The Forbidden Lord (29 page)

“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…”

J
ordan 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.”