"You do not seem to have grasped a very essential point here, madam."

"What point is that?" Emily asked plaintively.

"I do not give a damn what happens to Charles or any other Faringdon. It sounds as if your brother is going to be the first of the clan to pave his own road to hell and I have no intention of getting in his way."

Emily's knuckles went white as she clutched the arms of her chair. "You cannot mean that."

"Every word, my dear. It ought to have been clear to you from the start that I have no interest in saving Faringdons. If it has not been made plain, then it can only mean you failed to pay attention."

"But, Simon, I was certain you would help me save him."

"Were you, my dear? Did you think, perhaps, that because you are now sleeping with me as a proper wife should that you can therefore manipulate me? Do you believe that I am so bemused by your charms in bed that I will allow you to control me outside of it? If so, you still have much to learn about your husband."

The chilling softness of the question and the accusation it carried swept over Emily like a cold wind. She rose unsteadily from the chair. "I was so certain you would help me," she said again, unable to believe the rejection.

"You have been looking after those rakehell brothers of yours long enough, Emily." Simon gave her an annoyed glance. "It is time they learned to take care of themselves."

"But they are my brothers."

"You owe them nothing." Simon got to his feet behind the desk, his gaze colder than ever. "Less than nothing. The duel they should have fought ought to have taken place five years ago. The fact that it did not gives me absolutely no inclination to halt this one."

"I do not understand what you are talking about." Emily walked blindly toward the door. "And I do not care. I cannot believe you will not help me save Charles. In fact, I simply will not believe it. I was so very certain—"

"Emily." Blade's voice was a whiplash cracking across the room full of dragons.

Emily paused, her hand on the doorknob. A flicker of hope flared to life. "Yes, my lord?"

"I have told you before, but it would appear I must repeat myself. It is high time you understood that you are no longer a Faringdon. When you married me, you severed all connection with your family. You belong to me now and you will do as you are told."

Emily did not attempt to find a response to that appalling comment. She went out the door without a word.

She walked listlessly up the stairs to her bedchamber and sat down in a chair near the window. Staring out into the gardens, she gave herself over to self-pity and the accompanying tears for several long moments.

When she had finished crying, she went over to the table that held the pitcher of water, splashed some into the bowl, and washed her face. Then she confronted herself in the mirror.

Something had to be done at once.

Dry-eyed now, Emily sat down at her small escritoire and picked up her quill. Idly she sharpened the nib with a small knife as she considered possible solutions to the enormous problem that confronted her.

After a few moments, the obvious became clear. She must find a way to make certain that Charles did not arrive for his dawn appointment. She must apply herself to the task of finding a plan to prevent that, just as she would apply herself to the business of inventing a plot for a tale of romance and adventure.

The ideas began to flow at once and Emily decided on a particularly brilliant scheme within a very short time. She began to feel much better as the outline of the whole thing took shape.

It seemed to Simon that the ticking of the library clock was much louder than usual. In fact, the silence in the room was growing oppressive. Now that he considered the matter, the entire house seemed unusually quiet.

It was odd how Emily's moods seemed to affect the staff these days. Hardened men who had once waded in blood up to their ankles now went around whistling or looking glum, depending on whether or not their mistress was smiling or dejected. It was ridiculous.

Simon got up from the desk and went to stand near the window. It was inevitable, he supposed, that sooner or later the elf would learn that his indulgence had definite limits. Emily had a disturbing tendency to go blithely through life applying her silly romantical notions to everything and everyone. She was a natural optimist, always looking for happy endings.

She also had a bad habit of believing she could cajole him into doing whatever she wished. That belief had evidently grown considerably stronger since last night's passionate session here in the library.

Simon's gaze flickered briefly toward the gold satin pillow where Emily had lain in his arms, her fingers desperately clutching handfuls of white silk. His body began to harden at the memory. He had never known such an exciting creature in his entire life as his bewitching green-eyed elf.

"My lord?"

Simon blinked away the image and regained control of himself. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder at his butler, who was standing in the doorway. "What is it, Greaves?"

"I am sorry to bother you, sir. I knocked, but you apparently did not hear me."

"I was lost in thought," Simon said impatiently. "What did you want?"

Greaves coughed discreetly, his scarred face looking more forbidding than usual. "I believe there is something you should know, sir. Lady Blade has, ah, delivered certain instructions to George, the footman."

"What instructions?" Simon walked back to his desk.

"She has asked George to find her a member of the criminal class who is skilled in the art of kidnapping."

Simon looked up swiftly, staring at his butler in stunned amazement. "Kidnapping! Are you certain?"

"Quite certain, sir. George was horrified, as you can imagine. He came straight to me and I have come directly to you. It seems my lady wishes to interview a successful villain who is in the market for temporary employment. Perhaps she is doing research for her epic poem, sir?"

"And perhaps she has decided to take certain matters into her own hands," Simon muttered. He sat down at his desk and reached for paper and pen. Quickly he dashed off a note.

Simon scanned the note, folded it carefully, and handed it to Greaves. "See that Lady Blade receives this in about an hour's time. And do not fret, Greaves. The situation is under control."

"Yes, my lord." Greaves looked somewhat relieved.

Simon waited until his butler had left the room before getting up to pour himself a glass of claret.

This was what came of overindulging females. Things had gone far enough. It was time Emily learned a very important lesson.