The Forbidden Lord (13 page)

But then, Mr. Pollock possessed things Jordan did not. Like a heart that
wasn’t
made of granite.

“I wasn’t trying to put him in his place,” she said truthfully. “I was trying to make him stop mocking everything.”

“You’ll never succeed at that, I fear.” They had reached the gazebo now. Mr. Pollock took out his handkerchief and dusted off one of the marble benches for her. “But let’s not talk about Blackmore, shall we? I wish to talk about you.”

“Me?” Warily, she took the seat he offered. “What is there to say about me?” She’d rather talk about Sophie.

The dying sun caught his thoughtful expression. “I could spout the usual platitudes—your hair is like spun gold and your lips like rubies—but I fear a woman of your sophistication is so used to hearing them you’d find them tedious.”

A woman of her sophistication, indeed. If only he knew the truth. “Tedious, no. Ridiculous, yes. I am no more than an ordinary woman with perfectly ordinary hair and lips, I’m sure.” She toyed nervously with the fan attached to her wrist, wondering how to turn the conversation elsewhere. Then inspiration struck. “My looks don’t compare to my cousin’s. That creamy complexion and jet hair. Don’t you think she’s stunning?”

“Lady Sophie can’t hold a candle to you.” To her surprise, he sat down and seized her fidgety hands in his well-manicured ones. “Just as the moon fades to nothing when the sun rises, so does her beauty compare to yours.”

Dear heavens, she’d never had a man speak poetically to her—but she didn’t imagine it boded well for keeping their acquaintance casual. She tried to extricate her hands, but he only clasped them tighter. “Mr. Pollock, really, you must release me!”

“Not until I say what’s in my heart.” The dusk light muted his features, but didn’t hide the glitter in his pale blue eyes. “I think you might have some small feeling toward me, or you wouldn’t have rebuffed Blackmore on my account. And your contriving to come out here with me alone confirms it.”

Goodness gracious, she’d given him the wrong idea entirely. “Mr. Pollock—”

“Don’t speak yet. Let me first tell you how I feel. Doubtless you have many suitors; I only ask that you count me among them and give me the same chance to further our acquaintance that you give the others.”

This was disastrous. “I don’t understand. I thought you were enamored of my cousin.” She tugged her hands free, then slid away from him. “I
never dreamed you might think of me in that way. You hardly know me.”

He slid closer on the bench. “I know you well enough after today. I scarcely knew your cousin any better when I courted her. But you came along and put an end to any thought of that when I realized that the least of your family’s jewels had been displayed first. The best was kept for last—you, a diamond of the first water.”

Flowers, heavenly bodies, and now jewels. Did he ever speak in plain English? Obviously, his feelings for Sophie had been inconsequential if he could dismiss them so easily. She couldn’t let him go on like this, no matter what Lord Nesfield expected. “Please say no more. You and I could never…that is, it wouldn’t be possible for—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupted.

It’s a good thing
, she thought,
since I haven’t the foggiest idea
.

“I know your father might disapprove of your being courted by a man without a title. But you Scottish aren’t so fastidious about such things as we English. Surely, if you explained that I’m well able to provide for you, such a thing wouldn’t matter.”

Eagerly she seized on his reason. “You’re wrong. It matters very much, not only to my father, but to Mama. She’s determined to have me marry well. When it comes to such things, she’s very English.” When he looked crestfallen, her tender heart was pricked. “Of course, you know that
I
don’t care about titles and such. You’re a very nice man, and I’m sure you’ll make a fine husband for someone. But I couldn’t flout my parents’ wishes by allowing you to court me. I’m sure you understand.”

Her attempt to soften the blow of rejection only
further encouraged him. His face lit up, and he seized her about the waist, tugging her next to him on the bench. Her fan dropped from her fingers to dangle from her wrist.

“I don’t care how your parents feel,” he whispered, now close enough that the cloying scent of his toilet water filled her nostrils. “If that’s all that concerns you, you needn’t worry. Parental permission isn’t
always
required for marriage, you know.” He raised one eyebrow suggestively. “As you must realize, in some parts of the country men and women can marry as they choose.”

His words gave her pause. Some parts of the country? As she must realize? He meant Gretna Green in Scotland, didn’t he?

Had he said these same words to Sophie? “Mr. Pollock, you’re being premature. You can’t be implying that…that we should elope.”

“Not unless we have to, but I wouldn’t let a paltry thing like parental permission stand in the way of our mutual affection.”

Did he mean it? Was Mr. Pollock so eager for a wife that he would resort to such persuasions to acquire one?

She forced a light tone into her voice. “Really, you must be joking. Is this how you always court a lady, by suggesting she throw aside her family and run away to some uncertain future?”

“If you’re questioning my sincerity, madam, I assure you I’m perfectly serious. I’ll do what I must to have you. I give you fair warning.”

A chill shot through her as his seemingly frail arm became a restrictive band about her waist. She dared not linger here any longer. “You mustn’t speak to me of such things.” She tried to escape his embrace, but he only clutched her tighter. Alarm swelled in her chest. “Truly, sir, I could never ig
nore my parents’ wishes, and certainly I could never elope. You must approach my parents in the proper way.”

His other arm snaked about her waist to strengthen his hold. He might be a dandy, but his arms were surprisingly strong. “You’ve already said they would never allow a courtship between us, so that leaves us only one choice. Besides, I know you aren’t always so careful of the proprieties.” Anger stiffened his putty features. “I followed you and Lord Blackmore when you entered the gardens at Merrington’s. I saw how you kissed him.”

The fine hairs rose on the back of her neck. He’d seen them? Goodness gracious. She needn’t tax her imagination to realize what he thought of her.

Every cautionary tale she’d ever heard leapt into her mind—of men carrying young women off against their wills, of men so desperate to marry that they would do anything to obtain the woman of their choice. Frantically, she scanned the garden beyond the gazebo, but no one was in sight. Her plan wasn’t going well at all.

“That wasn’t what you think—” she began.

“Oh, I don’t hold your behavior against you. Blackmore can be very persuasive. The fact that you eventually rebuffed him last night and then again today emboldened me to speak for myself. Clearly, you understand that he’s too cold for a woman of your passion and depth of feeling.” He splayed his fingers over the small of her back. “But you and I are two of a kind, as you must realize. I can satisfy your needs as much or more than Blackmore.”

He reached up and clasped her chin, then forced her head up so he could kiss her. Wet, hot lips smacked against her mouth. It was like being
slapped with a boiled eel. Utterly disgusted, she pressed against his chest, but he wouldn’t let go. She tried wrenching her mouth away, but like a leech he clamped himself to her and seemed intent on taking even more liberties. His thick tongue groped at the seam of her lips, and his perfumed breath nearly gagged her.

Sheer panic set in when he tried to drag the edge of her bodice down, pinching her breast in the process. She shoved against his shoulders, and when that didn’t work, she jabbed him in the thigh with her closed fan. He dropped back from her, a curse tumbling from his lips.

She leapt to her feet, fumbling to straighten her dislodged clothing. “How dare you, Mr. Pollock! I have
not
given you permission to touch me in this familiar manner!” She sounded more like the prudish Emily Fairchild than the bold Lady Emma, but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t let the fool debauch her right here in the garden!

A peevish expression crossed his face as he rubbed his sore thigh. “You gave Blackmore permission. I saw the way you let him caress you. What kind of teasing wench are you?”

“I didn’t give Blackmore permission to take liberties, I assure you!”

“It didn’t look that way to me.” His voice was decidedly nasty. He rose from the bench. “You were arching your back and purring like a cat in heat. And I’ll have you doing the same for me, I swear, before this evening is out!”

When he stepped toward her, she pointed her fan dagger-fashion at his crotch. She didn’t know much about the male anatomy, but she did know one thing: men were very careful of their groins. She’d seen boys in the village crumple to the ground in agony when attacked there. Her fan’s
spokes narrowed to points at the end, and closed, it looked positively lethal.

“If you come any nearer, I’ll skewer you. Do you hear me?”

His gaze dropped in alarm, and she saw him hesitate as he assessed the danger to his privates. “You wouldn’t—”

“She would,” came a feminine voice from very near. As both Emily and Mr. Pollock jerked their heads in its direction, Lady Dundee stepped into the clearing surrounding the gazebo. Her expression was grim indeed. “My daughter has the blood of the Scots flowing through her veins, you fool. She won’t hesitate to carve you into bits.”

Relief flooded Emily, but Mr. Pollock went white and backed away from her as if she were a garden snake he’d suddenly discovered to be a viper. “Lady Dundee. This is not what it seems. I…I—”

“I know precisely what it is.” Lady Dundee stalked up to the gazebo. “And you may be sure that I won’t allow it to happen again.”

His expression turned sullen. “Then you’d best keep a tight leash on the minx. I’m not the only man she’s been meeting in private places.”

Emily stifled a groan. Dear heavens, if he told Lady Dundee about Jordan…

The countess cast him such a frosty look that his sneer instantly vanished. “Mr. Pollock, I understand that you move in more exalted circles than you perhaps deserve.”

He tugged nervously on his billowing cravat.

“Therefore,” she continued in clipped tones, “if I ever hear that you repeated such lies to anyone…indeed, if I ever hear that you’ve spoken of my daughter in anything but the loftiest terms, even to the kitchen maid in the lowliest household of the most remote section of England, I’ll make
sure you become persona non grata in decent society. Unlike my daughter,
I
am equipped with something more than a fan. And I’ll take great pleasure in using my position and contacts to eviscerate you. Understood?”

As Mr. Pollock lost all color in his cheeks, the countess faced Emily, her voice only a trifle less icy. “Come, Emma, we must go. We mustn’t be late for the Winstead ball.”

“Yes, Mama,” she said quickly, nearly vaulting off the steps of the gazebo.

Lady Dundee’s hand on her arm was like a vice as she half steered, half dragged Emily through the garden. Emily didn’t blame her for her anger. The woman must think awful things of her, especially after Mr. Pollock’s snide remark.

“Lady Dundee,” she finally brought herself to say, “I am so sorry—”

The woman stopped just short of the entrance into the house and fixed her with an incredulous look. “Sorry? Whatever for? That incorrigible, half-witted…”

Words seemed to fail her as she stared back in the direction of the gazebo where Pollock sat with his head in his hands. She lowered her voice. “I blame myself, not
you
, for heaven’s sake. I knew what you were trying to do when you arranged to walk with him, but I should never have allowed it. You’re just a child. You have no idea how beastly some men can be. But I’m old enough to know better. I allowed Randolph to send a lamb to the slaughter, and for that I should be soundly beaten.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself! I’m
not
a child! I knew the dangers when I came out here. I simply misjudged Mr. Pollock’s character. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.” The older woman set her broad shoulders with determination. “I’m ending this masquerade. It was an idiotic idea from the beginning, but I allowed it because you seemed willing. No more, however. I won’t stand by and watch while a hapless innocent is sacrificed for my foolish niece.”

“But you
can’t
stop it now!” Emily knew Lord Nesfield too well. He’d make good on his threats!

“I most certainly can. I’ll tell Randolph tonight that he must finish it on his own. He has three likely suspects. Let
him
discover which is the culprit.”

“No, I won’t let you!” When the countess looked at her askance, she stammered, “I-I mean, I made a promise to your brother, and I shall keep it.”

Lady Dundee scowled at her. “Nonsense. Forget your misguided sense of loyalty. I’m sure your father studied hard to warrant the living he receives from Randolph. You owe my brother nothing.”

Lying was hard enough for Emily. Lying to Lady Dundee was like lying to her father, a distinctly unpleasant experience. Yet she must. “It’s not loyalty to Lord Nesfield, but loyalty to Sophie.”

“Poppycock! When you first heard our plan, you refused to participate. You were perfectly willing to let Sophie marry any fool she wanted. You only agreed to it after Randolph spoke to you. What did he say? You can tell me, you know. I can help you.”

No one could help her. If she told Lady Dundee, Lord Nesfield would hand her over to the authorities with lies about Mama’s death that she couldn’t refute. It was as simple as that. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Yes, there is. Tell me, my dear. It’s all right.” Lady Dundee’s tone was that of a woman used to being obeyed. It reminded Emily of Jordan’s at
tempts to get the truth out of her. Curse all these charming lords and ladies with their commanding voices!

Well, she’d fight the countess as she’d fought Jordan. “You promised me I could have an entertaining time in London and wear expensive gowns and dance till dawn every night. Shall you renege on your promises?”