She was wearing a little white lace cap and a prim, ruffle-necked dressing gown. Her feet, which were tucked back under the chair, were encased in soft satin slippers. She was scratching busily away with a quill in a leather-bound volume.

It occurred to Simon that a romantic creature like Emily was bound to keep a journal. If so, he was no doubt figuring heavily in this night's entry.

Or perhaps she was composing new stanzas for The Mysterious Lady.

He watched for a few more minutes, telling himself he should leave. But he did not turn around and start back through the woods toward the Gillinghams until Emily finally put down her quill. He watched as she reached up to put out the lamps. Then she picked up a candle to light her way upstairs and let herself out of the room.

The library went dark.

Simon realized he was still standing there, staring into the deeply shadowed room. Eventually he forced himself to turn and walk back toward the Gillinghams'.

He realized he had not seen what he had come to see. The ghost of his father, which should have occupied the library, had been banished by the redheaded, green-eyed Titania who had been sitting at the desk.

Emily floated through the week that followed as though she were on a cloud. Never had her rhymes come so easily.

She was inspired by everything she saw or touched, especially Simon. And she was seeing a great deal of the earl.

She knew this particular cloud on which she soared would soon be ripped to shreds and she would fall to earth with a sickening thud. But she was determined to enjoy the ride for as long as possible. She was absorbing sufficient transcendent experience to last a lifetime.

Emily was in love and her lover, it seemed, arranged to be everywhere she was during the week.

She encountered Simon at the Hathersages' card party on Saturday night. He partnered her at whist and they won. Naturally. How could such a team have lost? Emily had pointed out later.

He attended the Sewards' musicale on Monday afternoon. Emily exchanged a secret, laughing glance with him when the youngest Seward daughter lost her place in the Mozart divertimento. Together they clapped so strongly at the finish that the flushed girl offered an encore.

Simon was in the village when Emily went shopping. He made a point of stopping to chat with her.

He seemed to be riding on the road that led to St. Clair Hall every time Emily went out on horseback.

Toward the end of the week, Simon materialized at the vicarage garden gate just as Emily was saying farewell to Mrs. Ludlow, the vicar's wife. He was riding the chestnut stallion he called Lap Seng. He greeted Mrs. Ludlow with due courtesy, dismounted, and stayed talking for quite some time to both women.

Eventually he bid the ladies good day and vaulted back into the saddle, where he sat for a moment smiling down at Emily.

"I trust you will promise me a dance tomorrow night at the Gillinghams' ball, Miss Faringdon," he said as he tightened the stallion's reins.

"Oh, yes, of course," Emily said breathlessly. It would be the first time they had danced together, she thought as she watched him canter off down the lane. She could hardly contain her excitement.

"My, my," the vicar's wife murmured with a knowing look. "Blade is certainly showing a marked interest in you, young lady."

Emily blushed, horribly aware of what Mrs. Ludlow must have been thinking. The vicar's wife was a kindly person. She was no doubt feeling sorry for Emily because everyone knew that sooner or later Blade would learn about the Incident and that would be the end of Emily's courtship.

"The earl has been very kind in his attentions," Emily said weakly. She was surprised by Mrs. Ludlow's next remark.

"His family lived around here at one time," Mrs. Ludlow said thoughtfully. "More than twenty years ago, I believe."

Emily, who had been expecting a gentle warning against leading the earl to think his attentions had a future, blinked in surprise. "So Miss Inglebright said."

"The boy and his mother left after the father died. Very sad situation, that was." Mrs. Ludlow looked as if she were about to say more but abruptly changed her mind. She shook her head quite firmly. "Never mind, dear. It was all over and done years ago and certainly does not signify now. Well, Emily, you must be certain to wear your best gown tomorrow night, eh?"

Emily smiled, wondering if the lecture and warning would come now. "I intend to," she said with just the smallest touch of defiance.

"Good, good. Young people should enjoy themselves when they can. Off with you, now, and I am certain the poor of Little Dippington will be most thankful for the clothes you brought by this afternoon."

So there was to be no warning. Emily heaved a sigh of relief as she walked back toward where she had tied her mare. Still, it was puzzling. No one seemed to feel she should be restrained from flirting with the earl. Nor, apparently, had anyone felt obliged to warn Blade about the Unfortunate Incident.

Emily began to wonder if the good folk of Little Dippington were actually hoping the romance would have a happy ending. But sooner or later someone would feel bound to say something to him.

When Simon showed up for the next meeting of the Thursday Afternoon Literary Society, Emily was finally forced to admit that matters were getting to the awkward stage. She knew in her heart of hearts she simply could not allow Simon to court her so openly when it was all so hopeless.

Guilt began nibbling at her. She knew she could not let this go on much longer. Scandal always emerged, sooner or later. If no one else was going to say what must be said, then she would have to deal with the awful task herself.

She dreaded the moment of truth more than she had ever dreaded anything in her life. But she reminded herself that she had known from the start that the love she felt for the Earl of Blade had been doomed. It was time to end the romantic masquerade.

Chapter 4

Emily came to the end of the Scottish reel, aware that she was laughing too gaily and feeling much too flushed. Her mood was one of unnatural cheerfulness and she knew the cause. She was fortifying herself for the task that lay ahead.

Her conscience would no longer allow her to put off telling Simon about the scandal.

This evening as she had dressed for the Gillinghams' party she had vowed to herself she would do what had to be done without further delay. As much as she loved the fantasy in which she was living, Emily knew she could no longer abide waiting for the ax to fall. She had to get the matter over and done. The longer things went on like this, the more she was going to feel sorry for herself when Simon eventually discovered the truth and walked away in disgust.

She had deliberately chosen to wear her very best gown, which had been made for her by the village seamstress. Tonight was the first time she had worn the pale green muslin trimmed with yellow ribbons and several rows of deep flounces. Her quizzing glass dangled discreetly on a ribbon attached to her gown.

The quizzing glass was a nuisance, but Emily refused to wear her spectacles tonight.

The deep neckline of the high-waisted dress had been designed to reveal a magnificent bosom. When Emily had ordered it she had somehow hoped it would magnify her less than impressive curves. When she had dressed earlier tonight, however, she had fretted that all it succeeded in doing was calling attention to the smallness of her own shape.

"Not a bit o' it," her maid, Lizzie, had insisted as she admired her mistress with delighted eyes. "It makes you look all airy and delicate like. As if you could fly away in the moonlight or somethin'."