"Smoke has been with me for several years, yes."

"Why is he called Smoke? Because he burns the food?"

"No, because he was the bastard son of an island woman and a British seaman. No one wanted him after he was born and he survived by learning to move and act like smoke. Always there, but rarely noticed." A particularly useful talent when one made one's living lifting men's purses in dirty port towns, Simon reflected silently.

"How did you come to meet him?"

"I believe he was attempting to rob me at the time," Simon murmured.

Emily laughed in delight. "What made you decide to give him a position as your cook?"

"He is more than happy to prepare the sort of food I came to enjoy in the East. With him in the kitchen I am not obliged to eat the usual English fare of tough mutton, greasy sausages, and heavy puddings."

"I have noticed we eat a great many dishes with noodles and rice in them," Emily observed. "I must say, I enjoy them. The wonderful spices are very stimulating to the sensibilities."

Simon gave her an impatient glance, well aware she was attempting to change the topic. "You will go to Almacks, my dear," he said softly and deliberately.

"Will I?" She looked delightfully unconcerned about the whole thing. "I shall talk to Lady Merryweather about it. She is a fount of wisdom on how to carry on in Society, is she not? Simon, I am thinking of starting my own literary salon. I attended one this afternoon and, I must say, I was quite disappointed. We hardly touched upon literary matters at all. Everyone wanted to talk about investments."

That comment succeeded in diverting Simon's attention at once. "Did they, indeed?" He took another bite of the curry and watched his wife's face carefully. "Who attended the salon?"

"It was held in Lady Turnbull's house," Emily said airily. "There were several people there. I have forgotten some of the names, I confess." She frowned intently. "There was a gentleman named Crofton, however. I do remember him because I did not particularly care for him."

If Crofton was there, Ashbrook would not have been far behind, Simon reflected grimly. He decided to probe gently for more information. "I believe I made Crofton's acquaintance once on the street in front of his club. I was not impressed by him, either. Do you recall anyone else in attendance at Lady Turnbull's salon?"

"Well…" Emily shot him a cautious glance. "One or two others, perhaps. As I said, I did not get all the names."

So Ashbrook had, indeed, attended and for some reason Emily was trying to conceal the information. Simon went cold with sudden anger, sending Greaves from the room with a single look. He waited until he was alone with his wife, who was munching enthusiastically on a bite of curry and chutney.

"I would like to know everything that happened at Lady Turnbull's salon today, Emily."

"The thing is, my lord," Emily said earnestly, "I would rather not tell you until I know for certain if things are going to work out."

Simon stared at her in baffled fury. Bloody hell. Was she planning to run off with Ashbrook a second time? He could not credit the notion but at the same time the jealousy was already starting to gnaw at his insides. "What, precisely, do you intend to work out, madam?"

"Tis a secret, my lord."

"I wish to know."

"If I tell you, it will no longer be a secret, my lord," Emily pointed out reasonably.

"You are a married woman now, Emily. You do not keep secrets from your husband."

"The thing is, this would be terribly embarrassing for me if matters did not conclude happily."

Simon, who had picked up his wineglass, set it down again before he accidentally shattered it between clenched fingers. "You will tell me what this is all about. I am afraid I must insist upon knowing, madam."

Emily heaved a small sigh and darted him a searching glance. "Will you give me your word of honor not to tell a single soul?"

"I certainly do not intend to gossip about my own wife."

Emily relaxed slightly. Her eyes glowed and she was suddenly bubbling over with an excitement that she had apparently been hugging to herself all afternoon.

"No, I do not suppose you would. Well, my lord, the secret is that Ashbrook has promised to read my epic poem and tell me whether it is good enough to be shown to his publisher, Whittenstall. I am so anxious and excited, I can hardly bear it."

Simon felt the cold tension in his gut unknot at the expectant look in Emily's eyes. Of course she was not planning on running off with Ashbrook. He must have been mad to even consider the notion. He knew her better than that. Emily was helplessly in love with her dragon of a husband.

His reaction to the unlikely threat was, however, a clear indication of how powerfully she affected his self-control. Simon scowled.

But now he had another problem on his hands. Emily might not be planning to get herself seduced by the poet, but there was absolutely no doubt in Simon's mind that Ashbrook's goals were not innocent. Emily was fast becoming all the rage and Ashbrook considered himself extremely fashionable. Forming a liaison with the charming, eccentric wife of the Earl of Blade would no doubt strike the poet as an interesting challenge. He was probably wondering just what he had missed out on five years ago when Emily had used a chamber pot on his skull.

Ashbrook, you bastard. You guessed immediately that the one sure way to get Emily's attention was to show an interest in her writing. Simon decided he would definitely have to attend to the poet but in the meantime he did not have to worry that Emily was going to leave.

Even as he told himself not to be alarmed, Simon was obliged to realize just how important Emily had become to him. He was grappling with that uncomfortable notion when Emily spoke again.

"Well, Simon? Is it not the most marvelous opportunity for me?"

His mouth twisted laconically at the hopeful excitement in her lovely eyes. "It is certainly a most interesting development, my dear."

Emily nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, it is, and now you can see why I did not want anyone to know until Richard has given me his opinion. It would be too humiliating if he decides The Mysterious Lady is not suitable for publication. I have discovered that the ton dotes on humiliating gossip."

"You are quite right to keep the matter a secret," Simon murmured. "And I think it would be a very good notion to establish your own literary salon rather than attend Lady Turnbull's. She is not known for her genuine appreciation of literature, I fear. Her salons are simply excuses for a certain crowd to gather and share the latest gossip. And, as you have noted, here in town the gossip can be quite cruel."

"Yes, that was what I concluded." Emily went back to work on her curry. "I shall establish my salon as soon as possible. I believe I shall invite Celeste and her mother and Lady Merryweather, of course. And there are two or three other ladies I have met recently who are quite interested in the latest style of literature. I hope they will attend."

"You must give me a list of the names of those you plan to invite," Simon said.

Emily looked up quickly, a wary expression in her eyes. "No, my lord, I am not going to do that."

He blinked at the unexpected defiance. "May I ask why not?"

She pointed her fork at him in an accusing fashion. "Because I have finally discovered from your aunt how you go about managing things, my lord. You are apparently in the habit of intimidating people into doing what you want them to do. To be perfectly honest, I would not put it past you to coerce everyone on my guest list into attending my salon."

Simon was at first startled and then reluctantly amused.

"Very well, Emily. Invite whom you wish and I will stay out of the matter entirely."