The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries (1)

Derbyshire, England
March 1819

I might as well be playing hide-and-seek in a circus, Emily Fairchild thought as she surveyed the ballroom at the Marquess of Dryden’s country estate. There were hundreds of masqueraders, four hundred at least, all wearing exotic, expensive costumes far beyond Emily’s means.

And none of them was her good friend Lady Sophie. Where was she, for goodness sake? Emily couldn’t leave the ball without finding her; Sophie would be so disappointed if she couldn’t get the elixir Emily had made up especially for her.

“Do you see her, Lawrence?” Emily asked her cousin in a voice pitched to be heard over the delightful orchestra. “You’re tall enough to spot her.”

Lawrence frowned as he craned his head forward. “She’s over there, engaged in that absurd and pointless activity society considers entertainment.”

In other words, she was dancing. Emily bit back a smile. Poor Lawrence. He’d come from London to visit her and her father at Willow Crossing for the first time in years, and in return, had been forced to stand in for her father by escorting her to a masquerade ball—an event Lawrence considered “stupid, wasteful idiocy.”

Well, at least he needn’t be further tortured by having to dance with her. Propriety forbade her from dancing, since she was in the final weeks of mourning for her mother. Indeed, she was the lone guest wearing black bombazine, with a silk mask her only concession to the masquerade theme.

“Who’s Sophie dancing with?” Emily asked.

“I believe her partner is currently Lord Blackmore.”

“The Lord Blackmore? She’s dancing with him?” A man of some consequence, the Earl of Blackmore was the brother of the Drydens’ new daughter-in-law.

Envy quickly assailed Emily, and just as quickly she banished it. How silly to envy Sophie what was hers by birthright. It wasn’t as if Emily would ever have the chance to dance with the earl herself. She was merely a rector’s daughter with no lofty family connections.

She was lucky to be here at all. Lady Dryden had only invited her in payment for a small service Emily had rendered her. The marchioness had no reason to introduce Emily to any of the wealthy, sophisticated lords and ladies who’d traveled from London for the occasion.

Still, what would dancing with an earl as famous as Lord Blackmore be like? Nerve-wracking, she imagined, especially if he were handsome. Was he? She stood on tiptoe and squinted through the slits in her eye mask, but couldn’t see a thing beyond the sea of wigs and odd headdresses that swirled and churned about her.

“Do tell me what’s going on, Lawrence. Are they dancing a waltz? Does Lord Blackmore seem to be enjoying it?”

“How could he? First of all, he’s dancing. Secondly, he has Sophie for a partner. He deserves better.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Lord Blackmore is a man of some substance, you know. Despite being one of the youngest members of the House of Lords, he has instituted more reforms for the poor than any other member.”

“And why does that mean Sophie isn’t good enough for him?”

Lawrence shrugged. “It pains me to tell you this, but your friend is a twit, wholly unsuitable for a man of intelligence and experience.”

“She is not! What do you know of her? You only met her yesterday!”

“Yes, and she spent the entire visit snubbing me. I suppose she considered a London barrister far beneath her notice.”

His attempt to sound nonchalant failed so miserably that Emily had to stifle a laugh. “Oh, Lawrence, you misunderstood her entirely. She wasn’t snubbing you. She was terrified of you.”

“Terrified?” There was skepticism in his tone. “Why on earth should a marquess’s daughter be terrified of me?”

She cast a sideways glance at her cousin. Like many of the young men who hadn’t bothered with costumes, he wore standard evening attire with his mask. But although the mask covered his straight nose and part of his smooth brow, it didn’t disguise his silky auburn hair or good looks. Not to mention that Lawrence was a trifle opinionated, which in itself would cow the timid Sophie.

“Well?” he asked impatiently. “Why is she afraid of me?”

“Because, my dear cousin, you are a man. A handsome, bold, and consequently terrifying man.” When he snorted in disbelief, she added, “Trust me, Sophie was only too painfully aware of your presence yesterday. That’s why I couldn’t coax her into mumbling more than a few words until you excused yourself from the room.”

“That’s absurd. A woman of her situation—pretty, rich, and well connected—has nothing to fear from anyone. At her coming out, she’ll have numerous suitors clamoring after her inheritance. She’ll make a spectacular marriage and go live in a grand estate with some duke or marquess.”

“That may be true, but it doesn’t prevent her from fearing your sex.”

A sudden commotion on the dance floor roused the crowd’s attention. Lawrence peered over their heads, his eyes narrowing. “Well, that put an end to that, didn’t it? Doesn’t surprise me, either.”

“Put an end to what?” A bald man in a toga wearing a lopsided crown of laurels swayed in front of Emily and blocked her view. Goodness gracious, what she wouldn’t give for a stepping stool right now! “What’s happening?”

“Sophie’s father just wrenched her out of Blackmore’s arms. What a fool Lord Nesfield is.” He leaned forward to survey the scene she couldn’t see. “Now he’s shouting at Blackmore.”

“Poor Sophie! She must be mortified!”

“‘Poor Sophie’? What about Blackmore?” He adjusted his mask with tapered fingers. “Wait a minute. Why, jolly good, Blackmore! That’s the way to handle a fool.”

She rose up on tiptoe again, but could only see a giant Merlin’s hat. “What is it? What’s he doing?”

“He’s walking away, cool as a cucumber. Nesfield is following him, ranting, but Blackmore’s ignoring him, which makes Nesfield look ridiculous.”

“I don’t understand. Why won’t Lord Nesfield let Sophie dance with Lord Blackmore?”

Around her, people were murmuring, and they seemed to share Lawrence’s opinion of the Marquess of Nesfield.

“Nesfield is Blackmore’s chief opponent in Parliament.” An acid tone entered his voice. “The marquess believes in leaving people downtrodden, because helping them might encourage them to rise up and overthrow the aristocracy. To him, Blackmore is the worst of rabble-rousers and thus much too sullied for the pure Sophie.”

“The marquess has always been suspicious of men where Sophie’s concerned,” she said indignantly. “Ever since she was a girl, he’s been worried that some blackguard will carry her off. That’s why she’s so afraid of men—because he hasn’t allowed her to be around boys her age, and she knows only what he tells her about them.”

Lawrence cast her a skeptical glance. “I thought she had a brother. Surely he taught her better.”

“Her brother ran off when she was eight. He was very young—seventeen, I think—and he and his father had a great row. He lives on the Continent, I believe. So without her brother around and with her mother dead, Sophie has only her father to guide her, and he has her believing that every man is suspect.”

“I think you’re making excuses for her, though Lord Nesfield is an idiot.” Suddenly his face grew more somber. “Wait, she’s coming toward us. While her father was haranguing Lord Blackmore, she slipped off. Now you can give her that elixir so we can go. But if you don’t mind, I’ll absent myself, before she sees me and grows ‘terrified.’” With a sniff every bit as haughty as any he could attribute to Sophie, he stalked into the crowd of dancers.

As soon as he left, Emily saw Sophie burst through the crowd, her face mottled with shame. The poor dear. And her looking so pretty tonight, too. This ball was something of a practice for Sophie’s coming out, which was probably why she wore no costume. But her lavender silk gown was fine and rich, accentuating her petite figure and raven hair. No wonder Lord Blackmore had wanted to dance with her.

Sophie caught sight of Emily, then hurried to her side in a rush of skirts. “Oh, Emily, did you see?”

“No, but Lawrence told me about it.”

Her face reddened. “Your cousin saw it? Oh, I’ll never live down the shame! It was horrible, simply horrible! Everyone must think awful things about me now!”

Emily embraced her poor friend. “It’s all right, dear. No one will think anything about you. They’ll only blame your father, as well they should.”

Sophie’s small body trembled, and Emily could tell she was on the verge of tears. That wouldn’t do.

Emily set Sophie firmly away. “Chin up, dear, it’s over now. You must behave as if it didn’t rattle you, or everyone will talk of it in the morning.”

Choking back a sob, Sophie rubbed at her eyes with one delicate fist. “Yes, you’re right.” She glanced around. “They’re all watching me, aren’t they?”

“Never mind them.” Seeking to distract her, Emily added, “I brought the calming elixir you wanted.”

Sophie’s face brightened. “You did? Truly?”

“I could hardly resist your begging, could I?” Emily smiled as she drew the glass vial from her reticule. “You wouldn’t have sneaked out to visit me yesterday if you hadn’t been desperate.”

Sophie took the vial from Emily and examined it, her eyes still shimmering with unshed tears. “I can never thank you enough for this, my dear, dear friend. You don’t know how you’ve saved my life!”

“Nothing so spectacular, I’m sure, but I hope it helps.” Sophie’s enthusiasm gave her a moment’s unease. Only once had Emily’s nostrums caused harm…

No, she wouldn’t think of that. Nothing could happen this time. The elixir was mild as chicken soup, a mere diffusion of chamomile, lavender flowers, and balm leaves.

“I know it will be a great help,” Sophie said. “Everyone swears by your nostrums.”

Not everyone. Certainly not Lord Nesfield, who would kill her if he knew she’d given this to Sophie. “If your father should find out—”

“He shan’t,” Sophie assured her as she slid the vial into her reticule. Her blue eyes clouded over. “Anyway, it’s worth risking his anger, especially after tonight. I’m near to being a candidate for Bedlam already. Look.” She held out her gloved hands, which twitched and trembled.

Emily murmured her sympathy.

“Tonight has been such a nightmare,” Sophie added, her mouth forming a delicate pout that would soon be breaking hearts in London. “First, Lady Dryden introduced me to her elegant friends, which was vexing enough. I’m sure I behaved like a complete rattlebrain. And then the disaster with Lord Blackmore!”

“Surely it wasn’t a disaster until your father came along.”

“Not true! I was in a perfect terror the entire time we danced! The earl is well-known for treating respectable women with coldness and contempt.”

“Don’t be absurd.” She couldn’t reconcile Lord Blackmore’s reform efforts with this rumor. “Did your father tell you that?”

“Not just him. Lady Manning said that Lord Blackmore rarely attends social events, and then refuses to dance with any of the eligible women. Instead, he consorts with fancy women and scandalous widows! They say he has a heart of stone when it comes to decent women of marriageable age.”

Emily rolled her eyes. Sophie was still so very young. She couldn’t distinguish legitimate fact from politically motivated gossip and rumor. “You shouldn’t listen to such nonsense. I’m sure Lord Blackmore is perfectly polite to every woman, or Lady Dryden wouldn’t have introduced him to you, nor would he have danced with you.”

Sophie worried her lower lip with her perfect teeth. “Perhaps you’re right. He was quite the gentleman while we danced, though he was a bit stiff.”

“Besides, if he was indeed so cruel to young women before, he’s clearly reformed. If any sweet innocent could melt a heart of stone, it would be you, dear friend.”

Emily thought she heard something like a muffled snort nearby, but when she glanced around, no one was there. It must have been the wind coming through the open balcony door at her back.

“It doesn’t matter, in any case,” Sophie said. “Papa will never let me dance with Lord Blackmore again. Not that I would want to, after Papa’s horrible scene. Oh, Emily, I’ll never last a day in London! I’d rather run away with one of our footmen than have my coming out. At least I know our footmen.”

Emily groaned. “You can’t mean that. Imagine your father’s reaction!” As if Sophie, who thought hardship was having to peel her own oranges, could ever be a servant’s wife!

“No, I…I don’t suppose I do. But I so dread this trip to London.” Sophie’s chin quivered dangerously.

Emily changed the subject at once. “So you danced with the famous Earl of Blackmore. What was he like? Handsome? Charming? Or too pleased with himself to endure?”

“He was very charming and quite handsome, from what I could tell. He wore a mask, you know, like your cousin.” She colored a bit, then went on reflectively, “Come to think of it, he actually looked a great deal like Mr. Phe—” Sophie broke off, her eyes widening in terror. “Oh, no, Papa is just over there. I’m sure he’s searching for me.”

Emily turned around to see Lord Nesfield’s golden lorgnette aimed in their direction. Though he was squinting and obviously having trouble seeing at that distance, she groaned.

Sophie ducked down. “He mustn’t see me talking to you. You know how he is.”

She certainly did. Though she and Sophie had been close friends from childhood, the Marquess of Nesfield had recently discouraged their friendship. Sadly enough, Emily knew why.

“We’d best separate,” Emily said, squeezing Sophie’s hand. “Go on now.”

“You’re the dearest friend a girl could have,” she whispered, then fled.

Oh, dear, what if he’d spotted her giving the elixir to Sophie? She’d best make herself scarce, before he decided to waylay her. Ducking through the balcony door, she peered back into the ballroom to make sure he hadn’t seen her.

“Hello,” said a voice behind her, and she whirled around in surprise, then relaxed when she saw it was Lawrence. She wouldn’t have recognized him in the darkness if not for the bit of candlelight from inside that glinted off his red hair.

“So you were listening in, were you?” she said dryly. “I should have known. Well, you’ll be happy to know you can finally take me home.”

He stayed oddly silent.

“You are ready to escape this tedium, aren’t you?” she said.

When he answered, his voice was low and huskier than usual. “Oh, yes. I’ve been ready for hours. But aren’t you planning to bid our host and hostess good-bye?”

“Oh, I should, shouldn’t I?” she said, ashamed that she’d forgotten such an important courtesy. “Still, I don’t want Lord Nesfield to see me. Do you mind doing it without me?”

He shrugged. “Not at all.” With a bow that was strangely gentlemanly for Lawrence, he headed past her into the ballroom.

While she waited for him, she strode the balcony nervously. He seemed to be taking an awfully long time. Going to the doorway, she glanced in, but he was halfway across the room, speaking to the Worthings and gesturing to her. Quickly, she darted back onto the balcony and paced some more.

Once he returned, they hurried along the shadowy gallery until they reached the last room before the foyer. Then they walked briskly through it to where the footmen awaited the guests’ leisure.

Lawrence spoke in an undertone to the servants, who then scurried about, gathering her pelisse and his greatcoat as if the two of them were very important guests. How strange. The servants had often seen her here before and never treated her with such extravagant courtesy. What had Lawrence told them?

As a servant helped her into her velvet pelisse, she thought he regarded her oddly. Then he darted away, making her wonder if she’d imagined it. The carriage was brought to the door with amazing speed, undoubtedly because it was one of Lady Dryden’s. Emily and Lawrence had been unable to take the Fairchild carriage because it was being repaired, so Lady Dryden had generously offered to send one for them.

Lawrence opened the ornate door and handed her in. She relaxed only after he’d ordered the coachman to drive on. “It was fun for a while, but I was quite glad to leave, weren’t you?”

He leaned back against the seat, the moonlight touching on his smiling mouth. There was something odd about his smile. It seemed different. “Yes, indeed. So good of you to suggest it.”

“Suggest it? Don’t be silly, Lawrence. You’ve been wanting to leave that ball almost since we got there.”

The man across from her went very still. “Lawrence? Who the deuce is Lawrence?”

If his surprise hadn’t told her that she’d made a drastic error, his language would have. Lawrence would never use such words in front of a rector’s daughter. That’s why his smile looked different and why the servants had behaved oddly when she’d left with him!

“You’re n-not Lawrence,” she whispered inanely, her heart leaping into her throat as he frowned and quickly removed his mask.

Dear heavens. The man had Lawrence’s red hair and Lawrence’s build and Lawrence’s attire.

And a very different face.

“Of course I’m not Lawrence,” he snapped. “What kind of game are you playing?” He tilted his head, and she glimpsed his hard male jaw and clean-shaven throat before the moon ducked behind the clouds, extinguishing what little light had filtered into the carriage. “You know very well who I am. That’s why you said all that nonsense to Lady Sophie in my defense.”

Removing his silk top hat, he laid it on the well-padded cushion of the brocade seat, and the very intimacy the action implied sent her into a panic. What nonsense had she said in his defense? What did he mean? Obviously he meant her conversation with Sophie, which he’d clearly overheard. But they’d only talked of the girl’s coming out and her fears and…

Goodness gracious. And Lord Blackmore. They’d discussed Lord Blackmore at length. What had Sophie started to tell her? That Lord Blackmore looked an awful lot like someone? Lawrence. That’s who his lordship resembled.

It couldn’t be. “Are you saying you’re…you’re—”

“Blackmore, of course. But you know that quite well.”

His irritated tone drew her up short. There was no cause for alarm. This was just a silly mistake, one they could quickly correct. The entire misunderstanding was her fault anyway. She couldn’t very well blame him for taking her at her word and assuming that she needed an escort home.

“No, I didn’t know. I’m afraid you look a great deal like my cousin, Lawrence, who’s my escort this evening. In the darkness on the balcony, I mistook you for him. It’s a simple error, no harm done.”

Jordan Willis, the Earl of Blackmore, gaped at the trim, attractive woman across from him. What kind of joke was this? “Your cousin?” Deuce take it. Could this situation merely be a devilish strange mistake? He’d been wearing a mask, after all, but red hair like his was rare.

He’d assumed she was merely a lusty widow wanting a private encounter with him. Yet she did seem agitated. And if she really were telling the truth, then…“Are you claiming that you actually meant all that nonsense about my reputation being undeserved?”

“Of course I meant it.” She seemed bewildered by his reaction. “Why would you think otherwise?”

He stretched an arm out along the seat back. Surely the woman couldn’t be so naive, given what she’d heard of him. “Because when a beautiful widow defends me in my hearing, she generally means to impress me.”

“A widow? You think I’m a widow?” Flipping out her fan, she worked it in agitated motions. “Oh, dear, so that’s why you came along with me so easily. Because you thought…I mean, you assumed—”

“That you were a widow eager for a little company. Yes.” A sense of impending doom descended on him. “Tell me I wasn’t mistaken.”

“But you were! This is all a terrible error! I’m not a widow. I’m in mourning for my mother, who died last year.”

The sense of doom roared in his head. She wasn’t a widow. She was probably some squire’s virginal daughter. And he’d carried her off in his carriage without regard for who might see them.

No, he couldn’t be that stupid. “You’re joking. This is some sort of game.”

“Not at all! I’m telling the truth!”

“Am I to understand that you’re unmarried?” His stomach began to churn.

Her head bobbed furiously.

“And pure as the driven snow, I suppose.” Anger exploded in his brain. How could he have acted so heedlessly? “You’re right, madam. This is indeed a terrible error.”

“You must take me back at once, now that you see I’m not the sort of woman you thought. The longer you keep me out here, the more my reputation suffers. Besides, my cousin will be looking for me.”

That brought him up short. Her cousin would be looking for her. And who else; her eager father? Her scheming aunt? What if she’d lied about mistaking him for her cousin? Overzealous mamas had laid traps for him before. It was one reason he’d always given a wide berth to unmarried young women.

And what about the way she’d defended him so adamantly? What young woman would have done so if not to make an impression upon him? She must have known he was eavesdropping. She hadn’t acted at all surprised to find him standing there.

Cold anger settled in his gut like a bad meal. “I suspect your cousin knows exactly where you are right now.”

She dropped her fan into her lap. “What do you mean?”

He interpreted her wary expression as more indication of her guilt. “You know exactly what I mean. This was all a little plot, wasn’t it? If I return to the ball, I’ll find a host of people awaiting us, ready to force me into ‘fixing’ my indiscretion. Well, let me tell you something. If you think I shall let some clever virgin trap me into marriage—”

“Trap you into marriage! You don’t think that I…that this…” She sputtered to a halt, then drew a shaky breath. “You think I purposely did this? Made you take me out in a carriage unchaperoned at the risk to my reputation?”

“What else am I to think? You defended me when you surely realized I was standing there listening. All that nonsense about mistaking me for your cousin—”

“Why, you insolent, presuming blackguard! I see that I misjudged Sophie’s information entirely! Obviously, you know only one sort of woman, which explains why you don’t recognize a decent woman when you meet one!”

“Oh, I recognize decent women quite well,” he snapped, his ancient fear rearing its ugly head. “They play games like this to catch themselves prominent, rich husbands. They want money, position, and the chance to run a man’s life into the ground, and they’ll use anything to get it.”

When she gave a choked gasp, he added with deliberate coarseness, “Indecent women, on the other hand, are honest in what they expect for the pleasures they provide. They’re easy to manage, take little time away from important pursuits, and don’t ask for more than a man can give. Oh, yes, I recognize the difference. And I prefer indecent women to so-called decent women any day.”

She straightened to fix him with a frosty gaze. “You may find this hard to believe, Lord Blackmore, but there are women other than the ones you’ve described, women who don’t need to advance their position or fortune by tricking some hapless man into marriage. I’m one of them. I’m quite happy with my own life, thank you very much, and don’t need to ‘run’ yours to find satisfaction. And I most certainly did not set out to trap you. I merely made a mistake, one that appears more grievous for every moment I spend in your disgusting presence!”

The vehemence in her voice took him by surprise. She did look the very picture of affronted womanhood. But then, she’d have to be a bit of an actress to pull this off, wouldn’t she?

“So you claim not to have known I was listening to your conversation?”

“I do not have such appalling bad manners as to allow my friend to gossip about a man within his hearing!”

“All right,” he said in clipped tones. “Let’s say you’re telling the truth. If you were oblivious to my presence on the balcony, why on earth did you defend me to Lady Sophie when you had no idea who I was or whether the gossip was true?”

She met his gaze coldly. “I knew of your work in Parliament. That seemed to show you to be honest and good.”

He winced inwardly at her emphasis on “seemed.” Had he been too hasty in his judgment of her?

The coach lurched, throwing her to the side long enough to expose one trim and decidedly pretty ankle before she righted herself. “Besides, it’s not right for people to malign a man when he’s not there to defend himself. If one doesn’t know the truth, one should keep silent. My father, the rector of Willow Crossing, raised me not to listen to such idle gossip.”

“Your father is a rector?” His uneasiness deepened. A rector’s daughter? Setting a trap for him? That seemed too unlikely. He groaned. He’d made a nasty mistake in letting his anger get the better of him. Despite her mask, he could see her eyes snap.

“Yes,” she said, barely pausing to acknowledge his question. “You could learn a lot from him. He doesn’t judge people without knowing anything about them. He’s always quoting Matthew 7:1, ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’”

For God’s sake, the woman was reciting the Bible, chapter and verse.

“I live by those words,” she went on, now fully provoked. “No one but God has the right to judge a person’s behavior, not even you. And furthermore—”

“Enough, madam.”

She went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “There’s the scripture that says—”

“Madam, leave off! I believe you.”

Her expression was priceless, almost disappointed, like that of a preacher denied a pulpit. “You what?”

“I believe you.” Even he, with his cynical view of the world, couldn’t believe that a woman could quote scripture and plot against him at the same time. Glancing away, he grumbled, “Clearly, you’re not…the sort of woman I took you for.”

“I should think not,” she said loftily.

Gritting his teeth, he added, “I’m sorry to have offended you.”

There was a long, chilly silence from the other end of the carriage. Good God, he’d made a horrible mistake. He would have recognized it earlier, but he’d been so furious at being caught in this devilish position that he hadn’t been thinking. Obviously, if she’d been trying to trap him, she wouldn’t have told him so soon of her error. She would have tried enticing him to compromise her.

But she’d done none of that. What’s more, he’d just insulted her beyond countenance. He shot her a glance, wondering what she was thinking.

She watched him with all the wariness of a cornered deer. “So you admit that I was not trying to trick you?”

“Yes.”

“You acknowledge that you were completely in the wrong?”

“Yes, yes, deuce take it!”

She sniffed and drew herself up. “You needn’t curse at me.”

“Now you’re correcting my language, for God’s sake.” He sighed. “You’re as pernicious as my stepsister. She bedevils me until I admit I’m wrong. And she, too, corrects my language and quotes scripture in an attempt to make me mend my ways.”

“Then she must spend a great deal of time correcting your language and memorizing scripture.”

He stared at her, then broke into laughter. “Indeed she does.” The girl had a spine, he’d give her that. No woman but Sara ever dared to criticize him to his face, although many undoubtedly did behind his back.

This rector’s daughter was an intriguing little thing. Not a simpering, foolish bone in her body, unlike most of the young women foisted upon him these days. Was she pretty as well, behind that mask? The rest of her certainly looked promising.

Good God, what was he thinking? She was a virgin. “A rector’s daughter quoting scripture,” he said, trying to fix the thought in his head. “I’ve truly caught myself an innocent, haven’t I?”

“Yes.” She smoothed her skirts primly. “Now you must throw me back.”

“Indeed I must.” But he made no move to order his coachman to turn the carriage around. First they must consider the potential problems arising from his fatal error. “Tell me something, Miss…Miss…”

“Fairchild,” she supplied.

He groaned. “Even your name cries out purity and innocence.” As the carriage rumbled on, he crossed his arms over his chest. “How shall I get you back to the ball without ruining your reputation? If your cousin is looking for you, he’s liable to be standing on the doorstep when we return.”

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 remember 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 hastened 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.”