Araminta's brows rose. "I see. And she turned to you?"
"She said she knew there was probably no point asking me to rescue him and I told her she was right." Simon slammed his palm flat against the desk and eyed the gaping jaws of a jewel-encrusted dragon that sat on the corner of the bookcase. "I will not do it, Araminta. I have waited too long for this moment. Rescuing her brother from that stupid duel and letting Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington off the hook was one thing. Saving Broderick Faringdon is another. Emily knew that from the beginning."
"Yes, but Emily is much given to romantical notions and happy endings. And up until now you have generally indulged her."
"If she had false hopes, that is her problem. She has no excuse for them."
"You are quite right, of course. She has no excuse for them at all, except that she thinks you incredibly heroic and the most marvelous husband on the face of the earth."
Simon narrowed his eyes. "You find that amusing?"
"Naive is what I find it," Araminta said bluntly. "But I expect you will eventually destroy her illusions. Emily is too intelligent to remain naive forever."
Simon squelched the surge of anger that went through him. "Do not taunt me, Aunt. This is none of your affair."
"Perhaps not." Araminta considered that briefly and shrugged. "Is Emily angry with you?"
Simon got to his feet and went over to the tea table. He picked up the gold-and-green-enameled teapot and poured two cups of Lap Seng. "To be perfectly frank, I cannot tell what Emily is feeling today. She is in an odd mood."
"How so?"
Simon handed a cup and saucer to Araminta and then stood sipping the delicate brew. "Distracted. Harried. Running around as if she had far more weighty matters on her mind than the fact that her father is about to be ruined. But she does not seem angry."
"Well, I expect you will know soon enough if she is furious with you."
"In what way will I discover such fascinating information?" Simon muttered.
"By her response in bed, naturally." Araminta smiled knowingly over the rim of her teacup. "Has she begun withholding her favors?"
Simon was startled to feel himself turning a dull red. "Damn it, Araminta, I do not intend to discuss my private life with you."
"Of course not."
He shot her a scathing glance. "Emily would not know how to use sex to get what she wants or to punish me."
"You are probably right." Araminta shook her head. "Your countess really is much too naive to use such standard feminine ploys."
"Will you kindly stop saying that?" Simon said furiously. "The fact that Emily does not have the usual bag of female tricks does not make her naive, damn it."
"How about the fact that she thinks you are a paragon among husbands? Does that make her naive?"
"Bloody damn hell." Simon started to say more but at that moment the library door opened once more and Emily blew into the room.
"Excuse me, my lord. Araminta, thank heaven you are here," Emily gasped. "I have just had word that the musicians would like a list of pieces I would prefer to have played at the soiree. I am attempting to make up my mind. Have you any suggestions?"
"Stick with Mozart, my dear," Araminta said as she put down her teacup and rose to her feet. "One can never go wrong with Mozart. Such a sophisticated composer."
"Yes, yes, you are quite right," Emily agreed instantly. "I definitely want the musical pieces to sound sophisticated. After all, everyone knows Blade is a man of the world. They will expect music that lives up to his standards."
"We certainly would not want his image to suffer, would we?" Araminta smiled serenely at Simon as she followed Emily from the room.
Simon stood alone in the empty library and wondered again why he did not feel the heady rush of triumph and satisfaction he ought to have been experiencing today.
Dealing with a blackmailer and planning a soiree simultaneously was really asking too much of a woman, Emily decided grimly the following day as she reluctantly left for Lady Turnbull's literary salon.
As the carriage jounced and swayed through the streets she frantically wracked her brain one last time for an alternative to her plan for dealing with Crofton. But she knew in her heart of hearts there was only one certain way to deal with a blackmailer, only one certain way to protect Blade. The moment Emily was ushered into the crowded drawing room and met Crofton's vicious, mocking eyes, Emily made up her mind once and for all. If she could not convince Crofton to give up his scheme, she would have to take drastic steps. She would find a way to frighten him off so that he would never return.
Emily swallowed hard and met Crofton's gaze as calmly as possible. He waited until the conversation had begun to grow animated before taking her aside. They went to stand by the window. No one was paying any attention.
"Well, Lady Blade? Have you made your plans?" Crofton sipped his claret and eyed her from beneath drooping lids. His cruel mouth was faintly curved with expectation.
"Be in the alley on the other side of Blade's garden wall at midnight tomorrow night, Mr. Crofton. I shall bring the dragon to you."
"The alley is a bit close and the streets will be crowded with your guests' carriages," Crofton murmured.
Emily tilted her chin. "The fact that the house and surrounding streets will be crowded should work to your advantage. No one will notice one more man moving about. I have made the arrangements, Mr. Crofton, and I intend to stick by them. I want this business over and done."
Crofton shrugged. "Very well, madam. The alley it is, then. It is no great matter where we meet. I shall be watching from a safe point. If you attempt to bring anyone with you—one of your brothers, say—I will not appear. And the next time my demands will be considerably higher"
"I shall be alone. But I want your oath that this will be the end of the matter. I never want to see you again Mr. Crofton. Is that quite clear?"
"Of course. One of Blade's dragons should be more than enough to cover the unpaid portion of your father's debts. I shall disappear from your life, my dear."
Emily looked straight into his terrible gaze and knew he lied. Crofton intended to come back again and again. He intended to bleed her dry and always the threat to Simon would be over her head. Blade would never be safe.
"Until later, madam." Crofton inclined his head with taunting gallantry and went back across the room to join Ashbrook and a handful of other guests.
Emily stood near the window a minute or two, taking deep breaths to collect herself. Then, chin high with determination, she crossed the room to join one of the small groups exchanging gossip about Byron.
Shortly after eleven that night Simon was still raging at himself for his inexplicable weakness even as he tracked Broderick Faringdon down in one of the gaming hells off St. James. He could not believe the decision he had made, could not credit what he was about to do.
When the notion had first occurred to him that afternoon, he had told himself Emily had somehow worked on his brain, softening it with her silly illusions and naive faith in his nonexistent heroic characteristics.
He had argued with himself for the past several hours, questioning his sanity as well as his intelligence. He had everything he wanted within his grasp. Faringdon was about to destroy himself. This was no time to weaken.
But weaken he had.
Simon located Broderick at a table in the corner of the crowded, noisy room. He was alone, having apparently just finished a bottle of claret and a hand of cards. The irrepressible Faringdon grin flared to life when he looked up and saw his nemesis standing in front of him.