She looked at him wonderingly. "I had not thought of it like that. But I do not wish to hurt anyone's feelings, my lord."

The way I must have hurt yours last night? Simon wondered silently. "If it makes you feel better, send a card to everyone on the list."

Emily's eyes widened in astonishment. "But we could not possibly fit everyone inside this house."

"You've been to enough balls and parties by now to realize that they're not considered a success unless the place is crammed full. The carriages must be lined up and down the street for blocks. The guests must be stacked like cordwood in the drawing room. With any luck one or two ladies will faint from lack of air. Everyone must pronounce the event a dreadful squeeze and a great crush. Invite them all, Emily."

She chewed on her lower lip. "I do not know, Simon. It sounds most uncomfortable. It would be much easier to converse and serve refreshments if we have a small crowd."

"To hell with intelligent conversation and proper service, my dear. This is not the time or place for them. The point of this whole thing, as my aunt will no doubt explain to you, is to see that you make a proper debut as a hostess. To do that people must talk about the party afterward. In order to get people to talk, it must be an extremely large and noisy event. Invite everyone on the list, Emily."

"What about Canonbury, Peppington, Adley, and Renton? I do not really know any of them and I—"

"Most especially Canonbury and Peppington," Simon said softly. "We will make very certain they both receive invitations."

Emily lowered the sheet of paper and looked at him, her head tipped thoughtfully to one side. "If you say so, Simon." Then she frowned again in sudden concern. "What if nobody responds to the cards we send out?"

Simon stifled a thin smile of satisfaction. "Believe me, my dear, they will all accept." He leaned across the desk and impatiently snapped the list from her fingers. "I will see that my secretary gets this and sends out the cards. Now, then, Emily, I want to talk to you."

"Yes, my lord?" She waited with an air of alert expectation.

"Damn. Must you always look at me that way, elf? I vow that you are going to turn me into a Bedlamite with that unholy combination of naivete and mischief. You almost make me forget that just yesterday you were busy trying to employ a cutthroat."

"I am sorry, my lord," Emily said, not appearing the least bit repentant. "Are you planning to lecture me again on that matter?"

"No." Simon stood up and walked over to the window, turning his back on her. He studied the drenched garden behind the townhouse while he collected his thoughts. "I have a difficult task before me, Emily."

"What is that, my lord?"

"I wish to apologize to you," he said softly.

There was a small pause before Emily said carefully, "Whatever for?"

"For my unchivalrous behavior last night," Simon muttered. "I did not treat you well, elf. I behaved in a most ill-mannered and ungentlemanly fashion."

"You mean all that business about ordering me into your bed? Rubbish. Pray do not regard it, my lord," Emily said lightly. "I had an excellent time once I got there."

Simon shook his head in awe. "You are amazing, Emily."

"Well, 'tis not as if you were unkind or cruel, Simon. You were simply in a temper and you had every reason to be irritable, considering you had just been obliged to forgo a twenty-three-year-old vow of vengeance. If I had been truly alarmed, I would have escaped to my own room and locked the door. You did not frighten me in the least."

"Apparently not." He was silent for a long moment. "There is something else for which I must apologize."

"Now you are beginning to alarm me, Blade," she said, laughter in her voice. "What was your other grave sin?"

"I underestimated you, my dear. You come across as so naive and optimistic, so determined to see the bright side of everyone and everything, so damn certain that I am some sort of hero when I know perfectly well I am not, that I did not credit you with a proper comprehension of your family situation. I should have known that anyone as shrewd with investments and money as you are could not be entirely blind to human nature. Did you really hate your father at times in the past?"

"Yes." Emily's voice no longer held a light note.

"You were correct when you said I must have hated mine for leaving me to pick up the pieces after he put that damn bullet through his head." Simon clenched his hand slowly and then forced himself to relax each finger. "I did not even realize just how much I hated him until you pointed it out last night."

"It seems a perfectly natural reaction to me, my lord," Emily said gently. "We were, both of us, given adult responsibilities at a very young age and expected to perform as adults. We were obliged to look after the welfare of others at a time when, by rights, someone should have been concerned about our welfare."

"Yes. I had not thought of it that way." Simon gazed out into the gray mist. "It was raining that night when I found him. He had come back from London two hours earlier. I heard my mother asking him what was wrong. He would not speak to her. He went into the library and announced he was not to be disturbed under any conditions. Mama went upstairs and cried. After a while we all heard the shot."

"Dear God, Simon."

"I reached the library first and opened the door. He was lying facedown across the desk. The gun had fallen from his hand. There was blood everywhere. And I saw that he had left a note. For me. Damn his soul to hell. He did not say goodbye or explain why he had to kill himself or tell me how in God's name I was supposed to handle the mess he had created. He just left a damn note telling me to take care of my mother."

"Simon. My dear Simon."

He did not hear her rise from the chair, but Emily was suddenly there behind him, her arms going around his waist. She hugged him with a fierce protectiveness, as if she could somehow banish forever the sight of his father's brains spattered on the wall behind the desk.

For a long while Simon did not move. He simply allowed Emily to hold him. He could feel her warmth and softness and he realized that this was akin to what he experienced when he made love to her, but slightly different. It was not passion he was feeling, but another kind of closeness, one he had never known before with any woman.

After a while it dawned on Simon that he was feeling calmer, more at peace with himself. The restlessness that had awakened him that morning was gone.

There was silence in the library until Greaves knocked on the door to announce the arrival of Simon's secretary.

Emily entered the park at a brisk trot, followed by her groom. The mare she was riding was a beautiful gray with fine, sensitive ears, delicate nostrils, and spectacular conformation. The horse had been a gift from Simon, who had surprised her with it two days earlier after their conversation in the library. Emily and her maid had promptly decided that the very new, very dashing riding habit a la militaire complimented the animal perfectly.

"Ah, there you are, Emily," Lady Merryweather said as she approached on a sleek bay. "You look spectacular in that black habit." She examined the red and gold trim on collar and cuffs with a critical eye. "I confess I had a few doubts when we ordered it, but I am very pleased to see how it sets off your fair skin and red hair. Quite dramatic."

Emily grinned. "Thank you, Araminta."

"You really should have removed the spectacles, however," Araminta admonished. "They do nothing for the habit."

"Araminta, I cannot ride a horse without being able to see what I am doing or where I am going."

"There must be some way to manage. We must work on the problem." Araminta drew her horse up alongside Emily's and the two started along the path, their grooms following at a discreet distance.