The Forbidden Lord (31 page)

His hand gripped her arm fiercely. “But that was wrong. I see it now. At the very least, I should have told my sweet girl what went on.”

“I should have told you the truth, too, Papa,” she interrupted, unwilling to let him take all the blame. “But I wanted to protect you.”

“And I you.” He gave a bitter laugh. “So we both were punished for our silence. I deserved my punishment.” His voice broke. “But my dear girl did not. If I’d ever dreamed, if I’d ever thought that she and Lord Nesfield knew or that he would use it against her—”

“You couldn’t have known,” she reassured him, tears streaming down her cheeks. It still amazed her that he’d held such darkness in him all that time. It was no wonder he’d been unable to forget his grief. And for her! He’d done it for her!

“Oh, Papa, I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, my sweet girl.”

“A touching scene,” Nesfield said in a hard voice. He stabbed his cane into the carpet. “But that note is no proof at all. How do I know you did not write it up yourself at your daughter’s request?”

Her father glared at Lord Nesfield. “You may
have power and riches, my lord, but even you cannot dismiss a note written in the hand of a dead woman. Anyone who compares it to her other writing will see it was written by her. And since it’s marked with the date of her death and states quite baldly that she plans to take her own life, that’s all the proof we need.”

Nesfield might be a blackguard, but he was no fool. He shook a little as he stared through his lorgnette at all the witnesses to this exchange. “You think you have won, the lot of you. Very well, perhaps I cannot prove murder. But that shall not stop me from ruining you, Fairchild. The world shall hear that your wife killed herself, and you will not be able to find a living anywhere—”

“I doubt that,” Jordan interrupted. “Here stand three people more than eager to give the man a living.” He came up to Nesfield, lowering his voice threateningly. “As for scandal, I’m sure the world would love to hear how the Marquess of Nesfield’s daughter ran off with a barrister.”

Nesfield paled.

“Or perhaps,” Jordan went on more viciously, “I should tell the world how you used the suicide of your own rector’s wife to force his daughter into masquerading against her will. That should make for very entertaining dinner conversation.”

“You would not spread such a tale! It would shame Miss Fairchild, too!”

“Perhaps at first. But what does it matter once she’s my wife?” When Lord Nesfield paled, he added, “Yes, I intend to marry her, now more than ever. And no one will dare say anything against her around me. It might even be seen as a grand melodrama, complete with villain. Lady Dundee can provide her side of the tale, and Ian can impress his friends by claiming to have seen through
the masquerade all along. And your name will be vilified every time it’s repeated.”

“Enough!” Nesfield swayed where he stood, his face contorted in horror.

Emily had never seen him look so old. Or so helpless. Deprived of his daughter and of any possibility of revenging himself against the man who’d taken her, he looked shriveled and pathetic. If it hadn’t been for everything he’d put her through, she could almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

“All right,” he muttered, gripping his cane in a shaky grasp. “None of what was said today shall leave this room.”

“Not good enough,” Jordan growled. “I don’t want my wife forced into continuing a lie.” He cast her a quick smile, which she answered with all the love in her heart. “Emily abhors lying, and I don’t wish to upset her. But you’ve widely proclaimed her to be Lady Dundee’s daughter.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “So this is what we shall do. We’ll circulate an amended story of this travesty. Emily, concerned for her friend Sophie, agreed willingly to masquerade in order to find the blackguard who’d tried to elope with your daughter. It was a noble endeavor, but doomed to failure because I knew who Emily really was from the first.”

When Nesfield looked startled, a wicked smile touched Jordan’s lips. “You didn’t know that, did you? In any case, our tale will say that I decided to help her and so did Ian. In the process, she and I fell in love. But when she discovered that it was her own cousin, a man of some means, who’d run off with Sophie, she threw herself on your mercy, and you, being the generous and fatherly man that you are, decided to accept her cousin as Sophie’s
husband, and to add two hundred pounds to Mr. Fairchild’s annual stipend.”

“You can’t expect me—” Nesfield began.

“Never mind that,” Emily’s father broke in. “I don’t want to have dealings with this wretch ever again.”

Jordan shrugged. “Very well. That’s easily fixed. Mr. Fairchild left your parish because of a more than generous offer from his new son-in-law.”

“No one will believe any of this…this fairy tale,” Nesfield croaked feebly.

“You’re right,” Jordan retorted. “But it doesn’t matter. They’ll speculate about the real story, and it’ll be the topic of conversation for weeks to come, but with so many lofty personages involved, they can hardly find fault with any one person for participating in the masquerade. Besides, it was for a good cause and ended happily, with two sets of lovers united.”

His tone grew heavily sarcastic. “And since everyone behaved well, a few minor deceits can be overlooked. My wife and Lady Dundee will be seen as noble defenders of young lovers, and your daughter will be lauded for her dedication to love. We shall neglect to mention, of course, that her new husband is a barrister. I only regret that
you
will come off looking like a saint.”

Nesfield summoned up a bit of his old fire. “If you think I shall support this tale of yours merely so Miss Fairchild can keep her reputation intact—”

“Be careful, Randolph,” Lady Dundee warned. “If your name is dragged through the mud, then mine will be as well, and I refuse to be a joke at dinner parties.”

Jordan raised one eyebrow. “Well, Nesfield? Shall we all walk away from this relatively un
scathed, with only an amusing tale to note its passing? That’s better than you deserve. But since anything else will result in harm to Emily—and I will
not
have her harmed any further by you—it seems the only choice.”

Nesfield visibly recoiled from the threat in Jordan’s words. He glanced around at the people arrayed against him, two of them with respectable titles and fortunes and one of them his own sister. It suddenly seemed to dawn on him that bucking such a conglomeration would lead to disaster only for him.

“All right,” he growled. “But the five of you can continue the farce without me.
I
am going to Scotland. There is still some chance I can stop my daughter from ruining her life.” With that, the marquess stamped out of the room, calling for his carriage.

“Enjoy your trip,” Jordan said in a menacing undertone.

Emily shivered. She had the distinct impression that Jordan would find some way to make Nesfield pay for what he’d done. She wouldn’t want to be in the marquess’s shoes just now.

Jordan surprised her by then turning to her father. “Can you support my tale, Mr. Fairchild? I know how much you disapprove of lying.”

“I fully intend to tell the truth,” her father answered. When Jordan looked alarmed, he added, “But that’s easily enough done. I know nothing of all this but a lot of hearsay. Who am I to say what did or didn’t happen while my daughter was in London?”

Her father cast Jordan a speculative glance. “First, however, I’d like to hear more about it from you and my daughter. You have now mentioned marriage to her several times, yet until a few
minutes ago, I didn’t even know you knew her.”

At Jordan’s frown, her father said quickly, “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m most grateful for your interference today. I couldn’t have handled Lord Nesfield nearly so well alone.” He clasped Emily close. “Nonetheless, I find myself bewildered—and a bit disturbed—by your interest in my daughter.”

“It’s not such a strange thing,” Jordan stated. “I first met her at the Drydens’ ball in Derbyshire. Then, while she was here in London, we were much thrown into each other’s company.” His voice softened. “And I fell in love with her.”

There was that word again. Love. It was one thing to pretend in front of Nesfield, but he didn’t have to keep it up with Papa. “Jordan, there’s no need to—”

He cut her off before she could say “lie.” “The only trouble is, I’ve proposed to her, and she hasn’t yet accepted me.”

She couldn’t believe it. The Earl of Blackmore was standing there, looking as awkward and uncertain as any man who’d come to propose marriage a second time and wasn’t quite sure of his reception.

He glanced at Lady Dundee and Lord St. Clair, who were both beaming their encouragement. Then he looked nervously at her father. “I know this is asking a great deal, sir, but do you think you might give your daughter and me a few minutes alone? Afterward, I will be much better able to answer your questions.”

When her father hesitated, she squeezed his waist. “Please, Papa?”

“As you wish,” he grumbled, “but only a very few minutes.” He released her and started to walk off, then paused to fix Jordan with a concerned
look. “I think you should know, however, that while my daughter was packing to come here yesterday, a neighbor in Willow Crossing came to tell me of seeing a very important-looking carriage drive away from my house. Emily told me that a friend had brought her home, but now I wonder—”

“As I said,” Jordan remarked with a touch of his old arrogance, “I will be happy to answer all your questions later.”

Her father nodded, clearly reminded of the vast difference in their stations. Jordan might be a young man desirous of his daughter’s hand in marriage, but he was also the famous Earl of Blackmore, and years of ingrained behavior would make it difficult to alter her father’s awareness of that.

Lady Dundee and Lord St. Clair thankfully took her father’s exit as their cue to withdraw as well. When she and Jordan were completely alone, he approached her with uncertain steps.

“Emily, I meant every word I said to your father. I’ve been in a state of absolute terror the past two days, thinking you might not marry me. The thought of losing you makes my stomach churn and my blood falter. I love you. There, I’ve said it. Now please, put me out of my misery and agree to marry me.”

Her first impulse was absolute joy. He loved her! Jordan loved her! He’d actually spoken the words!

Then a second awful and mischievous impulse possessed her. After all his stout claims that he was impervious to love and after all the terrible pain he’d put her through, she couldn’t resist tormenting him, if only a little. “Are you sure it’s love, Jordan? What you’re describing sounds more like an ague.” She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. “Perhaps you’re ill. After all, the Earl of Blackmore falling in love—”

“Enough, you teasing wench,” he said in a warning tone, then caught her hand. “All right then. You want me to behave like a sentimental idiot, do you?” His voice actually shook when he continued. “I need you to make me whole, Emily Fairchild. I want you. And yes, I love you. I will always love you.”

He pressed her hand against his heart. “The first time you quoted scripture at me, you chipped away a piece of my granite heart, and you kept chipping away until nothing was left but dust. Thanks to you, there’s a real heart in its place. And it will always belong to you.” He kissed her hand, then flashed her a wry smile. “Now then, my darling, is that enough emotional excess for you? Will you please agree to marry me?”

She kissed him then, a big, joyful kiss as full of love as she could manage.

When she drew back, he looked dazed. “I hope that’s a ‘yes.’”

She smiled broadly, her heart so full she thought it might burst. At last her forbidden lord was no longer forbidden. “It is indeed, my love. A very emotional and very sentimental ‘yes.’”

T
he Christmas ball at his stepsister’s estate was more crowded than Jordan would have liked, given Emily’s still-delicate condition. She shouldn’t be exposed to so much chaos when she was recovering from having their son a month ago, but she’d insisted that they accept the invitation, since the Worthing estate was close to Jordan’s own. What could he do but indulge his wife, since indulging her few requests was his greatest enjoyment?

He was returning to her with a glass of punch when he noticed her in deep conversation with his stepsister. As he neared them, he heard his name spoken. A mischievous impulse made him duck behind the pillar next to them and strain to overhear their words.

“He’s not the same person since he met you,” Sara was saying. “Jordan used to hate parties of any kind, and I’ve certainly never heard him quote poetry as he did at dinner. He seems so relaxed
and happy. What kind of potion are you feeding my brother, Emily? You must give me some of it.”

“Surely you don’t need any such thing for
your
husband.”

“No. To be truthful, there are certain situations in which I would prefer that Gideon
not
be relaxed, if you know what I mean.”

“I do indeed. And in similar situations, you can be sure that Jordan isn’t the least relaxed himself.”

The two women laughed themselves silly over that one, and Jordan decided he might as well interrupt. “My ears are burning, ladies,” he said archly as he rounded the pillar and handed the punch to his wife.

That sent them into another peal of laughter. Though he raised an eyebrow, he was secretly pleased his wife took such delight in the pleasures of the bedchamber. Too bad they couldn’t indulge themselves for another week, or so the doctor had said.

It might as well be a year. He cast his wife a long, lascivious glance, fervently wishing she hadn’t chosen her scarlet velvet gown for this occasion. True, it was appropriate for Christmas, and though he still thought it scandalous, he had to admit his sister’s gown wasn’t any more modest.

Yet every time he saw Emily in that gown, her translucent skin glowing like delicate china and her breasts pushed up high, fuller now that she was nursing their son, he went hard as a rock. That gown always reminded him of their first time, the way she’d offered herself to him with such ill-concealed innocence.

He took a large swallow of punch. Good God, if he made it through the next seven days without ravishing her, it would be a miracle. He could kill her for wearing that gown tonight. No, what he
wanted to do to her was much more pleasurable.

“Jordan, are you all right?” Emily asked, her pale brow creased in concern.

“I’m fine.”
Merely randy as hell, darling
. Trying to take his mind off his urge to rip her gown in half and feast on those lush breasts and sweet curves, he scanned the room. “I see that Sophie and Lawrence are here.”

Across the room, Lawrence whispered something in his wife’s ear, and her eyes lit up. Their faces were aglow, proving that everyone had been wrong to try to prevent their marriage. Jordan added, “I’m glad a few members of London society have accepted them.”

“Mostly the ones who want to irritate Lord Nesfield,” Sara responded. She shot Jordan a curious glance. “Not that it would take much to irritate him these days. I understand he’s had a series of personal and financial setbacks. His club refused to honor his membership anymore, he’s lost thousands of pounds in a shipping venture, and there’s some sort of legal battle concerning a substantial piece of his property. What a terrible lot of bad luck he’s had this year.”

“Yes, very bad luck,” Jordan repeated dryly, exchanging a glance with his wife. The man would have a great deal more bad luck before Jordan was through with him. Nothing the speculation in his sister’s eyes, Jordan changed the subject. “I wonder how Ian is adjusting to the marriage between Lawrence and Sophie.”

“I suspect he was never in love with her,” Emily said. “He hasn’t seemed too disappointed.”

In love
, Jordan thought. Amazing how differently the words affected him now than a year ago. But then, he hadn’t known he would find the perfect wife—a woman whose interests in reform meshed
with his own, whose frankness always entertained him, and whose body…Good God, why couldn’t he keep his mind off that subject?

“Ian didn’t even flinch when he saw Lawrence and Sophie enter,” Sara remarked, forcibly bringing Jordan back to the conversation. “And I saw him on the balcony not five minutes ago, kissing Felicity.”

“Did you now?” Emily said smugly. “That doesn’t surprise me a bit. I knew something was going on there.”

“Nonsense,” Jordan said with a snort. “Ignore my foolish sister, Emily. If Ian
was
kissing the girl, it was only a momentary flirtation, I assure you.”

Sara wore a calculating expression. “I don’t know if that’s all it is, Jordan. You should have seen the way he was watching her earlier. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And he
is
looking for a wife, isn’t he?”

“Sara,” Jordan said condescendingly, “if you think Ian will consider marrying an opinionated bluestocking, you don’t know him very well.”

His wife and his stepsister exchanged knowing glances.

“You ought to trust your sister on this,” Emily said, a slow smile touching her lips. “She has wonderful instincts. Sara, do tell him what you told me right before our wedding.”

“Tell me what?”

Sara grinned, her eyes suddenly alight with mischief. “You remember the night of the Drydens’ ball? When the two of you met? Gideon and I realized what was going on between you two before you even climbed into that carriage.”

“What do you mean?” Jordan asked.

“You said you were taking a widow home, but Gideon had met both Emily and Lawrence, and
knew she was a rector’s daughter and Lawrence was her cousin. He told me he thought you’d made a mistake.”

“For God’s sake, why didn’t you say something? I can see how that deuced pirate husband of yours would think it was all a good joke, but surely you knew better. You might have saved Emily considerable embarrassment.”

“Yes, but then she wouldn’t have met you, would she? Besides, I decided that a rector’s daughter might be exactly the thing for my brother.” She laughed. “You see? I
do
know a good couple when I see one.”

“That was sheer luck,” he grumbled, unaccountably irritated. It had always pleased him to think that a whim of Fate had brought him and Emily together, and he didn’t like knowing that his sister had been involved, even if it were only in the most limited capacity.

“Would you rather we hadn’t met?” his wife asked quietly, misinterpreting his scowl.

Angry at his sister for bringing the entire thing up, he cast her a pointed glance. She mumbled something about having to find her husband and hurried off, leaving them alone in their corner of the room beside the balcony doors.

“You know the answer to that,” he said softly. He took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “And if you aren’t sure, come outside, and I’ll…remind you of how I feel on the subject.”

She glanced shyly away, though she let him lead her onto the balcony. “Really, Jordan, in the middle of a ball?”

In some ways, she was still the sweet innocent he’d fallen in love with. Indeed, it was her peculiar mixture of innocence and worldly instinct that al
ways delighted him. “Yes.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her hair.

She gazed up at him with a smile. “It’s cold out here, you silly man.”

“Exactly what I need. It’ll keep me from ravishing you the way I’ve wanted to for the past two months.”

“Ah, but you don’t have to keep from ravishing me anymore. The doctor told me today that I can resume all ‘marital activities.’ Why do you think I wore this gown tonight?”

He caught his breath, his body giving an instant response. “What the devil are we doing here then? We’re going home. Now!”

She laughed delightedly as he pulled her back into the room and headed toward their hostess. “Oh, good,” he heard her whisper beside him. “I do so like doing it in the carriage.”