"The only difference here," Charles said, "is that Blade ain't impoverished."

"I am convinced you are wrong," Emily said through her teeth. "The earl's offer will be a valid one and I am going to accept it, even if you do not give your permission, Papa. You cannot stop me."

Broderick massaged his temples. "Remember that disaster five years ago, m'dear. You cannot be wanting to go through that humiliation and heartbreak again. You pined for days."

"It is not the same," Emily cried. "The earl will marry me."

"It is the same, damn it all," Broderick shot back. "And Blade will never marry you. But by the time you figure that out, we'll all be—" He broke off abruptly.

"You'll all be what, Papa?" But a sudden realization had just struck Emily. When it came to financial matters, she was rarely blinded by romance. Her eyes widened in comprehension. "Ah, I think I am beginning to perceive the full extent of the earl's threat. He is very clever, is he not?"

"Now, Em, don't go worrying your head about the details here," Charles said quickly. "Let Father handle this." He traded a worried glance with Devlin, who was frowning darkly.

"It is not just the threat to my reputation that worries you, is it?" Emily said slowly. "After all, you've already suffered that trial once before. No, the real risk is that Blade might indeed take me away for some time. Months, perhaps. Even a year or two. And once deprived of my financial skills, all three of you would lose St. Clair Hall and everything else soon enough at the tables."

"Damme, Emily, that ain't it at all. It's you I'm worried about, girl. You're my only daughter. D'you think I want to see you ruined for a second time?" Broderick glared at her.

Emily crossed her arms under her breasts and nodded in satisfaction. "Very clever, indeed. I'll wager that without me to repair your fortunes periodically on 'Change, you three would not be able to keep this house, or your expensive bloodstock, or much else for more than a year, at most."

"That ain't true," Charles snapped. "It's you we're concerned about. Your reputation and happiness are what's important here."

"Thank you," Emily said dryly. "So kind of you."

"Now, see here, Em—" Devlin began furiously.

"Do you know," Emily mused thoughtfully, "the most interesting question here is how the earl came to understand just how crucial I am to your financial status, Papa."

"Damn good question," Broderick muttered as he poured himself another glass of claret. "Which ain't to say your brother ain't right," he added quickly. "I am concerned about you, girl. Very concerned."

"So are we," Charles assured her. "The money ain't got anything to do with it."

"I am relieved to hear that," Emily murmured. "So nice to know one's family cares about one." She got up and walked out of the room.

Behind her Broderick Faringdon poured himself the remainder of the claret. He and his sons sank into a gloomy silence.

Emily went straight to her sanctuary, the library. There she sat behind the big mahogany desk and stared unseeingly out into the gardens. For a long while she did not move. Then she opened a drawer and removed the beautiful box that contained the carefully bound stack of Simon's letters.

It was time to step out of the romantic haze in which she had been living for the past several days. Her father had been right about one thing: Her whole future was at stake. It was time to do some serious thinking about the problem that confronted her.

It was time, in fact, to apply the same razor sharp intelligence she normally brought to bear on financial matters to the situation in which she now found herself. Emily opened the first letter in the bundle. She had read it countless times and could have quoted it from memory.

After an hour of rereading the letters and rethinking everything that had been said between herself and Simon during the past few days, Emily forced herself to confront certain inescapable conclusions.

The first conclusion was that her family was right. Simon had established a relationship with her for the sole purpose of using her to extract vengeance against her father. The entire chain of events she had been attributing to a benevolent fate now exhibited a terrible, implacable logic.

But Emily had reached a second conclusion after rereading Simon's letters. The man who had written those sensitive, intelligent notes could not be the kind of monster her father claimed he was.

The third inescapable conclusion was that she was still in love with the mysterious, golden-eyed dragon of the East.

She came from a long line of gamblers, Emily reminded herself. It was time she took a risk for the sake of her own future happiness.

Pulling a piece of foolscap toward her, she picked up her quill and penned a short note.

Emily frowned over the note as she folded it and rang the bell to summon a footman. She hoped the wording was vague enough not to give anything away in the event the message was intercepted. One had to be very careful when one arranged clandestine meetings.

Simon was waiting for her at the pond. Emily heaved an enormous sigh of relief when she saw the chestnut stallion loosely tethered to an elm.

The dragon came toward her through the trees, his golden eyes unwavering. Emily steeled herself.

"As you can see, I received your note, Miss Faringdon." The earl reached up to help her dismount.

"Thank you, my lord." Emily deliberately kept her voice formal and totally devoid of emotion. The heat of his hands warmed her through the fabric of her habit. She stepped back from Simon as soon as her feet touched the ground. Briskly she turned to walk toward the stream. "I will not take up much of your time. It is getting late."

"Yes, it is." He followed her, his black Hessians making no noise on the soft carpet of old leaves that blanketed the ground.

Emily sat down primly on the boulder where Simon had first kissed her and risked a quick glance up at him from under the brim of her chip straw bonnet. He did not smile. He simply braced himself with one booted foot on the boulder, rested his elbow on his knee, and waited.

This man is good at waiting, Emily realized. He had waited twenty-three years for vengeance.

"I have been speaking with my father and brothers. Several things have become clear," Emily began slowly.

"Have they indeed?"

She looked toward the stream. "I want you to understand, my lord, that I fully comprehend your reasons for this rather bizarre course of vengeance you have embarked upon. In your shoes, I would most likely have tried something just as drastic. We are not unalike in some ways."

"Your father has been quite talkative, I see."

"He has explained about what happened all those years ago. How my family acquired St. Clair Hall. And about the terrible tragedy of your father's death. You have a right to pursue revenge."

"You are very understanding, my dear."

She wondered if he was mocking her. It was impossible to tell from his cool tone. Emily drew a breath and kept going. She was committed now. "I realize that you have no real intention of extending a legitimate offer for my hand. You plan to threaten to run off with me and keep me tucked away as your mistress for a few months or so unless my father hands over St. Clair Hall. You will not doubt keep me dangling emotionally during that time by promising marriage."