The Forbidden Lord (19 page)

“Pack your bags, man. You’re taking a trip.” Jordan opened his safe and removed a fistful of pound notes.

Hargraves blinked a couple of times. “Now?”

“As soon as you can be ready.”

“Where am I going?”

“To Willow Crossing.”

The butler coughed discreetly as Jordan counted out the notes. “Er…isn’t that where Miss Fairchild is from? The woman you think is masquerading as Lady Emma?”

“Not think. Know. She told me the truth herself today.”

“You don’t say!”

“Yes. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t tell me why.” He stopped counting. “You haven’t discovered anything more, have you? Other than what you told me this morning about when Lady Dundee and her daughter arrived in London?”

“Actually, I have. It’s not much, but perhaps you’ll know what to make of it. It seems Lady Sophie is not in residence. She hasn’t been for some weeks. They say she’s ill and had to go home, but they’re not supposed to tell people where she is.”

“That’s curious.” Did Emily’s masquerade have to do with Sophie and her illness? But how?

“Something else, milord. When I asked about Miss Emily Fairchild, they said she’s coming for a visit soon. They’ve been told that she’s traveling
and can’t receive mail, which is why they’re holding her mail for her, but they all think it a mite odd that her father would write her so many letters when she can’t yet answer.”

“That
is
helpful, Hargraves. I’ll wager that her father doesn’t know about this masquerade. I can use that.” He didn’t want to threaten to tell Emily’s father yet—she’d never forgive him. But he would if he must. Somebody had to look out for her.

“Nesfield has a hold over her,” he mused aloud. “I don’t know what it is, but I want you to find out. That’s why I’m sending you to Willow Crossing. You haven’t found anything here, so you might as well see what you can find there. You don’t mind a trip to the country, do you?”

“Indeed not. I’ve been itching to escape the city, milord.”

“Good. I want you to leave today. Spend a few days there, ask questions. But be discreet. Don’t tell anyone you’re looking for me, all right? Just find out what you can about the Fairchilds and Nesfield. It shouldn’t take long in a small town like that.”

“I’ll take care of it, milord. You can count on me.”

“I always do.”

And while Hargraves was in Willow Crossing, Jordan would find some way to discover the truth here. No matter how much she protested, he wouldn’t let Emily go on like this alone. Not any longer.

E
mily had never attended an opera. Willow Crossing had an ancient orchestra that played at assemblies, and a traveling troupe of actors that sometimes presented Shakespeare. But no operas, to be sure.

The Marriage of Figaro
, by Mozart, was entirely beyond her ken. Thankfully, although it was an Italian opera, this production was in English. Not only could she understand the story, but she was enjoying it beyond anything, drooling over the music like the country fool she truly was. The voices rang so clear, so perfect! The orchestra actually knew all their notes, even the high ones!

Her enjoyment was enhanced by the fact that Lord St. Clair had shown no signs of having learned any dark secrets about her that afternoon. When he’d come in behaving like his usual self, she’d relaxed, especially since he’d come without Jordan. Perhaps everything would be fine after all.
Perhaps Jordan would be satisfied with proving to himself that he’d been right about her identity. For the first time since the Merrington’s ball, she felt free to enjoy herself.

The character named Cherubino, a woman playing the part of an adolescent boy, launched into an aria, and Emily strained forward. How could such lush sounds emerge from such a tiny woman? Emily’s musical abilities were tolerable at best, but she did love to listen. By the end of the second act, she’d smiled so much her face hurt.

The chandelier with its hundreds of candles was lowered for the interlude, and Lady Dundee rose from her seat. “I see that Lady Merrington is here tonight. I believe I’ll go speak to her.”

“I’ll join you,” Lord St. Clair said as he also rose. “These chairs aren’t made for men with long legs.” He held out his arm to Emily. “Are you coming, Lady Emma?”

The soft, elegant strains of a violin wafted up to their box, and she sighed with pleasure. “Would you mind very much if I stayed here and listened to the music?”

Lord St. Clair chuckled. “It’s just the interlude.”

“Yes, but it’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Lady Dundee cast her an indulgent smile. “Indeed it is, my dear. Come along, St. Clair. Let her have her fun.”

Emily smiled gratefully, then returned her attention once more to the stage, where the musicians were playing a duet for violin and harp. She so loved the harp. The schoolteacher in Willow Crossing owned a harp, but it wasn’t as pure or sweet as this one. There were advantages to living in the city. She would miss this.

Faintly, she heard the door open behind her and assumed that Lady Dundee had come back for
something she’d left behind. Then a husky male voice said, “Good evening, Emily.”

She froze. Jordan. He was here.

Her pulse raced and her heart fluttered. Oh, foolish, foolish heart—to be enamored of such a man.

She heard rather than saw him advance to the front of the box. Flipping up his tails, he took the chair next to her. She sat rigidly, not daring to look at him after the intimacies they’d shared that afternoon. She wiped her clammy hands on her skirts and wished fervently that he hadn’t come.

But when he said nothing, she couldn’t resist a glance at him. As usual, his cutaway was impeccable, his cravat immaculate. Why couldn’t he wear ill-fitting coats or have warty hands or something else to dislike? No, he had to be perfect in every way. The perfect, beautiful, forbidden earl who kissed like the devil and held her fate in his hands.

He met her gaze, and she dropped hers at once, mortified to be caught staring.

Then he cleared his throat. “You’re looking lovely this evening. Though I must say that your gown is a little…snug, don’t you think?”

He sounded as if he’d been gargling nails. And what did he mean? That she was too plump for the gown?

She glared at him. “Lady Dundee said it would be acceptable for the opera.”

His gaze flickered briefly to where the gown pushed her breasts up scandalously high, much like all the other women’s gowns she’d seen this evening. He swallowed, then jerked his gaze back to her face. “For some other woman perhaps. On you, it’s deadly.”

For goodness sake, what did he mean? Now that he was certain she was a rector’s daughter, did he think she had no right to wear such beautiful
clothes? The arrogant wretch. “If you’re going to insult me, you might as well leave!”

“Insult you? I wasn’t insulting you. At least, I don’t think I was.” He sighed. “Don’t throw me out yet, not after I went to so much trouble to find out where you were.”

“What trouble? I’m sure your friend told you we were attending the opera.”

“My ‘friend,’” he said with a hint of sarcasm, “didn’t tell me a thing. I’ve been to two dances, a party, and an early ball looking for you. I finally had to go to Ian’s house and badger his servants to find out where he—and therefore, you—might be.”

Her foolish heart fluttered again. “You went all those places in search of me?”

“I had to talk to you. We left things unsettled this afternoon.”

She squelched her disappointment. Of course that was why. God forbid he should wish to see her for some other reason.

Well, she needed to talk to him, too. But how to broach the subject? “You’ve missed half the opera.”

“No, I haven’t; I’ve been in my own box. I keep one year-round, mainly for my sister when she’s in town.” He gestured to a box across the theater, where the curtains were half-drawn. His tone hardened. “I’ve been in there watching all the men gawk at you.”

Was that jealousy she heard? She sighed. Of course not. Jordan would never be jealous of her, or of any woman for that matter. “Why didn’t you join us?”

“I didn’t know if your ‘mother’ would allow it after what happened this afternoon. I suppose she’s ready to skin me alive.”

Should she tell him that Lady Dundee knew
about their previous association? No, she’d best not. Then he might feel free to badger the countess about what was going on. “She…didn’t suspect anything,” she lied.

He glanced off across the theater, drumming his fingers on his knee. He seemed agitated. “That’s a shock. Ian suspected everything. He spent half the afternoon lecturing me about toying with innocent young women.”

She froze. “And did you tell him why…I mean…what we spoke about and—”

“No.” His gaze shot to her, deeply serious. “I didn’t tell him anything. That’s why I’m here. To assure you that I’ll keep your secret.”

Relief swamped her, so intense she nearly reeled with it. “Oh, thank heavens! I was so worried!”

He scowled. “You didn’t really think I’d be so callous as to expose you without knowing what was going on, did you?”

“I didn’t know what to think. Until now, you’ve been so…so insistent about finding me out, it seemed logical that you would want to let everyone know—”

“Good God, you don’t think much of me, do you?” He jumped to his feet and began to pace the small area at the front of the box. “Well, my dear, you should have trusted to your feminine tactics. Your tears and your begging were very effective, I assure you. I’m not made of stone.”

“They weren’t tactics!” Wounded by his cold words, she struck back. “Besides, Mr. Pollock says you boast of your granite heart, so I guess you
are
made of stone, aren’t you?”

He whirled on her, eyes narrowing. “Pollock? Is he still sniffing around after you? He only told you that because he resents me, you know.”

“Oh? So you never boasted of it to him?”

With a muttered oath, he glanced away from her. “All right, so I might have said…something like that. But I’m not as bad as he makes me sound. Just because I don’t crumble in the face of a woman’s tears doesn’t mean they don’t affect me. I’m not the unfeeling wretch you take me for.”

He seemed so insulted she took pity on him. “Apparently not,” she said, softening her tone. “At least you’re going to keep my secret.”

“Yes. But I still want to know why you feel compelled to masquerade like this. You can trust me. I swear it. Just because I tried to seduce you this afternoon—”

“I don’t want to talk about this afternoon!” Dear heavens, she couldn’t bear it if he talked about
that
. Setting her reticule on the seat beside her, she rose and hurried to the back of the box near the door. “Perhaps you should go now.”

He followed her. “Emily, I was merely trying to assure you that it won’t happen again.”

“I realize that. Now that you know who I am, you’re not likely to touch me, are you? It was Lady Emma you wanted, not me.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

Dear heavens, she’d said far too much. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

He grabbed her arm. “Obviously it isn’t ‘nothing’ or you wouldn’t have said it. Surely you don’t think I kissed you this afternoon only because I thought you were Lady Emma.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She fought to keep her tone even, unruffled, though inside she was aching. “I…I understand. Truly, I do. You’re used to more sophisticated women. You thought I was a wanton, so you tried to seduce me. But now that my lack of experience is…painfully apparent, I needn’t worry about that, need I?”

“Good God, if only that were true.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “There’s only one problem with your theory, Emily. I knew who you were this afternoon, and I still wanted you.”

She shook her head. “You thought I was Lady Emma, that…that wild girl from Scotland.”

“I told myself you were Lady Emma, because then I could allow myself what I really wanted—to make love to you. I have no desire to take any woman’s virginity, and I thought that Lady Emma wasn’t a virgin, so it would be all right.”

When she flinched, he drew her behind the velvet curtain that shielded the unused seats in the back of the box and now hid them. Then he lowered his voice. “But it was Emily Fairchild I really wanted, I promise you. It’s Emily Fairchild I
still
want. I’ve watched the men ogle you all night, wanting to challenge each one to a duel just for looking at you in that excuse for a gown.”

“Stop it! Stop saying these things just to make me feel better!” She turned her face away, tears welling in her eyes. “I hate it when you pity me!”

“Pity you?” He forced her against the wall, then lifted her chin to make her look at him. “Pity you, for God’s sake! Have you no idea what you do to me? If this weren’t a public place, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. I would already have rid you of this deuced piece of seduction you’re wearing. I’d be feasting my eyes on every inch of your beautiful body. We’d be on the floor, and I’d be kissing you in every place you can imagine and some you can’t. You wouldn’t leave here a virgin, I swear.”

She couldn’t doubt his words now. They were echoed in his hungry look, his husky voice, his quickening breath. His body felt hot against hers compared to the cool wall against her bare back.
Lush harp notes trickled into her consciousness, tripping almost as quickly as her pulse. But not quite.

Then his hand slid down her neck in a lingering caress that branded her skin with his need, and her pulse went mad. He dragged one large finger slowly down her throat and chest until it rested between her breasts, which rose and fell in her vain attempt to breath normally.

He hooked his finger behind the edge of her bodice. “Good God, if we were anywhere else but here…if we were really alone…”

He didn’t have to say any more. If they were alone, he’d be tugging her bodice down and sucking her breasts, fondling them as he had this afternoon. Shameful woman that she was, she wanted him to. Oh, how badly she wanted him to.

He dropped his hand to grab hers and flatten it against the thickness in his breeches. “Do you feel that?” he growled. “That’s how much I desire you. I can’t even see you without feeling
that
. It doesn’t matter if you pretend to be Emma or the damned Queen of England. You’re still Emily, the woman I lust after so much that I don’t get any sleep. I’ve lusted after you ever since the night we were alone in the carriage—”

Now he was telling falsehoods. She jerked her hand away. “That night in the carriage, you pushed me away—you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

He leaned forward until his mouth was at her ear. “Then why did I kiss you?” He pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear, then the lobe, then the sensitive patch of skin beneath it. He smelled of soap and tobacco. And desire. Most assuredly desire. Tiny shivers of anticipation danced along her spine.

He continued in a hard voice. “Trust me, I do not kiss women I don’t desire. And I knew that I shouldn’t,
couldn’t
desire you.”

“Because I’m a rector’s daughter and too far beneath you.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Because you’re sweet and innocent and a virgin.”

She turned her head toward him. Their mouths were inches apart, so close she could practically taste his wine-scented breath. “What’s wrong with wanting a virgin?” She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice. “Most men prize virginity.”

“Virgins are dangerous creatures. They believe in love and ‘romantic feeling’ and all the nonsense I gave up on long ago. A virgin expects a man to sell her his soul, and I can’t do that. It’s not in my nature.”

There was nothing like hearing the truth to ruin a good seduction. She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from crying. “Oh, yes, I forgot. You’re the man with the granite heart, aren’t you? You only feel…desire.”

His gaze locked with hers, and for the first time, she thought he looked uncertain. Then his face cleared. “Exactly. I see you finally understand me.”

Shoving him away, she moved back into the muted candlelight, hugging herself tightly. “I will
never
understand you. How can a man live without love, without the softer emotions? How can you even bear to get out of bed in the morning?”

“I have no trouble getting out of bed, I assure you. I don’t need ‘love’ to get through the day. That’s something I found out quite young.”

“What do you mean?”

His expression turned as smooth and hard as glass. “I didn’t come here to discuss the state of my heart. It has nothing to do with whether you can
trust me. I may not be a sentimental fool, but I’m a decent, honorable man who hates watching you engage in a masquerade I know you detest. I want to help you, Emily. You can trust me with your secrets. I’ll do what I can to protect you from Nesfield and Lady Dundee.”