"What the devil are you doing?" Simon demanded, eyeing her through slitted lids.

"I have seen my father do this to his horses after a long, bruising ride. He says it helps keep them from stiffening up." Emily kept up the rhythmic squeezing and stroking. Slowly she worked her way from upper thigh to ankle, kneading the muscles of Simon's left leg.

When she was finished, she leaned across and began to work on the right leg. The gossamer folds of her nightdress fluttered over Simon's upthrust manhood. A spasm went through his whole body.

"Hell and damnation," Simon muttered.

"Are you all right, my lord?" Emily paused in her ministrations to glance at him.

"I believe I am still a bit tense in places."

Emily smiled reassuringly. "We shall soon have you soothed and quieted, my lord." She continued down his right leg and then patted him gently. "Turn over, please."

He hesitated, glowering at her. His eyes were fierce and hot with arousal now. "Turn over?"

"So that I can work on the muscles of your back. Have you not noticed how stiff one's shoulders get when one's nerves are overset?"

"Emily, I assure you, I am not suffering from the vapors." Nevertheless, Simon reluctantly turned onto his stomach. He grimaced and reached down to adjust himself.

Emily started to work on his broad shoulders, found the position awkward because she could not bring proper pressure to bear, and shifted closer. When the new position did not work, either, she hitched up the skirts of her nightdress, boldly put one leg over Simon's hips, and knelt astride him.

"Stop squirming about," Simon growled into the pillow.

"Yes, my lord." Emily inhaled suddenly as she leaned forward and began kneading the muscles of his upper back. This was certainly stimulating to a passionate creature such as herself, she realized. She could feel Simon's hard thighs between her knees and the sensation was rather like being on the back of a blooded stallion. Or a dragon.

"Emily, are you giggling?"

"No, my lord." She worked more intensely, rubbing, stroking, probing, and prodding. Some minutes passed and there was no sound from the depths of the pillow. "Do you feel any calmer now, my lord?" Emily finally asked.

"No."

Emily was dismayed. "Are you quite certain?"

"Quite certain. You may dismount now."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." Simon stirred and started to turn over.

Emily quickly scrambled off his back and again knelt amid the bedclothes.

"Simon?"

He lay back against the pillows and reached for her. "Come here, elf," he muttered, pulling her astride him once more. He pushed the hem of the nightdress up over her thighs. "If you want to ride me, then you must do it properly."

"Simon." Emily gasped sharply as he reached down and guided the broad tip of his throbbing manhood to the damp place between her thighs.

He grasped her hips and held her still while he surged upward, pushing through the natural resistance at the entrance of her body and on into the damp, clinging passage. He filled her completely in one long thrust. Emily stifled a small, startled exclamation and splayed her fingers across his chest.

"Now you will ride me, madam." His fingers tightened on her thighs. "Hard."

Eyes closed, her breath coming in soft gasps of excitement, Emily obeyed his command and quickly adjusted to the pace and rhythm Simon established.

"Yes. Faster. Harder." Simon's voice was hoarse now. His hands tightened on her. "Damn, that feels good, elf. So damn good. Show me how much you want me. Tell me you belong to me. Tell me."

"I want you, Simon. I have waited all my life for you. There could never be anyone else." The words were torn from Emily in small, gasping cries. She was shivering with her own need, slick with desire. Her nails were digging into Simon's chest, leaving small, fierce marks on his skin.

"That's it, sweetheart," he muttered. "Give yourself to me."

"I love you," Emily whispered. "I love you with all my heart." And then the delicious excitement overwhelmed her. She went rigid and at the same time felt Simon surge deep into her one last time.

"Emily. Oh, God, Emily." Simon's words were thick with passion and release. He pulled Emily down across his chest and his arms went fiercely around her. He crushed her to him as he let himself flow endlessly into her.

Emily's last coherent thought was that she had mastered the fine art of dragon riding. She looked forward to trying it again in the near future.

Chapter 16

The library clock tolled eleven. Simon lounged in his chair and watched Emily. He had been engaged in the task for the past twenty minutes, possessing himself in patience while time ticked past and the rain poured down outside.

Studying Emily was not an unpleasant occupation. She appeared extremely fetching this morning in a green-and-gold-striped gown trimmed with flounces. There were several beautifully worked dragons embroidered around the hem. Her gleaming curls were drawn back in an artfully arranged style that gave the effect of a shower of flames cascading down her nape.

She was sitting on the opposite side of the black lacquered library desk, her head bent anxiously over a list of names. It was clear she was agonizing over the task to which she had been set, that of selecting those who were to receive cards for her first soiree.

"There is no need to work yourself up into a state over this matter," Simon finally said gruffly. "Just put a checkmark beside the name of everyone you wish to invite. My secretary will do the rest."

Emily looked up sharply, her green eyes narrowed behind the lenses of her spectacles. "It is not as simple as selecting investments, you know. I must make weighty decisions here. I do not want to offend anyone. It will reflect directly on you, Simon."

Simon sighed and fell back into a brooding silence. He was feeling restless and uneasy and, he suspected, guilty.

Guilt was a new and disturbing emotion for him and he did not care for it. There was no room for it in his clearly focused life. He did not even begin to understand it. Until now his world had consisted of simple, straightforward concepts such as vengeance, justice, honor, and duty.

Simon's gaze slid to the sweet curve of Emily's breasts as he realized that passion had now been added to that list.

There was no doubt about it. He was in a strange and unpalatable mood.

He had been in this odd state since awakening early this morning, memories of the night still seething in his brain. One moment he would be contemplating his own weakness in going to the rescue of the Faringdon twin. The next he would find himself growing hard with desire as he recalled Emily's sweet, generous passion.

He could still feel her gentle hands on his shoulders and the warmth of her thighs as she sat boldly astride him, charming and bewitching him until he thought he would go mad trying to hold on to his self-control.

But most of all, Simon found himself recalling her disturbing words: There were times when I hated my father just as much as you must have hated yours.

"The thing is, Simon," Emily explained with an intense frown of concentration, "your secretary has prepared a very long list of names from which to choose. I do not know many of these people and I do not want to make any mistakes. Your aunt has explained to me how crucial it is to have all the right people at my first soiree."

"You may rest assured there are no wrong people on that list," Simon growled. "My secretary knows better than to include any inappropriate names. Furthermore, there is absolutely no risk involved in offending people by failing to invite them. It merely emphasizes and reinforces your power as a hostess."