had to face all my life. You have no notion of how much reality my poor mother had to confront. Rest assured that there were times when I hated my father just as much as you must have hated yours."
Simon turned his head abruptly to glare at her. "What the devil are you talking about now? I never hated my father."
Emily looked at him. "How could you not have been furiously angry after what he did to you?"
"You must be mad. Why should I hate him, for God's sake?"
"Because he put a pistol to his head and killed himself, leaving you behind with the full responsibility for your mother. Because he took the quick way out of the disaster he had created and left you to face it. Because you were only twelve years old, far too young to be able to undo the great damage that had been done. Dear God, Simon, how could you not have hated him?"
Simon stood, feet braced, and stared at her as if she had suddenly turned into a hydra-headed monster. "You are raving."
Emily turned her back to him. "If it is any consolation, I was in much the same situation."
"In what way?"
"The money ran out the year I turned seventeen. But by then my father discovered I had a head for economy and financial matters. He was ecstatic. It was clear I was expected to be the family's salvation. And I did not mind studying investments and making the decisions. Indeed, it was enjoyable, in a way. But I could never forget for a moment that the reason I had to become an expert was because my father was an irresponsible spendthrift. I still remember how he made Mama cry." Emily dashed a tear away from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.
"Pray, do not start sniveling, Emily."
She blew her nose on a hankie she found in the pocket of her loose wrapper. "She cried often, you know. But almost never around my father. She loved him, you see, in spite of his ways. She used to tell me it was no use blaming him for his excessive gaming. It was in the blood, she would say."
"Emily, your emotions are overset. You had better go to bed."
"Oh, do stop being so bloody condescending, my lord." Emily sniffed back the last of the tears and stuffed the hankie into her pocket. "When my mother and brothers realized I could keep the family afloat financially, they told me it was my duty to do so. I shall never forget that on her deathbed my mother took my hand and told me I must look after my father and brothers. Without me they would all soon find themselves under the hatches, she said, and poor Papa could not live without plenty of money."
"I really do not wish to hear any more of this nonsense, Emily."
"It is not nonsense. It is reality. The reality you told me I never face. Well, you may rest assured I have faced it all my life, my lord. And I bloody hell do not like it. But it will not go away, so I shall continue to confront it when I must."
"Including the reality of our marriage?" he drawled in a dangerous voice.
"Our marriage is a different matter altogether. It is a pure and noble union of souls, even if you do not yet see it that way."
"No, Emily, it is not pure and noble. It is damn real. Just as real as your father's profligate ways and my vengeance. Perhaps it is time I made you confront that fact."
She frowned at the strange tone in his last words. "What are you talking about, my lord?"
"I am talking about teaching you to face the truth about why I married you. I am no hero, Emily."
"Yes, my lord, you are. You simply resist seeing yourself in that light. Probably because you fear it will make you appear weak to yourself or to others."
"Good God, woman, you are incredible. I know of no other female who can concoct such fancies," Simon said between his teeth. "You really do need a lesson." There was a deliberate pause and then he spoke again, his voice lower and harsher than ever. "Come here, Emily."
She did not move. Her own emotions were in a turmoil.
"Come here to me now, madam. I am in no mood to humor any of your romantic notions tonight."
She turned very slowly to confront him. She was suddenly, deeply wary. "What do you want of me, my lord?"
His hard mouth curved in a cold, taunting smile. "What do you think I want, wife? I told you the reasons I married you."
"So you did, my lord. I believe you said it amused you to marry me. And it suited your notions of vengeance."
"There was another reason, if you will recall. You are as yet rather unschooled in the delights of the boudoir, but you are learning fast. And you show such enthusiasm for the task, my dear. I would like you to demonstrate a bit of that enthusiasm now, if you please. Come here and apply yourself to your wifely duties."
The iciness of the command was alarming. There was no warmth or passion in Simon's face, only a savagely controlled fury.
"You are truly enraged with me because I prevailed upon you to rescue Charles," Emily whispered. "I did not realize it would make you so angry, my lord. Such fury can only stem from the fact that you think you have shown great weakness in obliging me. Please, Simon, do not view your rescue of Charles in such a light, I beg you."
"As much as I enjoy having you beg occasionally, you may do so some other time, madam. Right now, I want to bed you."
Simon stripped off his dressing gown and stalked across the bedchamber to the massive, four-poster bed. He was completely naked and the candlelight flickered on his skin, emphasizing the smoothly sculpted muscles of his back, his flat, taut stomach, and his hard buttocks. The soft light also revealed his aroused manhood.