"I have no particular interest in explaining anything to Northcote at the moment," Simon said. "As it happens, I am expecting a few explanations myself, madam."

Emily chewed on her lower lip. "Did you get my note?"

"Yes, madam, I got your note. We will discuss it later in private, however."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Emily was not certain she cared for the sound of that but before she could say anything further there was a commotion out in the hall. A few seconds later the door of the small parlor was thrown open to reveal a patrician-featured man in his mid-forties and an elegant, dark-haired woman dressed in an extremely fashionable traveling gown.

"Mama." Celeste broke into tears all over again and ran toward the dark-haired woman, who hugged her close. "Mama, I am so very sorry."

"My dearest daughter, I have been frantic with worry. Are you all right?"

"Quite all right, Mama, thanks to Lady Blade." Celeste pulled free of her mother's arms and smiled tearfully at Emily. "She saved me from a terrible fate, Mama. I owe her more than I can say."

The Marchioness of Northcote looked uncertainly at Emily. There was a certain watchfulness in her gaze. "I regret we have not yet been properly introduced, Lady Blade," she said somewhat stiffly. "But I have a feeling I am forever in your debt."

"Do not be ridiculous, Lady Northcote," Emily said cheerfully. "You are not at all in my debt."

Relief flickered in the marchioness's eyes. She glanced at her daughter again and then back at Emily. "All is well, then?"

"Quite well, madam." Emily chuckled softly. "Celeste has had an adventure, but there was no harm done and Blade took care of Nevil for you."

The Marquess of Northcote glanced sharply at his daughter and then he looked at Simon. He spoke for the first time, his eyes even more cautious and watchful than those of his wife. "Blade."

Simon inclined his head in a rather casual acknowledgment of the greeting. "Northcote."

"It would appear my wife is correct. We are apparently in your debt, sir."

"Not mine," Simon said coolly. "It was my wife who befriended your daughter and kept her out of that young rogue's clutches until I arrived."

"I see." Northcote closed the door and came farther into the room. "Would you mind explaining just what transpired here?"

Simon shrugged. "Why not? I was warned I would be stuck with the explanations."

"Are they that complicated?" Northcote gave him a searching glance.

"Not at all." Simon's expression was one of cold satisfaction. "I suggest you and your lady sit down, however, and order some ale. This may take a little time."

Northcote nodded, looking grimly resigned. "Peppington, Canonbury, and now me. You finally have us all where you want us, don't you, Blade?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Simon murmured. "You were the last. I shall consider you a wedding present from my bride."

"I must say, Simon, you handled that brilliantly." Emily sat down in the chair near the fire and watched her husband as he locked the door of the bedchamber he had booked for the night.

Earlier he had taken one brief look at the room assigned to Emily and his mouth had tightened grimly. He'd ordered that a new chamber be prepared at once. The innkeeper had hastily retrieved Emily's possessions and moved them into the larger, more comfortable room.

"The thing is, Simon, you made it all sound so perfectly normal and matter of fact. Quite as if we had simply encountered Celeste on our honeymoon trip and had taken her under our wing."

The Marquess and Marchioness of Northcote had left for town a few minutes ago in their fast, comfortable traveling coach. If all went well they would have Celeste safely abed in her own bedchamber by early morning. It had been agreed that the simplest approach to the whole matter was to arrive home at dawn with their daughter as if they were all returning from a ball. No one would be the wiser.

"I am glad you approve of the way I dealt with the matter. I confess I am not as accustomed to inventing romantic tales on the spur of the moment as you are." Simon crossed the room and dropped languidly into the chair across from Emily. He stretched his booted feet out in front of the fire and regarded his runaway wife with a hooded gaze.

"Well, you certainly did a magnificent job," Emily assured him happily. "You even managed to figure out quite quickly what I had already told Celeste so that our stories meshed rather nicely."

"You dropped several useful hints, my dear." Simon's brows climbed. "Parted tragically on the morning after our wedding, were we? It was extremely fortunate for you that Lady Celeste did not inquire into the exact nature of the tragedy that had separated us."

"You have a point." Emily considered that closely for a moment. "I wonder if her mother will inquire."

"I doubt it. I do not think there will be any further questions from that direction. Northcote will accept my version of the story about being delayed with the carriage and sending you on ahead to get you out of the storm. He and his wife were far more concerned with their daughter's plight than with yours."

"Poor Celeste. At least she was saved from having to wed the wrong man." Emily brightened. "It was a marvelous rescue, Simon. Quite what I would have expected of you."

"You flatter me." Simon propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, laced his fingers under his chin, and fixed his wife with an unwavering gaze. "And now I think the time has come for you to make a few explanations of your own."

"Explanations?"

"I warn you, I do not wish to hear any of that nonsense you wrote in your note about broken hearts and broken urns. I have already read that particular poem, if you will recall. It was not one of your better efforts."

Emily's elation over the successful culmination of her adventure with Celeste faded rapidly under the implacable expression in Simon's eyes. She lowered her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap. "You once called that poem very affecting."

"Somehow it left a different impression this time around. Perhaps it was the circumstances under which I read it. Your maid was sobbing into one of my best linen handkerchiefs at the time. Duckett was hovering about like a mourner at a funeral. Mrs. Hickinbotham was ranting and raving about how I would undoubtedly find you shot dead on the road by a highwayman. Or worse."

Emily was momentarily diverted. "What could have been worse than being shot by a highwayman?"

"I believe Mrs. Hickinbotham had visions of you suffering a fate worse than death," Simon explained blandly.

Emily gave her husband a quick, accusing glance. "Some might say I already suffered that last night, my lord."

Simon surprised her with a faint smile. "Was it really that bad, Emily?"

She heaved a sigh. "Well, no, actually. As I told Celeste, it was a night of near-transcendent bliss."

"Good God," Simon muttered.

"I have been thinking about it a great deal and I have decided it was not entirely your fault that the experience was not what it should have been, my lord. After all, you did tell me you had never done that sort of thing before."

"Did I say that?"

"Yes, you did. So I imagine part of our problem was that we were both a bit inexperienced at creating transcendental unions and such. Bound to be a few problems in the early stages." She gave him a hopeful look. "Do you not agree, my lord?"

"It is very generous of you not to blame me entirely for failing to transport you to a higher plane, my dear."

Emily frowned, detecting sarcasm. "Yes, well, perhaps the problems with the physical portion of our union were not all your fault, but that does not excuse you for what happened later. You were most unkind and I left you that note with the lines from my poem about urns and such because I thought it rather apt."