The Forbidden Lord (3 page)

A troubled frown marred her pretty brow. “Oh, dear, you’re right. Even if he doesn’t know I’ve left the ballroom, there are the servants. They saw us leave together.”

“You needn’t worry about that; I paid them well to keep our departure secret.” When she cast him a look of outrage, he shrugged. “I don’t like having my private affairs bandied about the country. They won’t speak of this to anyone, I assure you. Nonetheless, someone else may have seen us leave together. And if we return together…”

She slumped against the seat. “That’s true. You aren’t exactly inconspicuous.”

No one had ever put it quite like that before. He smiled. “I’m afraid not. Believe me, at the moment, I wish I were.”

Several people were sure to have noted that she’d walked out of the ballroom with the Earl of Blackmore. And when she didn’t return for some time, then entered with him…He grimaced. She hadn’t needed to set a trap. The result would be the same. All it required was one person standing in the entrance. Then everyone would know she’d
been off in a carriage with an earl notorious for his encounters with unsavory women, and she’d be ruined for certain.

He didn’t want to ruin her. He had this profound urge not to hurt her in any way, and he didn’t know why. Because she was so completely innocent? Or because she’d defended him with no reason but the principle of the matter?

There was a sudden thumping from the coachman above. Then a voice, muffled by the roof of the carriage, echoed back to them. “We’re approachin’ the main road, milord. Where to?”

“Halt here for a moment, coachman.” Jordan cast her a searching glance. “Well, Miss Fairchild, what do we do? I could take you home, then come back and pretend I’d been out alone. But you’d have to brazen it out later, tell some lie for how you got home and why you left without your escort.”

“I do not tell lies, Lord Blackmore,” she said stiffly. “It isn’t in my nature.”

He bit back a smile. “I see. Then perhaps you have some plan for reentering the ballroom without being noticed?”

She toyed with the velvet cord on her reticule, then brightened. “What if you bring me to the edge of the gardens? I can slip in there and emerge into the ballroom as if I’d been walking outside all the time. Then I needn’t lie. If you stay out a while longer, then come in with your tale about going for a ride alone, we might pull it off.”

“In other words, you won’t lie, but you don’t mind forcing
me
to.”

“I’m sorry,” she said in obvious chagrin. “You’re right, it’s very bad of me to—”

“It’s all right.” He tamped down on the laugh bubbling up in his throat. Devil take it, he’d never met a woman so principled. Nor could he remem
ber ever having so much fun with one. “Believe me, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell a fib to save your reputation.”

A wan smile touched her lips. “Thank you.”

He knocked on the ceiling, then ordered the coachman to drive back to the gardens. While the servant maneuvered the coach about, Jordan returned his attention to Miss Fairchild.

She was staring out the window. Her bombazine gown was so black it swallowed up whatever faint light the moon shone on it, leaving her hands and her face to reflect the moon’s glow.

And what a face, all soft curves and secrets. If only he could see more of it, could rip the mask off and get a good look at her. What he could see was exquisite. Her brow, so high and moonlight pale…fine rounded cheeks…generous lips. Her hair looked like spun silk even inside the dark carriage and—

What had come over him? He was waxing poetic, something he never did, and certainly shouldn’t with the prim little Miss Fairchild. He mustn’t even
think
of her in those terms. She wasn’t his sort at all.

Suddenly, she met his gaze. “Lord Blackmore, I must apologize for getting you into this mess.”

“No, no,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, “it was an honest mistake on both our parts. With any luck, no one will ever know it happened.”

“And if they do?”

She was asking if she could trust him to make it right. Suddenly, he wanted very badly to reassure her of his character. “I would do what must be done, Miss Fairchild. Don’t concern yourself about that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to marry me,” she has
tened to say, “but if you could make up some story or…or…”

“I’ll do what needs to be done; don’t you worry,” he said, more firmly. Some story, indeed. As if any story could safely extricate them from this. “But we won’t be found out. I’ve successfully wriggled out of far more compromising situations.”

“I’m sure you have.”

He smiled at her arch tone. He wished she weren’t wearing that damned mask. Though the moon graced her figure with silvery light, he could only discern a little of her expression. It bothered him that she could see his face, but he couldn’t see hers.

“Still,” she added, “if there’s any way I can make up for my error—”

“There is one way,” he said, the dangerous words out of his mouth before he could stop them. “You could let me see you without the mask.”

E
mily stared at Lord Blackmore blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

“You have me at a disadvantage—you’re masked, and I’m not.” His voice was husky and deep within the close confines of the carriage. “I’d like to see you without your mask. Do you mind?”

She hesitated only briefly before lifting her hands to the ties. “No, of course not.” It was a small enough thing to give him, and he
had
been a perfect gentleman once they’d sorted everything out.

Besides, simple logic told her he’d had every reason to misunderstand the situation. No doubt he was often pursued by silly girls eager to snag a rich earl. How could she blame a man as wealthy and powerful as he for being cautious? The least she could do was show him her face.

If
she could release the ties. Goodness gracious, they were knotted. She couldn’t even pull the blessed thing over her head. It would dislodge her
coiffure, and if she entered the ball with her hair in complete disarray, people would suspect something had happened. “I’m sorry, but it won’t come loose.”

“Allow me.” Despite his long legs, he moved easily from his seat opposite her to the one at her side. “Lean forward.”

She hesitated. The thought of his fingers against her hair sent little frissons of alarm dancing up and down her spine. Some feminine instinct warned her that letting this man close was dangerous.

Then again, he clearly wasn’t interested in her as a woman. He’d practically recoiled from her once he’d learned she was a virgin. So why not let him do this?

“All right,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

He rested his large fingers on her scalp, then gingerly began to work loose the knot. She went completely still, as if by making herself into a perfect statue she could keep from noticing the male body a few inches away.

What a joke. Never had she been this close to a man, and his every movement awakened her senses: his forearms resting against her back, the muscles flexing as he worked on the knot…his breath, warm and measured, tickling the fine hairs on the back of her bare neck…his firm thigh plastered against her backside.

Her foolish blood rampaged through her body. The long years of her mother’s illness and then her year of mourning had prevented her from having suitors. Not many eligible men lived in Willow Crossing anyway, but she might have found someone if she hadn’t been so concerned with keeping her mother alive.

Now Mama was dead, she was twenty-two, and
she had only Papa for company. These days, with him so distant and her activities so restricted, even Papa couldn’t keep the loneliness at bay. Still, she’d taken her mind off it by keeping busy at home.

Until tonight. The man beside her would make even a nun crave male companionship. Nervously, she glanced out the window of the carriage, but that only heightened her awareness of their intimate surroundings. Out here it was so deserted that crickets whined undisturbed and owls hooted their night cries without fear of repercussion. And it was dark. Very, very dark. A dangerous environment indeed.

Suddenly the mask came free. “There you are,” he murmured as he let the scrap of starched silk float down into her lap.

“Thank you.” She quickly slid to the other end of the seat. He was too close, too…too male. Her presence might not affect him, but his presence certainly affected her. Here in this cavelike retreat, he loomed larger than life. She must escape this mess before she began to behave exactly like those girls he despised. Trying to squeeze herself into the smallest space of the seat possible, she shifted to look at him.

Dear heavens. That was a mistake. The capricious moon now flooded him with light, allowing her to get a good long look at him for the first time all evening.

Handsome? Had Sophie really used that innocuous term to describe the Earl of Blackmore?

Arresting…intimidating…overwhelming. He was all that and more. And handsome was only a very small part.

Amazing how much a mask and a little darkness could disguise. He and Lawrence had the same hair color and build, but there the resemblance
ended. Lawrence’s eyes were wide-set and an indeterminate brown. Lord Blackmore’s were deep-set and so dark they were almost black, particularly in this light. Lawrence’s cheeks tended to be pale, except when he blushed, brightening them to pink. Lord Blackmore would never blush. She was sure of that.

But the way he was running his gaze over her face, as if trying to make out her features, did bring a blush to her own cheeks. Instantly she regretted removing her mask. It left her so…so exposed.

“It’s hard to see well in this light, but you don’t look like a rector’s daughter.” When she frowned, sure that he was doubting her word again, he hastened to add, “You
act
like a rector’s daughter, mind you. You just don’t look like one.”

She relaxed against the seat. “And what does a rector’s daughter look like?”

“I don’t know. Tight-lipped. Pinch-faced. Holier-than-thou.”

“You haven’t had much experience with people of my situation, have you, my lord?” she said tartly. “I assure you, rector’s daughters have all sorts of faces. And attitudes.”

He smiled. “Thank God for that.”

His tone expressed full approval of her appearance. A delicious shiver whispered down her spine. Goodness gracious. No wonder women climbed over themselves trying to trap him into marriage. What woman wouldn’t desire a man who could make her weak in the knees with just a few words?

A pity he was forbidden to her.

As he continued to stare, she grew hot. Quickly she lifted the mask to her face and retied it. “I…I must have it on when we reach the gardens, you know.”

“I suppose you must.”

Did she imagine the edge of disappointment in his voice? Of course she did. He’d merely been curious about her, that’s all. It was perfectly natural.

She twisted away to look out the window again, but that only made her more aware of him. She could feel him watching her, interested, controlled. She only wished she could be so controlled.

“Oh, look,” she said brightly as the carriage made a sudden turn. “We’ve reached the gardens.”

“Have we?”

Why must the man have such a…a rakish voice? He probably didn’t even know he sounded like that. It made her very eyelashes tingle.

“Yes, we have,” she said inanely. The carriage shuddered to a halt as she continued to peer out the window.

But once everything was silent, she heard it. Voices. In the garden and quite near. “Oh, no, I think there’s someone out there.”

He edged toward her, peering over her shoulder out the window. “I see them. They’re passing the apple tree now.”

The couple was a man and a woman of indeterminate age, talking and laughing as they strolled arm in arm. Suddenly, one of them looked up and spotted the carriage.

Emily jumped back from the window so quickly, she found herself practically in the earl’s lap. When she turned toward him, his face was mere inches from hers. “What do we do?” she whispered.

He rapped his fist on the ceiling. “Another turn around the drive, coachman.”

“Yes, milord,” the coachman answered, and prodded the horses into a trot.

For a moment she sat frozen, plastered to him for fear that the moonlight would reveal her face as they drove past the couple. But when they
cleared the garden, the earl said in choked tones, “You can remove your hand from my leg now, Miss Fairchild.”

Only then did she realize her fingers had a vise-like grip on his thigh. Mortified beyond belief, she snatched her hand back, but not before an impression of the hard muscle beneath his superfine breeches burned itself into her palm.

He was too close, too…too…
there
. She tried to slide down the seat from him, but there was no more space. Nor did he move away. When she glanced up in alarm, it was to find him staring at her, his eyes fathomless and mysterious in the moonlight.

“Fate seems to be conspiring to throw us together,” he said in a rumbling voice.

“Oh, don’t say that! Our plan may still work!”

“And if it doesn’t?” He was so close she could feel the ragged cadence of his warm breath on her lips.

“Then I’ll deal with the consequences. Though I would prefer not to have been caught riding in a carriage unchaperoned with a man, it is mostly my fault it happened. You mustn’t concern yourself with it, my lord.”

“But I must. To be honest, the thought of a continued association with you isn’t as…unappealing as it was at first.” His gaze drifted down to her lips, intimate and interested.

Her pulse raced wildly. “You needn’t say that to spare my feelings.”

“Believe me, sparing your feelings has nothing to do with it.” He lowered his head until his mouth hovered inches from hers. “The truth is, I’m having a devil of a time resisting the urge to kiss you.”

“Oh, but you
must
!” she protested feebly as her head swam.

“Yes. I must.”

Yet he didn’t. Before she could protest or even move away, he covered her mouth with his.

It was a shock, the most sublime shock she’d ever had in her life. Who would have guessed a man’s lips could be so soft…or so fiendishly tempting? His breath mingled with hers, spiked with brandy, though he didn’t seem the least bit drunk. His mouth caressed hers in such a leisurely fashion that it seduced her into stillness.

She exhaled on a sigh, then caught her breath when he clasped her shoulders to draw her closer. In a futile attempt to dispel the fog forming in her brain, she turned her lips away, but he only shifted his mouth to drop short, delectable kisses along the curve of her cheek to her earlobe, following the line of the mask.

“Sweet Emily,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. “Sweet, innocent Emily.”

Her name sounded foreign to her ears when he rasped it like that. How did he know it anyway? Oh, yes, he’d overheard her conversation with Sophie. “You mustn’t c-call me that,” she stammered. He nibbled on her earlobe, and she gasped. “You…you must call me Miss Fairchild.”

“All right. Kiss me, Miss Fairchild. Or I shall surely kiss you again.”

“I…I would prefer that you not…kiss me, Lord Blackmore. It’s not proper.”

“As if I care about propriety.” He planted a kiss on the pulse in her neck. “Remember my scandalous reputation? And my name is Jordan. Say it.”

“I-I can’t. It’s too intimate.”

“Exactly.” Sliding one arm about her waist, he tugged her close, then tipped her chin up with his free hand until she was staring into his glittering eyes, her heart beating a wild, staccato rhythm.

“Say my name,” he whispered hoarsely. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Jordan,” she breathed. If they continued this much longer, he wouldn’t have to ruin her. She’d gladly rush to ruin herself. “Jordan, we mustn’t do this. You…you mustn’t kiss me.”

“I want a taste of the woman who’s to be my downfall.” As she stiffened, preparing to protest, he caught her mouth with his once more.

There was less softness in his kiss this time. He kissed like a man with a purpose, single-minded and thorough. His mouth drew on hers hungrily, his tongue outlining the seam of her lips as his hand swept from her chin to her throat, lingering there to stroke the bare skin of her arched neck with his clever, knowing fingers. When she gasped at the sheer intimacy of his caress, he slid his tongue inside her mouth.

Some Puritan part of her insisted that she protest this latest indignity. But protest was impossible. The Earl of Blackmore was kissing her, deliciously and provocatively. She’d never even expected to meet him and now to have him kissing her like this…

Her mind went blank as he swept the inside of her mouth with his tongue, finding and conquering every sensitive part. His kiss deepened, grew more daring, and she became his willing accomplice. Dear heavens, the man certainly knew what he was doing. Like a ninny, she found herself welcoming each heady stroke, each masterful thrust of his tongue.

Then she was curling her fingers into the crisp superfine lapels of his cutaway, clinging to him like a wretched wanton. And she no longer cared. Like drinking champagne for the first time, the varied pleasures of his kiss roused new and unfamiliar
cravings in her. She strained against him, needing those cravings answered, and he gave her more than she even knew to ask for, bending her back until she was half-reclining on the brocade seat.

Then the carriage lurched, throwing him off-balance and forcing him to break off the kiss. He stared down into her eyes a long moment, the desire leaching out of his face like color from bleached linen. A thin shaft of moonlight played over his stark features, highlighting the carved planes of his cheekbones and nose.

Her hands still gripped his lapels, but now that he was looking at her as if in a state of shock, she became painfully aware of their scandalous position. Embarrassed, she released his cutaway and turned her head.

He spoke in a tortured voice. “My God. I had no idea how sweet one kiss could be.”

Sweet? It was magical! So why was he staring at her as if she were a Jezebel?

Uttering a low curse, he dragged himself off her and threw himself into the opposite seat. “What the devil was I doing? I must have lost my infernal mind.”

Ashamed by his words, she sat up and tried to straighten her clothing. Never had she felt so small. It had been so delightful, she hadn’t stopped to think how mundane such kisses were to him. Even with her poverty of experience, she recognized the wealth of his. No doubt he found her kisses painfully pathetic.

“I’m sorry I became so carried away,” he said in a stiff voice. “I had no right to take advantage of the situation.”

“Please, it doesn’t matter.” Tears pooled in her eyes. Now he was trying to be kind, curse him.

“But it
does
matter. You’re not the sort of woman…I mean—”

“I’m not your usual preference,” she whispered in utter mortification. “Yes, I know.”

“That’s not what I mean. Let’s just say that your sort of woman is forbidden to me, all right?”

That wasn’t true, she thought. He could involve himself with anyone if he truly wished. But he wouldn’t. An earl with a nobody like her? It was unthinkable. She wasn’t forbidden to him. But he was most certainly forbidden to her.