The Forbidden Lord (30 page)

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.”

E
mily 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 every
one’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.”