The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries (12)

Emily had never attended an opera. Willow Crossing had an ancient orchestra that played at assemblies, and a traveling troupe of actors that sometimes presented Shakespeare. But no operas, to be sure.

The Marriage of Figaro, by Mozart, was entirely beyond her ken. Thankfully, although it was an Italian opera, this production was in English. Not only could she understand the story, but she was enjoying it beyond anything, drooling over the music like the country fool she truly was. The voices rang so clear, so perfect! The orchestra actually knew all their notes, even the high ones!

Her enjoyment was enhanced by the fact that Lord St. Clair had shown no signs of having learned any dark secrets about her that afternoon. When he’d come in behaving like his usual self, she’d relaxed, especially since he’d come without Jordan. Perhaps everything would be fine after all. Perhaps Jordan would be satisfied with proving to himself that he’d been right about her identity. For the first time since the Merrington’s ball, she felt free to enjoy herself.

The character named Cherubino, a woman playing the part of an adolescent boy, launched into an aria, and Emily strained forward. How could such lush sounds emerge from such a tiny woman? Emily’s musical abilities were tolerable at best, but she did love to listen. By the end of the second act, she’d smiled so much her face hurt.

The chandelier with its hundreds of candles was lowered for the interlude, and Lady Dundee rose from her seat. “I see that Lady Merrington is here tonight. I believe I’ll go speak to her.”

“I’ll join you,” Lord St. Clair said as he also rose. “These chairs aren’t made for men with long legs.” He held out his arm to Emily. “Are you coming, Lady Emma?”

The soft, elegant strains of a violin wafted up to their box, and she sighed with pleasure. “Would you mind very much if I stayed here and listened to the music?”

Lord St. Clair chuckled. “It’s just the interlude.”

“Yes, but it’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Lady Dundee cast her an indulgent smile. “Indeed it is, my dear. Come along, St. Clair. Let her have her fun.”

Emily smiled gratefully, then returned her attention once more to the stage, where the musicians were playing a duet for violin and harp. She so loved the harp. The schoolteacher in Willow Crossing owned a harp, but it wasn’t as pure or sweet as this one. There were advantages to living in the city. She would miss this.

Faintly, she heard the door open behind her and assumed that Lady Dundee had come back for something she’d left behind. Then a husky male voice said, “Good evening, Emily.”

She froze. Jordan. He was here.

Her pulse raced and her heart fluttered. Oh, foolish, foolish heart—to be enamored of such a man.

She heard rather than saw him advance to the front of the box. Flipping up his tails, he took the chair next to her. She sat rigidly, not daring to look at him after the intimacies they’d shared that afternoon. She wiped her clammy hands on her skirts and wished fervently that he hadn’t come.

But when he said nothing, she couldn’t resist a glance at him. As usual, his cutaway was impeccable, his cravat immaculate. Why couldn’t he wear ill-fitting coats or have warty hands or something else to dislike? No, he had to be perfect in every way. The perfect, beautiful, forbidden earl who kissed like the devil and held her fate in his hands.

He met her gaze, and she dropped hers at once, mortified to be caught staring.

Then he cleared his throat. “You’re looking lovely this evening. Though I must say that your gown is a little…snug, don’t you think?”

He sounded as if he’d been gargling nails. And what did he mean? That she was too plump for the gown?

She glared at him. “Lady Dundee said it would be acceptable for the opera.”

His gaze flickered briefly to where the gown pushed her breasts up scandalously high, much like all the other women’s gowns she’d seen this evening. He swallowed, then jerked his gaze back to her face. “For some other woman perhaps. On you, it’s deadly.”

For goodness sake, what did he mean? Now that he was certain she was a rector’s daughter, did he think she had no right to wear such beautiful clothes? The arrogant wretch. “If you’re going to insult me, you might as well leave!”

“Insult you? I wasn’t insulting you. At least, I don’t think I was.” He sighed. “Don’t throw me out yet, not after I went to so much trouble to find out where you were.”

“What trouble? I’m sure your friend told you we were attending the opera.”

“My ‘friend,’” he said with a hint of sarcasm, “didn’t tell me a thing. I’ve been to two dances, a party, and an early ball looking for you. I finally had to go to Ian’s house and badger his servants to find out where he—and therefore, you—might be.”

Her foolish heart fluttered again. “You went all those places in search of me?”

“I had to talk to you. We left things unsettled this afternoon.”

She squelched her disappointment. Of course that was why. God forbid he should wish to see her for some other reason.

Well, she needed to talk to him, too. But how to broach the subject? “You’ve missed half the opera.”

“No, I haven’t; I’ve been in my own box. I keep one year-round, mainly for my sister when she’s in town.” He gestured to a box across the theater, where the curtains were half-drawn. His tone hardened. “I’ve been in there watching all the men gawk at you.”

Was that jealousy she heard? She sighed. Of course not. Jordan would never be jealous of her, or of any woman for that matter. “Why didn’t you join us?”

“I didn’t know if your ‘mother’ would allow it after what happened this afternoon. I suppose she’s ready to skin me alive.”

Should she tell him that Lady Dundee knew about their previous association? No, she’d best not. Then he might feel free to badger the countess about what was going on. “She…didn’t suspect anything,” she lied.

He glanced off across the theater, drumming his fingers on his knee. He seemed agitated. “That’s a shock. Ian suspected everything. He spent half the afternoon lecturing me about toying with innocent young women.”

She froze. “And did you tell him why…I mean…what we spoke about and—”

“No.” His gaze shot to her, deeply serious. “I didn’t tell him anything. That’s why I’m here. To assure you that I’ll keep your secret.”

Relief swamped her, so intense she nearly reeled with it. “Oh, thank heavens! I was so worried!”

He scowled. “You didn’t really think I’d be so callous as to expose you without knowing what was going on, did you?”

“I didn’t know what to think. Until now, you’ve been so…so insistent about finding me out, it seemed logical that you would want to let everyone know—”

“Good God, you don’t think much of me, do you?” He jumped to his feet and began to pace the small area at the front of the box. “Well, my dear, you should have trusted to your feminine tactics. Your tears and your begging were very effective, I assure you. I’m not made of stone.”

“They weren’t tactics!” Wounded by his cold words, she struck back. “Besides, Mr. Pollock says you boast of your granite heart, so I guess you are made of stone, aren’t you?”

He whirled on her, eyes narrowing. “Pollock? Is he still sniffing around after you? He only told you that because he resents me, you know.”

“Oh? So you never boasted of it to him?”

With a muttered oath, he glanced away from her. “All right, so I might have said…something like that. But I’m not as bad as he makes me sound. Just because I don’t crumble in the face of a woman’s tears doesn’t mean they don’t affect me. I’m not the unfeeling wretch you take me for.”

He seemed so insulted she took pity on him. “Apparently not,” she said, softening her tone. “At least you’re going to keep my secret.”

“Yes. But I still want to know why you feel compelled to masquerade like this. You can trust me. I swear it. Just because I tried to seduce you this afternoon—”

“I don’t want to talk about this afternoon!” Dear heavens, she couldn’t bear it if he talked about that. Setting her reticule on the seat beside her, she rose and hurried to the back of the box near the door. “Perhaps you should go now.”

He followed her. “Emily, I was merely trying to assure you that it won’t happen again.”

“I realize that. Now that you know who I am, you’re not likely to touch me, are you? It was Lady Emma you wanted, not me.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

Dear heavens, she’d said far too much. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

He grabbed her arm. “Obviously it isn’t ‘nothing’ or you wouldn’t have said it. Surely you don’t think I kissed you this afternoon only because I thought you were Lady Emma.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She fought to keep her tone even, unruffled, though inside she was aching. “I…I understand. Truly, I do. You’re used to more sophisticated women. You thought I was a wanton, so you tried to seduce me. But now that my lack of experience is…painfully apparent, I needn’t worry about that, need I?”

“Good God, if only that were true.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “There’s only one problem with your theory, Emily. I knew who you were this afternoon, and I still wanted you.”

She shook her head. “You thought I was Lady Emma, that…that wild girl from Scotland.”

“I told myself you were Lady Emma, because then I could allow myself what I really wanted—to make love to you. I have no desire to take any woman’s virginity, and I thought that Lady Emma wasn’t a virgin, so it would be all right.”

When she flinched, he drew her behind the velvet curtain that shielded the unused seats in the back of the box and now hid them. Then he lowered his voice. “But it was Emily Fairchild I really wanted, I promise you. It’s Emily Fairchild I still want. I’ve watched the men ogle you all night, wanting to challenge each one to a duel just for looking at you in that excuse for a gown.”

“Stop it! Stop saying these things just to make me feel better!” She turned her face away, tears welling in her eyes. “I hate it when you pity me!”

“Pity you?” He forced her against the wall, then lifted her chin to make her look at him. “Pity you, for God’s sake! Have you no idea what you do to me? If this weren’t a public place, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. I would already have rid you of this deuced piece of seduction you’re wearing. I’d be feasting my eyes on every inch of your beautiful body. We’d be on the floor, and I’d be kissing you in every place you can imagine and some you can’t. You wouldn’t leave here a virgin, I swear.”

She couldn’t doubt his words now. They were echoed in his hungry look, his husky voice, his quickening breath. His body felt hot against hers compared to the cool wall against her bare back. Lush harp notes trickled into her consciousness, tripping almost as quickly as her pulse. But not quite.

Then his hand slid down her neck in a lingering caress that branded her skin with his need, and her pulse went mad. He dragged one large finger slowly down her throat and chest until it rested between her breasts, which rose and fell in her vain attempt to breath normally.

He hooked his finger behind the edge of her bodice. “Good God, if we were anywhere else but here…if we were really alone…”

He didn’t have to say any more. If they were alone, he’d be tugging her bodice down and sucking her breasts, fondling them as he had this afternoon. Shameful woman that she was, she wanted him to. Oh, how badly she wanted him to.

He dropped his hand to grab hers and flatten it against the thickness in his breeches. “Do you feel that?” he growled. “That’s how much I desire you. I can’t even see you without feeling that. It doesn’t matter if you pretend to be Emma or the damned Queen of England. You’re still Emily, the woman I lust after so much that I don’t get any sleep. I’ve lusted after you ever since the night we were alone in the carriage—”

Now he was telling falsehoods. She jerked her hand away. “That night in the carriage, you pushed me away—you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

He leaned forward until his mouth was at her ear. “Then why did I kiss you?” He pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear, then the lobe, then the sensitive patch of skin beneath it. He smelled of soap and tobacco. And desire. Most assuredly desire. Tiny shivers of anticipation danced along her spine.

He continued in a hard voice. “Trust me, I do not kiss women I don’t desire. And I knew that I shouldn’t, couldn’t desire you.”

“Because I’m a rector’s daughter and too far beneath you.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Because you’re sweet and innocent and a virgin.”

She turned her head toward him. Their mouths were inches apart, so close she could practically taste his wine-scented breath. “What’s wrong with wanting a virgin?” She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice. “Most men prize virginity.”

“Virgins are dangerous creatures. They believe in love and ‘romantic feeling’ and all the nonsense I gave up on long ago. A virgin expects a man to sell her his soul, and I can’t do that. It’s not in my nature.”

There was nothing like hearing the truth to ruin a good seduction. She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from crying. “Oh, yes, I forgot. You’re the man with the granite heart, aren’t you? You only feel…desire.”

His gaze locked with hers, and for the first time, she thought he looked uncertain. Then his face cleared. “Exactly. I see you finally understand me.”

Shoving him away, she moved back into the muted candlelight, hugging herself tightly. “I will never understand you. How can a man live without love, without the softer emotions? How can you even bear to get out of bed in the morning?”

“I have no trouble getting out of bed, I assure you. I don’t need ‘love’ to get through the day. That’s something I found out quite young.”

“What do you mean?”

His expression turned as smooth and hard as glass. “I didn’t come here to discuss the state of my heart. It has nothing to do with whether you can trust me. I may not be a sentimental fool, but I’m a decent, honorable man who hates watching you engage in a masquerade I know you detest. I want to help you, Emily. You can trust me with your secrets. I’ll do what I can to protect you from Nesfield and Lady Dundee.”

Alarm surged through her. “N-Nesfield?”

“It’s obvious they have some sort of hold over you. You wouldn’t agree to this insanity otherwise. And I can help you with them. I know I can.”

Panic filled her. If he started to question Lord Nesfield—“No one can help me, but especially not you. Please, Jordan, just leave it be!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” She wrung her hands as she approached him. “It doesn’t concern you. It’ll all be over soon. Then I’ll return to Willow Crossing and disappear from your life, and you won’t be bothered by me anymore.”

“Deuce take it, Emily, I’m not bothered by you! I want to help!”

“I don’t want your help! Can’t you get that through your thick head? The only way you can help is by staying out of it!”

“You won’t tell me what’s going on?”

“No!” She lowered her voice. “Please promise me you won’t interfere. You mustn’t interfere!”

“I won’t interfere. But I won’t stay out of it either.”

“A curse upon you, Jordan! Why are you so intent on ruining my life?”

“I’m not ruining your life. I’m trying to keep you from ruining it.” He gestured to her gown. “This…this role of yours seems to involve your enticing men and gadding about scantily clad. That’s more dangerous than you realize, especially if you flirt with them as nonchalantly as you flirted with me!”

She wanted to take hope from the jealous edge in his voice, but she knew better. “The only man dangerous to me is you!”

“Really? And Pollock? He hasn’t touched you? He hasn’t made advances?”

The question so took her by surprise that she blushed before she could stop it.

“I thought so,” he growled. “Devil take the bastard—”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle,” she broke in. “I’m not as stupid and naive as you think. I know how to deal with men like him!”

He laughed harshly. “Yes, I could tell that this afternoon.”

Her blush deepened. How dared he remind her of how wantonly she’d behaved!

The interlude music had ended, and she could hear people milling back into the opera house. Soon Lady Dundee would return with Ian. She couldn’t deal with Jordan and them, too. Besides, she was tired of his insinuations.

Briskly she walked to the door and held it open. “Get out! Get out and stay away from me!”

He glanced at the filling theater, then stalked toward her. Halting at the doorway, he fixed her with a piercing look. “I’ll leave—for now. But depend on it, I’m not staying away from you. Not until I get to the bottom of this.”

And with that, he stormed from the box.

 

Ophelia decided that St. Clair knew nothing of Emily’s identity. She’d given the man plenty of opportunities to discuss it, and he hadn’t said a thing. So Blackmore had apparently kept Emily’s secret. Wasn’t that interesting?

They were returning to the box when she spotted Blackmore himself emerging from it. She stopped short and grabbed the viscount’s arm. “Would you look at that?”

As St. Clair followed the direction of her gaze, he went rigid. “Bloody hell. I’m sorry, Lady Dundee. I’ll go after him, and tell him he’s not welcome—”

“Don’t you dare!”

He gaped at her. “What do you mean? After this morning, I thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong. I like Blackmore. I think he’s interested in my daughter.”

“You could call it that,” St. Clair muttered.

“I distinctly detect sarcasm in your voice. Are you saying I’m wrong?”

“Not in the least. God knows I’ve never seen a man more interested in a woman. But…well…”

“His interest is merely physical. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

He looked taken aback by her candor. “I’m not sure. It’s what he claims.”

“Pish-posh. Men always claim they’re only interested in the physical. It keeps their pride intact. They don’t want anybody thinking they might be enamored of a mere woman. Blackmore is a very proud man, after all.”

St. Clair smiled. “Yes. And ‘enamored’ is a good word for what Jordan seems to feel for Lady Emma. But being enamored of a woman and doing something about it—something honorable, that is—are two different things.”

“Are you saying he would debauch my daughter, then walk away?” She held her breath. If so, this couldn’t go any further. Emily wasn’t prepared to fend off the full seductive power of a man like Blackmore, and Ophelia didn’t intend to send the girl home ruined.

“I don’t think so. He’s always steered clear of innocents.”

“Well, he’s not steering clear of her, is he?”

St. Clair looked thoughtful. “No, he’s not.” He cocked his head to stare at her. “Lady Dundee, are you trying to catch Jordan for your daughter?”

“Of course! Emma is in love with him. And if my daughter wants a man, I’ll do what I can to get him.” It was the least she could do for Emily after involving her in Sophie’s mess.

“In love with him? She told you that?”

“No. She denied it violently. The girl doesn’t know her own mind. But I know young women, and I’d wager my husband’s fortune that she loves the scoundrel.”

St. Clair rubbed his chin. “I must trust your maternal instincts on that one. And it’s conceivable he’s in love with her as well.”

Ophelia’s eyes lit up. “Do you think so?”

“He denies it, too. But I’ve never seen him act this way around a woman. He can’t let her out of his sight or stop talking about her.”

“Aha! Well then, we must do something about this.”

“What do you have in mind?”

She paused to look St. Clair over. Even in the poorly lit hallway, he was arresting, if a little rakish. He was tall—Ophelia had a partiality for tall men—and he had quite good bone structure. What was more important, he had all the qualities of a fine gentleman—courtesy, tact, a sense of humor. True, sometimes he was a trifle somber, as if the weight of the world lay on his shoulders. But she suspected St. Clair would make a good husband for any woman, even a silly girl like Sophie.

As for Randolph’s fears about his character…Well, she couldn’t believe them. Yes, there were times when St. Clair seemed a bit…well…dangerous, but so had her Edward, and he’d turned out fine.

Nonetheless, before she took the monumental step of telling him where Sophie was, she wanted to be more sure of her decision. And there was a way to do that while at the same time giving Blackmore the chance to court Emily properly.

With a glance at the crowd around them, she pulled St. Clair into a nearby empty box. “Do you like entertaining, Lord St. Clair?”

“What kind of entertaining?”

“Dinner parties. Picnics. Diversions. You do have a house in town, don’t you? It would be no trouble at all for you to entertain. I’d do it myself, but it might look suspicious. And if two people who might not otherwise take the initiative to meet should happen to be invited, no one could blame you, could they?”

“Yes, but—”

“I should very much like to see your house, you know. If you’re as serious about Sophie as you seem, I think it only fair that I assess your potential.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fair indeed. Would your niece be equally interested in seeing my house?”

“I’m sure she would—if she were in London. But my brother has sent her off somewhere to keep her safe from certain unsuitable men.”

The expression on his face was priceless. “Like me, you mean. Damn it, I knew there was something suspicious about her illness!”

“Yes, well, Randolph overreacts sometimes.” She cast him a sly glance. “But if I determine that a man is not unsuitable after all, I might just be in a position to influence my brother. Or otherwise ensure that a wedding takes place, if you know what I mean.”

He gave her a long, assessing look. “Lady Dundee, are you blackmailing me into having dinner parties at my house?”

“Not at all. I’m merely pointing out the great advantages that you, your friend, and my daughter could derive from such parties.” When he seemed to mull that over, she added, “And that would allow me to assess Blackmore’s potential for my daughter as well, wouldn’t it?”

A reluctant smile creased his lips. “You are a sly, manipulative woman.”

“Thank you. I try very hard to arrange the lives of my family so as to ensure the most happiness for them and the least inconvenience for me.”

He chuckled. “Very well. I won’t stand in the way of your machinations. I need an ally, and Jordan clearly needs a wife, even if he won’t admit it. Since this is your idea, do you have any proposals about whom I should invite? Aside from you, Lady Emma, and Jordan, of course.”

“Mr. Pollock, for one.”

“Pollock? Why?”

“Blackmore seems jealous of his interest in my daughter, don’t you think?” That was just a guess, of course. Her real reason for including the odious man in their party was to determine once and for all if Pollock might be the one after Sophie. She prayed he wasn’t. She couldn’t stomach having that man in the family.

“I wouldn’t trust Pollock around Lady Emma if I were you,” St. Clair said with a grim look on his face.

“I don’t. But Blackmore will make sure the man treats her with respect, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” His scowl faded. “Well, then, anything else?”

“Oh, I have a million suggestions. But come, we must return to the box before Emma wonders what has become of us. You and I will take care of the details later.”

It was high time to end this foolishness. And before it was all over, she planned to make sure that Emily got something of worth out of it.