The Forbidden Lord (17 page)

As he moved off a few paces, she forced herself to meet Jordan’s livid gaze. “I have a favor to ask of you. I have no right to it, I know, but I’m asking you…” She swallowed, staring down at her hands. “I’m entreating you not to tell anyone your…suspicions about me.”

“They’re not suspicions anymore, Emily.”

“I realize that. But only you know the truth, and I—”

“The truth?” Stepping toward her, he lowered his voice to a hiss. “I don’t know the goddamned truth. All I know is you’re masquerading as Lady Dundee’s daughter. I don’t know why or how or—”

“And I can’t tell you.”

He glowered at her. “Why the devil not?”

She drew on her glove, then forced herself to meet his gaze. “It’s…complicated. But please believe me, I have good reason for this pretense. If you reveal the truth to anyone—your friends, your servants, anyone at all—it could ruin not only my life, but the lives of several other people.” She swallowed her pride. “I’m begging you. If you care even a little for me, you’ll keep silent.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “You want me to keep silent, but you’ll give me no answers. Why are you doing this? Why be guided by Nesfield and his sister? What purpose does it serve? If you’d just tell me, I’d keep your secret!”

Yes, of course he would—except for where it concerned his good friend, Lord St. Clair. She and Lady Dundee were so close to finding out who Sophie’s lover was, that Emily couldn’t risk fright
ening off their most likely suspect now. Or suffering Lord Nesfield’s wrath. “I’m sorry, Jordan, I can’t tell you. It’s not my secret alone.”

“And if I refuse to keep quiet unless you tell me everything?”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back furiously. She would not let him see her cry. She wouldn’t! “Then the first person you’ll destroy is me. Isn’t it enough that you’ve taken my…virginity? Must you take everything else?”

Remorse filled his features, and his voice gentled. “I didn’t take your virginity. Your virtue is intact.”

“Well, at least there’s that,” she said in a whisper. “But it doesn’t change anything. I still can’t tell you.”

“Devil take it, Emily! Tell me, damn you!”

She cast him a pleading glance. “Why do you care so much about this? It has nothing to do with you.” He’d given her no indication that he’d ever been interested in Sophie, so there was no point in continuing to suspect him, no matter what Lord Nesfield thought. “Keeping my secret won’t hurt you. Do you despise me so much for trying to fool you that you won’t rest until you destroy me?”

His expression was stark, drawn. “I don’t despise you, for God’s sake. I could never despise you, and I certainly don’t wish to destroy you.”

“Then keep my secret.”

“Why can’t you trust me with the truth? Haven’t I proved I care about you?”

He could say that now? After what had just happened? “Oh, yes, I heard how much you cared! ‘This isn’t romantic feeling, my dear,’” she quoted bitterly. “‘It’s desire, pure and simple.’ You desire me, that’s all.” She hugged herself, feeling the hurt slice through her again. “No, you don’t even desire me! You desire that wanton Lady Emma! Yet you
want me to trust you with my entire future! How dare you?” Tears began to stream down her face, and she wiped them away furiously. “You have no right to ask that of me, you…you bastard!”

He groaned, his expression shifting from anger to guilt as he stepped forward, reaching for her.

Quickly, she backed away, stammering, “I…I have to go now. I d-dare not stay here any longer.” Turning on her heels, she hurried off.

“Please, Emily,” he bit out behind her. “Can’t we talk about this?”

She didn’t answer but kept on going, a fervent prayer tumbling from her lips as she hurried through the rooms.
Dear God, don’t let him tell. If you’ll keep him from exposing me, I’ll never do anything like this again, I swear
.

She only hoped God heeded the prayers of wantons.

O
phelia looked askance at St. Clair as she rose from the bench. “What do you mean, you can’t find them? They must be here somewhere.”

He seemed to share her concern. “I’ve searched every room, but they’re nowhere to be found.” He handed her a scrap of woven silk. “I did find your shawl, however. It was only a couple of rooms away.”

Of course it was. She’d purposely left it close by. So where on earth were they? A pox on Blackmore, that rascal. She should’ve known this would happen, especially after yesterday. And now it would be on her head, as well it should be. She was the one who’d let the girl in for this trouble.

“When I get my hands on that scoundrel…” she muttered as she hurried across the room.

St. Clair marched grimly beside her. “You can have him after I’m through. I swear, I had no idea
he’d try something like this. Jordan isn’t generally irresponsible. Some might even say he’s too responsible sometimes. But he has this fool notion about your daughter that—”

When St. Clair broke off, she stopped and grabbed his arm. “What fool notion?”

He raked his hand through his hair. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Tell me what Blackmore is up to with my daughter!”

“It’s ridiculous. It’s just that—”

“Hello, Mama,” came a cheery voice from behind her. “I’m afraid we didn’t find your shawl. We’ve been looking everywhere.”

Ophelia turned to find Emily and Lord Blackmore approaching, a few paces apart. Though the girl was smiling, the smile was patently false. Her bonnet was on crooked and her face was flushed. And Blackmore was looking as fierce as those carvings of the soldiers she’d just seen.

Something had happened, something monumental. Tension emanated from them, as taut as a well-strung bow.

“Where in God’s name have you two been?” Ophelia asked, her angry gaze fixing on Blackmore.

Blackmore met it with unrepentant insolence. She found it a tad unnerving.

It was Emily who answered, the words coming out in a rush. “I’m so sorry if we worried you, Mama. When we couldn’t find your shawl, we spoke to the guards, but they hadn’t seen it, so we went out to the carriage and looked there. Didn’t we, Lord Blackmore?”

He hesitated a moment, his scowl deepening, if that were possible. “Yes,” he finally clipped out. “Of course. We went out to the carriage.”

A blatant lie if she’d ever heard one. But if they
hadn’t gone out to the carriage, where had they disappeared to?

Ophelia held up her shawl. “St. Clair found it for me. How odd that you missed it. It was only a couple of rooms away.”

Emily wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Yes, how odd.” She looked as if she were thinking, then added, “Oh, I know. That must have been the room we skipped because Lord Blackmore said you hadn’t gone in it.” She cast him a wan smile. “I
told
you we should check all the rooms, you silly man. But you were so insistent—”

He met her gaze, the muscles flexing in his jaw. “Yes, I’m nothing if not insistent. I eventually always get my way, you know.”

A fresh blush stained the girl’s cheeks as she returned her attention to St. Clair. “Well, in any case, I’m…I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our outing short, Lord St. Clair. That headache of mine—”

“Of course. I should have insisted that we change it to another day the moment you said something.” St. Clair shot Blackmore a stern glance. “I can be insistent myself, can’t I, Jordan?”

The two men stood glaring at each other until Ophelia cleared her throat. Since no one was going to tell the truth, and since they were all obviously ready to throttle each other for things they wouldn’t discuss aloud, they might as well go home. “Well, then, I suppose one of you gentlemen should call for the carriage.”

“I will,” Blackmore growled, then stalked off toward the entrance like some prowling beast.

As soon as he was gone, Emily visibly relaxed. St. Clair took her arm and led her in the same direction Blackmore had gone, with Lady Dundee following behind.

He gazed down at Emily with concern. “Are you all right? You look a little peaked.”

The smile she flashed him was brittle and far too bright. “I’ll be fine as soon as I can lie down in a quiet room with a cold cloth on my head. You mustn’t worry.”

“With your cousin sick, I can’t help but worry,” he answered smoothly. “You might be suffering from the same ailment.”

Yes, indeed, Ophelia thought, an ailment called
men
. They were a plague upon women everywhere. Except for her dear Edward, of course.

She missed Edward. She’d known he wouldn’t approve, so she hadn’t told him of this farce. Still, she wished he’d come to London. This was becoming more complicated with each passing day, and she could use his advice. He was an excellent judge of character—he’d know what to make of St. Clair and Blackmore.

The ride back to Randolph’s town house was so quiet, she could practically hear each hoofbeat of the horses. But the silence failed to dispel the air of suppressed anger between Blackmore and Emily that vibrated like two tines of a tuning fork.

Somehow she would find out what had happened during their absence. Emily would not put her off this time.

When Blackmore’s carriage clattered up in front of the town house, St. Clair practically bounded out, as if in a hurry to escape the tension. Blackmore, however, didn’t move. “I’ll wait here for you,” he told St. Clair, as the viscount helped first Emily, then herself from the carriage.

Good riddance
, Ophelia thought as they left Blackmore behind. She was more than ready to escape both thorny men. As soon as they entered the house, she began assuring St. Clair that he needn’t
give any more thought to them and could leave at once. Though he hinted broadly at his wish to see Sophie, she ignored him and watched with profound relief as he left, looking tense, discouraged, and more than a little angry.

Although she wanted to talk to Emily before Randolph could corner the girl, Carter approached her before she could even usher the girl into the parlor.

“There’s a Mr. Lawrence Phelps waiting to see you, milady. I thought I would wait until his lordship left to mention it. ’Tis very strange. The young man claims to be Miss Emily Fairchild’s cousin. Of course, I told him that Miss Fairchild will be coming soon to stay with Lady Sophie, but the young man insists that Miss Fairchild is here now and demands to see her. I put him in the parlor.”

“Thank you, Carter,” Ophelia said, dismissing him with a look. As soon as he left, she turned to Emily. “Is this Mr. Phelps truly your cousin?”

“Oh, yes.” Emily sighed. “He’s a barrister here. Papa must have written to tell him I was in town. What should I do? If I talk to him, the servants will wonder. Nor can I tell him what I’m doing. He’s very moral and might tell Papa.”

“Were you unable to elicit the truth from St. Clair or Blackmore? Must we go on with the masquerade?” Ophelia cast a quick glance at the closed door of the parlor.

“You interrupted just as Lord St. Clair was about to confess something important.” Emily whispered. “I’m nearly certain he’s the one. But not certain enough. I need more time.”

Ophelia thought a moment. “All right. I’ll handle your cousin.”

“What will you tell him?”

“You’ll see.” She nodded toward the door that
led to the dining room, which adjoined the parlor. “You can listen from in there if you want. Now go on with you. We don’t want the lad to grow impatient and come out where he can see you.”

Emily nodded quickly, then hurried off into the dining room.

Ophelia waited until Emily disappeared, then entered the parlor, only to catch the young man in question sifting through the letters that sat on a salver on the tea table. He whirled around, knocking the letter opener to the floor.

“Good morning, Mr. Phelps. I’m Lady Dundee. I trust you found our mail in order?”

Chagrin clouded his face. He bent to pick up the letter opener, but when he straightened, all hint of embarrassment was gone. “Good morning, my lady. I merely wondered if my cousin was receiving her letters.”

Secretly admiring his insolence, she swept to her favorite chair, then sat down, indicating that he do the same. “We’re keeping your cousin’s letters for when she arrives. I promise she’ll receive them all then.”

He took the chair she indicated. “I don’t understand. My uncle’s letter stated quite clearly that Emily was in town and staying at Lord Nesfield’s town house with Lady Sophie. I thought to pay her a visit, and instead was fed some Banbury tale about her being en route.”

Impudent puppy. She examined the young man more closely. He was handsome, lacking the sober, pinched look of some barristers, and brazenly returned her gaze. He had the appearance of a man used to rummaging through myriad facts to find the truth. An intelligent fellow, no doubt. This would be tricky.

But Ophelia hadn’t reached her pinnacle of suc
cess in polite society for nothing. Spinning tall tales was her special gift. “Miss Fairchild
was
here. But she and Sophie left two days ago to visit a country estate. They won’t be back for some time.”

“My uncle didn’t mention anything like that.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “May I be frank, Mr. Phelps?”

“Yes, of course.”

“We didn’t tell him. Miss Fairchild feared that her father might not allow her to go, since the woman hosting the visit is…shall we say, more acceptable in my circle than among people of your father’s strict moral code.” When Mr. Phelps drew himself up in righteous indignation, she added hastily, “The woman is perfectly respectable these days, mind you. But before she married her husband, the earl, she was—” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “An actress. And I know how clergymen feel about such things.”

The young man’s eyes narrowed. “You packed your niece and my cousin off to the country estate of some unsavory woman without asking my uncle’s permission? Who is their chaperone? Why aren’t you with them?”

“I’ll be going there in a few days, but my brother is with them. They’re perfectly safe.” Pray heaven Randolph didn’t return from White’s before Mr. Phelps left.

The barrister settled back in his seat and eyed her with suspicion. “How odd that Lady Sophie should leave town in the midst of her coming out.”

“It’s not often done, I’ll admit, but in this case, it’s perfectly warranted.” She thought quickly. “You see, Sophie no longer has to make the rounds. She’s accepted an offer of marriage.” Thankfully, he wasn’t apt to move in any circles where he could learn she was lying.

He looked momentarily stunned. Then his pale blue eyes glittered beneath the dark, scowling brows. “Really? So soon after her arrival in London?”

Ophelia shrugged. “That’s to be expected for a girl with her attractions. In fact, her fiancé is one of the guests at our friend’s estate.”

He glanced away, staring off into the fire a moment as if considering her words. “I see.” Then his gaze swung back to her as he rose. “Thank you for clarifying matters, Lady Dundee.”

Ophelia rose as well. “You’re welcome. Be sure to visit when Miss Fairchild returns.”

“I certainly will.” He headed for the door with her a few paces behind, then stopped short. “Why don’t you give me the address of that estate where Emily is staying? Then I can write my cousin and ask her to pay me a visit upon her return.”

Really, this young man was growing troublesome. Did he have some other, deeper interest in Emily? Cousins sometimes did marry, after all.

How excessively inconvenient his interference would be now, when they were close to discovering the truth. Ophelia mustered all the frosty dignity she could manage. “I’m sure your cousin will have little time for letters in the country, nor would I wish to trouble her host with taking mail for her. That’s why we’re holding her mail here.” She stepped toward the door, and opened it for him. “I’ll tell her of your interest when I get there. I’m certain she’ll write you as soon as she has the chance.”

He glanced from her to the open door, looking as if he might say something else. Then he gave a sketchy bow. “Very well, Lady Dundee. Sorry to trouble you. I’ll await my cousin’s letter with eager anticipation.”

“You do that. Good day, Mr. Phelps.”

She watched as Carter showed him out, then sank onto the settee, her heart pounding in her chest. Pray heaven that was the last she saw of the impertinent creature. She was getting too old for these games.

Emily burst into the room. “Thank goodness he’s gone! You did that very well. I don’t think he suspected anything, do you?”

Privately Ophelia thought he suspected a good deal. But she couldn’t tell the poor girl that, not when Emily had so many other things on her mind. “I think we’re rid of him for the moment.”

“Yes.” The young woman forced a bright smile. “Well then, I suppose I’ll go rest for a while. My headache, you know.”

She had already turned toward the door when Ophelia said, “Wait one moment, my dear. Before you run off to hide, I wish to discuss what happened at the museum.”

The girl's back went rigid as a poker. “Nothing happened. I told you, Lord St. Clair—”

“You know quite well that’s not what I’m referring to.”

Emily’s heart sank as she faced the countess. She’d hoped to avoid this, prayed that Lady Dundee wouldn’t question her too closely. She should have known better.

The countess patted the seat next to her on the settee. “Come here and tell me what happened with Blackmore.”

Emily nearly rebelled. Hadn’t she been through enough today? Merely thinking of her encounter with Jordan made her want to cry. The hungry glide of his hands over her body…the shocking things she’d let him do! Every moment had been the sweetest torture. And to know that it had
meant absolutely
nothing
to him…She could never reveal that shame to Lady Dundee.

On the other hand, she needed advice. What if Jordan did tell everyone? What was she to do? The only person who could help her with this was the countess. Heaven knows telling Lord Nesfield would be a disaster.

“Well?” Lady Dundee said, jolting Emily from her reverie.

Wearily, she took the seat next to the countess. Perhaps it was time she explained Jordan’s interest in her. She could tell the truth without revealing all of what happened this afternoon. “Lord Blackmore and I visited a ‘private’ part of the museum.”