A few minutes before one that morning, Emily sat down at the mahogany desk and stared fixedly at the brandy decanter. She had put her spectacles back on but she was ready to whip them off and stuff them into the top desk drawer as soon as Simon arrived.

The brandy decanter looked very inviting.

The decanter was full and Emily was cold with nerves and anticipation. For the past half hour she had been deliberating about whether to pour herself a fortifying glass.

The hands on the face of the tall clock near the fireplace were moving so slowly that Emily was beginning to wonder if they had stopped altogether. A couple of candles glowed nearby but that was the only illumination in the room. The fire had been laid for morning but she dared not light it. One of the staff would notice tomorrow that she had been up late again and they would all worry that she was working too hard. As a result the room was growing quite chilly.

With a start, Emily felt the gooseflesh on her arms as a sudden draft of chilled air rushed into the room behind her. She shivered in her frilled dressing gown and wondered if a window had blown open. She started to rise from her chair.

In that same instant she sensed another presence in the room.

Emily leapt to her feet, her lips parting in a scream, as she grabbed the letter opener that was laying on the desk.

But the scream was never uttered. A large masculine hand clamped quite firmly over her mouth and Emily was pulled quickly back against a hard male body.

She went limp with relief as she realized who held her.

"I would feel a great deal more welcome if you would put down that letter opener," Simon said, lowering his hand from her mouth. He extinguished the candle he held in his other hand.

"Simon. Bloody hell." Emily tossed aside the letter opener and spun around to glare up at him through her spectacles. "You gave me a terrible fright. Where did you come from? How on earth did you sneak up on me like that? I have been watching the door for an age."

Simon unfastened his greatcoat and stepped aside. He nodded casually toward a section of bookshelving that was slowly, silently sliding back into place against the wall. Emily saw the dark entrance that yawned in the stone behind the bookcase and her eyes widened in amazed delight.

"A secret passageway. Simon, this is wonderful." She darted around him and scurried toward the rapidly disappearing passageway. All thoughts of the long-planned confession vanished in the face of the promise of high adventure.

"Contain your enthusiasm, Miss Faringdon." Simon reached out and caught her arm, drawing her to a halt. "The bookcase will close on you. It is far too heavy for you to open by hand. One must use the hidden lever."

"What hidden lever? Where is it? Oh, this is so thrilling. Just like something out of one of those bloodcurdling Minerva Press novels you spoke of earlier this evening. I can hardly believe it. To think I have lived here nearly all my life and never knew about this secret."

"Calm yourself." Obviously amused by her irrepressible excitement, Simon glanced around the room until he spotted the brandy decanter. He tossed the heavy greatcoat down over a chair. "There are two levers," he explained as he crossed to the small table where the brandy stood.

"Two?"

"One in the passageway behind the wall and one hidden inside the bookcase itself." He poured two glasses of brandy as he spoke. "The man who built St. Clair Hall believed in maintaining emergency escape routes."

"But how did you know about the secret passageway?" Emily watched with regret as the bookcase sealed itself against the wall once more.

"Have you not reasoned that out yet? You astonish me. I know about the passageway because I used to live here."

That captured her full attention. Emily swung around quickly and saw that he was leaning against the desk with languid ease, sipping his brandy. She realized he had changed out of his evening clothes. He was dressed very casually in breeches, boots, and a linen shirt. He was not even wearing a cravat. He looked like a man relaxing in the comfort of his own home.

His own home.

Wordlessly Simon offered her the second glass of brandy. Just as if he were the host and I the visitor, Emily thought suddenly.

"St. Clair Hall was your family's country home?" Emily took the brandy glass in both hands, searching his face. "What an amazing coincidence."

"Yet another one for you to note in your journal." He swallowed a mouthful of brandy.

Emily chewed on her lower lip, uncertain of his mood. "You must have been a very young boy when you left."

"Twelve."

"Why did you not mention that the hall had once been your home?"

He shrugged. "It did not seem particularly important."

Emily took a sip of the brandy, frowning again. She had the distinct impression she was missing something here, but for the life of her she could not think what it was. Her romantic imagination took hold once more.

"It is obvious this strange coincidence is just one more haunting element in our doomed relationship, my lord," Emily finally announced.

Simon gave her a sharp glance. "Doomed, did you say? I confess I am not as well schooled in the elements of romantic literature as yourself. Perhaps you will explain?"

Emily took another sip of brandy and began pacing the room. Her soft slippers made no sound on the carpet. "I must tell you, my lord, that there can be no happy ending for us. And it is all my fault."

He watched her through narrowed, hooded eyes. "Why is that?"

Emily clutched the brandy glass so fiercely that her knuckles went white. She could not meet Simon's eyes as she turned at the end of the room and started pacing back toward the desk. Best to say it quickly and get it over and done, she decided.

"My lord, I must confess I have misled you most shamefully. I have flirted outrageously with you. I have led you on in a shocking fashion and allowed you to believe that I would welcome an offer of marriage from you."

There was a short, charged silence from the vicinity of the desk. Then Simon asked coldly, "Are you trying to tell me you would not welcome such an offer?"

"Oh, no, my lord. It is not that at all." She threw him an anguished glance, spun around on her heel, and strode bravely back toward the opposite end of the room. "I assure you I would be deeply honored by such an offer. Deeply honored. But I cannot in good conscience allow you to make one."

"How do you intend to stop me?"

"By telling you the truth about myself. A truth that I fully expected someone else to have told you long before now." Emily frowned for an instant. "Indeed, I cannot imagine why someone has not mentioned the Unfortunate Incident to you before this but since the good people of Little Dippington have seen fit to keep their mouths shut, I must confess all."

"The confession must be an interesting one, indeed, if it must be made in secret at this hour of the night."

The sound of crystal clinking gently on crystal came from the brandy table. Emily risked a quick sidelong glance and saw that the earl had poured himself another brandy. It struck her that she could do with another one herself.

"My lord, I shall try to make this as brief as possible so that you may get on about your affairs." Emily took a deep breath and steeled herself. "The horrid truth is that you cannot possibly ask for my hand in marriage for the simple reason that I am a ruined woman."

"Ruined for what? You look in fine fettle to me. Healthy as a horse."

Emily squeezed her eyes shut and came to a halt facing the bookshelves at the far end of the room. "You mistake my meaning, my lord," she said quietly. "I am trying to tell you that I am socially ruined. To be blunt, there is a great scandal in my past."

"A scandal?"

"A scandal involving a man. The scandal is of such proportions that I have been assured by my family that no decent man, especially a man with a duty to a noble title such as yours, could possibly wish to marry me."

There, Emily thought bleakly. It is done. She waited for the storm that must surely come. The Earl of Blade would not appreciate the fact that she had allowed him to make a cake of himself for more than a sennight.

"Are we by any chance discussing that bit of nonsense that occurred when you were nineteen?" Simon asked blandly.

Emily was thrown into instant confusion. "You have heard about the Incident, my lord?"

"Rest assured, my dear, I always try to fortify myself with as much information as possible before I set out on a project. It is an old habit of mine. One I picked up during my years in the East."

She turned to stare at him, not understanding how he could be taking this so lightly. "My lord, it was not a trifling matter. It was an elopement. Or rather, it was supposed to be an elopement. I fear I foolishly surrendered to an excess of romantic passion and paid the price."

"This grows more interesting by the moment."

"Bloody hell, Blade, this is not a joke. Do you not understand? I ran off with a man. My father caught up with us but it was…" she cleared her throat with a small cough, "it was too late."

"Too late?" The earl cocked a brow, not looking in the least alarmed.

"We were obliged to spend the night on the road," Emily mumbled. She averted her gaze from Simon's gleaming eyes. "My father did not find me until the next morning."

"I see. Tell me something, Emily. Why is it I have the distinct impression you do not entirely regret the Incident?"