"Best not hold your breath waiting for that momentous occasion," Simon advised in his cold, dark drawl.

Emily jumped and whirled around to find that the earl had materialized at her elbow. She smiled brilliantly up at the dragon. He was satisfyingly large and ferocious, she thought, and he had lots of strong, white teeth. Furthermore, they were his own, which was more than could be said about Elias Prendergast's.

"Hello, my lord," Emily said happily. "I trust you are enjoying yourself?"

"Very much. I thought you might need this." He handed her a glass of champagne.

"How very perceptive of you, sir." Emily's fingers closed gratefully around the glass.

"Miss Faringdon prefers lemonade," Prendergast announced.

"You are wrong." Emily took a swallow. "At the moment Miss Faringdon has a strong preference for champagne."

Prendergast glowered at her unrepentant features. "We will discuss this matter further at a more convenient time, Miss Faringdon."

"What matter? My preference for champagne? I assure you, there is nothing to discuss."

"I was referring to other, more pressing concerns," Prendergast hissed. He inclined his head in a jerky motion. "If you will excuse me, I must speak to a friend." He took himself off with a great dignity that was somewhat marred by the sound of his creaking corsets.

Emily stifled a small sigh. As obnoxious as Prendergast was, he was also right in one respect. She could not continue to lead Simon on any longer. She took another swallow of champagne and looked up at the earl. She was standing close enough to him to see that he was watching her with a familiar mocking amusement in his gleaming eyes.

"It would seem I have competition for your hand," Simon murmured.

Emily shook her head quickly, her curls bouncing. "Pay no heed to Mr. Prendergast. He has been something of a nuisance ever since his poor wife finally faded away. Simon, I must speak to you."

"You have my full attention."

"No, not here. Not now." She glanced furtively around, squinting to see if there was anyone standing too close. "Simon, I must speak to you in private."

"That sounds promising."

"I fear it is not a joking matter, my lord. Indeed, it is most serious. Please, when can I see you? This has gone on long enough and there are…" Emily broke off, raised her quizzing glass for another quick glance around, and then added in a very low, unhappy voice, "There are things you must be told."

"Ah."

"I have been very remiss in not informing you of these particular matters earlier in our relationship. It was quite cowardly of me, but I suppose I assumed someone else would perform the task for me."

"You alarm me, my dear. I feel like a character in a Minerva Press novel. I believe I am beginning to tremble with the Uneasy Dread of the Unknown."

"My lord, you know very well that nothing could make you tremble with dread," Emily said crossly. "I vow this is difficult enough as it is. Please do not mock me."

"I would not dream of it. Very well, if I am not allowed to tremble with dread, I shall muster my courage and meet you for this terrifying pronouncement. How about your library at, say, one o'clock this morning? You will be safely home by then and your servants should be in bed."

Emily dropped her quizzing glass in shock. "My library? You mean to come to St. Clair Hall? Tonight?"

"Can you arrange to be in the library alone at that time?"

"Well, yes. Of course I can. I frequently work in the library after the servants have gone to bed." She frowned, thinking about the practical problems involved. "I shall have to unbolt the front door for you."

"No need." He sipped his own champagne and watched the couples who were promenading between dances. "Just be sure you are in the library at one. I will come to you there."

Emily raised her quizzing glass and searched his face. As usual, she could tell almost nothing about what he was thinking from his expression. She found it perfectly amazing that he could disguise his sensitive, passionate nature so completely behind that facade of cool detachment.

"Very well, my lord. One o'clock."

Emily had to admit that, even though the evening was destined to end in heartbreak, the mysterious manner in which Simon was setting up their final clandestine meeting was wonderfully intriguing. But, then, nothing was ever ordinary around the Earl of Blade. She would remember his brief courtship all of her life and those haunting memories would inspire her writing and her dreams for years to come.

A few minutes before one that morning, Emily sat down at the mahogany desk and stared fixedly at the brandy decanter. She had put her spectacles back on but she was ready to whip them off and stuff them into the top desk drawer as soon as Simon arrived.

The brandy decanter looked very inviting.

The decanter was full and Emily was cold with nerves and anticipation. For the past half hour she had been deliberating about whether to pour herself a fortifying glass.

The hands on the face of the tall clock near the fireplace were moving so slowly that Emily was beginning to wonder if they had stopped altogether. A couple of candles glowed nearby but that was the only illumination in the room. The fire had been laid for morning but she dared not light it. One of the staff would notice tomorrow that she had been up late again and they would all worry that she was working too hard. As a result the room was growing quite chilly.

With a start, Emily felt the gooseflesh on her arms as a sudden draft of chilled air rushed into the room behind her. She shivered in her frilled dressing gown and wondered if a window had blown open. She started to rise from her chair.

In that same instant she sensed another presence in the room.

Emily leapt to her feet, her lips parting in a scream, as she grabbed the letter opener that was laying on the desk.

But the scream was never uttered. A large masculine hand clamped quite firmly over her mouth and Emily was pulled quickly back against a hard male body.

She went limp with relief as she realized who held her.

"I would feel a great deal more welcome if you would put down that letter opener," Simon said, lowering his hand from her mouth. He extinguished the candle he held in his other hand.

"Simon. Bloody hell." Emily tossed aside the letter opener and spun around to glare up at him through her spectacles. "You gave me a terrible fright. Where did you come from? How on earth did you sneak up on me like that? I have been watching the door for an age."

Simon unfastened his greatcoat and stepped aside. He nodded casually toward a section of bookshelving that was slowly, silently sliding back into place against the wall. Emily saw the dark entrance that yawned in the stone behind the bookcase and her eyes widened in amazed delight.

"A secret passageway. Simon, this is wonderful." She darted around him and scurried toward the rapidly disappearing passageway. All thoughts of the long-planned confession vanished in the face of the promise of high adventure.

"Contain your enthusiasm, Miss Faringdon." Simon reached out and caught her arm, drawing her to a halt. "The bookcase will close on you. It is far too heavy for you to open by hand. One must use the hidden lever."

"What hidden lever? Where is it? Oh, this is so thrilling. Just like something out of one of those bloodcurdling Minerva Press novels you spoke of earlier this evening. I can hardly believe it. To think I have lived here nearly all my life and never knew about this secret."

"Calm yourself." Obviously amused by her irrepressible excitement, Simon glanced around the room until he spotted the brandy decanter. He tossed the heavy greatcoat down over a chair. "There are two levers," he explained as he crossed to the small table where the brandy stood.