"I was not afraid of your lovemaking, my lord. And I am not without some experience, if you will recall."

"Of course you were anxious," he snapped. "It was very obvious. Unanxious brides do not leave notes for their bridegrooms. They are waiting in bed where they are supposed to be. And as for your much-vaunted experience, my dear, it is a joke. You are hardly a woman of the world. If you had really had any notion of relations between men and women, you would have been waiting for me in your bed last night, not scribbling in your journal."

"But, Simon, I explained I was concerned for you. I did not want you to feel obligated in any way to perform your duties."

Simon slashed the riding crop through the air and severed the blooms from two daffodils. "Hell and damnation, woman. You were anxious about the unknown and in your anxiety you invented all that ridiculous, high-minded nonsense about not wanting to impose on me. The plain truth; Emily, is that you needed to be reassured and I told you what you wanted to hear."

She bit her lip. "So you lied to me about wanting to enhance our unique metaphysical communication?"

"Emily, I did what I had to do in order to calm your bridal fears. We got the business over and done in a reasonable fashion and there is now no chance of an annulment."

"That is all you cared about? Making certain there would be no grounds for an annulment this morning?" she asked softly. "You did not feel that last night we were both cast adrift on love's transcendent golden shore?"

"Bloody hell. For God's sake, woman, will you cease prattling on about romance and metaphysics? I have had enough of your romantical nonsense. This is a marriage, not a verse from an epic poem. It is time you faced reality. You are no longer a Faringdon. You are now my wife. We shall manage to deal comfortably with each other if you keep that fact uppermost in your mind at all times."

"I am hardly likely to forget it, Simon."

"See that you don't," he said, his golden eyes blazing. "Emily, it is time you understood that I require one thing above all else from you."

"You require my love?" A spark of foolish hope still burned within her, Emily realized with chagrin.

"No, Emily," Simon said brutally. "What I require from you—what I will have from you at all costs—is your complete and unwavering loyalty. You are now the Countess of Blade. You are a Traherne. You are no longer a Faringdon. Is that entirely clear?"

The last, tiny flicker of hope died. "You make yourself very clear, my lord."

Emily turned away from the man she loved with all her heart and walked alone toward the big house. She resisted the urge to glance back over her shoulder as she slipped through the door. Tears burned in her eyes as she hurried upstairs to her bedchamber.

She would have to leave, of course. Her dreams and hopes had all been shattered. She could not possibly stay here as Simon's wife. To do so would make a mockery of all her pure and noble passions.

It would be utterly unbearable to look at Simon every day and know that he felt nothing important for her. Even more unthinkable to have him come to her at night and, as her father had so crudely stated, rut on her like a stallion covering a mare.

The tears spilled through her lashes at that last thought. She had to get away immediately. Emily rushed into her bedchamber and began choosing the items of clothing she would take with her when she fled St. Clair Hall.

Chapter 9

Simon glanced again at the tall clock in the library as he paced back and forth in front of it. It was nearly six and Emily had still not come downstairs to join him for a glass of sherry before dinner.

He was beginning to realize that he had probably crushed her completely that morning. She was such a romantical little creature, completely addicted to happy endings.

Simon rarely lost his temper. He prided himself on controlling it as well as he controlled his other passions. But something had snapped inside when he had arrived home from his morning ride to discover that his new bride was already meeting Broderick Faringdon in a secretive fashion.

That news, coming as it did on top of the mixed emotions Simon had about his wedding night, had been more than enough to light the flames of rage.

Simon examined the golden sherry in his glass and recalled how Broderick Faringdon had boldly tried to talk Emily into secretly continuing to manage his business affairs.

The bastard. Did he really believe he could get away with such tricks? Simon wondered. Of course, he did. Faringdons were a sneaky, conniving lot who would try anything they thought they could get away with undetected. But their financial genius of a daughter belonged to him now and Simon knew how to protect what was his.

He had enjoyed informing Faringdon at the wedding that he had no intention of allowing Emily to continue making investments for her father and brothers. It had been extremely satisfying to see the expression on his old enemy's face when he had yanked back the lure he had dangled in front of Faringdon for the past few weeks.

Typical of Broderick Faringdon to come nosing around the very next day after losing his valuable daughter to see what could be salvaged from the disaster.

Simon sighed. And typical of Emily not to have realized that her new husband intended to make his vengeance complete.

She'd actually had the nerve to tell him he should let go of the past and work on forging a pure, romantic, transcendental union with her.

The unfortunate part, Simon realized ruefully, was that she genuinely believed all that nonsense about love on a higher plane. She had badly needed a dose of reality and he had finally lost his temper and administered it.

Still, it had been unkind of him to demolish her sweet, romantical notions in such a heartless fashion. On the other hand, he assured himself now, there had not been much choice. After seeing Faringdon with her, Simon had been forced to make Emily's situation crystal clear to her.

She was no longer a Faringdon. She was his wife now and she had to know what that meant. It had precious little to do with the romantic wonders of the metaphysical plane. It had everything to do with giving her complete and unswerving loyalty to her husband. Simon saw no reason he should not be able to command the same degree of loyalty from Emily as he did from every member of his staff.

He glanced irritably at the clock again. Then he pulled the velvet bell rope.

Duckett appeared almost instantly, his expression graver than usual. "Yes, my lord?"

"Send someone upstairs to see what is detaining Lady Blade."

"Immediately, my lord." Duckett retreated and closed the library door.

Simon watched the clock as time ticked slowly past. He wondered if Emily was going to be one of those annoying females who collapsed in tears and took to their beds with their vinaigrette whenever a man showed them the edge of his temper. If so, she would soon learn he did not intend to allow such excessive displays of feminine sensibilities.

The library door opened. Duckett stood there looking as though he were about to announce a death in the family.

"Well, Duckett?"

"Sir, I regret to report that madam is not here."

Simon scowled and glanced out the window. "Is she fooling about in the gardens at this hour?"

"No, my lord." Duckett coughed tentatively. "My lord, this is rather difficult to explain. Apparently madam ordered the carriage this afternoon after you left to visit Lord Gillingham. I am told she went to see the Inglebright sisters. She sent Robby back with the carriage saying she would walk home but she has yet to return."

"Good God. What does she think she's doing discussing that silly romantic poetry with her friends today? This is her honeymoon."

"Yes, my lord."

Simon swore. "Send someone around to Rose Cottage and fetch her ladyship home."

Duckett coughed behind his hand again. "Sir, I fear there is more. Robby says that madam wore a carriage gown and took two rather large items of luggage with her."

Simon went cold. "What the devil are you trying to say, Duckett?"

"I believe, sir, that you may wish to interview her maid, Lizzie," Duckett said bluntly.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"The girl is crying in her room and she apparently has a note she has been requested to give directly to you."

Simon did not need any special mental powers to guess that he was about to discover his bride of barely twenty-four hours had run off. "Get the maid in here at once, Duckett. And send around to the stables for Lap Seng. I shall want to leave within fifteen minutes."

"Yes, my lord. May I say, sir, that staff is extremely worried about madam's safety." The unspoken accusation hung in the air. It was obvious the new master of St. Clair Hall was being blamed for bruising madam's delicate sensibilities and causing her to run off.

"Thank you, Duckett. I shall inform her of that fact at the earliest opportunity."

Madam, Simon thought grimly as Duckett closed the door, had better prepare herself to have more than her delicate sensibilities bruised when her husband catches up with her.

How dare she leave like this? She belonged to him now. It was she who had made the marriage bargain. She could bloody well abide by it.


Emily stood in the middle of the tiny inn bedchamber, her pitiful collection of belongings at her feet, and nearly broke into tears all over again. She was exhausted, she was hungry, and she had never felt so lost and alone in her life.