But she was no longer a Faringdon, Simon reminded himself. She was his now.

"Simon"—Emily peered uncertainly up at him as he carried her toward the staircase—"are you angry?"

"No, Emily," he told her as he started up the red-carpeted steps. "I am not angry."

"You have a rather odd expression on your face." She smiled serenely. "I expect it is the aftereffects of our efforts to communicate on both the physical and the metaphysical plane simultaneously. Very fatiguing, is it not?"

"Bloody damn fatiguing," Simon said.

Chapter 8

Emily hurried expectantly downstairs to breakfast the next morning only to realize immediately that her lovely new morning dress of blossom pink had been wasted. Simon was not waiting to compliment her on the pleated neck frill or the embroidery on the skirt which the village seamstress had worked on so industriously. She was informed he had gone out riding quite early.

Deflated, Emily sat down and morosely watched a footman pour her coffee. Last night when Simon had carried her upstairs to bed and then gone to his own room she had been deeply disappointed. But she had told herself that was the way things were done in the fashionable world. Everyone knew couples rarely slept together for the entire night. Marriages of convenience led to relationships in which people demanded a great deal of privacy.

But even though she knew she was guilty of coercing Simon into a marriage of convenience, at least on his part, Emily had been certain that her relationship with him would be vastly different. Especially after what had happened last night.

Emily felt a small, transcendent thrill course through her again as the memories returned. She blushed now just thinking about how she had felt lying naked in Simon's arms in front of the fire. Her nerves tingled as she remembered the strange, mesmerizing glitter in her husband's golden eyes as he had crushed her into the carpet. It had been shocking yet oddly exciting to realize he had actually entered her, had become a part of her.

The experience was totally unlike anything she had ever imagined. Her senses had literally reeled beneath the onslaught. True, she had not experienced the thrilling sense of release that Simon had given her the first time he had caressed her intimately, but what had happened last night was far more profound. They had been joined into a single being for a time.

Simon had been quite right, Emily reflected as she sipped her coffee. Such a physical union was bound to enhance their union on the transcendental plane. It was inconceivable that anything so stunning, so powerful and overwhelming, could fail to affect events in the metaphysical world. There had to be a connection between the two realms.

Trust Simon to understand that and to nobly insist upon carrying out his husbandly duties in the name of metaphysical experimentation. He was obviously determined to make this marriage work. And Emily just knew that sooner or later he would come to love her as deeply as she loved him.

It was inevitable, especially now that their communication was being enhanced on the physical as well as the metaphysical level.

Still, accustomed as she was to eating breakfast alone, today the silence in the morning room seemed unexpectedly gloomy. She had no desire to linger. She was thinking wistfully that it would have been nice if Simon had invited her to ride with him when Duckett entered the room. His dour face was set in grave, disapproving lines.

"Your pardon, madam," Duckett said austerely, "but your father has sent a lad around to the kitchens with a message. It seems your presence is requested in the south garden."

Emily looked up, astonished. "My father? But he left for London with Devlin and Charles directly after the wedding."

Duckett looked more bleak than ever, if such a thing was possible. "Apparently not, madam. I fear he is presently in the south garden."

"How odd. Why does he not come to the house?"

Duckett cleared his throat and said with a hint of satisfaction, "I believe his lordship, the earl, has forbidden your father to enter the house without his lordship's express permission, madam. I understand the arrangement was made yesterday after the services."

Emily's eyes widened in astonishment. She knew there was no love lost between her father and her husband. But a bargain had been struck that day when she had eavesdropped on the two men as they negotiated her future in the library. Simon had implied that if her father met his demands, Broderick Faringdon could continue to communicate with Emily. She was certain that was what had been agreed upon.

"There has been some misunderstanding," Emily told the butler.

Duckett chose to ignore that indisputable fact. "As to that, I could not say, madam. Shall I send someone to tell Mr. Faringdon that you are not available?"

"Good heavens, no, Duckett." Emily jumped to her feet. "I am quite available, as you can plainly see. Actually, I am glad to hear my father is still in the vicinity. I did not have an opportunity to bid him or my brothers a proper farewell yesterday. I was so very busy. I did not even realize my family had left for London until Blade mentioned it. And by then it was too late."

"Yes, madam." Duckett inclined his head. "I'll send Lizzie upstairs to fetch you a wrap. It is rather chilly outside today."

"Never mind, Duckett." Emily looked out at the bright April sunshine that was pouring through the morning room window. "I won't be needing anything. 'Tis going to be a pleasant day."

"As you wish, madam." Duckett cleared his throat. "I realize it is not my place to say anything further on the subject, madam, but…"

"Yes, Duckett? What is it?"

"I was just wondering if madam has considered the, er, wisdom of meeting Mr. Faringdon in the south garden."

Emily laughed. "Good lord, Duckett, I am going to meet my father, not a paramour or a murderer."

"Of course, madam." Duckett's expression implied he questioned the assumption. "It simply occurred to me that perhaps his lordship might have certain notions concerning the propriety of the situation."

"Oh, for pity's sake, Duckett. You are not making any sense at all. We are talking about my father." Emily went around the table. She smiled reassuringly at Duckett as she went past him through the door. "Do not concern yourself with whatever Blade might have to say on the subject. He and I share a unique form of communication, you know. We understand each other very well."

"I see." Duckett looked unconvinced.

Emily paid no further attention to the butler's obvious qualms. Duckett had no way of knowing what had transpired between herself and Simon last night. Therefore he could not begin to comprehend the nature of the greatly enhanced metaphysical relationship Emily now shared with her husband.

Emily determined to clear up the misunderstanding at once. Simon would certainly never have barred her father from seeing her after the wedding. There was no need. The threat had been merely a negotiating tool that Simon had employed in an effort to exact justice.

The day was, indeed, turning out to be sunny, but there was a decided nip in the air. Emily had lived all her life in the country and she knew the signs. A storm was moving in. There would be rain tonight.

She glanced around the south garden with satisfaction as she made her way to the far end. Daffodils and early roses were starting to bloom in showy profusion and the air was filled with the heady perfume of flowers. A small, ornate fountain topped by a cherub with a watering pot formed the focal point of the garden. There was a tall hedge behind the fountain.

Broderick Faringdon was waiting behind the hedge. He emerged with a furtive expression, glancing quickly to the left and right.