"The thing is, my lord," Emily said earnestly, "I would rather not tell you until I know for certain if things are going to work out."
Simon stared at her in baffled fury. Bloody hell. Was she planning to run off with Ashbrook a second time? He could not credit the notion but at the same time the jealousy was already starting to gnaw at his insides. "What, precisely, do you intend to work out, madam?"
"Tis a secret, my lord."
"I wish to know."
"If I tell you, it will no longer be a secret, my lord," Emily pointed out reasonably.
"You are a married woman now, Emily. You do not keep secrets from your husband."
"The thing is, this would be terribly embarrassing for me if matters did not conclude happily."
Simon, who had picked up his wineglass, set it down again before he accidentally shattered it between clenched fingers. "You will tell me what this is all about. I am afraid I must insist upon knowing, madam."
Emily heaved a small sigh and darted him a searching glance. "Will you give me your word of honor not to tell a single soul?"
"I certainly do not intend to gossip about my own wife."
Emily relaxed slightly. Her eyes glowed and she was suddenly bubbling over with an excitement that she had apparently been hugging to herself all afternoon.
"No, I do not suppose you would. Well, my lord, the secret is that Ashbrook has promised to read my epic poem and tell me whether it is good enough to be shown to his publisher, Whittenstall. I am so anxious and excited, I can hardly bear it."
Simon felt the cold tension in his gut unknot at the expectant look in Emily's eyes. Of course she was not planning on running off with Ashbrook. He must have been mad to even consider the notion. He knew her better than that. Emily was helplessly in love with her dragon of a husband.
His reaction to the unlikely threat was, however, a clear indication of how powerfully she affected his self-control. Simon scowled.
But now he had another problem on his hands. Emily might not be planning to get herself seduced by the poet, but there was absolutely no doubt in Simon's mind that Ashbrook's goals were not innocent. Emily was fast becoming all the rage and Ashbrook considered himself extremely fashionable. Forming a liaison with the charming, eccentric wife of the Earl of Blade would no doubt strike the poet as an interesting challenge. He was probably wondering just what he had missed out on five years ago when Emily had used a chamber pot on his skull.
Ashbrook, you bastard. You guessed immediately that the one sure way to get Emily's attention was to show an interest in her writing. Simon decided he would definitely have to attend to the poet but in the meantime he did not have to worry that Emily was going to leave.
Even as he told himself not to be alarmed, Simon was obliged to realize just how important Emily had become to him. He was grappling with that uncomfortable notion when Emily spoke again.
"Well, Simon? Is it not the most marvelous opportunity for me?"
His mouth twisted laconically at the hopeful excitement in her lovely eyes. "It is certainly a most interesting development, my dear."
Emily nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, it is, and now you can see why I did not want anyone to know until Richard has given me his opinion. It would be too humiliating if he decides The Mysterious Lady is not suitable for publication. I have discovered that the ton dotes on humiliating gossip."
"You are quite right to keep the matter a secret," Simon murmured. "And I think it would be a very good notion to establish your own literary salon rather than attend Lady Turnbull's. She is not known for her genuine appreciation of literature, I fear. Her salons are simply excuses for a certain crowd to gather and share the latest gossip. And, as you have noted, here in town the gossip can be quite cruel."
"Yes, that was what I concluded." Emily went back to work on her curry. "I shall establish my salon as soon as possible. I believe I shall invite Celeste and her mother and Lady Merryweather, of course. And there are two or three other ladies I have met recently who are quite interested in the latest style of literature. I hope they will attend."
"You must give me a list of the names of those you plan to invite," Simon said.
Emily looked up quickly, a wary expression in her eyes. "No, my lord, I am not going to do that."
He blinked at the unexpected defiance. "May I ask why not?"
She pointed her fork at him in an accusing fashion. "Because I have finally discovered from your aunt how you go about managing things, my lord. You are apparently in the habit of intimidating people into doing what you want them to do. To be perfectly honest, I would not put it past you to coerce everyone on my guest list into attending my salon."
Simon was at first startled and then reluctantly amused.
"Very well, Emily. Invite whom you wish and I will stay out of the matter entirely."
She gave him a suspicious look. "I am quite determined on this point, my lord."
"Yes, I can see that. Do not fret, Emily. I will not frighten your guests."
"Excellent." She smiled approvingly, her brow clearing as if by magic. "Then I shall get started on the project at once."
"Do not forget you still have to make preparations for your soiree."
Emily's expression immediately turned anxious. "I am working very hard on it, my lord. I vow I am doing everything I can to make certain it is a success. Although I still do not know how we will get everyone inside the house."
Simon eventually tracked Ashbrook down at one of the St. James clubs. The poet was ensconced in a chair near the fire with a bottle of port, apparently taking a breather from the card tables.
"Well, Ashbrook, what a convenient circumstance." Simon sat down in the chair across from the poet and picked up the bottle of port. He poured himself a glass of the dark red wine. "I have been looking for you for the past hour or so. Where is your friend, Crofton?"
"I am meeting him later." Ashbrook flicked open his snuffbox with a one-handed, negligently elegant gesture he had no doubt practiced for hours. "We are planning an entertaining tour of some of the more intriguing brothels."
"Just as well he is not here." Simon sampled the port. It was somewhat too sweet for his taste. "I wanted to talk to you alone."
Ashbrook's fingers tightened around his glass. "I do not see why. I have abided by our little agreement. I have not breathed a word about the scandal in Emily's past."
Simon smiled dangerously. "I have no idea what you are talking about. There is no scandal in my wife's past. Are you implying there might have been one?"
"Good God, no, I am not implying anything of the kind." Ashbrook gulped his port. "What the devil do you want from me, Blade?"
"You have, I believe, something that belongs to my wife. I would like it sent back immediately."
Astonishment lit Ashbrook's gaze for an instant, quickly replaced by an indolent stare. "We are discussing her epic poem, I collect?"
"We are." Simon smiled without any humor. "Ashbrook, do not play games with me. We both know why you offered to read the poem for her. You could not resist trying to seduce her, after all, could you? She no doubt seems far more interesting now than she was five years ago. The more jaded one becomes, the stronger the appeal of naivete and innocence, hmm? And you think to attract her by praising her writing."
Ashbrook crooked a brow. "You sound as though you are familiar with the technique. Is that how you convinced her to marry you, Blade? By complimenting her poetry instead of her eyes?"
"How I got her to marry me is none of your affair. All you need keep in mind is that she is married to me. I am warning you that if you attempt to lure her into your bed, I shall see that your blossoming career as an author is nipped in the bud."