Scandal (26 page)

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."

Chapter 13

"Well, Blade?" the Marquess of Northcote asked quietly. "My wife tells me your wife feels that the old debt is repaid. Is that true?"

Simon slowly lowered his newspaper and regarded Northcote with a cool gaze. The familiar, subdued sounds of masculine conversation, rustling papers, and gently clinking bottles behind him indicated the club was busy this afternoon. But he and Northcote had this corner of the room to themselves.

"My wife enjoyed herself very much last night," Simon said without inflection. "Lady Merryweather assures me Emily is well launched in Society. Please convey my gratitude to your lady."

Northcote lowered himself into the chair beside Simon's and reached for the bottle of port that stood on the end table. He poured himself a glass. "I am not talking about our wives and you know it. I am asking if you now consider matters between us to have been evened out."

Simon shrugged. "It would appear so. A husband must honor his wife's promises and obligations and Emily appears to have taken it upon herself to let you off the hook." He went back to scanning the newspaper.

"Damn it, Blade, do not play any of your deep games with me. Just tell me straight out if you consider the old debt fulfilled."

"You have my word on it." Simon did not look up from his perusal of the latest dispatches from the Continent. But beside him he sensed Northcote relax.

"Thank you, Blade. You are known to be as hard as iron but your word is equally solid. My wife was in hysterics that night at the inn. She was convinced Celeste's future had been shattered by that damn fortune hunter."

"I assume you took care of the wretched Nevil?"

"He will not be returning to London at any time in the near future," Northcote confirmed, not without satisfaction.

"Then all is well." Simon turned the page.

There was silence from the other chair for a long moment as Northcote sipped his port. Then he said in a low voice, "You may not believe this, but I regret what happened all those years ago, Blade. I apologize for my father's behavior."

Simon lowered the paper and met Northcote's steady gaze. He let another beat of silence pass and then he nodded curtly, surprised by the apology. "Consider the matter settled."

Northcote stretched out his legs and studied his glass of port. "I was the last one, was I not? You eventually managed to trap all of us. Me, Canonbury, and Peppington. And of course, Faringdon. It was devilishly clever of you, Blade. I regret that my father did not live long enough to appreciate your brilliance."

"I share your regret," Simon said with mocking sincerity.

"It took you long enough to find a way of bringing pressure to bear on me. Finding my daughter that night at the inn was a stroke of luck for you."

"It was useful," Simon agreed, pouring himself a glass of port. "But sooner or later something would have turned up. It always does if one knows how to wait."

"And you are very good at waiting for an opportunity. I am well aware that I got off lightly. I am greatly relieved that all you wanted from me was my wife's social connections. If my father had still been alive, I imagine you would have demanded a much higher payment for what he did to you."

"Yes."

Northcote sighed. "If it is any consolation, he told me before he died two years ago to keep an eye on you. He said you would return one day and when you did, you would be dangerous. When are you going to make Canonbury and Peppington pay?"

"I prefer to keep them dangling for a while."

"Living with financial uncertainty is their true punishment, is it not?"

Simon sipped his port. "Revenge is best savored slowly, not gulped."

"Slow, steady torture." Northcote smiled grimly. "A very Eastern sort of vengeance, I believe. Again, I can only be grateful that your wife is impulsively generous."

"I shall keep a closer eye on her impulsive gestures in the future," Simon assured him dryly.

Northcote grinned. "Lady Blade has made a most delightful splash in the social world."

"So I am told."

"I must tell you, Blade, that both my wife and daughter are genuinely fond of your lady, in spite of the fact that she is married to you. How does she figure in your vengeance?"

"She is not involved," Simon said flatly.

"But she is a Faringdon," Northcote pointed out with a shrewd glance.

"Not any longer," Simon said.

"It has not escaped my notice that she belongs to you now and so does St. Clair Hall." Northcote hesitated. "My father, Canonbury, and Peppington all owed you because they turned their backs on your family after your father's death. But the Flighty, Feckless Faringdons owed you the most of all. It was a Faringdon who caused your father to take his own life. It was a Faringdon who took away your home and effectively destroyed your family. And in the end you will crush Broderick Faringdon and his clan, will you not?"

"It is a logical conclusion," Simon agreed in a neutral tone. "But my wife is no longer a member of that clan."

"Do you know, Blade, I am extremely grateful that my father's offense was a relatively minor one and that you consider the debt repaid," Northcote said with some humor. "I would not like to be a Faringdon at this moment."

Emily emerged from Asbury's Book Shop feeling extremely cheerful. Her maid Lizzie and the hatchet-faced footman named George were trailing behind her, their arms piled high with a collection of the latest romances and epic poetry which Emily had just finished selecting in the shop.

The little parade made its way to where the black and gold carriage waited near the curb. George was hurrying to open the door for his mistress when a familiar blond-haired Adonis jumped out of a nearby vehicle and rushed forward.

"Hello, Em. Fancy meeting you here."

"Devlin!" Emily smiled happily at her handsome brother. "How wonderful to see you. Where is Charles?"

Devlin cast an uneasy glance at the footman and maid and then took his sister's arm and led her a short distance away. He lowered his voice. "It is because of Charles that I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak to you, Em. Something terrible has happened."

"Dear God." Emily's eyes widened in sudden horror. It dawned on her that she had never seen Devlin looking so grim. "Is he hurt or ill? Dev, tell me, is he… is he dead?"

"Not yet," Devlin said roughly. "But he likely will be quite soon."

"He is ill, then. Good heavens, I must go to him at once. Quick, get into the carriage, Dev. Have you sent for a doctor? What are the symptoms?" She made to turn away but halted as her brother grabbed her arm again.

"Wait, Em. It ain't like that. That is, Charles ain't exactly ill." Devlin scowled at the waiting maid, footman, and coachman. All three scowled back. Devlin lowered his voice another couple of notches. "You may as well know the full truth, Em. He's going to fight a duel in two days' time."

Emily raised her gloved hand to her mouth. "Bloody hell."

"It don't look good, Em. Charles and I have had some experience at Manton's gallery, of course, but God knows neither one of us is a crack shot." Devlin shook his head. "I am acting as one of his seconds. We are looking for another."

"I do not believe this." Emily was shaken. "Who challenged him?"

"Well, it was Charles who did the challenging," Devlin admitted. "Had to, you know. Matter of honor."

"Dear God. But who did he challenge?" Emily demanded.

"An out-and-outer named Grayley. The man's said to have fought two other duels and won them both. Wounded his opponents seriously on each occasion but they both lived, so there was no scandal. The thing is, Em, there ain't no guarantee Grayley won't kill Charles. They say it's just luck that the other two survived. The man's a cold-blooded marksman."

"I do not believe this," Emily whispered.

Devlin looked down at her. "Look, Em, I know you ain't supposed to socialize with your family now that you're married to Blade. But you're our sister, damn it. And I figured you'd want to say goodbye to Charles."

Emily straightened her shoulders. "I intend to do a great deal more than say goodbye to him. I intend to put a stop to this foolishness. Take me to him at once, Dev." She swung around and headed for the carriage.

"Dash it, Em, there ain't no way to stop the thing." Devlin hurried after her. "Matter of honor, as I said."

"Nonsense. It is a matter of idiocy." Emily climbed into the carriage, followed by Lizzie and her brother. She was aware that her maid and the ferocious-looking George were both eying Devlin with disapproval but she ignored them.

"Give the coachman the direction to your lodgings, Devlin," she said firmly.

Devlin raised the trapdoor in the carriage roof and quickly issued instructions. Then he dropped into the seat across from Emily and Lizzie. "Damn and blast. Hope I'm doing the right thing here."

"Of course you are." Emily frowned. "Where is Papa?"

"I went around to his lodgings first thing this morning but he ain't there. Place is locked up for the week, I was told. He's ruralizing with friends in the country. Had a bit of bad luck at the tables. No time to find him and bring him back." Devlin heaved a morose sigh. "Wouldn't do any good even if we did locate him."

Emily opened her mouth to ask another question but she saw the warning look in Devlin's eyes and paused. She realized her brother was silently cautioning her not to let Lizzie know what was happening. Emily sat back and waited with seething impatience for the carriage to reach the lodgings Charles and Devlin had taken.

The door opened as the vehicle drew to a halt. George looked more forbidding than ever. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but are you sure this is where you want to be set down?"

Emily glanced over her shoulder. "Is this the correct address, Dev?"

"Yes." He grabbed his walking stick and jumped down behind her. Then he used the stick to rap once on the coachman's box. "You may wait for your mistress out here. She won't be long."

"Aye, sir." But the coachman looked as dubious as George.

Emily paid no attention to any of the forbidding looks she was receiving from her staff as she walked up the steps on her brother's arm.

A moment later she stepped into the rooms shared by the twins. Curiously, she glanced around at the comfortable, masculine surroundings. She had been aware that her brothers lived the life of carefree bachelors on the town but she had never actually seen their lodgings.

There was a pleasant view of the park from the bay window, two desks piled high with an assortment of papers, a liquor table, and two large, wing-backed leather chairs.

Charles Faringdon was sprawled in one of the chairs. He was steadily working his way through a bottle that sat on the table beside him. His blue eyes narrowed in astonishment when his sister and brother walked through the door.

"What the devil is she doing here, Dev?" Charles slammed his glass down onto the table.

"What a silly question, Charles." Emily sat down in the other wing-backed chair and peered anxiously at her attractive brother. "I had to come."

"Dev should never have brought you." Charles shot to his feet and began to pace restlessly around the small room. "This ain't your affair."

"I had to fetch her." Devlin crossed the room to pour himself a drink. He gulped it down in one swallow. "She's got a right to say goodbye to you."

"Damn it all, who says I'm going to cock up my toes day after tomorrow? It may be Grayley who does that." Charles glared first at his brother and then at Emily. "You shouldn't have come here, Em. I know you think you can talk me out of this, but there ain't no way you can do it."

"Why on earth did you challenge this Grayley to a duel?" Emily demanded softly. "Was it over a card game?"

"Not bloody likely," Devlin muttered, pouring himself another drink. He paused dramatically. "It was a woman."

Emily could not believe her ears. She pinned Charles with a stunned gaze. "You are proposing to fight a duel over a woman? What woman?"

"Her name must not be mentioned," Charles declared in solemn accents. "Suffice it to say she is as innocent and pure as a newborn lamb and she has been grossly insulted. I have no option but to demand satisfaction."

"Oh, dear," Emily murmured, sinking deeper into the chair. She forced herself to think. "Are you in love with this female?"

"I am. And if I survive the duel, I intend to ask for her hand in marriage."

"Won't do much good to ask," Devlin said from his position near the window. "Word is already getting about that our days are numbered. Everyone is saying Blade has cut the purse strings and you, me, and father will soon be in dun territory."

"Maryann will marry me even if I am done up. She loves me."

"Well, her mama and papa don't," Devlin said bluntly.

Charles shot his brother an angry look. "I will worry about that later. Emily ain't going to turn her back on her family forever, are you, Em? Father says you'll take care of those wretched business matters sooner or later. When all's said and done, you're still one of us. You're a Faringdon, by God."