The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries (18)

Later, Emily sat in her chemise, drawing on her stockings. Jordan, dressed in only his drawers, leaned forward to rummage inside the amply filled basket from the inn. A surge of affection filled her when she noticed the freckles on his back, a dark smattering of them across his well-defined shoulders.

He was hers. For a brief time, only a few hours perhaps, he was hers.

Her mind clamored to be heard. You shouldn’t have told him you loved him. You shouldn’t have let him make love to you. You should have stayed strong.

She ignored all of it. Someone should have warned her that lovemaking had varied delights. Perhaps then his seduction wouldn’t have taken her so by surprise. Perhaps she wouldn’t have cried out so feverishly that she loved him or exposed herself so wantonly.

Oh, but the look on his face when she’d teased him at the beginning…She stifled a giggle. She would have to do that again sometime, once they were married.

She sobered at once. What was she thinking? They were not going to marry. She must return to London, even if it meant attempting an escape everywhere they stopped. With each passing hour they moved farther north, and there was no telling what Lord Nesfield would do once he discovered her gone. Lady Dundee might hold him off for a while, perhaps even a day or two, but eventually when she didn’t appear…

A hollow fear settled in her chest. When that happened, it would all be over anyway. So she must be strong. She must find a way to escape Jordan.

“The sausage is cold, I’m afraid,” Jordan said as he drew out a greasy, paper-wrapped parcel. “But I think there’s toast and jam. Oh, and here’s a fruit tart. Do you want it?”

He held it up to her, his gaze meeting hers. “What’s wrong? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”

A ghoul was a better term for the looming image of Lord Nesfield in her thoughts. She forced a smile. “I…I’m merely tired, that’s all. And hungry.”

He handed her the tart, then sat back and unwrapped the package of sausages. “There’s plenty of food here. And you can have a nice long nap after you eat.”

She munched on the tart, but it tasted like wood in her mouth. “Aren’t we going to stop at all?”

He seemed suddenly very interested in the sausages. “Yes, of course. We’ll stop for dinner.”

“I assume we’ll spend the night in Leicester.”

This time his answer was longer in coming. “Probably.”

Then he changed the subject. Feeling temporarily reprieved—after all, she couldn’t just leap from the carriage—Emily seized on the chance to find out more about him. They talked as new lovers do, each wanting to know the other’s secrets. It didn’t surprise her to hear that he’d been dreadfully lonely as a child, or that he missed his mother despite her callous treatment of him.

And his zeal in talking about reform made him seem less different from her than she’d thought. At least he made the attempt to understand the concerns of ordinary people. Many of his peers—like Lord Nesfield—had no use for such things.

What was painful to hear about was his close friendship to Ian. Clearly he’d do anything for the friend who’d helped him through the dark hours of his childhood. It saddened her to think how much he would hate her, truly hate her, once he learned the truth, once Lord St. Clair had been exposed and Lord Nesfield took action. If only…

No, she couldn’t risk it. For Lord St. Clair, exposure would mean embarrassment and the end of his hopes for marriage to Sophie. For her, however, exposure could mean her life.

Jordan tried to turn the conversation to her parents, but she skirted that discussion with only a few terse words about her mother’s death.

Later in the day, she learned what Jordan meant by “stopping for dinner.” Although they halted twice in the morning so she could relieve herself by the side of the road, the first time they stopped for more than a few minutes, she wasn’t allowed to leave the carriage. Apparently, Jordan was taking no more chances. He stayed inside with her while Watkins entered the inn and paid for their dinner, which he carried back to them.

That alarmed her, but she clung to the fact that they couldn’t go on this way for the entire trip. Scotland was a good two weeks’ journey—Watkins had to sleep sometime.

For herself, she slept in the afternoon, lulled by the rocking of the coach. She woke up to Jordan’s tender kisses, and they made love again, slowly, leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world.

Afterward, he fell asleep with his head propped against the side of the carriage. She watched him, thinking how perfectly adorable he looked asleep, with his hair so unruly and his usually hard features soft. He claimed to be incapable of love, but she no longer believed it. It would come harder, but that would make it all the more precious when it came.

If only she could stay with him to watch it happen…She sighed, a bitter disquiet spoiling her peace. Dear heavens, she must make sure they stopped soon. She couldn’t bear this limbo much longer, this place where he was hers and not hers, too.

Shortly after sundown, she had her wish. They halted at an inn, and Jordan ordered another private dining room for them. To her dismay, however, there was no bed in this one, and Watkins joined them for the meal.

As they sat eating roast mutton and poached salmon in a room twice as spacious as the one at The Warthog and four times more luxurious, she glanced at the yawning coachman, then leaned toward Jordan. “Aren’t we going to spend the night here?”

“We’re not to Leicester yet,” he said calmly.

“But your man looks exhausted.”

“Yes, I know.”

That was all he would say. But when they were on the road again, Watkins had an assistant, some man Jordan had hired at the inn. She thought it odd that Jordan would be so insistent on making it to Leicester that he would hire a man for only a few hours, but she supposed it was his prerogative. He could certainly afford it.

Once in the coach, she slept again, determined to be awake and alert once they stopped in Leicester. Thus she was shocked to discover when she opened her eyes again that the next day had already dawned.

She sat up and looked at Jordan, who was sitting across from her wide-awake, peeling an orange with his pen knife. “Why didn’t we stop? Surely we’ve passed Leicester.”

“Yes.” He propped his feet up on the seat next to hers, crossing them at the ankles with utter nonchalance.

We must be well past it by now, she thought. We must be almost to Willow Crossing.

Alarm bells went off in her head. Willow Crossing lay off the main road to Scotland, yet as she glanced out the window, she thought she saw a familiar grove of trees. A sudden horrible fear made her legs grow weak.

“This isn’t the road to Scotland,” she stated.

“No.” He concentrated on peeling the orange. “We’re not going to Scotland.”

“What do you mean, ‘we’re not going to Scotland’! You said—”

“I said we were going to be married. You asked where we were headed, and I said ‘north.’ And we’re going north.”

The truth hit her all at once. “You’re taking me home.”

He met her gaze. “Yes. I intend to do this right, and that means asking your father’s permission for your hand.”

Dear heaven, she could only imagine what Papa would think when they arrived and Jordan announced that he wanted to marry her! How could she explain? Even if she could spin some tale about her sudden appearance with Jordan, she doubted Jordan would keep quiet about her masquerade. Oh, no—that was probably the very reason he’d brought her here.

And in the end she’d have to tell Papa that Mama killed herself. No. No!

“It won’t work,” she protested. “If you bring me to Papa’s, I’ll tell him that I won’t marry you. Then you’ll have to give up your plans.”

“If you refuse to marry me, Emily, I’ll tell him what you’ve been doing for the past month. I’m sure he’ll find it very interesting.”

“He knows already,” she lied. “It won’t accomplish anything.”

“He doesn’t know. My man learned that much from the servants at Lady Dundee’s, who were speculating wildly about why Miss Fairchild’s father kept sending letters to her there.”

Her throat tightened, and she dropped all pretense of nonchalance. “Jordan, you promised—”

“I promised not to speak to Nesfield.” His feet hit the floor as he leaned forward, fixing her with a dark gaze. “I didn’t promise not to try to protect you some other way. You’ve been drawn in by a man who’ll bring about your ruin if you continue to do his bidding. I won’t stand by and watch it happen. And since you won’t tell me why Nesfield is forcing you to masquerade and you won’t let me speak to him, you give me no choice but to take you away from him, as far away and as permanently as I can manage. If that means speaking to your father—”

“You will kill Papa,” she hissed. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“Then make me understand.”

She stared at his implacable face, at the eyes that promised her no quarter. Glancing out the window, she was alarmed to see that they were now traveling down the main road that led through town. In five minutes or less, they would be at the rectory. She had to tell him something, anything that would make him stop!

Perhaps if she told him the reason for her masquerade…Yes, that might satisfy him. Perhaps if he knew the reason, he wouldn’t press her on why she’d agreed to it. Of course, he would hate her for her part in putting an end to his friend’s hopes, but she couldn’t help that.

“All right,” she whispered. “But stop the coach. Please.”

His eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to discern whether she were in earnest.

“Stop the coach!”

He did as she asked, ordering Watkins to pull over to the side of the road.

She slumped against the seat with relief. Then, seeing his expectant look, she said wearily, “This has to do with Sophie.”

“Sophie?” He looked astonished. Obviously, he hadn’t considered that.

With halting words, she recounted how Sophie had tried to elope and how Lord Nesfield and Lady Dundee had asked her to act as a spy in an attempt to unmask Sophie’s would-be husband. Emily glossed over her reasons for agreeing, focusing on her explanation of their plan.

She knew at once when he made the connection between her masquerade and Lord St. Clair.

Straightening in his seat, he uttered a foul oath. “Ian was one of your suspects, wasn’t he? Not only Pollock, but Ian. That’s why you’ve been so cozy with him. That’s why the dinner parties and the outings to the museum and the dancing at the ball.”

The chill in his voice made her wrap her arms tightly over her chest. “Yes. Lord Nesfield even suspected you, because you paid so much attention to me, but I told him that was ludicrous.”

He drove his fist into the side of the coach. “I should have realized that all this concerned Ian. But I let my jealousy of Pollock blind me to the obvious.” He glowered at her. “You’ve been spying on my closest friend, knowing that Nesfield will destroy him if he discovers Ian is the one.”

“Destroy him? No! Lord Nesfield said he would offer the man, whoever it is, money or…or something that would make him agree to leave Sophie alone.”

He looked at her in disgust. “Emily, you aren’t stupid. Do you really think Nesfield will stop at offering money? What if this lover of Sophie’s refuses Nesfield’s money? Will Nesfield threaten to ruin him? Or will he arrange for the man to be…disposed of?”

Her eyes went wide. “Y-You mean, murdered?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t put it past Nesfield. He won’t propose a duel—he knows he wouldn’t win. Instead he’ll hire footpads to accost Ian in some dark byway—”

“He never said anything about murder! Surely he wouldn’t—” She broke off in horror. A man who would threaten to send a young woman to the gallows if she didn’t do his bidding would certainly not hesitate to have someone murdered.

She took a shaky breath. “In any case, I don’t know who it is. It mightn’t be Lord St. Clair at all.”

“Or it might be. I don’t think Ian would carry off an heiress, but who can know for certain?” He leaned forward, his face taut. “Even if it isn’t Ian, you were helping that snake Nesfield see to some poor man’s ruin. Why?”

“Sophie is my friend,” she said stoutly, seizing on the explanation she’d given Lady Dundee. “I…I didn’t want to see her married to some…some—”

“Fortune hunter? What rot! If your friend was in love with the lowliest shepherd, you would have gone to the ends of the earth to help them find happiness. I know you. You believe in such idiocy.” His expression tightened. “What happened to your aversion for lying? Am I to believe you took on a masquerade you loathed, dressed in provocative gowns, and paraded yourself in front of every man in London merely to help your friend? I don’t believe it!”

“I don’t care what you believe!”

“You’d better. Because I’m returning to London as soon as I leave you at your father’s. I shall get to the bottom of this, if I have to strangle Nesfield to do it!”

Panic descended on her. “You can’t! Talk to Lord St. Clair if you must, and Pollock, too. Warn them to keep away. But please, don’t go near Nesfield!”

He clasped her shoulders and shook her. “Why, damn it? What has he threatened to do to you?”

Tears coursed down her cheeks. “I…I can’t…tell you! You can’t do anything about it and if I tell you—”

“Is it your father’s living? Is that it? He’s threatened to take away your father’s living? Damn it, Emily, I can give your father ten livings, wherever he likes!”

“It won’t matter!” She stared distractedly about her. “Lord Nesfield knows things about me…he says he’ll…” No, she couldn’t tell him. He would rush back to Lord Nesfield for certain then, no matter how much she begged. Jordan was the sort to act, and he would never accept that he couldn’t prevent the marquess from having her prosecuted. So he’d blunder in and threaten Lord Nesfield and accomplish nothing but her ruin. She could think of only one way to prevent that.

She clasped his coat. “I’ll marry you, Jordan. I’ll be your mistress…I’ll do whatever you want! Just don’t go to Nesfield! Take me back to London with you, and I’ll…I’ll talk to him myself!”

He was staring at her now as if she were some loathsome insect. Releasing her shoulders, he tore her clenched hands from his coat, then fell back in the seat. “‘Things?’ What kind of ‘things’ does Nesfield know about you that are so heinous you’d offer to be my mistress to keep from having them exposed?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll get married, and then perhaps he won’t…” She trailed off. “What am I saying? He hates you. If we marry, he’ll be even more likely to use what he knows against me.” Jordan was looking at her with such wariness, her heart twisted in her chest. “Besides, you don’t want a wife with dark secrets, do you? It’s one thing to lower yourself to marry a mere rector’s daughter, but God forbid you should marry a woman who keeps things from you, who might be a thief or a…a murderer.”

“That’s enough!”

“I’d ask you to trust me,” she whispered. “But you won’t do that, will you? Not the mighty Earl of Blackmore. No, you must know everything, have control over everything. You would never be so foolish as to trust somebody else.”

“Damn you, Emily, shut up!” His eyes blazed like two torches in the blackest night. Then he rapped sharply on the ceiling. “Go on to the rectory, Watkins!”

The coach rocked, then rumbled forward. She stared at Jordan. “What are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer. A disquieting stillness had come over him, tense and frightening.

“You’re going to speak to him anyway. Even though I’ve asked you not to. Even though you promised not to if I gave myself to you.”

That made him flinch. “I should never have made that promise. Nothing good has come of it.”

“You’re going to break it then.”

“Don’t you see? I have to. It’s for your own good. Nothing you’ve said has changed my mind about this situation. I’m leaving you at your father’s and returning to London.” He glanced away. “But I’ll be back. No matter what you think of me, Emily, I won’t abandon you. I don’t need the tie of some dubious emotion to do right by you. We’ll be married, no matter what Nesfield says or does or—”

“If you speak to him on my behalf, there will be no marriage.”

“What do you mean?”

She had meant that Lord Nesfield’s attempts to destroy her and her family would put an end to any thoughts of marriage. But now something else occurred to her. He wanted everything his way. He made promises, but broke them if he deemed it necessary. All the control must be on his side, because if he gave it up to anyone, then he was revealing the chink in his armor. And she couldn’t marry a man like that, no matter what happened.

“I mean, I won’t marry you. I don’t blame you for warning your friends—that’s to be expected. But your only reason for going to Lord Nesfield is to ‘help me,’ or at least that’s what you claim. What gives you the right to decide what’s best for me when you don’t know the entire story? You refuse to trust my judgment. You refuse to honor your promises. Well, if you can’t do something as simple as that, then I don’t see how we can marry!”

He gave a dismissive gesture. “Your father will make you marry me once he hears—”

“That you’ve taken my innocence? No, he won’t. Not all men are like you, Jordan. Some of them actually care about what their women want or need or—”

“I care, devil take it! If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have offered marriage!”

“Yes, but you don’t care enough to honor my wishes or keep your promises. So I will not marry you!”

“You’re making me choose? Between speaking to Nesfield and marrying you?”

She nodded.

His voice grew bitter. “I thought you said you loved me.”

“I do. I love you enough to want us to have a real marriage, not one where you run everything and I merely play the adoring wife.”

“So you love me only as long as I do what you wish!”

“No. I love you no matter what you do. But I can’t marry you if you won’t consider my wishes, too.”

The carriage halted in front of the rectory, and she glanced out at it, thinking how strange it was to be home with everything still in such a turmoil. She thought of her parents’ love, strands of caring woven into a magnificent cloth heavy enough to withstand any tempest.

“This is absurd,” he was saying. “Our marriage has nothing to do with such matters. It’s merely a practical way to deal with the fact that you’ve been compromised. Love has no place—”

“You know something, Jordan? You’ve spent your entire life avoiding love. You say it’s because your father ruined his life by loving your mother when she wasn’t worthy of it.” She drew in a ragged breath. “But you’ve got it all wrong. Your parents’ marriage wasn’t a disaster because your father loved your mother too much. It was a disaster because your mother didn’t love your father in return. It’s not love that destroys. It’s the lack of it.”

He looked as if she’d slapped him. “You know nothing about it!”

“Oh, yes, I do. I can spot a man who’s starved for love when I see one. But love requires trust and a willingness to give as much as one gets.” She reached for the door handle. “What a pity those are beyond you.”

Opening the door, she climbed from the carriage.

“Emily, wait—” he protested as he climbed out after her, but she turned around to block his path before he could take two steps up the walk.

“What do you plan to do? Go in and tell my father that you’ve compromised me, that I’ve engaged in all manner of wickedness? Then trot off to London and ruin my life while I endure his lectures? No. Leave me some dignity at least.”

“Come now—”

“No. Go back to London. Talk to your friend. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any harm to him. Just remember that if you speak to Nesfield, that is the end of anything between you and me.”

He glared at her, his face ashen, but she simply crossed her arms over her chest and continued to block his path.

“All right,” he finally said coldly. “If that’s the way you want it.”

Turning on his heel, he climbed back into the carriage and ordered the driver to drive on.

She held her breath until the carriage was out of sight, wondering if Papa was watching out of the window even now. It didn’t matter. She would have to tell him everything, no matter how much it hurt him. He was her only hope. If she impressed upon him the seriousness of the situation, he would surely help her return to London.

If she could reach London before Jordan, she might find a way to convince Lord Nesfield that this mess wasn’t her doing. And she might actually beat Jordan there: Jordan and Watkins were exhausted, and they wouldn’t share her sense of urgency.

Hurrying into the house, she fumbled about in her mind for how to tell Papa why she was here. But she stopped short at the sight of not only her father, but Lawrence sitting in the drawing room.

Surprise gave way to relief. “Thank God! Lawrence, you can take me back to London. How did you get here? On your horse? I can ride. If we hurry—”

“Slow down, child,” her father interrupted. “What are you doing here? How did you come? Lawrence has been telling me the most astonishing story—”

“There’s no time for that, Papa!” She turned to Lawrence. “We must leave for London at once!”

“What’s wrong?” Her cousin’s face grew drawn. “Is it Sophie? My God, what have they done to her? If that beast of a father has hurt her, I’ll…”

He trailed off as he saw the confused expression on her face.

“Sophie?” she whispered. “You’re concerned for Sophie?”

Color suffused his face, and that’s when she knew. Dear heaven. “You. You’re the one.”

“The one?” Casting her father a helpless look, Lawrence mumbled, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes, you do, devil take you!”

“Emily!” her father said sternly. “How dare you use such language!”

She wanted to laugh. If only her father knew…All the things she’d done, the words she’d spoken, and for what? Because she hadn’t seen what had been right under her nose all this time. Lawrence’s dramatic response to Sophie…Sophie’s dramatic response to him. She should have realized they were attracted to each other.

Granted, Lawrence had claimed to despise the “snobbish” Lady Sophie. Yet after the ball, he’d not been so vehement in his dislike. He’d even asked a casual question or two about Sophie and her family, but she’d assumed…

“How did you manage to court her when her father keeps her so secluded?” she asked, trying to make some sense of it. “I know he never allowed it.”

“Court her?” her cousin said in feigned surprise.

“Curse you, Lawrence, stop this foolish pretense! I know you tried to elope with Sophie!”

It was her father’s turn to be confused. “Lawrence tried to elope with Lady Sophie? But when? How?”

“In London a few weeks ago,” Emily explained tersely. “Lord Nesfield caught her as she was leaving the house, and Lawrence was forced to flee.”

All this time, and it had been Lawrence. She might as well put the noose around her neck herself. Her own cousin! Lord Nesfield would never believe she’d had no part in Lawrence’s plans.

“Lawrence,” her father demanded in his most ministerial voice. “Is this true?”

Lawrence looked from her to her father. Then he crumpled. “Yes.”

“May God have mercy on us all,” her father muttered. “Lord Nesfield will have my hide for this.”

He’ll have more than that, Emily thought morosely. “Oh, Lawrence, if you only knew what trouble you have caused—”

“I don’t care,” he said with all the selfishness of a man in love. “I love her. She loves me.”

Emily gave a shaky, nearly hysterical laugh. “Young love. A pity Lord Nesfield doesn’t understand the concept. He thinks a fortune hunter has put her under a spell.”

“That bastard! I don’t care about his money. He has the sweetest daughter in Christendom, and he doesn’t even know it.”

“That’s the trouble—he does know it.” Emily sank into a chair, more weary than she could express. Her masquerade, her foolish masquerade, had all been for nothing. The lies and the games and her shattering night with Jordan…all of it, pointless. She was completely ruined, her reputation in a shambles and her life soon to be at risk, and all because she’d been blind to her cousin’s change in affections. And her friend’s.

“When did this happen?” she whispered. “You seemed to dislike her so.”

Lawrence began to pace the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “I thought she was beautiful, of course, from the first. Even then, I envied the man who would have her. But she seemed too haughty, too cold. Then at the ball, when you told me all those things about her shyness, I began to reconsider.”

Another mad laugh escaped her lips. Wonderful. She could thank herself for that.

“Then I lost sight of you for a while. I thought we were going to leave the ball, but I couldn’t find you.”

Emily sat up in the chair, casting her father a nervous glance. That had been when she was with Jordan in his carriage.

“Since the last person you’d talked to was Sophie,” Lawrence continued, “I went in search of her to ask where you were. I found her alone and very distraught.” He stopped, anger marring his features. “Some fool had joked within her hearing about the scene on the dance floor with her father, and she was mortified, nearly in tears. I…I did the only thing I could think of to cheer her up. I asked her to dance.”

Emily sighed. She could almost imagine it. Lawrence, struck by gallantry at the sight of Sophie’s distress, and Sophie, grateful to him for his kindness in the wake of other people’s cruelty.

Her cousin’s face softened into the dreamy countenance of a lover. “We danced two dances. They were utter bliss.”

Lawrence dancing twice? And calling it “utter bliss”? Her cousin truly had been shot by Cupid’s arrow to bring about this transformation.

“And on the basis of two ‘blissful’ dances, you eloped?” she said in astonishment.

“No, of course not.” Lawrence averted his gaze. “When I returned to London, I knew she was there for her coming out. So I…er…tracked her down.”

“Tracked her down?” her father said, eyes narrowing.

“I hired a Bow Street Runner to find out where she was staying. Then one day when she went shopping with her maid, I followed her and—” He glanced guiltily at his uncle. “I pretended to…accidentally meet her on the street.”

“You mean, you lied to her.”

Lawrence squirmed under her father’s accusing look, and it was all she could do not to cry. Lawrence’s pretense paled compared to what she’d been doing for the past few weeks. When her father found out, it would probably send him to an early grave.

“It was a small lie, and the only one,” Lawrence said defensively. “She wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see her, so after that, we met regularly.”

“And when did you get it into your head to elope with a woman far above your station and out of the range of your purse, young man?” her father growled.

Lawrence straightened, towering over the older man. “I’ll have you know that I make a very tidy living. And she doesn’t care about all that anyway. She loves me. That’s all that matters.”

“You think so?” Papa shook his head. “We’ll see if you’re so certain when she’s complaining about not having her own carriage and begging you to buy her some expensive bauble. Like is meant to stay with like, my son.”

Truer words were never spoken, Emily thought bleakly.

“I don’t care what you think, Uncle,” Lawrence said haughtily. “I shall marry Sophie. When I find her, that is.” He approached Emily, a determined expression on his face. “I’ve had the London house watched, and I’ve questioned the servants there and here, but I can discover nothing.”

Kneeling before her, he startled her by grabbing her hands, his face the very picture of a tormented man. “Please tell me where she is, dear cousin! You’re her closest friend—you must know! The servants said she was in the country, but she’s not here. And I didn’t for a minute believe that tale of Lady Dundee’s about the house party you were both attending. What have they done with her? Is she truly engaged to be married as Lady Dundee claimed?”

Emily sighed. Curse the fool, he was so distraught, so deeply in love that it hurt to look at him. If only Jordan felt that for her…No, it was just as well he didn’t. By the time Lord Nesfield finished with her, there would be nothing left for him to love.

“Cousin?” he prodded.

“She’s not engaged.” She slumped against the chair. Now she had a choice—she could tell Lawrence where Sophie was…or refuse to tell him and give him over to Lord Nesfield. But after what Jordan had told her, she was sure the marquess would destroy Lawrence. Sophie would be miserable, and Lawrence would most likely be ruined or dead, for he’d never take Lord Nesfield’s money. Not her moral, rigid-minded cousin.

What’s more, Lord Nesfield would probably still blame Emily for what had transpired, especially if Sophie persisted in her feelings for Lawrence. After all, Emily had introduced the two of them, and behind the marquess’s back, besides. That would give him reason enough to act on his threats.

She sighed. She might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. “She’s in Scotland. At Lady Dundee’s estate.”

Lawrence looked suspicious. “But Lady Dundee is in London for her daughter’s coming out.”

Her father interrupted. “Her daughter’s coming out? Lady Dundee’s eldest is scarcely fifteen. Or so the marquess told me a few months ago, when I inquired after his family. Surely that’s too young.”

“The servants told me,” Lawrence replied with some irritation, “that Lady Dundee and Lady Emma, her daughter, were in residence.”

Her father frowned. “Her name’s not Emma, it’s—”

He broke off at the same time Lawrence’s gaze swung to her.

“It’s a long story,” she whispered. “I’ll tell you all about it, Papa, after Lawrence leaves.” She turned to her cousin and quickly told him everything Lady Dundee had said about where her estate was situated. “Now go on. Go fetch your Sophie, but be careful of Lord Dundee. I’m sure he’ll be watching out for his niece.”

“Thank you, cousin,” he said, shocking her by seizing her about the waist and kissing her cheek. “I shall never forget this service.”

Nor shall I, she thought bitterly.

Now came the distasteful task of explaining everything to her father. He was watching her expectantly, giving her no choice but to plunge right in. She began with Lord Nesfield and Lady Dundee’s proposition, but got no further than that.

“You agreed to this?” he thundered. “You agreed to deceive hundreds of people?”

“Lord Nesfield left me no choice.” She swallowed. “Papa, there’s something you don’t know about how Mama died.”

When she finished telling him about the laudanum and finding her mother dead with Lord Nesfield as a witness, his face turned ghostly pale. He dropped into a chair, his eyes staring at nothing. Then to her alarm, he began to laugh, bitterly, angrily.

“Papa!” she said, hastening to his side. “Papa, you must take hold of yourself! I know it sounds dreadful, but—”

“I’m sorry, Emily.” His voice cracked with pain. “I’m merely angry at myself. I’ve kept myself aloof from you, and in the process allowed you to be left to that man’s mercy, when all this time I had it in my power to prevent it.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

He cast her an anguished look, then took her hand in his. “My dear girl, we’ve been silent on this subject too long. It’s time I told you what I know of your mother’s death…”