Chapter 6

"Marry her. Damnation, man, you cannot be serious. What devil's game are you playing now?" Broderick Faringdon, barricaded behind the massive mahogany desk in the library, glared at his visitor in open-mouthed astonishment. "We both know a man with a title like yours ain't about to marry a chit with a past."

"I believe I should warn you to be extremely careful about the manner in which you speak of my fiancee. The fact that you are Emily's father would not stop me from calling you out. In fact, it would give me great pleasure." Simon walked over to the brandy decanter and poured himself a glass of the amber liquid.

He knew the simple, overly familiar act would further infuriate an already confused and angry Broderick Faringdon.

"Calling me out? Calling me out? Damn it, Blade, I cannot believe I am hearing this. It makes no sense. Tell me what is going on here, blast you. I know what you originally intended. You planned to blackmail me into giving you St. Clair Hall on the threat of making my daughter your mistress."

"Whatever gave you that notion? My intentions are quite honorable, I assure you."

"The devil they are. I've heard about you, sir. You're known for being a deep one. There's something strange going on here. Why should you want to marry my daughter?"

Simon studied the view outside the window as he sipped the brandy. "My reasons are no concern of yours. Let us just say that I am convinced she and I will do very well together."

"If you think to hurt her somehow, you'll pay for it. I swear it."

"I am relieved to hear you have some fatherly feelings for her. But do not fret. I do not intend to beat her." Simon glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the bookcase. "Not unless she causes me an excessive amount of trouble, that is," he added, raising his voice just slightly.

"Do you think I'll give you St. Clair Hall as her dowry? Is that your game?" Broderick demanded. "If so, you can think again."

"Oh, you will give me St. Clair Hall, Faringdon. I intend to take both your daughter and the house."

"The hell you will. How do you propose to make me turn my house as well as my daughter over to you?"

"Because I am going to dangle the possibility of seeing Emily once in a while in front of you as a lure. We both know that as long as you perceive any chance at all of communicating with her, you will do whatever I say. On the other hand, if I forbid contact altogether, which as her husband I can do, you and I are well aware of what your fate will be. St. Clair Hall will be on the market within three months. Six on the outside."

"I can maintain this place on my own. I kept it all going while she was growing up," Broderick snarled.

"Yes, you did. I found that fact quite amazing, initially. The first thing I did when I got back to London was look into just how you had managed to keep things going until Emily's remarkable talents began to emerge. As it happens, my man of affairs knows yours. Davenport explained everything to him one evening over several glasses of claret."

"How dare you pry into my private affairs."

"The answer was simple," Simon continued, swirling the brandy in his glass. "It took you several years to gamble your way through my father's fortune, thanks to your wife's efforts at restraint. Also, your sons were still quite young at that time and had not yet joined you in your irresponsible ways."

"Your father lost his inheritance in a fair game, damn you. It was not his fortune after I won it. It was mine."

"I am not at all certain it was a fair game."

Broderick turned livid. "Are you accusing me of cheating, sir?"

"Calm yourself, Faringdon. I am not accusing you. I can prove nothing after all these years. I merely admit I have a few questions. My father was an excellent player, from all accounts, and he had never gambled to excess before. One does wonder."

"Damn you."

Simon smiled slightly at the note of impotent rage in Broderick's voice. "Even the Blade fortune could not hold out forever. But just as you were facing disaster again, your next stroke of luck came through. That bit of luck was the death of Emily's aunt on her mother's side, was it not? The woman conveniently died, leaving Emily a large sum of money. But the aunt made the mistake of making you the poor girl's trustee. You went through Emily's inheritance by the time she was sixteen. And then things got a bit desperate for a while, didn't they?"

"You make it sound as if I frittered away my daughter's inheritance, you bastard."

"So you did."

"I spent it on her and this house, which is her home," Faringdon rasped.

"And on your London life, your excellent bloodstock, expensive clothes, and the gaming debts you were piling up. As I said, the money was gone before your daughter was even out of the schoolroom. I doubt if you could have scraped together enough to give her a Season even if you had been inclined to try. Which you were not, of course, because by then she was starting to show her remarkable talents. Davenport told my man about those, too, and how you capitalized on them."

"There was no point giving her a Season. She's not the sort to attract much notice on the marriage mart."

"And you certainly did not want to assist her chances of contracting a good marriage by giving her a decent dowry, did you?"

"Damn you, her mother died the next year. We were in mourning. No possibility of a Season. Then she went and ran off with that bastard, Ashbrook. Impossible to bring her out after that." Faringdon beetled his brows and gave his nemesis a shrewd look. "She was ruined, sir. Do I make myself clear? Utterly ruined."

"That is a matter of opinion." Simon put down the empty brandy glass. "Now, then. I shall want you and your sons to vacate St. Clair Hall by the wedding day. I think we shall set the date for the first week of April."

Broderick gasped. "That's less than six weeks away."

"I see no need to delay matters. We have settled the financial end of things. And I do not believe Emily is inclined toward a long, formal engagement. I will want to spend my honeymoon here at St. Clair, so you and your sons will definitely have to be gone by then. Your staff can stay. Emily seems quite fond of them and they appear to be well trained."

"There is the matter of settlements," Broderick said desperately.

Simon smiled grimly. "There will be no settlements as such. You must rely on me to look after your daughter."

"I do not believe this is happening." Broderick looked rather like a fish that had just been pulled out of the water. He was gasping for air and his face was blotched with unnatural color. "You cannot want to marry her. Not after that scandal of five years ago. Think of your title, man."

Simon's mouth hardened. "I warned you not to say any more on that score, Faringdon. I meant it. Now, I believe that seals the bargain."

"No, by God, it does not. I will speak to Emily. She is a smart little thing, even if she is inclined to indulge foolish romantic fantasies. I will convince her that you are up to no good."

"You are welcome to try, of course, but I doubt you will have any luck changing her mind," Simon said confidently. "Face it. Your only hope of ever seeing Emily again is to agree to what I want."

"Damme, this is a diabolical piece of business. She is my only daughter. I will make her see reason."

"You must suit yourself on that score. Why don't we ask Emily if she's likely to come around to your way of thinking?" Simon strode over to the bookcase, found the hidden lever in the bottom of the cabinet, and pressed it.

The bookcase slid soundlessly away from the wall and Emily, who had obviously had her ear pressed against the wood on the other side, spilled into a colorful heap at Simon's booted feet.