"Are you threatening to call me out, Blade?"
"Only if it becomes absolutely necessary. I prefer more subtle methods of persuasion. In your case, I believe my first move would be to call upon your publisher, Whittenstall, and convince him that you lack talent, after all."
Ashbrook's mouth dropped open. "You would pay him not to publish me?"
"I would see to it that no reputable bookseller or publisher in town would find it worth his while to publish you. Do I make myself clear, sir?"
Ashbrook closed his mouth and leaned back in his chair. His initial expression of shock was fading to a look of reluctant admiration. "You are quite incredible, Blade. I have heard rumors of how you go about getting what you want, but I confess I had not entirely credited them. I am impressed."
"It is not necessary that you be impressed. It is only important that you do not attempt to tease my wife by dangling the lure of getting her poem published in front of her."
"You do not think her work good enough to be published?" Ashbrook asked shrewdly.
"I have come to the conclusion that my wife's considerable array of talents lie outside the world of literature. I do not mind if she amuses herself by dabbling in poetry and the like. But I will not allow you or anyone else to use her interest in literary matters as a means of engaging her attentions."
"You think she can be lured away from your side so easily?" Ashbrook's mouth curved into a mocking smile.
Simon finished the port. "My wife is incapable of infidelity. It is simply not in her nature. But she can be hurt by promises made by people who have no intention of carrying them out. She tends to believe the best of people."
"You do not think I mean to give The Mysterious Lady a fair reading?"
"No," Simon said as he got to his feet. "I do not believe it for a moment. I shall expect to see the manuscript returned tomorrow morning."
"Damn it, Blade, hold on. How do you expect me to explain this to Emily?"
"Tell her you did not think you could give an impartial judgment," Simon suggested. "It is nothing less than the truth, after all. How can a man make an honest assessment of someone else's manuscript when he knows that his own writing career is hanging in the balance?"
"Bastard." But Ashbrook sounded more resigned than defiant. "You had best take care, Blade. You have cultivated a variety of enemies. One of these fine days one of them might decide to try his luck in getting past that lot of villains and bodyguards you fondly call a house staff."
Simon smiled. "Not likely. You see, Ashbrook, I do not have as many enemies as you seem to think. That is because, on the whole, I grant more favors than threats. I can be useful, on occasion. You are welcome to keep that in mind."
Ashbrook nodded, his gaze speculative. "I see now how you operate. You are indeed as clever and mysterious as they say, Blade. Useful favors granted in exchange for cooperation, certain retribution if you are crossed. It is an interesting technique."
Simon shrugged and walked away without bothering to respond. He had completed his business for the evening. It was time to find Emily. She was due to put in an appearance at the Linton's ball, he recalled. He looked forward to another waltz with his wife.
Twenty minutes later he alighted from the carriage and walked up the steps of the large mansion. Footmen in blue livery scurried about, taking his hat and ushering him into the hall and upstairs to the ballroom.
The strains of a country dance could be heard above the din of laughter and conversation. Simon came to a halt in the doorway and glanced around, searching the crowded ballroom for signs of Emily. Lately it was not hard to locate her. One simply looked for a large knot of people gathered around a redheaded elf.
The knot would consist of a variety of Emily's new friends and admirers. Among the males there would be several aging gentlemen who wanted to talk about shares and investments, a group of aspiring poets with tousled locks and smoldering eyes who wanted to discuss romantic poetry, and a cluster of young dandies anxious to be seen conversing with a genuine original.
And there would be just as many females in the flock surrounding Emily, Simon knew as he spotted his quarry and started through the crowd. There would be ladies who were as enthralled by the latest romantic literature as Emily was and a variety of women such as Lady Northcote and her daughter Celeste who found Emily a charming friend.
The group would also include a number of women whose astute husbands had encouraged them to cultivate the friendship of the new Countess of Blade. There would be girls not long out of the schoolroom whose mamas had comprehended that an association with the new countess meant their daughters would be brought into contact with a variety of eligible males. And last, but not least, there would be a selection of bluestockings who considered Emily intelligent and delightfully eccentric.
Simon had just reached the outskirts of the throng that surrounded Emily when she sensed his presence. A murmur swept through Emily's crowd of admirers as they stepped aside to let her husband pass.
"Blade." Emily raised her quizzing glass for a quick look and then let it drop. She smiled widely in welcome, her eyes lighting up with pleasure. "I was hoping you would find time to drop by."
"I have come to beg a dance with you, my dear," Simon said as he inclined his head over her hand. "Do you by any chance have one to spare for me?"
"Do not be silly. Of course I do." She threw an apologetic glance toward a young man whose blond hair had been laboriously styled with a crimping iron. "You will not mind if we postpone our dance, will you, Armistead?"
"Not at all, Lady Blade," Armistead said, giving Simon a respectful glance.
Emily turned a laughing, eager countenance toward her husband. "There, you see, Blade? I am quite free to dance with you."
"Thank you, my dear." Simon experienced a surge of possessive satisfaction as he led Emily out onto the floor. When Emily stepped into his arms, her eyes shining, he was coolly aware that everyone in the room knew what he knew.
Emily was his.
The ton would also know that he would protect what was his.
Two days later Simon arrived home in the middle of the afternoon and was astonished to be told by his butler that his wife was entertaining three ladies in the drawing room.
"Lady Merryweather, Lady Canonbury, and Mrs. Peppington," Greaves said without any trace of expression.
"Bloody hell," Simon muttered as he stalked toward the drawing room door. "What the devil is she up to now?"
"Madam has ordered the best Lap Seng tea to be served," Greaves added in a low voice as he opened the door for his master. "Smoke was asked to prepare an assortment of sweet cakes. He is still complaining."
Simon threw his butler a scowling glance and stepped into the library. He halted at once as he took in the sight of his wife conversing easily with the wives of his two old enemies. Emily looked up and smiled at him.
"Oh, hello, Blade. Will you join us? I was just about to ring for more tea. You know Lady Canonbury and Mrs. Peppington, I believe?"
"We have met." Simon acknowledged both women with a chilling civility. They, in turn, appeared flustered and uneasy.
"Actually, I am afraid we really must be going," Lady Canonbury said, rising majestically from the settee.
"Yes, I have several other commitments this afternoon," Mrs. Peppington said quickly.
"I understand." Emily shot her husband a glowering glance as the two women hurried out into the hall.