Page 15 of The Forbidden Lord (Lord Trilogy #2)
“You don’t mean to say that he still thinks I’m this … Emily creature!”
Did she imagine his slight hesitation? “No, of course not. Your waltz seems to have disabused him of the notion.”
Thank heavens, the kiss had worked. This masquerade would be difficult enough, especially if Jordan were Lord St. Clair’s good friend.
“Actually,” the viscount went on, “I believe he’s as interested in you as he was the rector’s daughter.”
Emily’s pulse began a wild thumping. Steady, now, she cautioned her foolish heart. It’s not me that Jordan finds interesting, but that wanton creature, Lady Emma. And he’s forbidden to both of us, now more than ever.
“Well, I don’t return the interest, I assure you.” She tucked her hand in the crook of St. Clair’s elbow. “I much prefer you to him. You don’t spend the evening scowling at me.”
“I’m flattered, Lady Emma, but ...” He paused.
“But what?”
“My interest lies with your cousin.”
Aha! Her flirting had finally turned up something useful. Odd that he’d announced his infatuation in such a cool manner, but Lord St. Clair didn’t seem the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve.
“Does she return your interest?” She held her breath. This masquerade might end tonight if he cooperated. It couldn’t end too soon for her.
“You mean she hasn’t mentioned me at all?” he said.
Oh, dear. She scrambled to rethink her tactics. “You must understand, we’ve had little chance to talk since my arrival. With this illness, she sleeps all the time and only rouses to take her medicine.”
The concern in his face seemed appropriate, though not excessive. “That sounds serious.”
“Not really,” she hastened to assure him. “I mean, it may sound serious, but I’m sure she’ll be fine after a few days’ rest.”
For a woman who’d been taught that lying was an awful sin, she’d certainly learned the art of it quickly. Obviously wickedness was as easy as it was wrong.
She was saved from more lies when Lady Dundee emerged from the crowd and bore down on them like a mother elephant thundering to the rescue of her calf. “Where have you been, you naughty girl? I told you not to stray too far!”
It took Emily a second to remember her role as willful “daughter,” but her response was quick. “I refuse to follow you about like a ninny, Mama. I intend to enjoy myself, no matter what you and Uncle Randolph want.”
Lady Dundee whipped out her fan and worked it furiously.
“The very idea! That a young girl should think of enjoyment before her elders’ wishes—what is the world coming to?
” She leaned toward Lord St. Clair, her tone conspiratorial.
“I do hope you’ll keep an eye on my daughter.
You’ve been so very solicitous of Sophie that I know I can trust you to be a good influence on this willful creature here. ”
“I’ll do my best to curb her youthful impulses,” Lord St. Clair answered, flashing Emily a sympathetic glance over the countess’s head.
Emily bit back a smile. Obviously, the countess also believed Lord St. Clair to be a likely suspect for Sophie’s love.
Mr. Pollock suddenly emerged from the crowd to join them, a glass of punch in his hand. He glanced sullenly at Lord St. Clair and the untouched champagne in her hand, then gave her the punch. “It’s the last of it, Lady Emma. I think you were right about the ball ending.”
Lady Dundee fixed her penetrating gaze on Mr. Pollock. “Of course it’s ending. I’m told Merrington’s affairs never go late. Our young ladies need their rest.”
She glanced quizzically at Emily, who gave her the barest nod to indicate that Mr. Pollock was one of her suspects. Then the countess bestowed a regal smile on both men. “So I fear we must be on our way as well. We’re attending a breakfast tomorrow.”
“Which one?” Lord St. Clair asked.
Lady Dundee snapped her fan closed. “Lady Astramont’s. Perhaps we’ll see you there?”
“If I may caution you,” Mr. Pollock offered, “Lady Astramont is terribly unfashionable. Only the most tedious people attend her affairs. I fear you’ll be bored to tears.”
“Probably,” Lady Dundee said with an impatient wave of her bejeweled fingers. “But she’s an old friend of mine. We came out at the same time. I can’t slight her by not attending her breakfast on the one occasion when I am in town.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Lord St. Clair said smoothly. “And may I express my hope that Lady Sophie will be well enough to attend also.”
“I’m afraid that’s unlikely. But she’ll be fine at home while Randolph and I take Emma to the breakfast.” She tugged on Emily’s arm. “Come, girl, you need your rest. We don’t want you falling ill like Sophie.”
Flashing Lord St. Clair and Mr. Pollock a helpless look, Emily handed each of them a glass, then went off with her “mother.” As soon as they left the men’s hearing, she whispered, “Do you think Lord St. Clair is the one?”
“Quite possibly, but we’ll find out soon enough. Now that he knows Sophie is at home alone tomorrow, he may attempt to visit her in private. That would be a certain sign of his guilt.”
“How will you keep him from discovering she’s not there?”
“Don’t you worry about that, my dear. The servants know what to say. Besides, Randolph will contrive to be home. He’ll thwart Lord St. Clair if he attempts anything drastic.” She glanced back to where the two men were still standing. “What about Mr. Pollock? Do you suspect him as well?”
“I’m not sure. He did say something odd, however, about Uncle Ran— I-I mean, Lord Nesfield’s warning him away from Sophie.”
Lady Dundee grinned at her. “I see you’re falling into your role very well.”
Emily blushed. “I suppose. But sometimes I hate her.”
“Her?”
“Lady Emma.” They entered the foyer, and Emily glanced around to see who might be listening, but the place was presently empty.
“I hate her for being rich and a flirt and making all the men like her.” She thought of Jordan’s change in behavior toward her tonight and added fervently, “They wouldn’t act that way around Emily Fairchild.
They wouldn’t give her a second thought. ”
“Don’t be silly—they are acting that way around Emily Fairchild.
This is a masquerade, not a spirit possession.
Both women are you. Why, you couldn’t be Lady Emma so convincingly if her personality weren’t latent in you.
” She brushed back one of Emily’s wayward curls in another of those motherly gestures Emily had come to like.
“Now tell me honestly, did you hate your masquerade so very much?”
She ducked her head, almost too ashamed to answer. “No. But that’s what’s so awful. I should have hated it.”
“‘Should have.’ ‘Ought to have.’ Those are words for people without minds of their own. Thankfully, you’re not one.” The countess smiled and added, “There’s no shame in enjoying oneself, you know. Life is meant to be fun.”
Life is meant to be fun, Emily thought as Lady Dundee went off to request their wraps and order their carriage.
No one had ever said that to her before.
Her parents had spoken of fulfilling one’s duties without complaint or of giving something useful to the world.
They’d even spoken of the importance of finding love. But no one had ever mentioned fun.
What a novel concept.
“Leaving already, Lady Emma?” said a smooth voice behind her.
Emily froze. Why must Jordan continue to plague her? Was God punishing her for enjoying her masquerade?
Pasting a cool smile to her lips, she faced him. “Yes. The evening has grown tedious, I’m afraid.”
“I was hoping we could have another dance.” He lowered his voice. “Or perhaps another walk in the garden.”
His gaze caught hers, fathomless, intense … tempting. Her heart did a quick somersault. Curse him! He shouldn’t affect her like this! “Surely you have better things to do than dance with me--ladybirds to seduce, young girls to ignore, matrons to shock.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I see someone’s spreading nasty rumors about me. I wonder who it might be. Pollock? Or those pups gamboling about you all night, making fools of themselves?”
“If I didn’t know better,” she said sweetly, “I’d think you were jealous.”
A thunderous scowl darkened his face. “Not jealous--curious. Are you hiding behind those popinjays because you can’t handle more challenging company?”
“Like yours, you mean?” She fought down the butterflies that his all-seeing glances scared up. “I’m perfectly capable of handling the likes of you. I think I made that clear earlier in the garden.”
She regretted the words the instant she said them, for his body went hard, his lips curved upward in a smile, and the look on his face would have tempted a saint.
His gaze was a whisper of seduction, so clear she could swear everyone in the room could hear it. When he stepped close enough for her to smell the male scent of him, she had to stiffen every muscle to keep from backing away.
He spoke softly, huskily. “The only thing you made clear in the garden is that you and I should dance your particular variation on the waltz more often.”
Her mouth went dry. Her particular variation on the waltz would no doubt lead to his particular variation if she ever allowed him to get her alone again. And she suspected that his variation would be a great deal naughtier than hers.
Thankfully, Lady Dundee returned just then. “I don’t know what’s wrong with servants these days. I swear they can’t— Oh, good evening, sir.” She halted beside Emily, her gaze narrowing on Jordan. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
Emily performed the introductions quickly, eager to be away from him.
“I see Lady Emma gets her looks from you.” He took Lady Dundee’s plump hand and pressed a gallant kiss to it.
Goodness gracious. Was he hinting that Emily was an impostor? Or merely paying Lady Dundee the usual facile compliments?