"You are planning to use our sister in a most unprincipled fashion," Devlin announced. "And she, poor chit, is so foolish and so romantically inclined, she does not have a hint of your true intentions."

Simon considered that briefly. "What makes you think I am not marrying your sister simply because I have become quite fond of her and have decided she will make me an excellent wife?"

"It won't fadge, Blade," Devlin snapped. "You ain't in love with her. Only the promise of having her make you a second fortune could make you overlook the scandal in her past."

"Damn right. We ain't fools, y'know. You could do a lot better for yourself than marry a silly young female who's gone and ruined herself," Charles added with a man-to-man air. "Not to put too fine a point on it, our poor Emily is soiled goods."

Simon got languidly to his feet and took two steps over to where Charles was sitting. He reached down, took a fistful of Charles' immaculately tied cravat, and hauled the younger man bodily to his feet. Charles' eyes widened.

"What the devil… ?"

The remainder of his comment was lost as Simon pivoted swiftly in the graceful movements of the ancient fighting art he had learned in the East. He knew his unorthodox, potentially lethal method would have astounded the young bloods who practiced boxing at Gentleman Jackson's academy. They would have been even more perplexed by the elaborate techniques for establishing mental discipline and control that the monks had taught along with the physical skills.

Charles went spinning wildly toward the fireplace. The young Faringdon fetched up against the mantel, cracking his chin on the black marble. With a stunned look in his handsome eyes, Charles collapsed slowly to the carpet.

"Good God, sir." Devlin shot to his feet and took a step toward his brother. "What have you done to him?"

Simon caught Devlin in midstride and sent him flying ignominiously after his brother. Devlin hit the wall, doubled over with a muffled cry, and then sprawled on the carpet beside Charles.

The two brothers, dazed and furious, glared at Simon as they struggled to recover themselves.

"What was that for, you bloody bastard?" Devlin hissed as he wavered to his feet.

"That was for insulting your sister, of course. What did you think it was for?" Simon absently checked his cravat. It was still perfectly tied. "It was also, I believe, for failing to call Ashbrook out five years ago as you ought to have done."

"Emily wouldn't let us," Charles growled, rubbing his chin as he staggered over to a chair and sat down heavily. "Said the whole thing was as much her fault as his. Told us Ashbrook was going to be a great poet someday and we shouldn't deprive the world of a great talent."

"Emily should have had nothing to say about it." Simon surveyed the two handsome young cubs with a look of disgust. "It was your duty to take care of the matter."

"Father said the whole thing should be hushed up as much as possible. Calling out Ashbrook would have caused an even bigger scandal," Devlin muttered.

"As it happens, Emily took care of her own honor that night. But, then, Emily has always had to fend for herself, hasn't she?"

Devlin looked at Simon, scowling. "What are you talking about? She spent the night with him, for God's sake. She lost her honor."

"No, she did not. She hit Ashbrook over the head with a chamber pot and he wound up sleeping in the hall."

"Well, we know that's what actually happened," Charles said impatiently. "Emily explained it all the next morning. But the damage to her reputation was done, right enough. Father said so."

"As of now," Simon said coldly, "the Incident never occurred. And I will personally destroy anyone, anyone at all, who says it did. Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?"

The twins gaped open-mouthed at him and then exchanged bemused glances with each other.

"You cannot make the great blot on her reputation simply vanish, sir," Charles finally ventured carefully.

"Watch me," said Simon.

Chapter 7

"That will be all, Higson. You may go now." Simon heard the uncharacteristic impatience in his own voice as he dismissed his valet. He frowned. The fact that this was his wedding night should not have affected his ironclad self-control in any way.

"If that will be all, then, sir, may I take the liberty of congratulating you on your marriage?" Higson, a short, stocky, powerfully built man who looked a little like a bulldog and who had remained in the earl's employ for the past ten years because he had many of the valuable attributes of one, paused at the door. He showed no sign of having taken offense at Simon's abrupt tone. In fact there was a distinct twinkle of amusement in his pale eyes. A man who had once fought pirates side by side with his employer could occasionally take liberties.

"Thank you, Higson," Simon said curtly.

"Sir." Higson inclined his head and let himself out into the hall.

Simon's gaze went instantly to the door that connected his bedchamber to Emily's.

Something in him tightened. There had been no sounds of activity from the other room for the past several minutes. His wife was obviously in bed waiting for him.

His wife. Simon stared at the connecting door, remembering how Emily had looked earlier that day as she had entered the crowded village church. She had walked rather cautiously down the aisle, owing to her stout refusal to wear her spectacles. But the slight hesitancy in her steps, together with the shy excitement in her green eyes, had given her the aura of a fairy princess venturing into a strange new world. Her white gown with its silver ribbon trim had enhanced the effect. Simon had been astonished to find himself feeling at once very protective and extremely possessive.

The entire town had turned out in all its country finery. There was no doubt that Little Dippington had put its seal of approval on the alliance. Among the members of the literary society there was not a single dry eye.

His unexpected fascination with his new bride had caused him to virtually ignore the presence of Broderick Faringdon and Emily's two brothers. All three had watched the proceedings with satisfyingly gloomy expressions, looking as though Emily were about to be transported to Australia rather than become a wealthy countess.

Of course, Simon reminded himself as he walked toward the connecting door, for all intents and purposes, Emily was now as lost to the Faringdons as if she had been transported across the sea. After tonight she would belong completely to her husband. She would no longer be a Faringdon. Simon was determined that none of the remaining Faringdons ever forgot that.

Hand on the doorknob, Simon glanced around the master bedchamber that had once been occupied by his father. A fierce sense of elation swept over him. St. Clair Hall and everything in it was once again in the hands of a Traherne.

"Rest assured I will not lose it the way you did, Father," Simon vowed to the ghost who hovered in the back of his mind.

Twenty-three years was a long time to wait, but it had been worth it. And the revenge was just beginning. Watching the Faringdons slide inevitably down into financial disaster was going to be as satisfying as taking St. Clair Hall back today had been.

Simon opened the door and stepped into the darkened bedchamber that adjoined his.

"Emily? Why did you not have your maid leave a candle burning? Are you feeling shy, my dear?" Simon moved farther into the room, letting his eyes adjust to the shadows. "There's no need. You and I have established communication on a higher plane, remember?"

He halted at the foot of the canopied bed and frowned as he realized there was no redheaded elf under the covers. "Emily?"