The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries (19)

Jordan had to make a decision. After another two torturous days of travel, they were nearing London, and he still didn’t know what to do.

It would have been so much easier if he’d been able to find Hargraves before he left Willow Crossing. The man might have told him something that explained Emily’s desperation. But a cursory search of the inns had revealed that the only man who’d recently come from London had left at dawn.

Jordan had faintly hoped to meet up with his servant on the road, but that hadn’t happened. Now he had to decide. Should he go to the Nesfield town house at once and confront the snake in his hole? Or should he wait until he heard what Hargraves had to say?

The carriage hit a rut, one of endless thousands plaguing it on the road home. He remembered the road north as having been smooth, without a single jolt to mar it. Amazing how lust could lend a rosy hue to one’s surroundings. Except for the incident at the Warthog, their trip had been as pleasant as a day’s sail when the wind is exactly right and the waves are playful.

He groaned. Good God, he was waxing poetic again. That was what Emily’s talk of love had done to him. He felt it again, the heart-stopping blow to his gut. Love. She loved him. But she wouldn’t marry him if he questioned Nesfield. After a day and a half of listening to her theories about what comprised a good marriage, he knew she meant it.

Deuce take her and her ultimatums! He could either open the door of Nesfield’s nasty closet to see what secrets about Emily the bastard had stored up. Or he could keep silent and let her deal with Nesfield alone. For God’s sake, she was no match for the marquess. She had no power, no wealth, no title…nothing with which to threaten him! She ought to be grateful that Jordan was willing to step in on her behalf!

Yet she wasn’t. In her twisted perspective, his interference merely reflected a lack of caring.

The truth was, he cared far too much, so much that the thought of Nesfield knowing dark things about her chilled his blood. They couldn’t be anything substantial. His darling Emily had never done anything truly wicked. He couldn’t believe it.

But she’d been willing to ruin herself and behave in a way she abhorred merely to keep Nesfield silent. For God’s sake, what could prompt such behavior but something awful? He had a right to know what lay in her past. If he was going to give her his name, he ought to know what he was getting himself into!

You refuse to trust my judgment, do you? he heard her saying. Well, if you can’t do something as simple as that, then I don’t see how we can marry!

Devil take her! Devil take her bizarre logic and her pleas and her refusal to see that he had only her welfare at heart!

What gives you the right to decide what’s best for me when you don’t know the entire story?

He groaned. She wouldn’t tell him the entire story! How could she expect him simply to stand by and watch Nesfield ruin her life?

Well, he would find out the truth from Nesfield and she would marry him, no matter what she thought. She’d never make good on that ultimatum. He was the Earl of Blackmore, for God’s sake! Her father would be insane to let her refuse such an advantageous proposal!

But what if he did? What if the rector was as principled as his daughter claimed? What if he stood by her and refused to countenance Jordan’s suit? Jordan snorted. Then let her be ruined. Let her live her life in shame. It wasn’t his fault if she were such a fool. He’d done more than anyone could expect. He didn’t need a wife. He hadn’t wanted one, and he’d be better off without one.

He half believed that. For about a mile. Then he drove his fist into the cushioned seat with a curse. The truth was, he couldn’t bear the thought of not marrying her, of never having her in his life again. It made him almost physically ill. Call it fate, but from the moment she’d stepped into the carriage in Derbyshire, she’d been linked to him forever. The thought that he might lose her over this ate at him like an ulcer.

Damn her! This was what happened when a man let frivolous emotions control his destiny instead of reason. She thought to wrap him about her finger by speaking a few words of affection to him. She thought to use the enticing appeal of love to make him want her so badly he would do anything for her. Father had made that mistake—

He sat up straight. That wasn’t true. Father had never heard words of love from Mother. She’d treated her husband with nothing but contempt. She’d ignored the incredibly valuable gift he was offering, taking it for granted and never offering it herself.

It’s not love that destroys, Emily had said. It’s the lack of it.

A sudden chilling realization gripped him. All this time he’d considered himself a wiser version of his father, a man who’d learned from his father’s example that emotions were dangerous. But it wasn’t Father he resembled. It was Mother.

No matter what he’d told himself, he’d been as starved for love as Emily had claimed. He’d reveled in her admissions that she loved him. He’d soaked up the affection like a greedy sponge. Like his mother, he’d wanted it all, without giving it back. All the fun, and none of the responsibility.

Yes, he’d offered Emily marriage, but that was a trifling thing. The way he’d envisioned it, she would give him her body and her heart and yes, her love, and he would give her…what? His name? Money? She didn’t want either one. Children? He didn’t even know if she liked children. His companionship? A woman like her would never lack for companionship.

What she wanted, amazing as it seemed, was a real marriage. To him. But giving her that was a great deal harder than giving her his name or his companionship. He knew what a real marriage was like—his father and stepmother had shared one. Real marriage was difficult. It meant an exchange, an equal union. It meant sometimes compromising one’s wishes for the other person.

It meant letting a person know you so intimately that he—or she—could destroy you if she chose. Trust. It meant trust.

If you can’t do something as simple as that…

“Milord?” came Watkins’s voice wafting down from the perch. “You said you’d tell me where to go once we reached the city.”

Jordan hesitated only a moment. Then he took the first leap of faith he’d ever taken in his life. “Home, Watkins,” he called out. “Take me home.”

 

Clutching Blackmore’s note in her hand, Ophelia called for her carriage, then paced impatiently while it was fetched. The summons to Blackmore Hall didn’t surprise her in the least. She’d guessed almost from the beginning that Emily was with him. Of course, she’d told Randolph that the girl had taken off for home and would return in a few days. It was the only thing she could think of to prevent him from taking drastic action. She’d even prayed it wasn’t a bald-faced lie. But in her heart, she’d known that the girl had gone to Blackmore. And he, damn his hide, had kept her.

Where, she didn’t know. She’d been to Blackmore’s house countless times in the past three days. His servants had protested that he’d left the city, and they had not said where he’d gone. But wherever he was, Blackmore had Emily. Of that, Ophelia was certain.

Now the blackguard had returned, destroying Ophelia’s faint hope that he’d taken Emily to Gretna Green. She should have known better. Why marry the girl when he thought he could have her without benefit of clergy? After all, since he knew her true identity, he held all the cards. He knew only too well that neither Ophelia nor Randolph was in any position to protest his actions publicly.

That didn’t mean, however, that Ophelia intended to let him get away with it. Oh, no. She’d make him marry the girl if she had to hold a pistol on him to do it.

The carriage arrived, and she climbed in, her voice shrill with impatience as she gave the order to drive on. As it clattered off, she opened the card with its terse message and read it again. The only thing she didn’t understand was Blackmore’s insistence that she come alone and not tell Randolph where she was going. That was curious. And for heaven’s sakes, where had Blackmore been for the past three days?

By the time her carriage reached Blackmore Hall, Ophelia was in high dudgeon. She ignored the footman who handed her out of the carriage and brushed right past the servant who held the massive oak door open for her. “Where is the scoundrel?” she demanded, as the man took her cloak.

He quaked beneath the look she gave him, but he didn’t need to direct her, for she heard voices coming through an open door upstairs. Recognizing one of them as Blackmore’s, she hurried up the stairs toward them.

Just as she reached the door, she heard him say, “Where the devil is Hargraves? He should have been here before me. I fully expected him to be waiting here—”

When she burst through the entranceway, effectively cutting him off, she was startled by the sight that greeted her. Blackmore was there, pacing before the fireplace in what appeared to be his study. He looked most unkempt and certainly weary.

But St. Clair was present as well, and Emily was nowhere in sight.

Ignoring St. Clair’s frigid gaze, she fixed all her attention on Blackmore. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”

The man seemed to have a maddening calm. With a quick glance in his friend’s direction, he circled behind his massive desk, no doubt intending to intimidate her. “Good afternoon, Lady Dundee,” Blackmore said coolly as he took his seat. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“A pox on you, young man! Where is Emily?”

“‘Emily’? You’re giving up the pretense so easily?” There was real surprise in his voice.

What had he thought? That she’d hem and haw in front of St. Clair when Emily’s welfare was at stake? The blackguard!

“I don’t care about all that! I want to know what you’ve done with the poor girl!”

His eyes narrowed. “The ‘poor girl’ is in Willow Crossing with her father, where she belongs. I took her there.”

She gaped at him. Emily was at home? With her father?

Then the last part of his sentence registered. “Do you mean to tell me that you traveled with Emily for two days unchaperoned? You awful man! You know better! When I get through with you—”

“With me?” he thundered. Rising abruptly from his seat, he leaned forward and planted his fists in the center of his neat desk. “I took her there after she came to me alone at night. That ‘poor girl’ offered me certain liberties in exchange for my silence about her scheme! Yes, I took her home! What else was I supposed to do? Leave her to be further corrupted by you and Nesfield? At least with her father, she’ll be safe!”

Ophelia felt the color rise in her face for the first time since her schoolgirl days. Emily had…had offered herself to Blackmore? For his silence? Good Lord in heaven!

She collapsed into the nearest chair, hardly able to comprehend it. The night Emily had spoken so earnestly to her, she’d never dreamed how desperate the girl really was.

“So don’t speak to me about chaperones,” he went on in a low, threatening voice. “For all I know, you or your pandering brother sent her to me in the first place.”

Her head shot up. “Why, you impudent dog! I had no idea she would attempt something so desperate!”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, indeed!” She turned her gaze to Lord St. Clair. “Tell him! You know I would never—”

“Frankly, I don’t know what you might do, Lady Dundee. You told me you wanted her to marry Jordan. Perhaps you thought sending her to him might do it.”

It was Blackmore’s turn to look surprised. He faced his friend. “Lady Dundee said that to you?”

“Yes,” Ophelia answered quickly. “But I wouldn’t have tried to bring it about in such a shameless manner. And Emily knew nothing of my plans for her. Indeed, she was convinced you would never marry anyone.”

A troubled look passed over Blackmore’s face. “Yes, I know.”

Ophelia rose from the chair and hurried to the desk. “No matter what I’ve said or done, you mustn’t blame it on her. Yes, she participated in a masquerade at my request. I assume that you know why?” When Blackmore nodded, she went on. “But her intention was always to find the man who tried to elope with Sophie, nothing more.”

“It wasn’t me,” St. Clair put in. “Let’s be straight on that point.”

She gave him a dismissive glance. “Whatever you say. It hardly matters now. I’d already decided you were perfect for Sophie. If Blackmore hadn’t frightened Emily into taking desperate measures, I would have handed Sophie to you myself.”

St. Clair looked startled. “Truthfully?”

“Enough of that, both of you,” Blackmore interjected. “I don’t care about Sophie and her troubles. I care only about Emily. You make it sound as if she participated in this masquerade merely because you asked it of her. But there’s more to it than that. The night she came to me, she was frantic with fear. I want to know why.”

Ophelia sighed. “If I knew, I’d tell you. She insisted all along that she was merely concerned for Sophie, but I knew there was something more. When we first asked her to do it, she refused. Then my brother spoke with her privately, and she changed her mind.”

“And you didn’t question that? You thrust a country innocent into London society, into the company of unscrupulous men like Pollock, without a moment’s concern?”

“Now see here, Blackmore, I did my best to protect her. The night Pollock assaulted her in Lady Astramont’s garden—”

“Assaulted her! I’ll string him up by his ballocks!”

Oh, heavens. She’d made the mistake of assuming that Emily had told him about that little incident. “Don’t worry, he didn’t get beyond one kiss. When I came upon them, she was holding him off with the pointed edge of her fan and threatening to dismember him. Emily can take care of herself, whatever you may think. And when she couldn’t, I tried to watch out for her.”

“Did you really? Then how did I get her alone for so long at the museum? Tell me that!”

She fixed him with her haughtiest glance. “I made the mistake of assuming I was with gentlemen that day. How foolish of me.”

A muffled snort from Lord St. Clair drew her attention. For some reason, the wretch seemed to find this all very entertaining.

Blackmore didn’t share his amusement, however. “She shouldn’t have been thrown into the situation at all—”

“I agree. Unfortunately, though I suggested ending the masquerade more than once, she refused. She was adamant about it. And since I had no idea why she wanted to continue, I had no choice but to go on.”

That seemed to bring Blackmore up short. He raked his fingers through his hair distractedly. “Your brother has something on her—”

“I know. He won’t say what, and neither will she. I even offered to give her father a living if she wanted to end the masquerade, but she refused my help.”

“Mine, too,” Blackmore bit out. “Damn! I’d hoped you might give me some answers. All you’re giving me is more questions.”

“I’m afraid the only one who knows the truth besides Emily is Randolph. And I doubt he’d speak to you.”

“In any case, I can’t talk to him,” Blackmore surprised her by saying.

“Whyever not?”

His handsome features clouded over. Pacing to the fireplace, he stood staring into it a moment as if contemplating something. Then he said in a low voice, “She told me she wouldn’t marry me if I questioned your brother.”

“What?” both she and St. Clair exclaimed at once.

“You? Marry?” St. Clair added, his eyes alight with mischief.

Jordan shot them both a resentful glance. “A man has to marry sometime, doesn’t he? And unless some new bill passed in Parliament while I was gone, an earl may still marry whomever he wishes.”

Only with difficulty did Lady Dundee stifle the gleeful laugh threatening to erupt from her throat. Blackmore planned to marry Emily! Good Lord, the girl had pulled off the match of the decade, possibly the century! It was what she’d hoped for, but she hadn’t dreamed it would come to pass.

She was careful to answer him diplomatically. “Of course you may marry.” She paused. “I take it you’ve proposed. But has she accepted?”

Obviously this was a touchy subject. Lifting the brass poker, he stabbed it into the fire until sparks threatened to ignite all his furniture. “Not exactly. It depends on what I do about Nesfield.”

“That’s so strange,” Ophelia mused aloud. “What could Randolph possibly know about her that would make her refuse to marry a man she loves?”

His startled gaze flew to her. “She told you she loved me?”

“Not in words. But whenever you walk in the room, it’s as noticeable in her reaction to you as the scent of lavender in her hair.”

That seemed to please him. Just as she was about to ask if he shared Emily’s feelings, however, a new voice came from the doorway.

“Good day, milord. I understand you’ve been watching for me.”

As all eyes turned to the ginger-haired man in the doorway, Blackmore exclaimed, “Hargraves! You’re here! What took you so long? They told me in Willow Crossing that you left two days ago!”

“In Willow Crossing? You were there, milord?”

“Yes, I left the same day you did,” Blackmore explained impatiently. “I’d hoped to catch up with you on my way back.”

“My horse lost a shoe and I had to stop in Bedford for a new one. You must have passed me on the road while I was at the blacksmith’s there. I’m sorry, milord. I got here fast as I could.”

Ophelia eyed the wiry figure with some suspicion. “Blackmore, who is this fellow?”

“My servant. At my request, he went to Willow Crossing to find out whatever he could about Emily.”

Blackmore had been spying on the girl? He truly was enamored of her, wasn’t he?

“Well? What have you learned?” Blackmore asked Hargraves in clipped tones.

Hargraves appeared a bit uncomfortable about speaking before so many people. “I asked people about any connection between Lord Nesfield and Miss Fairchild, and most said there was none. But the apothecary told me an interesting tale. Seems the girl’s mother died more than a year ago. She’d had a wasting disease something like your stepmother’s. She suffered pain a great deal, and Miss Fairchild was the one that made up her medicines, primarily laudanum for the pain. The day she died, she was found by her daughter.” He paused for effect. “And Lord Nesfield.”

Jordan stared at his servant, not sure what to think. No, he knew what to think. Emily would never willingly watch any creature suffer, especially her mother. Could she have given her mother more laudanum than she should have? And then Nesfield happened along?

Her voice trickled into his consciousness. Lord Nesfield knows things about me…God forbid you should marry a woman who keeps things from you, who might be a thief or a…a murderer.

Good God, that made perfect sense. It explained why she’d absolutely refused to tell anyone the truth. She’d committed a crime. Nesfield could have her hanged for it, and she knew it.

He ought to be appalled. They were talking about matricide, after all. But he remembered too well the horrible pain Maude had suffered at the end. He would eagerly have given her extra laudanum if he could have.

No wonder Emily had been almost frantic. No wonder she’d begged him to trust her! She’d thought, and probably rightly, that Jordan could do nothing if she were accused of murder. She might even have feared that he would despise her once he learned the truth.

Well, it wasn’t her he despised. “Devil take him!” Jordan glowered at Lady Dundee. “Your brother Randolph is lower than the lowest snake!”

Apparently, she’d made a similar deduction concerning Emily and her mother, for she said, “Yes, he is.”

A sick wave of fear gripped Jordan. Good God, if he’d gone to Nesfield first…no wonder she’d told Jordan to trust her. He might have risked her very life. Of course, if she’d confided all this to him in the first place…

But she hadn’t trusted him enough for that, not knowing how he would react. Could he blame her? It was her life at stake, after all. Still, he fervently wished she could have trusted him with her life.

“What do we do now?” Lady Dundee said. “If Randolph has made the kind of threats I suppose, they aren’t idle threats.”

“No, they wouldn’t be.” Jordan thought a moment. A sudden idea struck him, so simple that he wondered he hadn’t thought of it before. “Wait! I have the perfect solution to this.” In a few words, he described his plan.

Lady Dundee regarded him with obvious admiration. “I believe that would work!”

A mere boy of a footman suddenly burst into the room, followed by one of Jordan’s servants who was remonstrating with him.

The footman spotted Lady Dundee and hurried to her side. “Milady, you must return to the town house at once! Lady Emma has come back! She’s brought an old man with her, and there’s all sorts of strange doings and…” Suddenly conscious of four pairs of eyes on him, he trailed off. “A-Anyway, Mr. Carter thought you and Lord Nesfield should be sent for.”

“I’ll come at once,” she told the footman, then pivoted to face Jordan. “What do you make of this?”

He shook his head. “I suppose Emily impressed upon her father the gravity of the situation, and he’s come to lend a hand. Though I don’t know what either of them can do. Our plan seems the best solution.”

She started toward the door, then paused. “You’re coming, aren’t you, Blackmore?”

“Of course. I’ll be there shortly.”

When Lady Dundee was gone, Jordan leaned on the desk for support, suddenly weak in the knees.

“Are you all right?” Ian asked.

Jordan shook his head vigorously. “What if I burst in there, and she takes that to mean I’ve gone against her wishes? Or God forbid, what if I make matters worse?”

“You’re abiding by the spirit of her wishes, if not the letter. You promised her not to question Nesfield about her masquerade, and you’re holding to that. And I don’t see how you could make it any worse than it already is.”

“Yes, but she might not see it that way, and if she doesn’t—” He broke off, the very thought evoking an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. “I could lose her.”

Ian looked bemused and pitying, all at the same time. “So the Earl of Blackmore is finally in love,” he said softly.

Jordan started to utter his usual denial, then realized he couldn’t. He literally could not speak the words. “Love? Is that what they call this detestable physical state? The cold sweats, the pounding heart, the absolutely choking fear that I might have to live without her?”

“So I’ve been told.”

He stared at his friend, then groaned. “Then it’s a damned nuisance, and I was right to be against it all this time. Good God, I don’t think I could go through this more than once in a lifetime.”

Ian smiled. “With any luck, you won’t have to.”