The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries (20)

Emily sat down near the fireplace in the Nesfield drawing room, then jumped up again and paced in front of it, twisting her shawl into a labyrinthine knot.

“Emily, dear, calm down,” her father said. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“I know.” And then what? Marriage to Jordan? When he didn’t love her? She didn’t even know how he’d react to the news about her mother’s death. He might not even want to associate with her family after this.

Where was he anyway? Had she and Papa actually reached London before him? She could hardly believe that. Her curiosity grew overwhelming. “Papa, I’m going to speak to Carter.”

“The butler? Why?”

“It’s nothing. I…I merely want to determine how long Lord Nesfield will be.”

The truth was, she thought as she hurried from the room, she had to know if Nesfield was with Jordan. Or if Jordan had come earlier and Nesfield had gone to begin the process of having her arrested. But she could hardly tell Papa that. He didn’t even know about Jordan. She’d told him that a friend had brought her to Willow Crossing. It was true, of course, though Jordan was much more than a friend. But she hadn’t dared mention her possible future with Jordan when she was still so unsure of her own feelings and so much was unsettled.

It no longer ought to matter if Jordan had spoken to Nesfield. Even if Nesfield tried to make good on his threats, Papa had the means to prevent him.

Still, it mattered to her. If Jordan couldn’t trust her, what kind of marriage could they have? She could live without his love, perhaps. But without his trust? His consideration for her wishes? That would be the worst sort of alliance.

On the other hand, what she’d asked of him was almost too much for any man to do. Without knowing any of the circumstances, she was asking him not to interfere. Any man would find that difficult, but one like Jordan would find it next to impossible.

Worse yet, he might not even have reached London yet, and then she would never know for sure.

She found Carter in the dining room, overseeing preparations for the next meal as if things like this happened every day. “May I have a word with you?” she asked in a low voice, glancing at the other servants. “Alone?”

“Certainly, mil—Miss Fairchild.”

The moment she and her father had arrived, he had insisted upon setting the servants straight about her identity. She would’ve preferred that he not, since it complicated everything and since Lady Dundee might have wished it done a different way. But Papa was too much a man of God to compound a lie.

She took Carter aside. “You said Lord Nesfield had gone to his club. Was he…was he alone? Or did he receive some sort of summons to go there?”

Carter looked nonplused. “Summons? The only person receiving a ‘summons’ this morning was Lady Dundee. Lord Blackmore requested her presence at his town house. That’s where she is now.”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure the request was meant only for her? It did not include Lord Nesfield?”

“I’m absolutely certain. Indeed, she told me not to tell her brother where she’d gone. She said that Lord Blackmore had requested that.”

The full ramifications hit her with astonishing force. He’d done as she’d asked! She couldn’t blame him for talking to Lady Dundee—that hadn’t been part of the agreement, and he would have wanted to gather as much information as possible. But he hadn’t gone to Nesfield. That certainly said something for the extent of his feelings for her, didn’t it?

Despite reminding herself that it wasn’t all over yet, she couldn’t prevent the surge of delirious happiness that lightened her heart. Hastening back into the drawing room, she sat down beside her father with a secret smile. Jordan had done as she’d asked. Her Jordan. Yes, her Jordan. She could think that now. If he still wanted her after this was all over.

She and her father heard the carriage thundering up the street at the same time. He took her hand and squeezed it as the carriage halted outside. Then they heard voices in the foyer, but when someone finally entered the room, it wasn’t Nesfield. It was Jordan.

She gazed at him in astonishment as he strode toward her, with Lady Dundee and Lord St. Clair following close behind. He didn’t even give her time to introduce her father.

“Emily, Nesfield’s carriage is right behind ours. We have only a moment. Listen, I know everything—about your mother and the laudanum and about Nesfield’s blackmailing you.” When she scowled, he added, “And I didn’t get it from Nesfield either, if that’s what you’re thinking. I haven’t spoken to him. I swear it.”

“Then who could have told you?”

“There’s no time for explanations.” Bending on one knee, he took her hand and kissed it. “Now it’s your turn to trust me. I have a solution that’ll keep you safe without hurting anyone, but you must let me speak to Nesfield first.”

“Emily, who is this chap?” her father put in, his eyes fixing on their linked hands.

“He’s…a friend,” she said lamely. “Papa, meet the Earl of Blackmore. Lord Blackmore, this is my father, Edmund Fairchild.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, sir,” Jordan said quickly. “We have much to discuss. But later, I’m afraid.” Ignoring the way her father gaped at him in ill-disguised awe, he returned his attention to Emily. “I won’t speak to Nesfield without your permission. Will you let me do this for you? I know what I’m doing, I promise.”

“He does know what he’s doing,” Lady Dundee interjected in a whisper, then glanced over her shoulder as she heard Carter speaking to her brother in the hall. “Let him speak first.”

“Now see here,” her father broke in. “We’ve got our own solution—”

“It’s all right, Papa.” Jordan had asked her permission? Mr. I-Must-Always-Be-in-Control Jordan? A smile lit her face. “I want to see what Lord Blackmore has come up with. It can’t hurt, can it?” She cast her father a meaningful glance. “Please? Do this for me?”

Her father barely had time to give his reluctant agreement before Lord Nesfield stormed into the room.

“All right, where is the damned chit?” he thundered, then drew up short when he saw his sister, his rector, the Earl of Blackmore, and the Viscount St. Clair all gathered about Emily like a phalanx of soldiers protecting their queen.

He recovered quickly, however. “Out, all of you! Except my niece. I wish to speak to her alone.”

Emily laughed aloud. He was still trying to maintain the masquerade? Now? Even with Papa here?

“Do not laugh at me, young lady,” Nesfield interjected. “You know what I will do to you.”

Her father stiffened and started to rise, but Emily caught his arm to stay him.

Jordan stepped forward. “Oh? What will you do to her?”

A pity that Nesfield wasn’t as familiar with Jordan’s moods as she was, or he would’ve realized he was treading on dangerous ground.

“This is not your affair, Blackmore. Go away.”

“I can’t. I’ve come to speak to you about your ‘niece.’ I wish to marry her.”

Emily scowled. If that was Jordan’s idea of a solution, it wasn’t going to work. Her father was beginning to look apoplectic, but she tightened her grip on his arm, urging him to silence.

“Marry her?” Nesfield sputtered. “I will not allow it. Now leave. And take your friend with you.”

“Surely you’d prefer that I marry your niece rather than your daughter.”

That flat statement got everybody’s attention. Nesfield’s gaze grew positively furious. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m the one who tried to elope with your daughter Sophie. I know you’ve been searching for me. I’ve heard about the men you hired. Despite that, I had planned to try again, of course.” He shifted his gaze to Emily. “But then I met your lovely niece, and I lost all interest in your daughter at once.”

Emily stared at him, astounded and thrilled and delighted. He had come up with the perfect solution! First, claim to be the blackguard who Nesfield wanted to destroy, then eliminate Nesfield’s reason for doing so by offering to relinquish his interest in Sophie. It was brilliant and perfect, and if they’d been alone, she would have kissed him for it.

“Lady Emma has completely stolen my heart,” he went on in a tone that actually sounded sincere. There was certainly no denying the heat in the glance he gave her. “So you see, you must consent to the marriage, since I know you have no desire to see me wed your daughter.”

Her father jumped up from his seat, unable to contain himself any longer. “Do not listen to this man, Lord Nesfield. He is not the one who ran off with your daughter, and I can prove it.”

Jordan whirled around, his face mottled with anger to have his plan so quickly scuttled. “Mr. Fairchild, you don’t understand the gravity of this situation!”

Emily decided she’d best step in. “It’s all right, Jordan.” She rose from her seat. “He does understand. Let him speak.”

Jordan stared at her for a moment, then nodded tersely. But for the first time ever, she saw fear in his face. Fear for her. It warmed her to the very center of her heart.

“What do you know of all this, Fairchild?” Nesfield demanded.

“You may remember my nephew, Lawrence Phelps?” When Nesfield merely glowered at him, Papa went on. “He’s the one who ran off with Sophie. And I say ‘ran off’ because he’s probably in Scotland with her by now. I regret to tell you this, my lord, but I’m sure they’ll be married before you can reach them.”

This new development stunned everyone. Nesfield was thunderous, Lord St. Clair looked perplexed, since he’d obviously never heard of her cousin, and Jordan was scowling.

Only Lady Dundee seemed calm as she turned to Emily. “Mr. Phelps? That barrister who came to the town house, supposedly looking for you?” When Emily nodded, she burst into laughter. “Now that’s a match made in heaven. He was all sobriety and protective concern, exactly what Sophie has grown used to from her father.”

Emily hadn’t thought of it that way before, but now that she did, she had to laugh as well. Of course, right now anything would make her laugh.

Unfortunately, her laughter only served to infuriate Lord Nesfield. “My Sophie shall not marry a barrister! I will obtain an annulment! I will kill him! I will—”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Lady Dundee retorted. “And until you can behave civilly, I’ll be happy to have my niece and her new husband stay with us in Scotland.”

Deprived of one source of satisfaction, Lord Nesfield rounded on Emily, his expression livid. “This is all your doing, you bitch! I shall see you hang for this!”

Emily recoiled from the malevolence in his voice, but Jordan thrust himself between her and Nesfield. “Stay away from her, or I’ll kill you, I swear it! And if you ever speak to her like that again—”

“Do what you wish, Blackmore, but you cannot prevent me from ruining her and her father.” Lord Nesfield’s voice grew nasty. “And I do not think you shall want to prevent me when you hear the truth about the little chit. You see, she killed her mother.”

“I did not!” Emily cried at the same time that Jordan shouted, “I don’t care!”

Then they both stared at each other.

“You didn’t?” he said.

She gaped at him. “You actually thought I did?”

“Well, I…I…my servant went to Willow Crossing and he found out…that is, I deduced…” Seeing that he was sinking deeper with every word, he added fiercely, “It wouldn’t matter, you know. She was in pain, and you have a tender heart. I understand that. I—”

“It’s all right,” she said as laughter bubbled up from her throat. She ought to be furious that he’d thought her capable of murder, but he obviously knew the circumstances. And any anger she might have felt was overshadowed by the realization that he’d been willing to make great sacrifices for her, even while thinking that she’d taken her mother’s life. A giddy delight filled her. “It’s all right, Jordan,” she repeated soothingly. “But I didn’t kill her.”

Her father frowned at her improper amusement, then scowled at Nesfield. “No, she didn’t. My wife killed herself.”

The words stunned everyone but Emily into silence, more because of who was saying them than what he was saying. Now sure that he had everyone’s attention, her father added, “What’s more important, I can prove it.” Reaching into his pocket, he whisked out a folded sheet of paper. “You see, my wife left a suicide note.”

Once again, Emily felt an overwhelming sense of relief. She still felt guilty that it had been her laudanum which had killed Mama. But it made a difference to know that Mama hadn’t simply succumbed to a sudden burst of pain and taken too much of a medicine Emily had carelessly left nearby. The note’s thorough explanation of her mother’s reasons for killing herself proved that she had planned her death—planned it and executed it. And Emily couldn’t blame her—or herself—for that.

“What do you mean?” Nesfield said suspiciously. “You never said anything about a note.”

Her father colored. “I know. That proved not only sinful, but a terrible mistake as well.” He hesitated a moment, as if unwilling to reveal so much of his actions in front of strangers. Then he sighed, apparently realizing he had no choice. “The day of her death, when I came home to find you and Emily with my poor Phoebe, I was distraught, to say the least. I fled into my own bedroom—Phoebe and I had been sleeping apart because she rested easier that way—and that’s when I found the note, on the dresser. Phoebe had left her sickbed long enough to stumble to the dresser.”

Emily hurried to her father’s side, feeling again all his anguish. He leaned on her for support. “My first reaction was horror. Phoebe had committed the ultimate sin. She was damned forever.” He halted a moment, overcome by emotion. “And even worse was the knowledge that her pain had been so great she’d been driven to an unthinkable act.”

He stared down into his daughter’s face. “Then I began to think of other things, selfish things. If Phoebe’s suicide were made known, I’d lose my living, I’d be disgraced. And what would become of my daughter? It would make it nearly impossible for her to marry or have any kind of a life—” He broke off, then lifted his head with a stubborn expression. “I’m not proud of it, but I don’t think I was wrong to consider such things. In any case, that’s when I decided to keep it secret, even from Emily. I thought she didn’t know about the suicide. And to be honest, neither of us was willing to talk about Phoebe’s death.”

His hand gripped her arm fiercely. “But that was wrong. I see it now. At the very least, I should have told my sweet girl what went on.”

“I should have told you the truth, too, Papa,” she interrupted, unwilling to let him take all the blame. “But I wanted to protect you.”

“And I you.” He gave a bitter laugh. “So we both were punished for our silence. I deserved my punishment.” His voice broke. “But my dear girl did not. If I’d ever dreamed, if I’d ever thought that she and Lord Nesfield knew or that he would use it against her—”

“You couldn’t have known,” she reassured him, tears streaming down her cheeks. It still amazed her that he’d held such darkness in him all that time. It was no wonder he’d been unable to forget his grief. And for her! He’d done it for her!

“Oh, Papa, I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, my sweet girl.”

“A touching scene,” Nesfield said in a hard voice. He stabbed his cane into the carpet. “But that note is no proof at all. How do I know you did not write it up yourself at your daughter’s request?”

Her father glared at Lord Nesfield. “You may have power and riches, my lord, but even you cannot dismiss a note written in the hand of a dead woman. Anyone who compares it to her other writing will see it was written by her. And since it’s marked with the date of her death and states quite baldly that she plans to take her own life, that’s all the proof we need.”

Nesfield might be a blackguard, but he was no fool. He shook a little as he stared through his lorgnette at all the witnesses to this exchange. “You think you have won, the lot of you. Very well, perhaps I cannot prove murder. But that shall not stop me from ruining you, Fairchild. The world shall hear that your wife killed herself, and you will not be able to find a living anywhere—”

“I doubt that,” Jordan interrupted. “Here stand three people more than eager to give the man a living.” He came up to Nesfield, lowering his voice threateningly. “As for scandal, I’m sure the world would love to hear how the Marquess of Nesfield’s daughter ran off with a barrister.”

Nesfield paled.

“Or perhaps,” Jordan went on more viciously, “I should tell the world how you used the suicide of your own rector’s wife to force his daughter into masquerading against her will. That should make for very entertaining dinner conversation.”

“You would not spread such a tale! It would shame Miss Fairchild, too!”

“Perhaps at first. But what does it matter once she’s my wife?” When Lord Nesfield paled, he added, “Yes, I intend to marry her, now more than ever. And no one will dare say anything against her around me. It might even be seen as a grand melodrama, complete with villain. Lady Dundee can provide her side of the tale, and Ian can impress his friends by claiming to have seen through the masquerade all along. And your name will be vilified every time it’s repeated.”

“Enough!” Nesfield swayed where he stood, his face contorted in horror.

Emily had never seen him look so old. Or so helpless. Deprived of his daughter and of any possibility of revenging himself against the man who’d taken her, he looked shriveled and pathetic. If it hadn’t been for everything he’d put her through, she could almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

“All right,” he muttered, gripping his cane in a shaky grasp. “None of what was said today shall leave this room.”

“Not good enough,” Jordan growled. “I don’t want my wife forced into continuing a lie.” He cast her a quick smile, which she answered with all the love in her heart. “Emily abhors lying, and I don’t wish to upset her. But you’ve widely proclaimed her to be Lady Dundee’s daughter.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “So this is what we shall do. We’ll circulate an amended story of this travesty. Emily, concerned for her friend Sophie, agreed willingly to masquerade in order to find the blackguard who’d tried to elope with your daughter. It was a noble endeavor, but doomed to failure because I knew who Emily really was from the first.”

When Nesfield looked startled, a wicked smile touched Jordan’s lips. “You didn’t know that, did you? In any case, our tale will say that I decided to help her and so did Ian. In the process, she and I fell in love. But when she discovered that it was her own cousin, a man of some means, who’d run off with Sophie, she threw herself on your mercy, and you, being the generous and fatherly man that you are, decided to accept her cousin as Sophie’s husband, and to add two hundred pounds to Mr. Fairchild’s annual stipend.”

“You can’t expect me—” Nesfield began.

“Never mind that,” Emily’s father broke in. “I don’t want to have dealings with this wretch ever again.”

Jordan shrugged. “Very well. That’s easily fixed. Mr. Fairchild left your parish because of a more than generous offer from his new son-in-law.”

“No one will believe any of this…this fairy tale,” Nesfield croaked feebly.

“You’re right,” Jordan retorted. “But it doesn’t matter. They’ll speculate about the real story, and it’ll be the topic of conversation for weeks to come, but with so many lofty personages involved, they can hardly find fault with any one person for participating in the masquerade. Besides, it was for a good cause and ended happily, with two sets of lovers united.”

His tone grew heavily sarcastic. “And since everyone behaved well, a few minor deceits can be overlooked. My wife and Lady Dundee will be seen as noble defenders of young lovers, and your daughter will be lauded for her dedication to love. We shall neglect to mention, of course, that her new husband is a barrister. I only regret that you will come off looking like a saint.”

Nesfield summoned up a bit of his old fire. “If you think I shall support this tale of yours merely so Miss Fairchild can keep her reputation intact—”

“Be careful, Randolph,” Lady Dundee warned. “If your name is dragged through the mud, then mine will be as well, and I refuse to be a joke at dinner parties.”

Jordan raised one eyebrow. “Well, Nesfield? Shall we all walk away from this relatively unscathed, with only an amusing tale to note its passing? That’s better than you deserve. But since anything else will result in harm to Emily—and I will not have her harmed any further by you—it seems the only choice.”

Nesfield visibly recoiled from the threat in Jordan’s words. He glanced around at the people arrayed against him, two of them with respectable titles and fortunes and one of them his own sister. It suddenly seemed to dawn on him that bucking such a conglomeration would lead to disaster only for him.

“All right,” he growled. “But the five of you can continue the farce without me. I am going to Scotland. There is still some chance I can stop my daughter from ruining her life.” With that, the marquess stamped out of the room, calling for his carriage.

“Enjoy your trip,” Jordan said in a menacing undertone.

Emily shivered. She had the distinct impression that Jordan would find some way to make Nesfield pay for what he’d done. She wouldn’t want to be in the marquess’s shoes just now.

Jordan surprised her by then turning to her father. “Can you support my tale, Mr. Fairchild? I know how much you disapprove of lying.”

“I fully intend to tell the truth,” her father answered. When Jordan looked alarmed, he added, “But that’s easily enough done. I know nothing of all this but a lot of hearsay. Who am I to say what did or didn’t happen while my daughter was in London?”

Her father cast Jordan a speculative glance. “First, however, I’d like to hear more about it from you and my daughter. You have now mentioned marriage to her several times, yet until a few minutes ago, I didn’t even know you knew her.”

At Jordan’s frown, her father said quickly, “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m most grateful for your interference today. I couldn’t have handled Lord Nesfield nearly so well alone.” He clasped Emily close. “Nonetheless, I find myself bewildered—and a bit disturbed—by your interest in my daughter.”

“It’s not such a strange thing,” Jordan stated. “I first met her at the Drydens’ ball in Derbyshire. Then, while she was here in London, we were much thrown into each other’s company.” His voice softened. “And I fell in love with her.”

There was that word again. Love. It was one thing to pretend in front of Nesfield, but he didn’t have to keep it up with Papa. “Jordan, there’s no need to—”

He cut her off before she could say “lie.” “The only trouble is, I’ve proposed to her, and she hasn’t yet accepted me.”

She couldn’t believe it. The Earl of Blackmore was standing there, looking as awkward and uncertain as any man who’d come to propose marriage a second time and wasn’t quite sure of his reception.

He glanced at Lady Dundee and Lord St. Clair, who were both beaming their encouragement. Then he looked nervously at her father. “I know this is asking a great deal, sir, but do you think you might give your daughter and me a few minutes alone? Afterward, I will be much better able to answer your questions.”

When her father hesitated, she squeezed his waist. “Please, Papa?”

“As you wish,” he grumbled, “but only a very few minutes.” He released her and started to walk off, then paused to fix Jordan with a concerned look. “I think you should know, however, that while my daughter was packing to come here yesterday, a neighbor in Willow Crossing came to tell me of seeing a very important-looking carriage drive away from my house. Emily told me that a friend had brought her home, but now I wonder—”

“As I said,” Jordan remarked with a touch of his old arrogance, “I will be happy to answer all your questions later.”

Her father nodded, clearly reminded of the vast difference in their stations. Jordan might be a young man desirous of his daughter’s hand in marriage, but he was also the famous Earl of Blackmore, and years of ingrained behavior would make it difficult to alter her father’s awareness of that.

Lady Dundee and Lord St. Clair thankfully took her father’s exit as their cue to withdraw as well. When she and Jordan were completely alone, he approached her with uncertain steps.

“Emily, I meant every word I said to your father. I’ve been in a state of absolute terror the past two days, thinking you might not marry me. The thought of losing you makes my stomach churn and my blood falter. I love you. There, I’ve said it. Now please, put me out of my misery and agree to marry me.”

Her first impulse was absolute joy. He loved her! Jordan loved her! He’d actually spoken the words!

Then a second awful and mischievous impulse possessed her. After all his stout claims that he was impervious to love and after all the terrible pain he’d put her through, she couldn’t resist tormenting him, if only a little. “Are you sure it’s love, Jordan? What you’re describing sounds more like an ague.” She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. “Perhaps you’re ill. After all, the Earl of Blackmore falling in love—”

“Enough, you teasing wench,” he said in a warning tone, then caught her hand. “All right then. You want me to behave like a sentimental idiot, do you?” His voice actually shook when he continued. “I need you to make me whole, Emily Fairchild. I want you. And yes, I love you. I will always love you.”

He pressed her hand against his heart. “The first time you quoted scripture at me, you chipped away a piece of my granite heart, and you kept chipping away until nothing was left but dust. Thanks to you, there’s a real heart in its place. And it will always belong to you.” He kissed her hand, then flashed her a wry smile. “Now then, my darling, is that enough emotional excess for you? Will you please agree to marry me?”

She kissed him then, a big, joyful kiss as full of love as she could manage.

When she drew back, he looked dazed. “I hope that’s a ‘yes.’”

She smiled broadly, her heart so full she thought it might burst. At last her forbidden lord was no longer forbidden. “It is indeed, my love. A very emotional and very sentimental ‘yes.’”