The Forbidden Lord (22 page)

“You’re having dancing? Good God, that isn’t like you.”

The viscount shrugged. “Perhaps I’ve been too long away from society.”

Jordan looked grim. “Or perhaps you’re letting certain people influence you.” When Lord St. Clair scowled at him, he added, “In any case, I can’t stay. Business and all that. You understand.”

Lord St. Clair’s gaze shot past Jordan to her. “Not really. But you’ll do exactly as you please as usual.”

Jordan glanced back at her, a taunting smile on his lips. “Good night, Lady Emma. I’ll be at your town house at ten tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

She glared at him. Forget! He knew quite well she wouldn’t forget! She would never forgive him for this—never!

Lord St. Clair showed his friend out, then came back to where she was still standing, her hands working her shawl into knots.

“Lady Emma, are you all right?” Gently, he took the corner of her shawl from her clenched fingers. “My friend seems to have distressed you.”

“Your friend
always
distresses me! At the moment, I’d like to see his head on a platter!”

He laughed. “A bloodthirsty sentiment for a lady.”

But I’m not a lady
, she thought sourly.
That’s the trouble
.

Too bad she couldn’t tell him that. Donning her best Lady Emma persona, she cast him a haughty look. “We Scots are a bloodthirsty lot. And we don’t take kindly to arrogant English lords who meddle in other people’s affairs.”

“I hope he wasn’t discussing Pollock with you again.”

Her eyes widened. “Jordan told you about that? Never mind about his head on a platter! It belongs on a spike!”

“Calm down, Lady Emma. I came upon him when he was angry, and he spoke out of turn. But I defended your honor to him, I assure you, and reminded him of what an idiot Pollock is. Jordan would normally ignore the man’s lies, but he’s prone to jealousy where you’re concerned. You should be flattered: no other woman has ever succeeded in making him jealous.”

“Yes, I’m quite flattered,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “What woman wouldn’t want the attentions of a man who has no desire to marry, yet has the audacity to be jealous of every man who smiles at her?” Tears welled in her eyes, and she cursed them, turning away from Lord St. Clair to hide her face. She shouldn’t have said so much. He would guess the true nature of her feelings.

“What do you mean—‘has no desire to marry’?”

She blotted her eyes with the end of her shawl. “You know what I mean. Everyone knows about Jor—About Lord Blackmore. How he only consorts with ‘experienced’ women like that…that widowed countess, how he has a heart of stone.” Her voice sounded overwrought, yet she couldn’t calm herself. “He’s proud of his immunity to normal human emotions, for goodness sake! He boasts of it!”

Lord St. Clair was quiet a long moment. Then he laid his hand on her arm. “That’s true. But I think he boasts of it precisely because he fears those emotions. He’s not as impervious as you think.”

“Yes, he is,” she whispered, remembering his cold refusal to consider her pleas.

“Lady Emma, shall I tell you a bit about my
friend? It might help you to understand his strange behavior.”

“Nothing could make me understand him!”

“All the same, come with me to my study. I think you’ll want to hear this.”

She nodded, allowing him to lead her down the hall. She might as well hear him out, though he could say nothing to change her mind. Jordan was just one of those men who were empty inside. The sooner she accepted that, the better.

H
ours later, Emily stared out the window of the carriage, thinking of what Lord St. Clair had told her about Jordan. So much heartache, so much pain for a child. It was no wonder he prevented himself from feeling. In his place, she might have done the same.

“You’re very quiet this evening, my dear,” said Lady Dundee. “Didn’t you think the dinner went well?”

“I suppose.” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Were you able to learn anything from Lord St. Clair? I’m eager to end my masquerade.” If Lady Dundee had discovered anything conclusive, then they could tell Lord Nesfield. Lord Nesfield would take action, and then it would be too late for Jordan to interfere.

Yes, Lord Nesfield would take action: to ruin Lord St. Clair. She bit her lip. Then Jordan would truly hate her, wouldn’t he? She was helping Lord Nesfield destroy his friend’s hopes.

“I’m afraid I didn’t learn much,” Lady Dundee said, her eyes sparkling with an irritating merriment. “We shall just have to go on a bit longer.”

Emily wanted to scream. “But we can’t! Lord Blackmore has figured out that this concerns Mr. Pollock, and now he’s threatened to tell Mr. Pollock everything!”

The woman looked maddeningly nonchalant about the entire matter. “Really? Blackmore said that?”

“Yes. He said he’d give me tonight to make up my mind. In the morning he’s calling for me, and if I still won’t tell him the truth, he’ll reveal my identity to Mr. Pollock. The wretch! You know Mr. Pollock will delight in tearing us all down publicly. What’s more, it will put Lord St. Clair on his guard and effectively end our chances to find out if he’s the one.”

Lady Dundee waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, Blackmore won’t do such a thing, depend upon it. He’ll threaten, but he won’t act. Not as long as
you
are involved.”

“I fear you’re wrong. Especially after what I learned tonight.” She turned in her seat to face Lady Dundee. “Tell me something. You must be about the same age that Jordan’s mother would have been if she’d lived. Did you know her? What was she like?”

“Lavinia? She was a flirt, that’s what. She enjoyed men and balls and never paid any attention to what her parents said. But then, I was a bit like that myself.”

“And Jordan’s father?”

“Oh, he was nothing like her at all. That was certainly a mismatch. He was the sober sort. Unlike his son, he didn’t spend his time with…ladies of the evening. In other respects, however, they’re
very much alike. He was earnestly devoted to reform and rarely attended social functions. Everyone was quite surprised when Lavinia, of all people, captivated him so much that he married her.”

Emily hesitated a moment, wondering if she should reveal what Lord St. Clair had told her. But she so badly needed advice, and she knew she could trust Lady Dundee to keep quiet. Besides, she needed to impress upon the countess the gravity of the situation. “Actually, Jordan’s father
had
to marry Jordan’s mother. One day when they happened to be alone, the earl became overcome by his desire for her and they…well…you know. Then she found herself
enceinte
, so she was forced to marry the earl.”

“Poppycock.”

“It’s true! Lord St. Clair says so! Jordan told him about it when they were boys. According to Lord St. Clair, Lady Blackmore hated her forced marriage so much that she drank a great deal and made Jordan’s life a misery.”

“Oh, I don’t deny that Blackmore’s father probably impregnated Lavinia. She was a pretty girl and very fast. Nor do I doubt she was the kind of mother you describe. Married to a man who preferred to spend his evenings discussing Horace’s poetry and who probably wouldn’t humor her whims, Lavinia
was
the sort to turn to drink. The poor girl had few resources within herself to create her own entertainment.”

Her voice grew grim. “But I’d wager a fortune
she
was the one to seduce the earl, and not the other way around. Lavinia’s father was a mere baronet and had little money besides. The earl would have been quite a catch for her. I imagine she thought it
would be grand fun to be married to an earl…until she actually was.”

Emily considered that a moment, the creaking of the springs the only sound in the carriage. Then she sighed. “If that’s true, it only makes it more awful. Lord St. Clair says she always blamed her unhappy life on Jordan and his untimely conception. She used to tell him that he’d ruined her life, that she was in hell because of him.”

Lady Dundee pursed her lips. “What a dreadful thing to say to an innocent child. Lavinia never could take responsibility for her own actions.”

“That’s why he won’t trust his heart to anyone. In his experience, opening your heart to someone is dangerous, if not disastrous.” He must find her masquerade very suspicious. It probably looked like the sort of scheming his mother had engaged in. In a way, it was. “So he won’t hesitate to make good on his threats. I know he won’t.”

“But he’s already opened his heart to you a little, hasn’t he? He has yet to reveal your secret. And I don’t think he will.” She cast Emily that mysterious smile again. “Even if he does, it won’t be so bad. It might hasten matters.”

“You don’t understand! I tried to tell him I didn’t care if he told Mr. Pollock, but he said he’d also try to get the truth from your brother! He’s very persistent!”

“Then let him speak to Randolph. What does it matter? It might even be a good thing: Randolph might be forced to end this foolishness. Then I can convince him to accept St. Clair as Sophie’s suitor.”

The countess’s vaguely smug voice struck fear in Emily’s heart. “Oh, don’t even think that! You know your brother won’t accept the viscount! And he’d blame
me
for destroying all his plans! He’d never forgive me!”

“Pish-posh, what if he doesn’t?” When she saw Emily’s agitation, she added, “If it’s your father’s living you’re worried about, there’s no problem. I suppose Randolph has threatened to cut your father off. That’s why you’ve been so worried, isn’t it?”

Emily just stared at her, her fingers curling into the satin upholstery in frustration.

“Well, you needn’t concern yourself about that. Even if Randolph did as he threatened, which I can’t imagine he would, I’d make sure that your father found another equally attractive living.” She smiled and patted Emily’s hand. “So you see, there’s nothing for you to worry about. You must leave it all to me.”

Nothing for her to worry about! Lord Nesfield was willing to see her hanged, and she had nothing to worry about? How she wished she could explain that to the countess! But Lord Nesfield had promised to keep silent only if she did, too. She was wretchedly trapped between Lady Dundee’s meddling and Jordan’s obsession.

“So don’t you worry about Lord Blackmore, my dear,” Lady Dundee went on, apparently thinking she’d solved all of Emily’s problems. “We will weather the storm if he speaks to Pollock or Randolph.”

It was all Emily could do to paste a false smile on her face and give the countess a nod. She’d find no help here. She’d have to discover a way out of this mess on her own.

But how?

The coach slowed almost to a stop, and the sounds of horses and loud voices assailed their ears. Lady Dundee peered out the window. “Oh, dear, the ball at Mrs. Crampton’s must be quite lively. There are carriages and hackney coaches
everywhere blocking the road. We’ll have to walk the last little bit, I’m afraid.”

They were nearly in sight of the house, so walking wasn’t too awful, especially with the footmen to aid them in the more crowded spots. Indeed, Emily was glad to get out into the night air. She only wished it was the bracing, clean air of Willow Crossing, not London’s smoke-choked ether. She badly needed to clear her mind, to figure out some plan.

Gingerly, they picked their way among the horses and coaches, trying not to soil their gowns. “It appears we’re in for a long night,” Lady Dundee complained as a coachman shouted to one of his friends. “We won’t get any sleep with all this racket. A pity. You’ll need all your wits about you for meeting Lord Blackmore in the morning.” She cast Emily a sidelong glance. “You know he only torments you because he cares for you.”

“Cares for me?” she said in a burst of anger. “And all this time I’d thought you a wise woman. Obviously, I mistook madness for wisdom.”

“Sometimes they’re the same. Madness can be a symptom of wisdom. Those who know the truth aren’t always happy to hear it, you know.” She smiled and lowered her voice so the footman at her side couldn’t hear her. “But in this case, I’m neither mad nor wise. I’m merely stating what any woman my age knows. Men are peculiar creatures very different from us, my dear. When they want something badly, they don’t like to admit it. No man wants to need a woman for anything. But since they
do
need us, and for more than merely our presence in their beds, their only recourse is to hound us while stoutly proclaiming they only want their desires fulfilled.”

“Lord Blackmore does only want his desires ful
filled,” Emily whispered. “Sometimes it’s as if he’s angry at me because he desires me and can’t have me.”

“I’m sure that’s part of it. Though I suspect that even if you were to leap into his bed and give him exactly what he wanted, he would still be unfulfilled.”

Emily blushed at the countess’s frankness. Lady Dundee was wrong. Jordan wanted only one thing from Emily. If she were to give it to him, he’d go away at once and leave her alone.

She straightened. That’s exactly what he’d do! Leave her alone!

He professed to be concerned for her, but she knew he only wanted to find out the truth because he was jealous. And his jealousy came from a lack of having his desires satisfied. He wanted her in his bed, but he wouldn’t take her if it meant having to marry her.

So what if she offered him what he wanted, making it clear she didn’t expect anything in return? Perhaps after his appetites were appeased, he’d give up this foolish obsession with knowing everything. Then his interest in her would wane, and with it, his interest in her masquerade.

“Emily, have you heard a word I said?” Lady Dundee remarked.

In sudden fear that the countess might guess the direction of her thoughts, she lowered her gaze to the paved street, pretending to watch her step in the darkness. “Yes.”

“I said even if you gave him what he wanted, he would still be unfulfilled.”

“I know what you said.” She just didn’t believe it. For too many years, Jordan had hardened himself against feeling anything but lust. After a lifetime of merely satisfying his carnal appetites, he
wasn’t likely to change now. No, if she gave him what he wanted, she would be free of him.

But at what a cost!

As they reached the house, she entered behind Lady Dundee, her thoughts in a turmoil. If she offered him her body in exchange for his silence, she would save Papa. And ruin her future. She might even find herself with child, like Jordan’s mother.

Well, she could only pray that wouldn’t happen. And if it did, it was a small price to pay to keep from going to the gallows. Compared to Lord Nesfield’s plans for her, one night with Jordan would be no risk at all. And it must be tonight, before Jordan could make good on his threats.

A sudden dreadful thought popped into her mind. What if he refused to accept her bargain?

Carter helped her remove her pelisse, and she glanced down despairingly at her satin gown with its modest cut and girlish color that made her look like the virginal rector’s daughter she truly was. Jordan would never agree to this. He’d restrained himself from touching or kissing her at the opera, even when he’d wanted to, and all because of his aversion to innocent young women and the complications they could bring to his life.

She stiffened. All right then, it wouldn’t be the pure Emily Fairchild who went to him: it would be Lady Emma. His words this evening proved that he already doubted her character; she’d use that to her advantage. Tonight she would strike a bargain with him, even if she had to seduce him, and yes, lie to him about her virginity.

Or was she considering this only because she desired him? Because she wished to experience lovemaking with the only man she’d ever truly wanted?

Surely she couldn’t be that wicked. No, this was
her best course of action. Her only course of action.

Carter shot the lock to in the massive oak doors behind them, and the sound reverberated through her brain. How could she sneak out of this fortress and find her way to Jordan’s town house? Dear heavens, she didn’t even know where he lived!

The slurred voices of drunken hackney coachmen drifted inside from the street.

Hackney coachmen
, Emily thought with a smile.
Perfect
.

“You go on to bed now, my dear,” said Lady Dundee. “Try to get some rest.”

Emily’s smile faded. That was one thing she was unlikely to get this evening. Rest—of any kind.

Jordan lay comfortably stretched out on the chaise longue in his study. He was in his shirtsleeves with his boots off and a brandy snifter cradled in one hand as he tried to read through a proposal for workhouse reform. He couldn’t concentrate, however. He finally laid the proposal down and stared off into space.

Tomorrow he would know everything. She would tell him for certain. The fear in her face had made that clear. He didn’t like frightening her, especially when he had no intention of making good on his threats. He wished he could get the truth from her some other way, but he couldn’t. And he must put an end to the men preying on her. Even if Pollock had been lying or had only kissed her once, the bastard would take more if he had the chance—and he might
get
that chance if Emily continued to associate with him. No, this couldn’t go on. Jordan would force her to end it before disaster struck.

A knock came at the closed door, startling him. “Go away! I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed!”

“But there’s a female here to see you,” the servant replied.

A female. He laid his snifter aside with a groan. That was how his servants referred to his soiled doves, but surely no tart would dare to come here without a summons. He hadn’t even brought so much as a randy widow home with him in months. Not since he’d met Emily.