"Then why is he going to offer for me?"

Broderick Faringdon went quiet for a moment. He was a man who had grown very adept at reading the intentions of his opponents in high-stakes games. "What he'll no doubt offer is a trade."

"Damn. You're right, Father." Charles poured himself more claret.

"Hell and damnation. Of course. Should have seen it coming," Devlin muttered.

Emily stared at her father. "A trade? Papa, what on earth are you talking about?"

Broderick shook his head. "Don't you get it yet, girl? Blade don't want to marry you. What he intends to do is threaten to run off with you unless I give him what he wants." He cast a brooding eye around the elegant drawing room. "And I think I know what he will demand in exchange for doing us the great favor of getting out of our lives."

Devlin looked at him sharply. "What does he want, Father?"

"St. Clair Hall." Broderick swallowed the remainder of the claret in his glass in one gulp. "Bloody bastard hates me. He's waited twenty-three years to get his vengeance and now he's finally found a way to do it."

Emily felt dazed. She sank stiffly down onto a brocade chair, her eyes never leaving her father. "I think you had better explain, Papa. Now."

Broderick surveyed his three offspring for a long moment and then sighed heavily. "Wish your mama was still with us. She always used to handle this kind of unpleasantness. Had a way about her. I could leave it all up to her."

Devlin glanced at Charles and then looked directly at his father. "Charles and I understand part of this. We know Blade is trying to use Emily somehow. But what is this about St. Clair Hall? Why would he want it in exchange for not running off with Em? Man's rich as Croesus. He could buy a dozen houses as fine as this one."

Emily clenched her fingers tightly together. "He said this was his home at one time," she said slowly. "He lived here as a boy."

Broderick wore a hunted expression. "He told you that?"

"Oh, yes, Papa. We are very close." Emily narrowed her eyes defiantly behind the lenses of her spectacles.

"How close?" Devlin demanded abruptly. "Intimately close? For God's sake, has that bastard already seduced you, Em? Is that why he thinks you'll run off with him?"

"The earl has been a perfect gentleman," Emily informed him proudly.

"Well, at least we can be grateful the man's got some shreds of a conscience left," Broderick observed wearily. "Doubt they'll do me much good, though."

"Papa," Emily said sharply, "You will explain all of this and you will do so now."

The elder Faringdon nodded glumly. "You will have to know all of it sooner or later. Blade has made certain of that, the damn bloody bastard. The long and the short of it is, I did not purchase St. Clair Hall after a particularly good run of luck, as I once told you. I won it and the bulk of the Traherne fortune directly from Blade's father in a card game twenty-three years ago. The earl paid his debt like the gentleman he was."

"And?" Emily scowled at him. "I know there is more to this, Papa."

"And then the fool came back here and put a bullet through his head."

Emily closed her eyes in horror. "Dear God in heaven."

Charles spoke up. "I fail to see the problem. It was a debt of honor and the man paid. The fact that he committed suicide later is no concern of ours."

Emily shuddered. "How can you be so callous? Don't you realize what must have happened?"

Broderick swore heavily. "There's not much more to the tale. The young boy and his mother vacated the house and went to live somewhere in the north. The mother never made another appearance in Society as far as I know. She died several years back, I understand."

"What about Blade?" Devlin asked. "What happened to him?"

"Some relative—an aunt, I believe—eventually scraped together enough blunt to buy him a commission. Probably did it to get rid of him. Blade went to the Peninsular Wars for a couple of years. Then he sold out and headed for the East Indies."

"Because he had no fortune of his own," Emily put in fiercely. "You had stolen his inheritance, stripped him of his rightful lands and property. After his father killed himself, Simon and his mother were thrown out of their home, penniless. They became dependent on the charity of relatives. How Blade must have hated that. He is so proud. How could you have done such a thing, Papa?"

Broderick shot her a fulminating glance. "I won everything in a fair game and don't you ever forget that, Missy. That's the way of the world. A man's got no business playing if he can't afford to pay."

"Papa."

"In any event, Blade's done all right for himself. Word in the clubs is he lived like a pasha out there on some island. Did some favors for the East India Company and they rewarded him with a slice of the tea trade. He's got a fair-sized fortune of his own now. God knows, he don't need anything from us."

"But he feels you owe him St. Clair Hall?" Devlin asked.

Broderick nodded. "Vengeful bastard. I've only seen him a couple of times over the years. He looked me up before he left for the wars and again just before he sailed to the East. Both times all he said was that someday I would pay for what I had done to him and his family. He swore my family would suffer as much as his had. He also vowed to get St. Clair Hall back. I thought it was all bluster."

"And now he thinks he's found a way to force you to give him the house," Charles said, glowering at his sister. "But if he's so rich, why don't he just offer to buy it back?"

"Expect it's the principle of the thing. He thinks I owe it to him. I told you, he wants vengeance. And he probably knows I would not sell it, even if he made a decent offer."

"Why not?" Charles demanded impatiently. "We're hardly ever in residence, anyway. Except for Emily, of course."

Broderick looked around again, savoring the furnishings of the beautiful room. "This is the finest home any Faringdon has ever owned, by God. Finer than anything my father ever acquired or my grandfather or the baron himself, the stingy bastard. I've done better than any of 'em. First Faringdon to ever amount to something. And this house proves it."

Devlin shot a narrow glance at Emily's white face. "This could get very nasty, indeed. Blade ain't the type to bluff. Emily, you surely ain't been so stupid as to lose your heart to Blade?"

" 'Course she has," Charles muttered. "Look at her. Thinks that son of a bitch really wants to marry her. And that's what he'll tell her when he invites her to run off with him. She'll believe him, just like she believed Ashbrook. Christ, what a mess. We'll have to lock her up."

"Do not be idiotic," Emily said. "I could escape from any room in this house." She drew herself up proudly, rage pouring through her veins like red fire. "But you will see. Blade is going to ask for my hand and I am going to marry him."

"He don't want you, girl. Not for his wife. Ain't that clear enough?" Charles shook his head in exasperation. "He ain't going to offer for you tomorrow at three. He's going to blackmail Father, instead."

"He bloody hell will make a respectable offer," Emily retorted, her voice high and tight with tension. "I know him, damn you."

Broderick sighed heavily. "No, Emily, you do not know him. No one knows Blade. You have not heard the talk in the clubs. The man is cloaked in mystery. Bloody powerful, too. They say even men like Canonbury and Peppington are under his thumb. All anyone is certain of is that he is both very rich and very dangerous."

"Do not tell her such things, Father," Devlin muttered. "You will only make him sound more intriguing to her. You know her romantic imagination."

"Listen to me, Emily, you're a sensible girl when it comes to managing finances," Broderick said in cajoling tones. "I expect you to be sensible about this matter, too. This is not some damn romantic novel. This is real. Your future is at stake. Blade's game is an old one, although I'll grant you 'tis not one usually played by men of his rank. The usual routine is for some impoverished scoundrel to offer to drop his suit for the daughter of the house in exchange for a large sum of money."