The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries (14)

Hours later, Emily stared out the window of the carriage, thinking of what Lord St. Clair had told her about Jordan. So much heartache, so much pain for a child. It was no wonder he prevented himself from feeling. In his place, she might have done the same.

“You’re very quiet this evening, my dear,” said Lady Dundee. “Didn’t you think the dinner went well?”

“I suppose.” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Were you able to learn anything from Lord St. Clair? I’m eager to end my masquerade.” If Lady Dundee had discovered anything conclusive, then they could tell Lord Nesfield. Lord Nesfield would take action, and then it would be too late for Jordan to interfere.

Yes, Lord Nesfield would take action: to ruin Lord St. Clair. She bit her lip. Then Jordan would truly hate her, wouldn’t he? She was helping Lord Nesfield destroy his friend’s hopes.

“I’m afraid I didn’t learn much,” Lady Dundee said, her eyes sparkling with an irritating merriment. “We shall just have to go on a bit longer.”

Emily wanted to scream. “But we can’t! Lord Blackmore has figured out that this concerns Mr. Pollock, and now he’s threatened to tell Mr. Pollock everything!”

The woman looked maddeningly nonchalant about the entire matter. “Really? Blackmore said that?”

“Yes. He said he’d give me tonight to make up my mind. In the morning he’s calling for me, and if I still won’t tell him the truth, he’ll reveal my identity to Mr. Pollock. The wretch! You know Mr. Pollock will delight in tearing us all down publicly. What’s more, it will put Lord St. Clair on his guard and effectively end our chances to find out if he’s the one.”

Lady Dundee waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, Blackmore won’t do such a thing, depend upon it. He’ll threaten, but he won’t act. Not as long as you are involved.”

“I fear you’re wrong. Especially after what I learned tonight.” She turned in her seat to face Lady Dundee. “Tell me something. You must be about the same age that Jordan’s mother would have been if she’d lived. Did you know her? What was she like?”

“Lavinia? She was a flirt, that’s what. She enjoyed men and balls and never paid any attention to what her parents said. But then, I was a bit like that myself.”

“And Jordan’s father?”

“Oh, he was nothing like her at all. That was certainly a mismatch. He was the sober sort. Unlike his son, he didn’t spend his time with…ladies of the evening. In other respects, however, they’re very much alike. He was earnestly devoted to reform and rarely attended social functions. Everyone was quite surprised when Lavinia, of all people, captivated him so much that he married her.”

Emily hesitated a moment, wondering if she should reveal what Lord St. Clair had told her. But she so badly needed advice, and she knew she could trust Lady Dundee to keep quiet. Besides, she needed to impress upon the countess the gravity of the situation. “Actually, Jordan’s father had to marry Jordan’s mother. One day when they happened to be alone, the earl became overcome by his desire for her and they…well…you know. Then she found herself enceinte, so she was forced to marry the earl.”

“Poppycock.”

“It’s true! Lord St. Clair says so! Jordan told him about it when they were boys. According to Lord St. Clair, Lady Blackmore hated her forced marriage so much that she drank a great deal and made Jordan’s life a misery.”

“Oh, I don’t deny that Blackmore’s father probably impregnated Lavinia. She was a pretty girl and very fast. Nor do I doubt she was the kind of mother you describe. Married to a man who preferred to spend his evenings discussing Horace’s poetry and who probably wouldn’t humor her whims, Lavinia was the sort to turn to drink. The poor girl had few resources within herself to create her own entertainment.”

Her voice grew grim. “But I’d wager a fortune she was the one to seduce the earl, and not the other way around. Lavinia’s father was a mere baronet and had little money besides. The earl would have been quite a catch for her. I imagine she thought it would be grand fun to be married to an earl…until she actually was.”

Emily considered that a moment, the creaking of the springs the only sound in the carriage. Then she sighed. “If that’s true, it only makes it more awful. Lord St. Clair says she always blamed her unhappy life on Jordan and his untimely conception. She used to tell him that he’d ruined her life, that she was in hell because of him.”

Lady Dundee pursed her lips. “What a dreadful thing to say to an innocent child. Lavinia never could take responsibility for her own actions.”

“That’s why he won’t trust his heart to anyone. In his experience, opening your heart to someone is dangerous, if not disastrous.” He must find her masquerade very suspicious. It probably looked like the sort of scheming his mother had engaged in. In a way, it was. “So he won’t hesitate to make good on his threats. I know he won’t.”

“But he’s already opened his heart to you a little, hasn’t he? He has yet to reveal your secret. And I don’t think he will.” She cast Emily that mysterious smile again. “Even if he does, it won’t be so bad. It might hasten matters.”

“You don’t understand! I tried to tell him I didn’t care if he told Mr. Pollock, but he said he’d also try to get the truth from your brother! He’s very persistent!”

“Then let him speak to Randolph. What does it matter? It might even be a good thing: Randolph might be forced to end this foolishness. Then I can convince him to accept St. Clair as Sophie’s suitor.”

The countess’s vaguely smug voice struck fear in Emily’s heart. “Oh, don’t even think that! You know your brother won’t accept the viscount! And he’d blame me for destroying all his plans! He’d never forgive me!”

“Pish-posh, what if he doesn’t?” When she saw Emily’s agitation, she added, “If it’s your father’s living you’re worried about, there’s no problem. I suppose Randolph has threatened to cut your father off. That’s why you’ve been so worried, isn’t it?”

Emily just stared at her, her fingers curling into the satin upholstery in frustration.

“Well, you needn’t concern yourself about that. Even if Randolph did as he threatened, which I can’t imagine he would, I’d make sure that your father found another equally attractive living.” She smiled and patted Emily’s hand. “So you see, there’s nothing for you to worry about. You must leave it all to me.”

Nothing for her to worry about! Lord Nesfield was willing to see her hanged, and she had nothing to worry about? How she wished she could explain that to the countess! But Lord Nesfield had promised to keep silent only if she did, too. She was wretchedly trapped between Lady Dundee’s meddling and Jordan’s obsession.

“So don’t you worry about Lord Blackmore, my dear,” Lady Dundee went on, apparently thinking she’d solved all of Emily’s problems. “We will weather the storm if he speaks to Pollock or Randolph.”

It was all Emily could do to paste a false smile on her face and give the countess a nod. She’d find no help here. She’d have to discover a way out of this mess on her own.

But how?

The coach slowed almost to a stop, and the sounds of horses and loud voices assailed their ears. Lady Dundee peered out the window. “Oh, dear, the ball at Mrs. Crampton’s must be quite lively. There are carriages and hackney coaches everywhere blocking the road. We’ll have to walk the last little bit, I’m afraid.”

They were nearly in sight of the house, so walking wasn’t too awful, especially with the footmen to aid them in the more crowded spots. Indeed, Emily was glad to get out into the night air. She only wished it was the bracing, clean air of Willow Crossing, not London’s smoke-choked ether. She badly needed to clear her mind, to figure out some plan.

Gingerly, they picked their way among the horses and coaches, trying not to soil their gowns. “It appears we’re in for a long night,” Lady Dundee complained as a coachman shouted to one of his friends. “We won’t get any sleep with all this racket. A pity. You’ll need all your wits about you for meeting Lord Blackmore in the morning.” She cast Emily a sidelong glance. “You know he only torments you because he cares for you.”

“Cares for me?” she said in a burst of anger. “And all this time I’d thought you a wise woman. Obviously, I mistook madness for wisdom.”

“Sometimes they’re the same. Madness can be a symptom of wisdom. Those who know the truth aren’t always happy to hear it, you know.” She smiled and lowered her voice so the footman at her side couldn’t hear her. “But in this case, I’m neither mad nor wise. I’m merely stating what any woman my age knows. Men are peculiar creatures very different from us, my dear. When they want something badly, they don’t like to admit it. No man wants to need a woman for anything. But since they do need us, and for more than merely our presence in their beds, their only recourse is to hound us while stoutly proclaiming they only want their desires fulfilled.”

“Lord Blackmore does only want his desires fulfilled,” Emily whispered. “Sometimes it’s as if he’s angry at me because he desires me and can’t have me.”

“I’m sure that’s part of it. Though I suspect that even if you were to leap into his bed and give him exactly what he wanted, he would still be unfulfilled.”

Emily blushed at the countess’s frankness. Lady Dundee was wrong. Jordan wanted only one thing from Emily. If she were to give it to him, he’d go away at once and leave her alone.

She straightened. That’s exactly what he’d do! Leave her alone!

He professed to be concerned for her, but she knew he only wanted to find out the truth because he was jealous. And his jealousy came from a lack of having his desires satisfied. He wanted her in his bed, but he wouldn’t take her if it meant having to marry her.

So what if she offered him what he wanted, making it clear she didn’t expect anything in return? Perhaps after his appetites were appeased, he’d give up this foolish obsession with knowing everything. Then his interest in her would wane, and with it, his interest in her masquerade.

“Emily, have you heard a word I said?” Lady Dundee remarked.

In sudden fear that the countess might guess the direction of her thoughts, she lowered her gaze to the paved street, pretending to watch her step in the darkness. “Yes.”

“I said even if you gave him what he wanted, he would still be unfulfilled.”

“I know what you said.” She just didn’t believe it. For too many years, Jordan had hardened himself against feeling anything but lust. After a lifetime of merely satisfying his carnal appetites, he wasn’t likely to change now. No, if she gave him what he wanted, she would be free of him.

But at what a cost!

As they reached the house, she entered behind Lady Dundee, her thoughts in a turmoil. If she offered him her body in exchange for his silence, she would save Papa. And ruin her future. She might even find herself with child, like Jordan’s mother.

Well, she could only pray that wouldn’t happen. And if it did, it was a small price to pay to keep from going to the gallows. Compared to Lord Nesfield’s plans for her, one night with Jordan would be no risk at all. And it must be tonight, before Jordan could make good on his threats.

A sudden dreadful thought popped into her mind. What if he refused to accept her bargain?

Carter helped her remove her pelisse, and she glanced down despairingly at her satin gown with its modest cut and girlish color that made her look like the virginal rector’s daughter she truly was. Jordan would never agree to this. He’d restrained himself from touching or kissing her at the opera, even when he’d wanted to, and all because of his aversion to innocent young women and the complications they could bring to his life.

She stiffened. All right then, it wouldn’t be the pure Emily Fairchild who went to him: it would be Lady Emma. His words this evening proved that he already doubted her character; she’d use that to her advantage. Tonight she would strike a bargain with him, even if she had to seduce him, and yes, lie to him about her virginity.

Or was she considering this only because she desired him? Because she wished to experience lovemaking with the only man she’d ever truly wanted?

Surely she couldn’t be that wicked. No, this was her best course of action. Her only course of action.

Carter shot the lock to in the massive oak doors behind them, and the sound reverberated through her brain. How could she sneak out of this fortress and find her way to Jordan’s town house? Dear heavens, she didn’t even know where he lived!

The slurred voices of drunken hackney coachmen drifted inside from the street.

Hackney coachmen, Emily thought with a smile. Perfect.

“You go on to bed now, my dear,” said Lady Dundee. “Try to get some rest.”

Emily’s smile faded. That was one thing she was unlikely to get this evening. Rest—of any kind.

 

Jordan lay comfortably stretched out on the chaise longue in his study. He was in his shirtsleeves with his boots off and a brandy snifter cradled in one hand as he tried to read through a proposal for workhouse reform. He couldn’t concentrate, however. He finally laid the proposal down and stared off into space.

Tomorrow he would know everything. She would tell him for certain. The fear in her face had made that clear. He didn’t like frightening her, especially when he had no intention of making good on his threats. He wished he could get the truth from her some other way, but he couldn’t. And he must put an end to the men preying on her. Even if Pollock had been lying or had only kissed her once, the bastard would take more if he had the chance—and he might get that chance if Emily continued to associate with him. No, this couldn’t go on. Jordan would force her to end it before disaster struck.

A knock came at the closed door, startling him. “Go away! I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed!”

“But there’s a female here to see you,” the servant replied.

A female. He laid his snifter aside with a groan. That was how his servants referred to his soiled doves, but surely no tart would dare to come here without a summons. He hadn’t even brought so much as a randy widow home with him in months. Not since he’d met Emily.

Emily. As if any other woman could capture his attention now.

“Give her some money and send her away,” he ordered.

“I tried that, milord. She won’t take it. I told her you didn’t want to be disturbed, but she insists. Says her name is Emily, and you’d want to see her.”

He sat up straight. Emily? Here? Was the woman insane?

In an instant, he was at the door and flinging it open. “Why didn’t you say so, for God’s sake? Show her up here at once!”

The servant nodded and hurried off, wearing a look of complete bewilderment. Jordan glanced down at his stocking feet, then over to where he’d tossed his cravat, cutaway, and waistcoat across a chair. Should he put them back on? Should he at least pretend this wasn’t the most improper situation she’d ever put him in?

What was the point? If she were fool enough to come here alone and risk her reputation just to beg him to relent, then she deserved to be shocked.

“Miss Emily,” announced the servant.

Jordan turned to the door as the servant ushered her into the room, and his jaw dropped. She wasn’t likely to be shocked by his attire, for God’s sake. Look at what she was wearing.

The scarlet gown from the opera, the one he’d wanted to tear off her. Only this time it was worse, for he’d swear she wore nothing under it—no petticoats, no corset, perhaps even no chemise. As she entered the room, the shimmering velvet clung to her legs and her delicious curves like gilt wrapping paper encasing every man’s dream of a birthday gift.

Except that he couldn’t open it, wasn’t allowed to open it, damn it. He sucked in air, futilely trying to catch his breath as she approached. Her lavender scent surrounded him like a cloud of temptation, yet all he could do was gape at her.

“Milord?” said the servant. “Will that be all?”

“Yes,” he said in a strangled voice. “And this time I truly do not wish to be disturbed.”

Emily colored but said nothing as the servant left, closing the door behind him.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he exploded. “How did you get here?”

She swallowed. “I climbed out a window and took a hackney coach. I found one who knew where you lived.”

“You took a hackney? In that? It’s a wonder you weren’t mauled!”

“I wore a cloak until I got here, but your footman insisted upon taking it from me.”

“I’ll kill him tomorrow,” he muttered. No one should ever be allowed to see her like this. No one but him.

Sternly, he reminded himself of why she had probably come. Crossing to the chaise longue, he picked up his brandy snifter and took a great gulp of the fiery liquor. If only it could smother the greater fire in his loins. But that wasn’t likely. Only one thing would smother that fire, and although she stood before him wearing the most enticing of gowns, she wasn’t available.

He refused to look at her. If he did, he couldn’t be responsible for his actions. “I suppose you’ve come here dressed like that because you think it’ll distract me from my purpose.”

“No.”

The softly spoken answer took him by surprise. He whirled to stare at her. “You’re not hoping to make me give up my plans?”

“Actually, I’ve come to…offer you a bargain.” Her chin was trembling and her hands, too, but she held herself as proudly straight as if she were dressed in a Quaker’s prudish woolen dress. “You said at the opera that you want me. Well—” She hesitated a moment, as if gathering her courage. Then she swept her hands downward to indicate her body. “You can have me.”

For the first time in his life, he found himself utterly speechless. Surely she didn’t mean what he thought she meant. Not his virginal rector’s daughter.

At his silence, she went on more nervously. “I’ll give you my body freely for one night. In exchange, you must promise not to speak to Lord Nesfield or Mr. Pollock.” She took a deep breath, then went on in a rush. “I won’t expect anything of you other than that. I don’t want you to marry me. I merely want you to keep quiet.”

And for that, she would do this? For a moment, he actually considered the offer and all it would mean. He could strip off her gown and caress each golden curve. He could fondle those sweet breasts, part those slender legs, and bury himself deep inside her with impunity. He could find release. Finally.

After all, he’d never really intended to go to Nesfield. It had all been a bluff.

But if he gave in, accepted her offer, he’d lose his only method of convincing her to tell him the truth—he couldn’t give that up. She offered him this because she was desperate, not because she wished to share his bed. She was as skittish as a filly at her first mating. She couldn’t seem to stop fiddling with the deuced gown, and her eyes swept his study as if searching for the monsters sure to be lurking behind his bookshelves.

Devil take her for this. “Your scheme means so much to you that you’d prostitute yourself to save it?”

She flinched at the word “prostitute,” but it didn’t seem to halt her in her purpose. “Yes. The purpose of my masquerade is more noble than you think, and if you end it before—” Anger flashed in her eyes, then was gone. “You must believe me. Many people will be ruined if you speak to Lord Nesfield. And yes, I’ll do anything to keep that from happening.” Reaching up, she removed the pins from her hair, sending the rope of golden silk cascading down about her shoulders. “Anything you want.”

A jolt of desire turned his knees to rubber. The scent of lavender teased him, and when she shook out her long hair, he thought he’d gone to a rake’s heaven.

Or a rake’s hell. “What kind of man do you think I am?” he choked out, as much to convince himself as her. “Do you really think I’d take your innocence for any reason?”

“You needn’t…worry about that.” She tilted her chin up. “It’s not a concern.”

His blood ran cold. He couldn’t have heard her right. “What do you mean?”

She drew a shaky breath. “There’s no ‘innocence’ for you to take. I’m not as pure as you think.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not? How do you think I could play Lady Emma so convincingly? Even you weren’t sure who I was. Do you know any virgins who behave as I did?” She thrust out her chest, taunting him to look at the breasts that fairly burst to be free of the velvet. “Would they wear a gown like this to an unmarried man’s home?”

She was playing Lady Emma now, wasn’t she? The experienced Lady Emma. The tempting Lady Emma. It was all a role. Wasn’t it?

Sidling up to him, she removed the brandy snifter from his numb fingers and set it down on the nearby desk. Then she laid her perfect little hand on his chest and began to unbutton his shirt. “Come now, Jordan, surely you’ve wondered if I might be…less than pure. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have believed Mr. Pollock’s tales.”

“I didn’t…believe them,” he murmured, though his throat had suddenly shrunk to a tiny passageway that barely allowed air in or out of his body. If she didn’t step away from him soon…

Another button. Another. “Yes, you did. And with good reason.”

Jealousy exploded behind his eyes. “So you did let him kiss you?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “He kissed me, yes. And…and touched me.”

“Is he the one who—”

“No, of course not.” Her hand went still on his shirt front. “It happened before I came to London. You don’t know the man.”

That roused his suspicions, though she didn’t seem to notice. Oh, no, she merely went on unbuttoning his shirt, edging so close that he could only watch in utter fascination as her breasts lifted and fell more quickly with each breath.

At least she could breathe. He’d given up on it altogether.

“Who was he then?” he rasped. She was lying. She had to be. When she shrugged, he goaded her. “Your cousin perhaps. The one with you at the Drydens’ ball.”

“Certainly not!”

Her outrage confirmed his suspicions. She’s only acting a role, he told himself. He’d rather believe that than believe he’d misjudged her character.

Glancing up, she caught the suspicion in his gaze, then added stubbornly, “Lawrence is a prude. He would never touch me.” With a half smile, she slid her hand inside his shirt to caress his chest. The feel of her fingers on his bare skin was incredible, like being stroked by an angel. “It doesn’t matter who it was. I don’t care about him. I want you. I’ve always wanted only you.”

She bent her head to press a kiss to his chest, and he jerked beneath her touch. If she was acting, it was certainly a convincing performance. “It can’t be true. I know you are—”

“Innocent? Do you? As you said before, what do you really know about me?”

Devil take her, she was muddling his brain. Her hand swept lightly over his ribs, and he sucked in a breath. If she were what she claimed, then he could have her. Here. Tonight. For her willingness to share his bed, he would give her whatever she wanted.

But she wasn’t willing. She was only pretending to be willing, the way she had at the museum. And doing a damned good job of it, too. Her fingers were skimming down his waist now, light, sensuous. He wanted them lower, much lower.

She cast him a seductive smile. “Let’s enjoy each other as you always wanted. Then you can give up this nonsense about going to Lord Nesfield and causing trouble.”

That reminded him of why she really was here. He caught her hand, squeezing it hard. “I won’t agree to your bargain. I don’t believe you’re not an innocent. I won’t believe it.”

For a moment, he thought he saw worry flicker in her face. But it was gone so fast, he wasn’t sure. In its place was a look of frightening determination…the look of a woman bent on seduction.

“Then I shall have to convince you.” Taking him by surprise, she laid her hand on the bulge in his trousers. The traitorous thing leapt at her touch. He groaned as a purely feminine look of satisfaction covered her face. This role of hers was becoming far too real.

Her fingers explored him through his trousers, caressing and intimate, stroking him with a surety that gave him pause even as he went hard as iron. Cursing under his breath, he caught her hand and shoved it away. Deuce take the teasing wench! How could she know just how to tempt a man?

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he looked for some sign of uncertainty in her eyes, but there was none. A slow smile touched her lips as she curved her hands around his waist and then had the audacity to slide both hands down to cup his buttocks. She squeezed, and he nearly erupted right there.

“Well? Shall we go on?” she asked in the silken tones of a lover.

His body declared mutiny. It was needy and hungry and ready to take her on the floor. She was offering herself, and God help him, he would accept her offer. Now.

He caught her in his arms, kissing her with all the desire that had built in him since the day he first saw her. Her soft response, the way her body melted and her mouth opened beneath his, filled him with such possessive, damnable gladness that it frightened him. Good God, the taste of her…the scent of her, luscious and beguiling…it would make any man forget himself. Wildly he stabbed his tongue inside her warm mouth, now almost mad to join himself with her.

Her body undulated against his as fluidly as a cat’s. He could almost imagine her purring as she twined her arms about his neck, threading her fingers through his hair to clutch him close.

Then the clock struck midnight, startling them both.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he glanced at the clock, then around the room at his somber study. He didn’t know if he could wait another second to have her, but she deserved better than this.

“Come on,” he said as he dragged her toward the door.

“Where are we going?”

“To my bedchamber. I won’t take you here on the floor like some savage.”

She halted short of the door. “Does this mean you agree to my bargain? You’ll keep silent?”

Her words reminded him uncomfortably of why she was doing this. He glanced at her, wishing he had the will to refuse her and knowing he didn’t. One look at her tumbled hair, reddened lips, and eyes glazed with need was enough to make him abandon any scruples. “Keep silent? I’d bind my tongue forever just to have you in my bed tonight.”

Triumph briefly glinted in her eyes. Then she touched her finger to his mouth, tracing the outline of his lips with a sensual gesture that made lust rage through his body. “I can think of other, better uses for your tongue.”

He caught her finger in his teeth, sucking on it until a sigh escaped her lips. When he released it, he was harder than before, if that were possible. “So can I. Come with me, and I’ll demonstrate just how many.”