Amanda Quick: Scandal

"I want everything to be perfect, my lord," Emily said quietly. "I am well aware that everything I do, including acting as your hostess, reflects on you."

"Do not fret about it overmuch, my dear. My position in Society is solid enough to sustain the discovery of a few stains on the drawing room carpets or a blot on the drapery." To his surprise, Emily paled and sank abruptly into the chair.

"Some stains and blots are especially difficult to hide, my lord. Sometimes one is obliged to take drastic measures."

He scowled at the odd note in her voice. "Emily, have you been working too hard on this soiree? I employ a decent-sized staff and I expect you to make use of everyone on it. If anyone is failing to do his duty, I would like to know about it at once. Greaves will handle the problem."

She rallied quickly at the implication that any of the staff might not be performing properly. "Your staff is wonderfully helpful, as I am certain you know, Simon. Everyone is working very hard."

He nodded, not entirely satisfied with the response. Emily was upset about something and he knew what that something had to be. She was worried about her bastard of a father. "Excellent. I am pleased to hear that. Now, then, I asked to see you so that I could return your manuscript to you."

"My manuscript?" For the first time Emily glanced at the package sitting on the corner of his desk. Her eyes flew back to his. "I do not understand, my lord. Why do you have my manuscript? Did Richard return it?"

"I asked him to send it back. I shall be quite blunt, Emily. He had not yet had a chance to read it and I did not think it proper for him to do so. I do not want you seeking his opinions."

"But he is a published author, my lord. I thought he would be able to judge whether there is any hope of my manuscript being made suitable for publication."

"I do not believe his judgment would be unbiased," Simon said flatly. "You will find he now agrees with me."

Emily flashed him a quick, hopeful glance. "Are you jealous of him, after all, Simon? I told you once before there was absolutely no need. My relationship with Richard is strictly professional, I assure you."

"I am not jealous of Ashbrook." Simon spaced each word very carefully. "And I expect you to have enough sense not to try to make me jealous."

"Yes, my lord. I mean, no. I would not do that." Emily chewed on her lower lip and eyed the manuscript for a few seconds. Then she jumped to her feet and snatched up the package. "If that is all you wanted, I had better get back to work. After the drawing room is properly cleaned I am scheduled to go over the buffet menu one last time with Smoke. Then I want to check the pantry with Greaves to make certain that all the supplies have arrived."

"A moment, if you please, madam."

Halfway to the door, Emily swung around to face him, clutching the manuscript to her breast. "Yes, my lord?"

"If you care to leave The Mysterious Lady with me, I can arrange to have it delivered to Whittenstall or Pound or one of the other publishers," Simon said softly.

Something that might have been amusement flashed in Emily's eyes. "I would not dream of allowing you to take my manuscript to a publisher, Simon."

"You trust Ashbrook more than you trust me?" he asked in silky tones.

She chuckled. "It is not that. The truth is, I know you too well. You would probably frighten Whittenstall or Pound into accepting my manuscript for publication or else you would pay one of them to publish it. Either way, I would not know for certain if my manuscript was capable of being accepted on its own merits. I would much prefer to take my chances like every other aspiring author."

Simon drummed his fingers lightly on the desk. "I see."

"In any event, while you may be able to get The Mysterious Lady published, you could not guarantee that it would sell to the public. There are some limits on even your considerable power in town, my lord. But I thank you for the offer." Emily whirled about and dashed from the room.

Simon watched the door close behind her and then he exhaled deeply. "Bloody hell."

She was right, of course. Getting the thing published would have been no great feat. Whittenstall or Pound would have been happy to do it for a price or a threat. But getting the public to buy Emily's epic romance would have been another problem.

He was brooding over the matter when the door opened again and Araminta Merryweather was ushered into the library. Simon got to his feet.

"Good morning, Aunt. I assume you are here to offer aid and council to the budding hostess?"

"I have promised to give a last-minute analysis of the plan of battle." Araminta smiled as she gracefully stripped off her gloves and took the chair Emily had recently vacated. "Your lady is determined that the soiree go perfectly so that you will not be humiliated in front of the beau monde."

Simon groaned. "I know. I told her not to fret about it."

"She is hardly likely to pay you any heed. The poor chit is so head over heels in love with you that she would do anything for you, Blade. And she feels enormous pressure not to embarrass you publicly. It is a grave responsibility you carry. I trust you are aware of it."

Simon gave her a sharp glance. "I assure you I am fully aware of my responsibilities toward my wife."

"Umm. Yes. She believes you are, too. Thinks you can do no wrong."

"Her opinion on that may have changed in the past twenty-four hours," Simon said grimly. "Her wastrel father has already ruined himself. Several months ahead of schedule, I might add. He had the gall to approach her for help."

Araminta's brows rose. "I see. And she turned to you?"

"She said she knew there was probably no point asking me to rescue him and I told her she was right." Simon slammed his palm flat against the desk and eyed the gaping jaws of a jewel-encrusted dragon that sat on the corner of the bookcase. "I will not do it, Araminta. I have waited too long for this moment. Rescuing her brother from that stupid duel and letting Northcote, Canonbury, and Peppington off the hook was one thing. Saving Broderick Faringdon is another. Emily knew that from the beginning."

"Yes, but Emily is much given to romantical notions and happy endings. And up until now you have generally indulged her."

"If she had false hopes, that is her problem. She has no excuse for them."

"You are quite right, of course. She has no excuse for them at all, except that she thinks you incredibly heroic and the most marvelous husband on the face of the earth."

Simon narrowed his eyes. "You find that amusing?"

"Naive is what I find it," Araminta said bluntly. "But I expect you will eventually destroy her illusions. Emily is too intelligent to remain naive forever."

Simon squelched the surge of anger that went through him. "Do not taunt me, Aunt. This is none of your affair."

"Perhaps not." Araminta considered that briefly and shrugged. "Is Emily angry with you?"

Simon got to his feet and went over to the tea table. He picked up the gold-and-green-enameled teapot and poured two cups of Lap Seng. "To be perfectly frank, I cannot tell what Emily is feeling today. She is in an odd mood."

"How so?"

Simon handed a cup and saucer to Araminta and then stood sipping the delicate brew. "Distracted. Harried. Running around as if she had far more weighty matters on her mind than the fact that her father is about to be ruined. But she does not seem angry."

"Well, I expect you will know soon enough if she is furious with you."

"In what way will I discover such fascinating information?" Simon muttered.

"By her response in bed, naturally." Araminta smiled knowingly over the rim of her teacup. "Has she begun withholding her favors?"

Simon was startled to feel himself turning a dull red. "Damn it, Araminta, I do not intend to discuss my private life with you."