The Forbidden Lord (18 page)

“I knew it! All that nonsense about the carriage…Did he try to make advances? I swear, I’ll strangle the scoundrel if—”

“It wasn’t about that.” She paused, swallowing hard. “You see, he knows who I really am.”

The countess gaped at her. “What? But how?”

Unable to look at Lady Dundee, she explained. How she’d met Jordan. What had happened. How he’d recognized her later, then spent his time trying to prove who she was. Without revealing what else they’d done, she told Lady Dundee that he’d finally trapped her into revealing her identity in the museum.

“So you see,” she finished, her gaze dropping to her hands, “his interest in me is motivated only by a desire to unmask me. And today, thanks to my blundering, he succeeded.”

She waited in utter fear for the countess’s reaction. Would Lady Dundee lecture her for not revealing this before? Or, God forbid, would she head straight to Lord Nesfield with the news?

When the countess said nothing, Emily couldn’t bear it any longer. She glanced up, fully expecting
the woman to be wearing a look of censure. But the countess was smiling. Smiling, for goodness sake!

“This is interesting indeed. So he’s known your true identity all along? And he hasn’t said anything to anyone? How very strange.”

“Not ‘known.’ Suspected. I don’t think he would have said anything without being sure.”

“Hmmm. But today he learned he was right. You say you asked him not to tell anyone?”

“Yes. I don’t know if he will.”

“He kept quiet this afternoon, didn’t he?”

“That’s true.” Emily considered that, then shook her head. “On the other hand, he’s not the kind to make public pronouncements. If he tells Lord St. Clair, he’ll do it in private. We must watch the viscount carefully; his behavior will indicate if he knows.”

Lady Dundee straightened. “While you and Blackmore were gone in the museum, St. Clair invited us to join him at the opera this evening. He’s taken a box. I thought it might be a good idea, so I accepted. What do you think? Are you up for it?”

“Yes, of course. Then we can determine what Jordan—I-I mean, Lord Blackmore—has told Lord St. Clair. I’d rather go and learn where we stand.”

“What if Blackmore is there?”

Emily lifted her chin. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not afraid of him, you know.”

But she
was
afraid of him. She was afraid of the sinful urges he roused in her, afraid that she was slipping into an infatuation that would wreck her life. And terrified that he would reveal her secret. He’d said he cared, but what did that mean? He’d made it quite clear he wasn’t the sort of man influenced by something so silly as pity.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Lady Dundee said softly.

Emily’s eyes widened. “In love? Certainly not! How could I be in love with a man so far above me? He would never marry me. For goodness sake, even when he thought I was Lady Emma, he wasn’t interested in me beyond—” She stopped short, reddening.

“Beyond the physical attraction, you mean?” Lady Dundee settled her feet on the footstool. “You think not? Trust me, a man of his sort doesn’t follow a woman about town simply because he’s randy. He can go other places to fill those needs.”

“He followed me about town because he wanted to expose me,” she said bitterly.

“Did he? Seems like an awful lot of trouble merely to prove that some nobody is an impostor. What would he gain by it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself why he’s so persistent. I can only assume it offends his moral sensibilities to have me impose on his friends with this masquerade.”

“Moral sensibilities? Blackmore? From what I hear, he reserves his moral sensibilities for his reform efforts in Parliament. In private, he seems no more nor less moral than his peers. No, he’s interested in you—I’d stake my honor on it.”

“Then your honor would be ruined,” Emily bit out.

“We’ll see. Tonight. And remember, if he
has
told his friend, it’s not your fault.”

“I only wish your brother felt the same.” A sudden terror struck her heart. “You won’t tell Lord Nesfield all this, will you?”

“Of course not. Randolph will overreact, as he always does. And you mustn’t worry about it anymore, do you hear?” Lady Dundee regarded her intently for a moment. “Now run along, dear, and get some rest. You’ll need it for tonight. You and I
will see this through, never you mind.”

A sudden surge of gratitude made Emily grab the countess’s plump hand and kiss it. “Thank you, Lady Dundee, for not revealing my secret to your brother. And for not insisting that I stop the masquerade.”

Amusement lit the countess’s eyes. “Stop the masquerade? Now that it’s become interesting? Certainly not.” Emily rose to walk off, and Lady Dundee added, “Oh, and dear? Wear the red velvet tonight.”

Emily blushed. She’d sworn never to wear that particular gown. “But it’s so…so revealing. Don’t you think it’s much too low in the front for a girl at her coming out?”

“Pish-posh. This is the opera. Everyone dresses that way. Go on now, be a good girl. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

With his hands shoved in the pockets of his greatcoat, Jordan walked briskly along the Strand. After watching Ian disappear inside the Nesfield town house, Jordan had abandoned the carriage to his friend.

Ian would think he was avoiding the inevitable discussion about “Lady Emma.” It was true, but it wasn’t his main reason for setting off on foot. Walking helped him cope with frustration and anger, and right now, the knot of both was wound so tight and large in his gut that it would take a great deal of walking to unwind it.

What to do about Emily? He couldn’t expose her, not after the way she’d begged him. Good God, she’d looked so desperate, so terrified. He’d bet a fortune she’d been trapped into this masquerade against her will.

And for what? What could Nesfield and Lady
Dundee possibly gain by it? How had they even convinced her to cooperate? The Emily Fairchild he’d met in Derbyshire had been honest to a fault. She’d been the most open, artless…genuine woman he’d ever met. This masquerade wasn’t in her character. Her reason for doing it must be compelling—she wouldn’t relinquish her will easily.

Except when it came to lovemaking. Good God. Guilt lashed at him, making him feel like the lowest cur. The look on her face when he’d made that comment about her virtue…it had driven a knife in his gut. She’d been so deuced innocent that she hadn’t even known whether she’d lost her virginity!

In that respect, he’d been a blind idiot about her. Any fool could have seen that Lady Emma’s flirtations were desperate attempts to hide her identity. The truth of who she was had been obvious—her looks, her evasion of him from the beginning. She’d even called him Jordan in that damned room at the museum. He’d never given Lady Emma leave to call him by his Christian name, but he’d urged Emily to do so. Yet even though her use of it had registered somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d ignored it.

Why? Because he’d wanted to believe she was Lady Emma. Emily Fairchild was inaccessible, but Lady Emma was fair game. He’d desired Emily so badly that he’d been willing to believe she was somebody else so he could have her.

And he’d almost taken her virginity! He’d almost ruined her, because he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the truth.

A carriage rumbled up beside him, but he ignored it until it halted, and a voice said, “I thought I might find you on the street. Get in, Jordan.”

He glanced over to see Ian holding the door
open. “Go away. I’m not in the mood for lectures right now.”

When he walked off, Ian stepped out of the carriage and caught him by the arm. “I don’t care what you’re in the mood for. Get in the carriage, or I’ll throw you in.”

“How dare you!” Jordan whirled on him, his hands clenching into fists. He was spoiling for a fight, and at the moment didn’t much care whom he fought.

Ian’s determined expression altered at the sight of Jordan’s fighting stance. “Don’t be a fool. This should be settled in private, not in a public brawl.”

The itch to hit something, anything, seized Jordan with almost overwhelming power. But Ian was right. A public brawl would make the papers and provoke unwanted speculation about why they were fighting so soon after being seen with Emily and Lady Dundee. He dared not draw undue attention to Emily.

Without a word, he lowered his fists, then climbed into the carriage, throwing himself into the seat.

Ian got in and told Watkins to drive to his town house, then turned to Jordan. “What happened between you and Lady Emma?”

“It’s none of your concern,” Jordan ground out.

“I’m the one who invited her. I’m responsible if something happened—”

“Nothing happened.”

“Are you saying she dislodged her bonnet and got marble dust on the back of her skirts purely by accident?” When Jordan’s gaze shot to his, he added, “Oh, yes, I noticed. That and other things. Like her missing scarf. It’s a wonder Lady Dundee didn’t notice it herself. I swear, if you compromised that young woman—”

“I didn’t compromise her!” But he nearly had. And he’d wanted to. Jordan’s gut twisted into an even tighter knot. Had it been so obvious as all that? “Why are you so concerned about the good Lady Emma anyway?” he retorted. “I thought it was Lady Sophie you wanted.”

“It is. But I like Lady Emma, and don’t want to see her harmed.”

“Neither do I, believe me.”

Ian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I see. Do you still think she’s a rector’s daughter masquerading as a lady?”

The impulse to tell his friend the truth was almost more than he could bear. But Emily had begged him not to, tears filling her eyes. Good God, he couldn’t make her cry again. “No, of course not. It was a stupid notion, nothing more.”

“So that means you’re no longer interested in her.”

“I didn’t say that,” he retorted.

Of course he was still interested in her. He wouldn’t expose her, but nothing prevented him from trying to find out what hold Nesfield had over her. He’d be discreet and careful, but he
would
learn the truth. Someone must rescue her from this madness, for God’s sake, before she was found out. Obviously her father wasn’t trying to do so.

“Let me see if I have this right,” Ian said dryly. “You’re interested in a woman of marriageable age and station.”

The word “marriageable” caught his attention. He scowled at Ian. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I enjoy her company. She’s an intriguing acquaintance, that’s all.”

“Liar. Thanks to this mere acquaintance, you’ve—” Lifting his hand, he ticked them off one by one. “Arrived late for an appointment. Attended the
breakfast of a woman you despise. Tried to seduce said acquaintance in the midst of a crowded museum where being caught would mean public censure for you and humiliation for her. Threatened to trounce your closest friend.” He paused. “Am I missing anything?”

“My fist in your jaw,” Jordan ground out.

“Make that ‘twice threatened to trounce your closest friend.’ Do tell me what you’ve done with the real Earl of Blackmore.”

“Very amusing. As for trying to seduce her, any man with eyes would attempt it.”

“
I
haven’t.” Ian leaned forward. “Are you in love with her?”

“Good God, what a question.” He forced a cynical smile to his lips. “You can ask that of me? The man with the granite heart, as Pollock calls me?”

“Pollock is a mercenary masquerading as a romantic. You, however, are a romantic masquerading as a mercenary. Unless I miss my guess, you’re particularly vulnerable to Lady Emma.”

“Horrible thought. No, you’re wrong. This is lust, nothing more. It’ll pass.”

A voice played suddenly in his head.
You desire me, that’s all…Yet you want me to trust you with my entire future! How dare you? You have no right to ask that of me, you…you bastard!

Devil take her! One thing had nothing to do with the other! He was an honorable man; he would help her if she’d only tell him the truth. He could be trusted. After their night in the carriage, she should know that.

Yes, of course—after you practically seduced her in the museum without stopping to think what it would do to her. And her so innocent that she didn’t even know she was still a virgin when you were done mauling her, for God’s sake! I’m about as trustworthy as a snake
.

All the same, he must help her. She was unhappy with this situation—any fool could see that. Somehow he must help her out of it.

“Merely lust, is it?” Ian said, breaking into his thoughts. “Then it must be difficult for you to be around this ‘acquaintance,’ since you’re too honorable to seduce an innocent without marrying her, and you have no interest in marriage.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered under his breath. That was precisely why he should keep his distance from her. Yet that was impossible under the circumstances.

He glanced out the window, relieved to see Ian’s town house up ahead. “Looks like we’re here, old friend. Will you be making the rounds of the balls tonight?”

Ian thankfully didn’t comment on Jordan’s abrupt change of subject. “I don’t know. What about you?”

“Perhaps.” If he asked Ian if he knew where Emily would be, the man would torment him mercilessly. “I haven’t made any plans.”

The carriage halted. “One word of advice. If you’re truly only interested in Lady Emma for her physical attractions, you should probably stay away from her.”

“Advice? That sounds more like a command to me.”

Ian climbed out and slammed the door. “Take it however you want, my friend.”

“I will.” Jordan pounded on the ceiling. “Home, Watkins!”

Stay away from her? The devil he would. As Watkins drove off, Jordan scowled blackly. Ian had always been gallant toward women, but this time he was treading dangerous ground. Emily was
not
Ian’s concern. She was his, and his alone. And he
would find out what the woman was up to if it killed him.

After several minutes of contemplation, Jordan concocted a plan. As soon as he arrived home, he strode inside, bellowing for Hargraves.

The butler appeared in a flash, running after him as Jordan hurried up two flights of stairs and into his study. “Yes, milord? What do you need?”