Scandal (28 page)

She tightened her grip on her shawl as they stepped back out onto the path. "Yes, my lord."

"Furthermore, in future, you are not to—" Simon broke off with an oath as Lizzie cried out at the sight of them and rushed toward her mistress.

"There you are, ma'am. Thank the sweet Lord. I was so worried. I was afraid you'd been carried off and ravished and I did not know what on earth I was going to tell his lordship when he asked about you and it would have been hard to keep him from knowing you was gone. Sooner or later he would have been bound to notice and—" Lizzie halted abruptly as she realized who it was standing next to Emily.

"You are quite right," Simon said coldly. "Sooner or later I would have been bound to notice if her ladyship had been carried off."

"Oh, sir." Lizzie gave a jerky little curtsy and stared at Simon in shock. "Tis you, sir."

"Very observant of you. And if you do not wish to find yourself on the street looking for a new position without benefit of references, you will endeavor to make certain that in future her ladyship never promenades along the Dark Walk alone again."

"Yes, sir." Lizzie looked terrified now.

Emily gave her husband a chiding look. "Simon, do stop frightening the poor girl. As for you, Lizzie, stop sniffling and collect yourself. All is well. His lordship was on to my scheme right from the start. Was that not brilliant of him?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lizzie cast an uncertain glance at Simon's forbidding face. "Brilliant."

"And now," Emily said cheerfully, "you will go straight home in the carriage, Lizzie. His lordship and I must be off. We have business to attend to tonight. Do not wait up for me."

"A moment, if you please, madam," Simon drawled. "There seems to be some misunderstanding here. You will be going straight home with your maid."

"But, Simon, this was all my idea and I want to see it through to the end."

"You have involved me now and when I am involved in a plan, I prefer to be in charge. You are going home. I will walk you out of the gardens and put you into the carriage myself."

"But, Simon, you will need me with you."

"This is men's business."

"This is my brother we are talking about," she said desperately.

"You have turned the problem over to me to resolve."

Emily ignored him and plunged into a detailed explanation of why she simply had to accompany him while he set about rescuing Charles but she might as well have been talking to a brick wall. Simon was implacable and unswervable.

Several minutes later she found herself bundled into the carriage together with Lizzie. Simon closed the door and gave his coachman strict instructions to drive straight home. Then he swung around and walked off into the night without looking back.

"Bloody hell." Emily flounced on the seat, snapped her fan in annoyance, and then, with a small sigh, surrendered to the inevitable.

After a moment she smiled in relief. Everything would be all right now. The dragon was in charge.

Simon walked up the steps of the lodgings shared by the Faringdon twins with mixed emotions. He rapped on the door. It was opened almost at once by one of the twins, who stared at him in bemusement.

"I believe you are Devlin. Is that correct?" Simon asked laconically.

Devlin collected himself. "Yes, my lord. What the devil are you doing here, Blade?"

"An excellent question. One I am still asking myself, in fact. May I come in?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so." Devlin moved reluctantly back from the doorway.

"Thank you," Simon said dryly. He stepped into the room and tossed his hat, coat, and gloves to the manservant.

Charles Faringdon belatedly realized who had come calling and half rose from the chair near the fire.

"Blade. Why in God's name have you come at this hour?"

"Emily tells me you are to fight a duel with Grayley." Simon went to warm his hands in front of the fire.

Charles shot a scathing look at his twin. "I told you that you should never have brought her here today. Now she's gone and blathered the whole tale to him."

"I had to give her a chance to say farewell to you," Devlin protested. "I had no choice."

"You should never have said a damn thing. This is a private matter." Charles slumped back in the chair.

"I agree that it would have been far more convenient all the way around if you had simply arranged to get yourself killed." Simon told him. "But as you have involved Emily, I have no choice but to become involved."

"This is none of your affair," Charles muttered, staring broodingly into the flames.

"Ah, but it is. You have alarmed Emily and upset her greatly. I cannot allow that; therefore, I must do something about the situation." Simon pinned Charles with a grim look. "Now, suppose you tell me the whole story so that I can decide what needs to be done."

"It's a matter of honor," Charles growled, slanting Simon a sidelong glance. "A woman's honor."

"Since when have you become overly concerned about protecting a woman's honor?"

There was a deathly silence before Charles said slowly, "Devlin and I have done some thinking since that day you knocked us about in your library."

"Have you, indeed?" Simon gazed into the flames.

"He is right, sir," Devlin said quietly. "We have discussed the matter at length. You were correct. We should have called Ashbrook out after he ran off with our sister."

Simon considered that. "Strictly speaking, it was your father's task."

"Yes, well, whatever. It did not feel right to do nothing about it at the time but father said—" Devlin broke off abruptly, shrugging.

"Father said the damage was done and there was no sense getting killed over the matter," Charles finished quietly. "And Emily agreed. She claimed it was all her fault in the first place."

"Which it probably was, knowing Emily," Devlin said, picking up his brandy. "But Charles and I have decided that was neither here nor there. The least we could have done was to have thrashed Ashbrook."

"Yes." Simon studied the golden flames. He was beginning to see the problem. Apparently he had only himself to blame for this mess. "So an opportunity has come along to allow at least one of you to redeem yourself in your own eyes and you grabbed it. Who is the lady?"

"I cannot tell you that, sir," Charles said stiffly.

"I understand your reluctance, but I am afraid I must insist. I never make a move until I have all the information it is possible to obtain. And I hardly see that telling me matters a great deal at this juncture. After all, Grayley apparently knows and that is the main problem."

"He's right, Charles," Devlin said morosely. "Tell him."

"Maryann Matthews," Charles said.

Simon nodded. "A pleasant enough chit. Family comes from Yorkshire, I believe."

"Exactly, sir. I intend to marry her," Charles said somewhat defiantly.

Simon shrugged. "That is your affair. How did the girl come to get herself insulted?"

Charles glowered. "She did nothing whatsoever objectionable. She is an innocent with charming manners and a sweet temper. Grayley simply walked up to me in my club

last night and made a totally uncalled-for slur on her character."

Devlin looked at Simon. "Grayley said she was just another countrified lightskirt who had probably been to bed with every farmer in Yorkshire."

Simon raised his brows at that. "A bit extreme."

"It was a damn deliberate provocation," Charles announced, slamming his fist down on the arm of the chair.

"Yes, it was. Grayley is looking for fresh blood, apparently."

"What do you mean?" Devlin asked.

"Grayley is one of those rare individuals who actually enjoys the thrill of terrifying his opponent on the dueling field." Simon's mouth hardened. "He is a crack shot who derives a certain excitement from the whole process. He is always careful to choose victims he knows are not good marksmen. But his reputation has spread and he has difficulty these days finding anyone foolish enough to meet him. When he does manage to force a challenge, most men are wise enough to have their seconds convey abject apologies."

"I shall not send apologies," Charles vowed. "I would sooner die on the field of honor than allow Maryann's honor to be impugned."

Simon gave him a considering look. "I believe you actually mean that."

"Do not bother to try to talk me out of this meeting, sir. I have taken a vow."

"I see." Simon drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the mantel. "Very well, then, Devlin and I will act as your seconds. Come along, Dev."

Devlin looked at him. "Where are we going?"

"Why, to meet with Grayley, of course. There are all sorts of small details that must be worked out."

"But we already know when and where the meeting is to be held," Devlin said.

Simon shook his head, feeling a hundred years older than these young cubs. Broderick Faringdon had much to answer for, he reflected. "You have a great deal to learn and, unfortunately, it begins to look as though I shall have to be the one to instruct you."

Simon and Devlin sat in the darkened carriage and watched the front door of the club until it opened at last to reveal Grayley. His eyes on his quarry, Simon tapped the roof of the carriage with his walking stick. As instructed, the coachman drew the hired vehicle directly up in front of Grayley.

Grayley, a pinched-faced, thin-lipped man with restless, predatory eyes, bounded inside. He flung himself into the seat before he noticed that the carriage was already occupied.

"Good evening, Grayley." Simon tapped the roof once more and the coachman set the vehicle in motion.

"What the bloody hell is this all about?" Grayley demanded, scowling first at Devlin and then at Simon.

"Faringdon and I will be acting as Charles Faringdon's seconds," Simon said. "We came to settle a few minor points."

"You should be talking to my seconds, Barton and Evingly."

"I think you will take a personal interest in these details." Simon smiled without any humor. "And I do not believe you will want Barton and Evingly to know about them."

Grayley sneered. "You've come to offer apologies on Faringdon's behalf?"

"Of course not. I understand you grossly insulted the lady in question," Simon said. "You are the one who must offer apologies."

Grayley narrowed his eyes. "Now, why would I do that, pray tell?"

"Because if you do not," Simon explained gently, "then Faringdon, here, and I will be forced to put it about that your business investments will soon be taking a very serious downturn and you will not be able to meet your considerable financial obligations, let alone your gaming vowels."

Grayley went still. "Damn you, Blade, are you threatening me?"

"Yes, I believe I am. I understand you have invested rather heavily in a certain trading venture in which I am also involved."

"What of it? I stand to make a fortune."

"That will be highly unlikely if I decide the risk is not worth the candle and decide to sell off my shares tomorrow. Word will get around town by noon that the deal has gone bad. If I pull out, everyone else will want out at once. The market for the shares will disappear and you, along with the other investors, will lose everything you have put into the project."

Grayley stared at him. "Good God. You would ruin me and the others."

"Very likely."

"For the sake of a Faringdon?" Grayley asked in utter disbelief. "I heard you had no love for any of that clan."

"Which is why you felt it safe to challenge one of them, I understand. But there you have it. Fate takes odd twists now and again. Shall I convey your apologies to Charles Faringdon and explain that it was all a misunderstanding?"

Grayley was silent for a long moment. "Those who call you a cold-blooded bastard are right to do so, Blade."

Simon shrugged, glancing idly out the carriage. The hour was late but the street was filled with carriages carrying the elegant members of the ton to and fro on their endless round of parties. "Well, Grayley? Surely you can look for easier meat elsewhere?"

"Damn you, Blade."

"Come, man," Simon said softly. "You do not need to prove your marksmanship on the Faringdon boy. Find some other victim."

"You will go too far one of these days, Blade."

"Possibly."

Grayley's mouth thinned. He rapped on the roof to signal the coachman to halt. When the carriage stopped, he opened the door and climbed down. "Convey my apologies to your brother," he said curtly to Devlin. "There will be no dawn meeting."

Grayley stepped back and slammed the door. The carriage clattered off down the street. Devlin looked at Blade with something approaching hero worship in his eyes.

"I say, that was astounding. You actually got Grayley to cry off the entire affair. I have never heard of such a thing."

"I do not expect to find myself with a similar task at any time in the future," Simon said bluntly. "Is that quite clear?"