I owe the honor of this rushed visit?"
"Ask Blade. I expect he knows the answer to that." Broderick Faringdon glowered at Simon, who was calmly finishing his tea. "What the devil do you think you're about, sir?"
Simon's brows rose slightly. "I should think that was obvious, Faringdon. I was invited to tea and I am enjoying a very fine cup of Lap Seng."
"Don't try to fob me off with that tea nonsense. You're up to something, Blade."
Simon smiled his coldest smile and put down his empty cup. Something that might have been satisfaction or triumph blazed in his eyes. "In that case, I will call on you tomorrow at three to discuss it."
"The hell you will," Faringdon snarled.
Emily was startled by the ugly red flush in her father's face. Devlin and Charles were staring at her as if she had brought disgrace and ruin to herself a second time.
"Yes. I most certainly will." Simon rose to his feet with lethal grace, taller than even the tall Faringdon men. "Until tomorrow, Faringdon." He walked over to Emily, took her hand, and kissed it. His eyes gleamed at her. "Thank you for tea, Miss Faringdon. I enjoyed myself very much. But, then, I always do in your presence."
"Goodbye, my lord. Thank you for attending our salon this afternoon." Emily suddenly wanted to grab the tails of his beautifully cut blue coat and hold him fast there in the drawing room. She did not want to face her father and brothers alone. But there was nothing she could do.
A moment later Simon had collected his curly-brimmed beaver hat and York tan gloves from Duckett and sauntered out the front door to where the Gillinghams' curricle waited. There was a clatter of hooves and wheels and he was gone.
Emily clasped her hands in front of her and glared at her father and brothers. "I hope you are all satisfied. You have quite ruined my tea. We were having a wonderful time until you burst in here without so much as a by-your-leave."
"I told you, this is my home, girl. Don't need to ask permission to walk into my own drawing room. Devil take it, Emily, what's going on here?" Broderick Faringdon faced his daughter, his hands on his hips. "I had a letter from Prendergast telling me you were being courted by the Earl of Blade, for God's sake."
"I am. I should think you would be pleased and proud, Papa."
"Proud?" Devlin poured himself a glass of claret from a bottle that had been set out for Simon. He shot a pitying look at his sister. "Have you lost your wits, Em? You know what will happen when Blade finds out about the Incident. What made you lead him on in the first place? You know how it's going to end."
Charles shook his head. "How could you let things come to such a pass, Em? Bound to be an embarrassing scene now. All the old mud will be dredged up and you're going to feel like a prize fool."
"He already knows about the scandal," Emily shouted, her hands clenching into small fists. "He already knows and he does not care. Do you hear me? He does not care a fig about it."
There was an acute silence. And then, with a weary air, the senior Faringdon helped himself to a glass of claret.
"So that's his game," Broderick said quietly. "Knew he was hatching some vicious scheme. Man's bloody damn dangerous. Everyone in London knows it. I wish to God he'd stayed out there in the East Indies. Why in hell did he have to come back?"
"What scheme?" Emily demanded. "What are you talking about, Papa? The man is going to ask for my hand in marriage. He knows I am socially ruined but he loves me anyway."
"Emily, my dear. You are so bloody naive." Broderick threw himself down onto the sofa and gulped his claret. "Men like Blade do not marry women such as yourself. Why should they? With his title and the fortune he has made for himself in the East Indies, Blade can have his pick of the pretty little virgins that come up in the marriage mart every Season. Why should he take soiled goods?"
Emily flushed, fighting back the old humiliation. "He does not seem to care about such
"Ask Blade. I expect he knows the answer to that." Broderick Faringdon glowered at Simon, who was calmly finishing his tea. "What the devil do you think you're about, sir?"
Simon's brows rose slightly. "I should think that was obvious, Faringdon. I was invited to tea and I am enjoying a very fine cup of Lap Seng."
"Don't try to fob me off with that tea nonsense. You're up to something, Blade."
Simon smiled his coldest smile and put down his empty cup. Something that might have been satisfaction or triumph blazed in his eyes. "In that case, I will call on you tomorrow at three to discuss it."
"The hell you will," Faringdon snarled.
Emily was startled by the ugly red flush in her father's face. Devlin and Charles were staring at her as if she had brought disgrace and ruin to herself a second time.
"Yes. I most certainly will." Simon rose to his feet with lethal grace, taller than even the tall Faringdon men. "Until tomorrow, Faringdon." He walked over to Emily, took her hand, and kissed it. His eyes gleamed at her. "Thank you for tea, Miss Faringdon. I enjoyed myself very much. But, then, I always do in your presence."
"Goodbye, my lord. Thank you for attending our salon this afternoon." Emily suddenly wanted to grab the tails of his beautifully cut blue coat and hold him fast there in the drawing room. She did not want to face her father and brothers alone. But there was nothing she could do.
A moment later Simon had collected his curly-brimmed beaver hat and York tan gloves from Duckett and sauntered out the front door to where the Gillinghams' curricle waited. There was a clatter of hooves and wheels and he was gone.
Emily clasped her hands in front of her and glared at her father and brothers. "I hope you are all satisfied. You have quite ruined my tea. We were having a wonderful time until you burst in here without so much as a by-your-leave."
"I told you, this is my home, girl. Don't need to ask permission to walk into my own drawing room. Devil take it, Emily, what's going on here?" Broderick Faringdon faced his daughter, his hands on his hips. "I had a letter from Prendergast telling me you were being courted by the Earl of Blade, for God's sake."
"I am. I should think you would be pleased and proud, Papa."
"Proud?" Devlin poured himself a glass of claret from a bottle that had been set out for Simon. He shot a pitying look at his sister. "Have you lost your wits, Em? You know what will happen when Blade finds out about the Incident. What made you lead him on in the first place? You know how it's going to end."
Charles shook his head. "How could you let things come to such a pass, Em? Bound to be an embarrassing scene now. All the old mud will be dredged up and you're going to feel like a prize fool."
"He already knows about the scandal," Emily shouted, her hands clenching into small fists. "He already knows and he does not care. Do you hear me? He does not care a fig about it."
There was an acute silence. And then, with a weary air, the senior Faringdon helped himself to a glass of claret.
"So that's his game," Broderick said quietly. "Knew he was hatching some vicious scheme. Man's bloody damn dangerous. Everyone in London knows it. I wish to God he'd stayed out there in the East Indies. Why in hell did he have to come back?"
"What scheme?" Emily demanded. "What are you talking about, Papa? The man is going to ask for my hand in marriage. He knows I am socially ruined but he loves me anyway."
"Emily, my dear. You are so bloody naive." Broderick threw himself down onto the sofa and gulped his claret. "Men like Blade do not marry women such as yourself. Why should they? With his title and the fortune he has made for himself in the East Indies, Blade can have his pick of the pretty little virgins that come up in the marriage mart every Season. Why should he take soiled goods?"
Emily flushed, fighting back the old humiliation. "He does not seem to care about such
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