The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries (16)

Emily climbed into the Blackmore carriage and sat on the far end of the seat facing forward. Her gown was a little snug and too long—Jordan’s stepsister must be tall and slender. But at least it didn’t show as much of her as the other one had.

When Jordan entered a few moments later, he sat next to her. After ordering Watkins to drive on, he took her hand in his. “You look tired. It’s been a long night for you, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.” In truth she was utterly exhausted. Seduction had its pleasures, but it was certainly draining.

He closed the curtain, casting them into nearly complete darkness. Then shifting so that he sat with his back braced against the side of the coach, he drew her onto his lap and cradled her head against his chest. “Here, why don’t you rest a bit? I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

As he wrapped his arms around her, she relaxed against him. She was tired. If she could only close her eyes for a moment…“I’m not hurting you?”

“Not at all. Besides, it might be the last time I can hold you like this.”

Sudden tears filled her eyes, and she was thankful he couldn’t see them in the darkness. Yes, the last time. Although lying in his embrace was an indulgence she could ill afford, she couldn’t bear to throw the moment away.

But she doubted she’d be able to sleep. So much had happened, so much she wanted to think about….

It seemed like only seconds later that she was startled awake by a rumbling noise. A somber gray light filtered into the carriage from behind the curtains, dulling the brilliant gold of the brocade cushions.

Still, there was enough light that she could see everything in the carriage clearly, where before it had been pitch-black. They must be nearing her street, which was well lit by oil lamps.

Another low rumble sounded from behind her, and she shifted to look up at Jordan. He was snoring, of all things. That was what had awakened her. She smiled. It was an endearingly normal activity, one she wouldn’t have connected with the Earl of Blackmore. Earls weren’t supposed to snore. Or sneeze or eat or do any of those human things the rest of the population engaged in. They were supposed to have servants to do those things for them, she thought wryly.

Who would ever have thought that she’d grow so familiar with an earl that she’d be listening to him snore?

She touched his cheek, rough with its evening growth of beard, and gazed fondly at the features relaxed in sleep. A bittersweet pang made her jerk her hand away. It was too tempting to look at him like this, to think that she could see this sight every morning if she were only willing to sacrifice her self-respect.

She couldn’t believe he’d offered to marry her. She’d expected him to be delighted not to have to wed her after bedding her. Obviously, she’d misjudged his character entirely. If she’d guessed he would feel that way, would she have been so ready to offer herself to him?

Glancing up at his slightly curving mouth, she sighed. Yes. She was such a weakling. She didn’t regret a single moment of their night together. It was no wonder young women fell so easily under the spells of wicked men. If other men were half as adept at seduction as Jordan…

For a moment, she imagined what being his wife might be like. They could make love whenever they wanted. During the winter they would cuddle under the blankets, kissing and touching and doing all those scandalous things he’d done to her tonight. During the summer, they could make love in the garden—

She blushed. The very idea! To make love outside where anybody might see them…What a wanton thought! It proved how far she’d fallen.

Yet nothing had changed from before. He was as forbidden to her as ever. Perhaps she might ignore the difference in their stations, the fact that he’d spent his entire life avoiding marriage, and even the fact that he didn’t love her—but there was still one glaring reason she couldn’t marry him.

Her masquerade. Once he found out why she’d been pretending to be Lady Emma, once he discovered that Nesfield wanted to ruin his closest friend’s plans for happiness, he would recoil from her in disgust. How could he forgive her for deceiving his friend and thus deceiving him?

With a sigh, she gingerly disentangled herself from Jordan’s limp arms, then slid off his lap and took a seat opposite him. She drew the curtain aside, fully expecting to see the lambent glow of oil lamps on wet streets.

But there were no cobbled streets, no houses looming dark in the still night like hulking beasts awaiting the dawn. Dawn was already here—overcast and gloomy, but still dawn. And all she could see through the drifts of dust raised by the coach’s wheels were miles and miles of green fields crisscrossed by hedges.

She jerked the curtains open, her heart skipping a beat. For goodness sake, they were not in London—they were in the country!

“Wake up, Jordan!” she cried, leaning forward to jerk his arm. “Your mad coachman has taken us into the country!”

Jordan’s snoring halted abruptly, and he opened his bleary eyes to stare at her. “What the devil—”

“We’re not in London! I don’t know how far outside the city we are, but it’s morning, so we must have gone quite far! You must make your coachman turn back! If I don’t get into the house before someone discovers I’m gone…” Despair overcame her.

Jordan sat up, then groaned. “Deuce take it, my leg’s gone to sleep.” He rubbed it with both hands.

“All of you went to sleep, curse you!” She grabbed one of his arms. “Stop that! There’s no time to waste! Make him halt and turn back!”

“Who?”

If she’d had a reticule, she would have hit him over the head with it. “Watkins, of course! Your fool coachman has taken us into the country!”

As if finally comprehending what she’d been trying to tell him for the last few minutes, he glanced out the window. “I think you’re right.”

Exasperation made her voice strident. “Then stop him, for goodness sake! Make him turn back!”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? Of course you can!”

“When Watkins gets it in his head to go off for a drive in the country, there’s no stopping him. We’ll just have to settle back and enjoy the ride.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t have to—” She broke off, eyes narrowing. He looked entirely too nonchalant. Obviously, the wretch had planned this. “Where are we going, Jordan?”

“I have no idea.”

“Curse you, this is no joking matter! Answer me! Where are we going?”

His eyes met hers, steady and clear. “You’re right, of course. This is not a joking matter.”

“Where are we going?”

“North.”

That stymied her. “North?”

“As I said earlier, we are going to be married.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. But when it did, she stiffened in outrage. “You’re taking me to Gretna Green? Against my will? You…you wretch! You despicable, deceitful—”

“Watch it, my dear, you’re talking to your future husband,” he said with a smirk.

She pounded on the ceiling with her fist. “Stop the coach, Watkins!” she shouted. “Stop it now!”

The coach rumbled on.

“He won’t stop unless I command it,” Jordan said. “Besides, what good would it do if he set you down here in the middle of the road? Will you walk back to London?”

“If I have to!”

“You might as well stop fighting it. You know marrying me is the only solution.”

“You can’t force me to say the vows. You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming into the church!”

Her vehemence seemed to startle him. Then his eyes narrowed. “If I have to,” he echoed her earlier words.

A howl of rage tore from her as she looked for something, anything to throw at him. His hat sailed across the carriage and then his leather gloves. He dodged them both, alarm crowding his features.

She’d just lifted one of the cushions when he grabbed her hands. “Pax, Emily! Good God, you’d think I was taking you to your execution!”

The fight drained out of her all of a sudden, and she slumped against the seat with a groan. What would Lord Nesfield say when he found out she was gone? How long would it be before he assumed she had simply run off? Then how long before he took it upon himself to act?

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” she whispered mournfully.

He squeezed her hands. “Then tell me, darling. I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to free you from Nesfield’s control.”

She lifted her gaze to his, torn unbearably between the urge to unburden herself and the sure knowledge that she couldn’t. If she told him about Lord Nesfield’s threats, he’d no doubt race back to London in a rage and threaten the marquess with bodily harm. A lot of good that would accomplish. Lord Nesfield had an ironclad case against her, and no blustering or threats on Jordan’s part could change that. Indeed, Jordan’s interference would prompt the marquess to act on his threats. And there was nothing Jordan could do to stop it.

No matter how much influence Jordan had, he couldn’t undo the events leading to her mother’s death. Or to the strange quirk of fate that had given Lord Nesfield power over her.

Much as she longed to tell him, she couldn’t. She mustn’t.

Her only recourse was either to convince him to turn back…or find some way to escape him between here and Gretna Green. The journey was long, after all, and they’d have to stop periodically. That’s when she would make her escape. And if she did it soon, she might even reach London before too much damage had been done.

She glanced at his expectant face. In the meantime, she had to put him off.

“Emily?” he prodded. “Why don’t you tell me all of it?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He grimaced, apparently sensing how close she’d come to revealing the truth. “It matters to me.”

“I’ll tell you. But not now.”

“When?”

What could she say that would pacify him until she could make her escape? It came to her in a flash of brilliance. “I’ll tell you after we’re married.”

Suspicion darkened his eyes. “So you’ve changed your mind? You’re saying you’ll marry me?”

She hated lying to him, especially about this, but what choice did she have? “Yes.”

“Why?”

She threw her hands up in a helpless gesture. “Because you’re giving me no choice, you ninny. I’m practical enough to realize I can’t fight you. So I’ll marry you.” When he still looked skeptical, she added bitingly, “Though you can’t expect me to like it.”

His lips tightened into a grim line. “You needn’t make it sound like a death sentence.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that…this will alter my life dramatically.”

“For the better, I hope.” Releasing her hands, he leaned back against the cushioned seat. “There’s no reason to wait until we’re married to tell me the truth, you know.”

“Once we’re married, I’ll be sure I can trust you. Then I won’t be afraid to reveal everything.”

His eyes glittered darkly. “Devil take it, you know you can trust me now.”

It tore at her to see the hurt in his face, especially now, when he looked so unlike an earl, all rumpled from sleep with his hair tousled. But she had no choice. “Please, Jordan,” she said softly, “you’ve already won. What does it matter if you wait a week or two to hear my sad tale?”

A strange light flickered in his eyes. “A week or two? No, I don’t suppose it does matter.”

She relaxed against the seat. Now she must figure out how to escape him. First, she had to stop the coach. Then she had to distract him long enough to escape. Hardest of all, she had to procure transportation to London. How in the world could she manage that?

Suddenly her stomach growled, providing her with a flash of inspiration. “Are you planning to starve me until we reach Gretna Green?”

“I wasn’t planning to starve either of us,” he said tersely. “I thought we’d eat breakfast in Bedford. I’m known at the White Cloak Inn. They’ll take good care of us.”

She didn’t want to be taken good care of, and she certainly didn’t want an inn where he was known. “How much farther?”

He knocked on the ceiling and repeated her question to Watkins. The answer made him frown. “I’m afraid it’ll be another couple of hours or so. You woke up sooner than I expected.”

“So,” she clipped out, “you do intend to starve me. What a wonderful way to begin a marriage.”

He sighed. “All right then. We’ll stop at the next inn we come to. Will that be to your satisfaction, milady?”

“Perfectly.”

“You’d best eat hearty,” he grumbled. “I’d like to reach Leicester by this evening.”

Not if she could help it. Though she would dearly love to wait until tonight to escape, she didn’t dare let that much time elapse.

The first inn that came into sight was a wretched affair indeed, aptly titled The Warthog. A ramshackle, timber-framed house with a weathered sign, it nonetheless had a bustling inn yard filled with carts and mail coaches and the occasional gig. It obviously catered to travelers of a poorer class, who could only afford the few pence it took to purchase sausages and oat bread for their breakfast.

Even her pinchpenny father would never have stopped at a place like this. But it suited her needs perfectly, for its customers were the sort of people more likely to help her than those of a richer and more wary class.

“Here,” she announced. “Let’s stop here.”

Jordan cast a contemptuous look over the inn yard. “Well, my dear, you’re nothing if not brave. Aside from the unwashed customers with whom you’ll be rubbing elbows, you’re likely to find a rat or two at your table.”

“I don’t care. I’m hungry.” She tossed him a taunting glance. “Besides, you’re an earl. Can’t you make sure we have a private dining room?” That would make everything so much easier.

“Trust me, I intend nothing else.” A calculating look passed over his face. “I’m never averse to privacy. If the innkeeper can produce such a thing.”

As it happened, the innkeeper, whose bristly chin and warty nose seemed appropriate in light of the inn’s name, was happy to oblige, especially when Jordan laid an impressive number of sovereigns in his hand. The man was already staring at Jordan with undisguised awe, but at the sight of the gold, he looked positively radiant.

“My wife and I want a private room, the best you have,” Jordan stated. “I want a substantial breakfast brought up as soon as possible. And make sure my coachman is fed as well.” He added another sovereign, then with a glance at Emily, murmured something else in the man’s ear.

The innkeeper’s head bobbed so furiously, Emily thought it would surely fly off at any moment. “I have the perfect room for you, milord! I’ve no doubt your lordship will be pleased. This way. Watch your step. There’s a loose board here…”

She took Jordan’s arm when he offered it, trying not to dwell on the pleasure it had given her to hear him refer to her as his wife. She could not, must not let that temptation sway her. Marriage to a man unable to love would be disaster, even if there weren’t all those other considerations.

As they followed the babbling innkeeper up rickety stairs to the second floor, she cast a quick glance around her. She’d be leaving in a hurry, and it wouldn’t do to get lost on the way out.

The innkeeper ushered them into a room with cheery curtains and surprisingly clean floors, though the place smelled of coal and fish, and the simple furnishings were worn. “I’ll have breakfast brought to you presently, milord.”

It was only after the innkeeper left that she noticed the bed. She was still gaping at it when she heard Jordan lock the door. Whirling toward the sound, she fixed him with an accusing gaze. “This isn’t a dining room! It has a bed in it!”

His knowing smile curled her toes. “So it does. I thought we might…satisfy our appetites in more than one respect.”

She blushed. Dear heavens, he wanted to bed her again. The very thought of it made her hot and weak. And why not let him? After all, she’d be leaving him before the day was out. Then there’d be no more chances for lovemaking.

Could it hurt to have one more hour in his arms?

She shook herself. Of course it could! If she let him make love to her again, she would never be able to leave him. Besides, the more often they made love, the more likely that she’d find herself with child afterward.

He took a step toward her, and she backed away. “Now, Jordan, this isn’t the time for this. You said you wanted to make Leicester today.”

He stalked her, a grin spreading over his handsome features. “We’ll make Leicester, don’t you worry. Come now, it’ll be a while before they bring us breakfast. There’s plenty of time to indulge ourselves.”

When he approached too near, she darted away, putting the bed between them as she fumbled for some reason to put him off. “Do you really wish to have the innkeeper burst in upon us in the midst of…of…well, you know?”

As he edged around the bed, he laughed. “Lovemaking, darling. It’s called lovemaking. And the door’s locked, remember?”

She backed up, only to run squarely into the coarse wooden dressing table. Glancing back, she spotted the earthen water pitcher that stood beside the washbasin atop the table. An idea took shape in her mind.

Shifting so that her body blocked his view of her hands, she groped behind her for the pitcher. “I intend to eat as soon as the food arrives. We’re not married yet, you know. If you wish to exercise your husbandly rights before the wedding, you must at least feed me first.”

He lunged for her, catching her in his arms just as her fingertips touched the pitcher’s handle. “All right then. How about a little taste before the main meal?” He planted a light kiss on the end of her nose. “Something to get me through breakfast.”

Then his lips were on hers, coaxing and tender and oh, so tempting. For a moment she let herself enjoy the kiss, let him open her mouth with his tongue to plunge inside, hinting at what he wanted to do to her, what other parts of her body he wanted to possess. His hands swept up her ribs until the thumbs rested beneath her breasts.

But when he covered the soft flesh with expert fingers, she tore her lips away from him. What was she doing? Shifting a little in his arms, she grasped the pitcher’s handle, praying he wouldn’t notice.

He didn’t. His eyes glittered with unquenched desire, and his breath came in jerky gasps as he bent his head toward her mouth again.

“I’m sorry, Jordan,” she whispered just before he could kiss her.

Then she conked him on the head with the pitcher.