The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries (11)

Ophelia looked askance at St. Clair as she rose from the bench. “What do you mean, you can’t find them? They must be here somewhere.”

He seemed to share her concern. “I’ve searched every room, but they’re nowhere to be found.” He handed her a scrap of woven silk. “I did find your shawl, however. It was only a couple of rooms away.”

Of course it was. She’d purposely left it close by. So where on earth were they? A pox on Blackmore, that rascal. She should’ve known this would happen, especially after yesterday. And now it would be on her head, as well it should be. She was the one who’d let the girl in for this trouble.

“When I get my hands on that scoundrel…” she muttered as she hurried across the room.

St. Clair marched grimly beside her. “You can have him after I’m through. I swear, I had no idea he’d try something like this. Jordan isn’t generally irresponsible. Some might even say he’s too responsible sometimes. But he has this fool notion about your daughter that—”

When St. Clair broke off, she stopped and grabbed his arm. “What fool notion?”

He raked his hand through his hair. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Tell me what Blackmore is up to with my daughter!”

“It’s ridiculous. It’s just that—”

“Hello, Mama,” came a cheery voice from behind her. “I’m afraid we didn’t find your shawl. We’ve been looking everywhere.”

Ophelia turned to find Emily and Lord Blackmore approaching, a few paces apart. Though the girl was smiling, the smile was patently false. Her bonnet was on crooked and her face was flushed. And Blackmore was looking as fierce as those carvings of the soldiers she’d just seen.

Something had happened, something monumental. Tension emanated from them, as taut as a well-strung bow.

“Where in God’s name have you two been?” Ophelia asked, her angry gaze fixing on Blackmore.

Blackmore met it with unrepentant insolence. She found it a tad unnerving.

It was Emily who answered, the words coming out in a rush. “I’m so sorry if we worried you, Mama. When we couldn’t find your shawl, we spoke to the guards, but they hadn’t seen it, so we went out to the carriage and looked there. Didn’t we, Lord Blackmore?”

He hesitated a moment, his scowl deepening, if that were possible. “Yes,” he finally clipped out. “Of course. We went out to the carriage.”

A blatant lie if she’d ever heard one. But if they hadn’t gone out to the carriage, where had they disappeared to?

Ophelia held up her shawl. “St. Clair found it for me. How odd that you missed it. It was only a couple of rooms away.”

Emily wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Yes, how odd.” She looked as if she were thinking, then added, “Oh, I know. That must have been the room we skipped because Lord Blackmore said you hadn’t gone in it.” She cast him a wan smile. “I told you we should check all the rooms, you silly man. But you were so insistent—”

He met her gaze, the muscles flexing in his jaw. “Yes, I’m nothing if not insistent. I eventually always get my way, you know.”

A fresh blush stained the girl’s cheeks as she returned her attention to St. Clair. “Well, in any case, I’m…I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our outing short, Lord St. Clair. That headache of mine—”

“Of course. I should have insisted that we change it to another day the moment you said something.” St. Clair shot Blackmore a stern glance. “I can be insistent myself, can’t I, Jordan?”

The two men stood glaring at each other until Ophelia cleared her throat. Since no one was going to tell the truth, and since they were all obviously ready to throttle each other for things they wouldn’t discuss aloud, they might as well go home. “Well, then, I suppose one of you gentlemen should call for the carriage.”

“I will,” Blackmore growled, then stalked off toward the entrance like some prowling beast.

As soon as he was gone, Emily visibly relaxed. St. Clair took her arm and led her in the same direction Blackmore had gone, with Lady Dundee following behind.

He gazed down at Emily with concern. “Are you all right? You look a little peaked.”

The smile she flashed him was brittle and far too bright. “I’ll be fine as soon as I can lie down in a quiet room with a cold cloth on my head. You mustn’t worry.”

“With your cousin sick, I can’t help but worry,” he answered smoothly. “You might be suffering from the same ailment.”

Yes, indeed, Ophelia thought, an ailment called men. They were a plague upon women everywhere. Except for her dear Edward, of course.

She missed Edward. She’d known he wouldn’t approve, so she hadn’t told him of this farce. Still, she wished he’d come to London. This was becoming more complicated with each passing day, and she could use his advice. He was an excellent judge of character—he’d know what to make of St. Clair and Blackmore.

The ride back to Randolph’s town house was so quiet, she could practically hear each hoofbeat of the horses. But the silence failed to dispel the air of suppressed anger between Blackmore and Emily that vibrated like two tines of a tuning fork.

Somehow she would find out what had happened during their absence. Emily would not put her off this time.

When Blackmore’s carriage clattered up in front of the town house, St. Clair practically bounded out, as if in a hurry to escape the tension. Blackmore, however, didn’t move. “I’ll wait here for you,” he told St. Clair, as the viscount helped first Emily, then herself from the carriage.

Good riddance, Ophelia thought as they left Blackmore behind. She was more than ready to escape both thorny men. As soon as they entered the house, she began assuring St. Clair that he needn’t give any more thought to them and could leave at once. Though he hinted broadly at his wish to see Sophie, she ignored him and watched with profound relief as he left, looking tense, discouraged, and more than a little angry.

Although she wanted to talk to Emily before Randolph could corner the girl, Carter approached her before she could even usher the girl into the parlor.

“There’s a Mr. Lawrence Phelps waiting to see you, milady. I thought I would wait until his lordship left to mention it. ’Tis very strange. The young man claims to be Miss Emily Fairchild’s cousin. Of course, I told him that Miss Fairchild will be coming soon to stay with Lady Sophie, but the young man insists that Miss Fairchild is here now and demands to see her. I put him in the parlor.”

“Thank you, Carter,” Ophelia said, dismissing him with a look. As soon as he left, she turned to Emily. “Is this Mr. Phelps truly your cousin?”

“Oh, yes.” Emily sighed. “He’s a barrister here. Papa must have written to tell him I was in town. What should I do? If I talk to him, the servants will wonder. Nor can I tell him what I’m doing. He’s very moral and might tell Papa.”

“Were you unable to elicit the truth from St. Clair or Blackmore? Must we go on with the masquerade?” Ophelia cast a quick glance at the closed door of the parlor.

“You interrupted just as Lord St. Clair was about to confess something important.” Emily whispered. “I’m nearly certain he’s the one. But not certain enough. I need more time.”

Ophelia thought a moment. “All right. I’ll handle your cousin.”

“What will you tell him?”

“You’ll see.” She nodded toward the door that led to the dining room, which adjoined the parlor. “You can listen from in there if you want. Now go on with you. We don’t want the lad to grow impatient and come out where he can see you.”

Emily nodded quickly, then hurried off into the dining room.

Ophelia waited until Emily disappeared, then entered the parlor, only to catch the young man in question sifting through the letters that sat on a salver on the tea table. He whirled around, knocking the letter opener to the floor.

“Good morning, Mr. Phelps. I’m Lady Dundee. I trust you found our mail in order?”

Chagrin clouded his face. He bent to pick up the letter opener, but when he straightened, all hint of embarrassment was gone. “Good morning, my lady. I merely wondered if my cousin was receiving her letters.”

Secretly admiring his insolence, she swept to her favorite chair, then sat down, indicating that he do the same. “We’re keeping your cousin’s letters for when she arrives. I promise she’ll receive them all then.”

He took the chair she indicated. “I don’t understand. My uncle’s letter stated quite clearly that Emily was in town and staying at Lord Nesfield’s town house with Lady Sophie. I thought to pay her a visit, and instead was fed some Banbury tale about her being en route.”

Impudent puppy. She examined the young man more closely. He was handsome, lacking the sober, pinched look of some barristers, and brazenly returned her gaze. He had the appearance of a man used to rummaging through myriad facts to find the truth. An intelligent fellow, no doubt. This would be tricky.

But Ophelia hadn’t reached her pinnacle of success in polite society for nothing. Spinning tall tales was her special gift. “Miss Fairchild was here. But she and Sophie left two days ago to visit a country estate. They won’t be back for some time.”

“My uncle didn’t mention anything like that.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “May I be frank, Mr. Phelps?”

“Yes, of course.”

“We didn’t tell him. Miss Fairchild feared that her father might not allow her to go, since the woman hosting the visit is…shall we say, more acceptable in my circle than among people of your father’s strict moral code.” When Mr. Phelps drew himself up in righteous indignation, she added hastily, “The woman is perfectly respectable these days, mind you. But before she married her husband, the earl, she was—” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “An actress. And I know how clergymen feel about such things.”

The young man’s eyes narrowed. “You packed your niece and my cousin off to the country estate of some unsavory woman without asking my uncle’s permission? Who is their chaperone? Why aren’t you with them?”

“I’ll be going there in a few days, but my brother is with them. They’re perfectly safe.” Pray heaven Randolph didn’t return from White’s before Mr. Phelps left.

The barrister settled back in his seat and eyed her with suspicion. “How odd that Lady Sophie should leave town in the midst of her coming out.”

“It’s not often done, I’ll admit, but in this case, it’s perfectly warranted.” She thought quickly. “You see, Sophie no longer has to make the rounds. She’s accepted an offer of marriage.” Thankfully, he wasn’t apt to move in any circles where he could learn she was lying.

He looked momentarily stunned. Then his pale blue eyes glittered beneath the dark, scowling brows. “Really? So soon after her arrival in London?”

Ophelia shrugged. “That’s to be expected for a girl with her attractions. In fact, her fiancé is one of the guests at our friend’s estate.”

He glanced away, staring off into the fire a moment as if considering her words. “I see.” Then his gaze swung back to her as he rose. “Thank you for clarifying matters, Lady Dundee.”

Ophelia rose as well. “You’re welcome. Be sure to visit when Miss Fairchild returns.”

“I certainly will.” He headed for the door with her a few paces behind, then stopped short. “Why don’t you give me the address of that estate where Emily is staying? Then I can write my cousin and ask her to pay me a visit upon her return.”

Really, this young man was growing troublesome. Did he have some other, deeper interest in Emily? Cousins sometimes did marry, after all.

How excessively inconvenient his interference would be now, when they were close to discovering the truth. Ophelia mustered all the frosty dignity she could manage. “I’m sure your cousin will have little time for letters in the country, nor would I wish to trouble her host with taking mail for her. That’s why we’re holding her mail here.” She stepped toward the door, and opened it for him. “I’ll tell her of your interest when I get there. I’m certain she’ll write you as soon as she has the chance.”

He glanced from her to the open door, looking as if he might say something else. Then he gave a sketchy bow. “Very well, Lady Dundee. Sorry to trouble you. I’ll await my cousin’s letter with eager anticipation.”

“You do that. Good day, Mr. Phelps.”

She watched as Carter showed him out, then sank onto the settee, her heart pounding in her chest. Pray heaven that was the last she saw of the impertinent creature. She was getting too old for these games.

Emily burst into the room. “Thank goodness he’s gone! You did that very well. I don’t think he suspected anything, do you?”

Privately Ophelia thought he suspected a good deal. But she couldn’t tell the poor girl that, not when Emily had so many other things on her mind. “I think we’re rid of him for the moment.”

“Yes.” The young woman forced a bright smile. “Well then, I suppose I’ll go rest for a while. My headache, you know.”

She had already turned toward the door when Ophelia said, “Wait one moment, my dear. Before you run off to hide, I wish to discuss what happened at the museum.”

The girl's back went rigid as a poker. “Nothing happened. I told you, Lord St. Clair—”

“You know quite well that’s not what I’m referring to.”

Emily’s heart sank as she faced the countess. She’d hoped to avoid this, prayed that Lady Dundee wouldn’t question her too closely. She should have known better.

The countess patted the seat next to her on the settee. “Come here and tell me what happened with Blackmore.”

Emily nearly rebelled. Hadn’t she been through enough today? Merely thinking of her encounter with Jordan made her want to cry. The hungry glide of his hands over her body…the shocking things she’d let him do! Every moment had been the sweetest torture. And to know that it had meant absolutely nothing to him…She could never reveal that shame to Lady Dundee.

On the other hand, she needed advice. What if Jordan did tell everyone? What was she to do? The only person who could help her with this was the countess. Heaven knows telling Lord Nesfield would be a disaster.

“Well?” Lady Dundee said, jolting Emily from her reverie.

Wearily, she took the seat next to the countess. Perhaps it was time she explained Jordan’s interest in her. She could tell the truth without revealing all of what happened this afternoon. “Lord Blackmore and I visited a ‘private’ part of the museum.”

“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?”

“Pack your bags, man. You’re taking a trip.” Jordan opened his safe and removed a fistful of pound notes.

Hargraves blinked a couple of times. “Now?”

“As soon as you can be ready.”

“Where am I going?”

“To Willow Crossing.”

The butler coughed discreetly as Jordan counted out the notes. “Er…isn’t that where Miss Fairchild is from? The woman you think is masquerading as Lady Emma?”

“Not think. Know. She told me the truth herself today.”

“You don’t say!”

“Yes. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t tell me why.” He stopped counting. “You haven’t discovered anything more, have you? Other than what you told me this morning about when Lady Dundee and her daughter arrived in London?”

“Actually, I have. It’s not much, but perhaps you’ll know what to make of it. It seems Lady Sophie is not in residence. She hasn’t been for some weeks. They say she’s ill and had to go home, but they’re not supposed to tell people where she is.”

“That’s curious.” Did Emily’s masquerade have to do with Sophie and her illness? But how?

“Something else, milord. When I asked about Miss Emily Fairchild, they said she’s coming for a visit soon. They’ve been told that she’s traveling and can’t receive mail, which is why they’re holding her mail for her, but they all think it a mite odd that her father would write her so many letters when she can’t yet answer.”

“That is helpful, Hargraves. I’ll wager that her father doesn’t know about this masquerade. I can use that.” He didn’t want to threaten to tell Emily’s father yet—she’d never forgive him. But he would if he must. Somebody had to look out for her.

“Nesfield has a hold over her,” he mused aloud. “I don’t know what it is, but I want you to find out. That’s why I’m sending you to Willow Crossing. You haven’t found anything here, so you might as well see what you can find there. You don’t mind a trip to the country, do you?”

“Indeed not. I’ve been itching to escape the city, milord.”

“Good. I want you to leave today. Spend a few days there, ask questions. But be discreet. Don’t tell anyone you’re looking for me, all right? Just find out what you can about the Fairchilds and Nesfield. It shouldn’t take long in a small town like that.”

“I’ll take care of it, milord. You can count on me.”

“I always do.”

And while Hargraves was in Willow Crossing, Jordan would find some way to discover the truth here. No matter how much she protested, he wouldn’t let Emily go on like this alone. Not any longer.