Scandal

Chapter 12

"I adore your house, Simon," Emily declared as she waltzed alone around the red, gold, green, and black library. As she whirled past each of the jeweled dragons, she reached out to affectionately pat the savage heads. The dark green skirts of her gown floated around her slippered feet.

The ball had ended an hour ago and it had taken almost that long to collect their carriage and get home through the crowded streets but Emily could not seem to stop dancing. She felt giddy and effervescent and transcendently alive. She hummed the strains of the waltz she had danced earlier with Simon. "And I especially adore this room," she continued with a definite little nod. "It is quite perfect, exactly how I had imagined it would be. Exotic and luscious and full of strange and mysterious objects." She patted a black and gold dragon as she waltzed past the fireplace.

"I am not surprised. I had a feeling you would like it." Simon poured two glasses of brandy and held one out to her.

"That only shows how well attuned we are." She took the glass from his hand as she danced past. "You see, Simon? I keep telling you that we communicate—"

"On a higher plane," he finished for her. "Yes, my dear. I have heard you comment on that fact often enough." He raised his glass in a small salute. "To you, madam wife. You were a great success tonight."

"Thanks to Lady Merryweather." Emily giggled and waltzed away toward the far end of the room. "And Lady Northcote. She was so kind. She and Celeste introduced me to absolutely everyone and I danced nearly every dance, Simon. Two of them waltzes."

"Araminta told me the first one was with Ashbrook."

Emily shot him a quick, sidelong glance as she flitted past one of the huge satin pillows. She wondered if Simon knew that it was Ashbrook she had run away with five years ago. And if he did know, would he be jealous? she asked herself. Not bloody likely. Simon was much too self-controlled and sure of himself to be jealous. Besides, he knew he had her heart.

"Yes. Ashbrook invited me out on the floor for the first waltz. Simon, I think I should tell you something about him."

"What would that be?" Simon watched her intently over the rim of his glass.

Emily came to a halt in front of a delicate Chinese painting featuring plump horses and strangely clad warriors. She studied it closely through her spectacles. "Richard was the man I thought I loved five years ago—the one I ran off with."

"But you did not run off with anyone five years ago," Simon stated quietly. "I thought I explained to you that for all intents and purposes, there is no Unfortunate Incident in your past."

Emily swung around in surprise. "But, Simon… Oh, I see," she said, suddenly understanding and appreciating what he was doing. "This is part of your scheme to introduce me successfully to Society, is it not? We shall deal boldly with the problem of the scandal. We shall simply deny it ever happened."

"Precisely."

"A brilliant approach." She scowled thoughtfully. "But what if Richard says something about it?"

"I do not think he will do that."

Emily nodded, considering the matter. "You are probably right. I imagine it would be embarrassing for him."

Simon's mouth kicked up wryly at the corner and his golden eyes gleamed. "Somewhat more than a little embarrassing, I think. Rather dangerous, in fact."

"Yes, he has his own reputation to consider."

"Among other things."

Emily nodded again and resumed waltzing. She slid Simon another speculative glance. "I do not suppose you are jealous of Lord Ashbrook, by any chance, are you?"

"Because of the nonexistent Unfortunate Incident or because he waltzed with you tonight?"

"Either one," Emily said eagerly. Her heart leapt at the possibility.

"Should I be jealous?" Simon's voice was utterly emotionless.

"No, not for a single second," Emily assured him grandly. "I made a very foolish mistake five years ago. The truth is, I realized almost immediately after we left Little Dippington that I did not really want to marry Richard. It was all very exciting dashing off to the border like that and Richard kept quoting the most beautiful poetry. But I was soon obliged to face the fact that I did not love him. I could not possibly have married him."

"And the waltz tonight? Did you discover any new feelings toward him when he took you in his arms?"

"No." Emily tilted her head, thinking about her reactions. "No, not at all. It was rather like meeting an old acquaintance whom one has not seen for some time."

She decided then and there that she did not want to tell Simon about Ashbrook's generous offer to take a look at her manuscript. Not yet, at any rate. After all, nothing was certain. Ashbrook might declare The Mysterious Lady completely unpublishable. It would be humiliating enough just having Ashbrook know it was unsuitable. "I see. Like meeting an old acquaintance."

"Yes. Precisely." Emily hummed a few more measures of the waltz. "Do you know, Simon, it is very strange, but I do not seem to be able to calm myself tonight. I am still very excited."

"You should be exhausted." Simon leaned back against his black lacquered desk. He had already taken off his jacket and unknotted his cravat. The length of white silk hung loose around his throat.

"I know, but I am not the least bit tired." Emily took a sip of brandy. Her gaze fell on the nearest of the large, tasseled pillows. "Simon, tell me, did you get these pillows from some Turkish harem?"

"No. I had them made up here in London, as it happens." He sipped his brandy. "Do you fancy them?"

"They are marvelous." Emily put down her glass and threw herself full length onto the nearest gold satin pillow. She lounged back in what she thought was the sort of languid, sensuous position that a harem lady might adopt. "How do I look? Could I pass for a sultry Eastern courtesan?"

Simon's eyes moved slowly from the tip of her dragon-embroidered emerald satin slipper to the cascade of red curls at the top of her head. "Perhaps," he finally allowed.

"You look unconvinced. Maybe the spectacles mar the effect." She took them off and set them on the nearest lacquered table. Then she leaned back on the pillow again and essayed a killing glance from beneath her lashes. Simon was a large, dark blur across the room. "Is that any better?"

"A bit more authentic-looking, I believe."

Emily stretched out on her side. The skirts of her gown edged up the length of her leg, revealing her stockings. She pursed her lips and tried for a harem lady's pout. "There. How is that?"

"Emily, are you by any chance flirting with me?" Simon asked softly.

"Well, as to that…" It helped not to be able to see his expression clearly. Emily felt the warmth rising in her cheeks as she considered the question carefully. "Yes, I believe I am." She held her breath, waiting for his response.

"You are in a rather strange mood tonight, are you not?"

"I am happy, Simon," she said, waving one hand to encompass the whole world. "I feel as if I am floating. I have had the most exciting, most wonderful evening of my whole life."

"And now you want to conclude it by having me make love to you?"

Emily sighed and flopped onto her back, her arms stretched high above her head. She contemplated the blurry ceiling. "I told you, Simon, I am a creature of excessive passions. Perhaps my sensibilities have been overstimulated by all the excitement tonight."

"A possibility."

"Simon?"

"Yes, Emily?"

She drew a deep breath. "You told me that the last time we made love I did not quite get the hang of it."

"I told you that you needed practice, as I recall," he murmured.

She rolled back onto her side and propped herself on her elbow. "Yes. Practice. I believe I should like very much to practice tonight."

There was a faint pause. Then Simon's voice came, low, dark, and silky with sensual menace. "I also told you something else, Emily."

Emily sat up on the pillow, drawing her knees up under her chin so that her skirts foamed around her toes. She groped for the brandy glass. When she found it she took a large swallow and put the glass carefully back down on the table. Then she wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees.

"You told me I would have to beg you to make love to me," Emily finally said, hugging her knees very tightly.

"I will settle for being asked very nicely. The point is, my dear, I do not wish there to be any accusations in the morning. You are not going to be able to say I tricked you."

"I will not say that, Simon." She waited in an agony of anticipation mixed with uncertainty. "Simon?"

"Yes, Emily?"

"Will you please make love to me?"

A strange stillness settled on the dark, exotic room.

There was a faint clink and Emily knew Simon had just set his brandy glass down on the desk. She watched him come toward her. She was unable to see his expression without her spectacles but her whole body was tingling with awareness. She could sense the heavy, enveloping aura of his masculinity and knew that could only be because they really did communicate on a higher plane.

Simon halted at the edge of the huge satin pillow, the most powerful dragon in a room full of the creatures. Without a word he lowered himself down beside Emily and took her into his arms.

Slowly, deliberately, he pushed her back down onto the gold brocade. Leaning over her, he looked down into her face. He was so close now that Emily could see the molten gold in his eyes.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Simon stroked the delicate line of her jaw with his thumb.

"Yes," she whispered, almost unable to get the single word out because of the tightness in her throat. The odd breathless feeling was sweeping through her again, as it always did when Simon took her in his arms. "Please, Simon."

"Very well, Emily." He bent his head and dropped a heated kiss on the top of her breast, which was exposed by the low neckline of her ball gown. "Just remember in the morning that this was all your idea."

"Yes, Simon." She wrapped her arms slowly around his neck. Then she smiled tremulously. "It was not nearly so bad as you probably thought it would be, you know."

"What was not so bad?" He slid the puffy little sleeve of the gown slowly down over her shoulder.

"Begging you to make love to me." Her smile turned into an exuberant little laugh. "It was not so bad at all."

"I am glad." Simon eased the bodice of the gown lower and one apple-shaped breast was freed. He circled the nipple with his forefinger. "Perhaps you will ask me again sometime."

"I expect I will," Emily said complacently. "If it turns out to be as transcendent an experience as you have promised."

Simon gave a husky laugh that turned into a groan. "I can see that I shall have to do it properly this time."

Emily shivered as she felt his finger trace another circle around the tip of her breast. She stirred restlessly, her legs sliding over the brocaded satin. Simon's mouth came down over hers and at the same time he pinned her thighs with one of his own.

Emily parted her lips and Simon's tongue slipped into the warmth of her mouth. She could taste the brandy he had been drinking. At the same time the scent of him filled her head. She tightened her arms around his neck and instinctively tried to arch her hips against his.

"No," Simon whispered, breaking the contact with her mouth. "This time we will do things very slowly." He unfastened the bodice of the gown and pushed the gossamer fabric to her waist.

Emily had her eyes closed now but she could feel the heat of his gaze on her breasts. It burned her, branded her, heated her blood. The big pillow on which she reclined was like a great, fluffy, golden cloud. She was sinking deeper and deeper into it as Simon let more of his weight come down on her.

"You have beautiful skin, Emily. Soft and delicate and made to be touched." Simon trailed a string of small, damp kisses down her throat and over her breast. His teeth closed gently over her nipple and his hand slipped beneath the lowered bodice of the gown.

Emily sucked in her breath. She twisted beneath his hand, already aching for a more intimate touch. "Simon?"

"No, not yet. I told you, this time I am not going to rush things. This time I will stay in control of myself and you will go wild, elf."

He tugged the emerald ballgown and the thin petticoat she wore under it off over her head. Then he reached down and deftly untied her garters. His hand slid intimately along the curves of her legs as he slipped the stockings off.

Emily turned her flaming face into his pleated white shirt, clutching at him. Simon laughed softly and cupped her buttocks, squeezing gently.

Emily was aware of the feel of the gold satin under her back and hips. It was a wonderfully pagan sensation. "Do I look like a harem lady now?"

Simon smiled slowly and combed his fingers through the triangle of red hair at the top of her thighs. "A very rare and unusual harem lady," he agreed. "You would bring a very high price, indeed, if you were to go on the auction block."

She looked up at him through her lashes, feeling deliciously wanton. "Would you sell me?"

"Never," he vowed, voice darkening abruptly. His fingers tightened possessively in the red curls. Then he drew back slightly.

Emily's eyes flew open as he pulled away. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all, my sweet. I am just going to get a bit more comfortable." Simon tugged off his shirt and the dangling cravat. Then his hands went to the fastening of his breeches. In a moment he was gloriously naked. The firelight gleamed on the muscular contours of his shoulders and thighs, revealing his full arousal.

"Pashas generally take their clothes off when they make love to one of the members of their harem," Simon said as he came back down beside Emily.

Emily giggled as she felt herself being pushed back down onto the pillow. "I must warn you, my lord, I will not tolerate any other residents in this particular harem. Only myself."

"So I am to have a harem of one?"

"I fear that is the case. I do not intend to share you with any other female." She smiled wickedly. "Nor do I think you will need any other."

"You intend to keep me quite busy, then?" He slid his palm warmly along her thigh and looked down at her with a gaze that brought a flush to her throat and breasts.

"Very busy," Emily promised huskily. She curled her fingers in the hair on his chest, loving the crisp texture as well as the sense of strength in the powerful muscles beneath his skin. "Simon, you are so beautiful," she said in wonder.

"No, elf, you are the beautiful one. Your breasts are perfectly suited to my hand." He cupped one briefly, grazing his thumb over the nipple until she shuddered. "Your mouth fits mine perfectly." He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, druggingly until she wriggled in his grasp. "And the insides of your thighs are softer and warmer than anything I have ever known." He eased his hand between her legs.

Emily gasped as she felt Simon's fingertips touch her with scalding intimacy. She clutched at his strong shoulders and strained against him. A deep, aching sense of need was blossoming swiftly within her. Her whole body began to yearn for the explosive release she had once before experienced at Simon's hands.

"Not yet," Simon muttered. He caught hold of her fluttering hands, stretched her arms out over her head, and pinned her wrists. Then he leaned over her and kissed her eyelids. "I vow this time you will not drive me mad. This time I will be the one in control and you will learn to enjoy this business of making love."

"I do enjoy it, Simon. Honestly, I do." Emily lifted her hips, seeking his warmth. She was truly aching for him now.

"It will get even better," he promised. Still holding her wrists above her head, he reached down and spread her thighs widely apart, settling himself between her legs.

Emily tightened her legs instinctively and struggled to free her hands so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and hold him close.

Simon looked down at her and smiled slowly. "I am going to release your wrists now, but you must not move."

"Do not be silly. I cannot stay still," Emily said, panting.

"Then I shall give you something to aid you." Simon scooped up his cravat from where it lay on the carpet. He looped the large length of white silk around the clawed foot of the heavy settee which was just behind Emily's head. Then he placed the ends of the cravat in Emily's outstretched fingers.

"You must hold on very tightly," Simon told her as her fingers clenched instinctively in the silk.

Bewildered, but anxious to get on with things, Emily obediently grasped a section of the starched, white silk in each hand. "Now what?" she demanded impatiently.

"Now you must tug very hard on my cravat whenever the urge to move becomes overwhelming. Do not concern yourself. You will not pull the settee over. It is very heavy and the cravat is made of very strong silk."

Arms stretched above her head, Emily glared up at her husband. "Bloody hell, Simon, I do not want to play with your cravat."

"Do as you are told," he instructed with a deep chuckle. "You are a harem lady, remember? Harem ladies always do what they are told."

"But, Simon… Oh." Emily moaned and her fingers tightened obediently around the strip of silk as she felt Simon's tongue in the very center of her soft, curved stomach.

"Remember, just pull very hard on the cravat when you cannot stand it any longer." Simon eased himself lower, his hands closing firmly around Emily's hips. He held her still as he kissed the inside of her thigh.

"Simon." Emily froze with shock.

"That's better. You are not moving at all now. You are stretched as taut as a bowstring. Beautifully arched and straining for my touch." His hand moved down the length of her and she shuddered. His mouth was on the inside of her thigh now.

"Simon."

"Tug harder on my cravat," he ordered softly. Then he kissed her again, even more intimately. "Harder, Emily."

The riot of sensation that threatened to swamp Emily was startling and confusing. She felt as though she were sinking below the surface of a warm sea. She could hardly even breath now, let alone try to think. She obeyed Simon's murmured commands blindly.

Emily seized the white silk in a fierce grip and tugged at it with all her might. The twisting, tightening feeling in her lower body grew more intense.

"Pull harder, Emily. You must use all your strength now. Tug just as hard as you can." Simon's finger slid into her moist passage and he sucked gently on the small, erect nub of exquisitely sensitive feminine flesh.

"Bloody hell." Emily was in the center of a sensual storm. She responded to Simon's softly murmured orders, hauling violently on the handfuls of silk. The harder she pulled, the more she felt as if she were going to burst into flames at any second.

"Just a little harder, Emily. Pull just a little more. You are very wet now, very tight. Very ready. You are almost there. Just a little harder on the cravat, I think. Yes, that's it."

Emily gasped as she felt Simon's hard shaft probing at the entrance of her body. Clinging tightly to the ends of the cravat, she looked up through her lashes and saw him looming over her.

"Simon."

"Don't let go of the silk, Emily." He pushed into her very slowly. "You are very tight, elf. But this time there is no pain, is there?"

"No. No, oh, Simon, I do not think I can stand this," she gasped. Her fingers were crushing the white silk.

"No?" He started to ease himself back out of her.

"Simon, do not leave me." She was panicked at the thought that he was going to pull away just as she was hovering on the brink of this wondrous, transcendent experience.

"I have no intention of leaving you, elf. And you will never leave me, will you?" Simon eased himself slowly back into her.

"No, never. I would never leave you, Simon. Oh. Bloody hell"

"Tighter on the cravat, Emily. Just a little bit tighter."

He was deep inside, stretching her, becoming a part of her. Emily could not stand it anymore. Her whole body convulsed.

"Simon."

There was a distant ripping sound as the silk cravat tore in half. Emily's arms were suddenly free. She flung them around Simon, clinging to him as the incredible shivers of release raced through her from head to toe.

She heard Simon's hoarse, exultant shout of satisfaction and felt him pumping himself violently into her. Mindlessly Emily clutched at him as the waves of passion took them both under the surface of the warm sea.

A long while later, Emily felt Simon stir in her arms. She opened her eyes lazily, feeling much too languid to move.

"It would appear I am in the market for a new cravat," Simon observed as he rolled onto his side. He grinned as he picked up the severed strips of white silk that had once been an extremely stylish item of neckwear. He dangled the ends over Emily's nose. "You do not know your own strength, madam."

"Apparently not." She laughed and blew on one of the bits of white silk. It fluttered in the air. "Was it one of your favorite cravats, by any chance?"

"Definitely. I am quite shattered at the loss."

Emily giggled. She stretched, sat up, and folded her arms on his chest. She rested her chin on her arms. "I shall try to compensate you for it."

"It will take a great deal of effort on your part." Simon's teeth gleamed in a wicked smile.

"Do you know something, Simon? I think you would have made a very good pasha. There is something quite barbaric about you at times."

"I'm not at all barbaric." Simon wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her close for a kiss. "In fact, in some ways, I am quite civilized. Even a bit dull."

"Never."

"You think not? Well, let me tell you this, my passionate wife. Just once, I would dearly like to make love to you in a bed rather than on the floor of the library. How is that for being staid and dull?"

"A bed?" Emily frowned. "How very normal and unimaginative that sounds. I stand corrected. You may be a bit dull, after all, my lord. What a surprise. You certainly had me fooled."

"Vixen." He pushed her back down into the depths of the gold satin and kissed her soundly.

The kiss was intended as playful punishment, but it was quickly transformed into something much more potent. Emily gave herself up to it with joyous abandon before Simon finally broke it off to gaze down at her with eyes that were no longer amused. Instead, they were strangely watchful.

"Well, Emily? Was that more what you expected from lovemaking?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, yes, Simon. I truly felt cast adrift upon love's transcendent, golden shore that time." She smiled shyly, knowing her heart was probably reflected in her eyes. "It was wonderful—truly a metaphysical experience. Extraordinarily stimulating to the sensibilities. I cannot wait to do it again."

Simon groaned and then fell back, laughing. "I ought to have known a woman of excessive passions such as yourself would be utterly insatiable." He sat up and got to his feet, reaching for his shirt. "Come, wife. We are going to go upstairs and behave like a civilized married couple for once."

"What an excellent idea, my lord." Emily reached for her spectacles and adjusted them on her nose. "Just think. You have an entire drawer full of cravats upstairs in your bedchamber."

"Very true." Simon looked at his wife, who was wearing nothing except her spectacles, and grinned again. "Madam, I promise you that you will be positively amazed at the versatility of a well-made cravat."

It was nearly dawn but Simon was far from sleep. Emily's slender, warm body was snuggled closely against him and he could smell the scent of her mingled with the odors of their recent lovemaking. A length of white silk still dangled from her fingers, which lay across his chest.

He had handled matters much better this time around, Simon decided. He had held to his vow to make Emily come to him. She had done so, surrendering very sweetly, with a womanly grace that had charmed him. Even more important, he had been in control right up until the moment he allowed himself to take his own satisfaction.

His relationship with his new bride was now much more as it should be, Simon concluded, trying to be coolheaded and objective about the situation. Emily had learned that he could give her pleasure when he made love to her and she had also learned that he was quite capable of an unshakable self-control.

She had been obliged to acknowledge that his was the stronger will in this union. He had bided his time and it had been worth it. By waiting until she succumbed to her own inevitable curiosity and budding sense of passion, he had made his point. He would be in charge from now on and Emily would know that.

It was necessary for a wife to respect her husband's strength of will. Especially when that wife was an ex-Faringdon.

"Simon?" Emily's voice was languid.

"I thought you were asleep, elf."

"I was. But I just remembered something I meant to tell you earlier. I had a conversation with Lady Northcote this evening." Emily yawned.

Simon was instantly alert. "Did you, indeed? And what did you discuss?"

"Well, I was thanking her for inviting me to her ball and she assured me she could have done nothing less because of my having saved Celeste from Nevil. She also seemed to think she owed me the kindness because of something that had happened in the past between Northcote's father and yours."

"Is that what she said?"

"It was all very vague, but I naturally assured her that she was not to worry about it any longer."

Simon went still. "What, precisely, did you tell her, Emily?"

"Just that whatever obligation might have existed in the past had been more than amply repaid by her kindness in launching me into Society. She has been so nice to me, Simon. I could not bear to have her think she owed me anything. And I certainly do not want her friendship based on a feeling of obligation."

"So you told her the debt had been paid in full?"

"Yes. Precisely. And she was very relieved, I must say."

"Bloody hell," Simon muttered. "I'll wager she was. And that is nothing compared to how Northcote no doubt feels."

"Well, I certainly hope so. Such a nice couple."

So much for being in charge of the situation.

Ah, well, Simon consoled himself. Northcote had been the least of the four. It was Northcote's father, after all, not the present marquess, who had ignored the letter Simon had written twenty-three years ago.

And Simon was obliged to admit that Lady Northcote had done a fine job of launching Emily. Perhaps the Northcote debt had, indeed, been paid in full.

"Emily," he said as sternly as possible, "in future you will not make promises or commitments on my behalf without consulting me first. Is that plain?"

"Perfectly, Simon. But I knew in this case you would not mind in the least. It was all obviously some sort of old misunderstanding."

"You are wrong there, elf. Northcote and I understand each other very well."