Page 16 of The Forbidden Lord (Lord Trilogy #2)
Whatever the case, he’d met his match in Lady Dundee. “Of course she does,” she said smoothly, as if she weren’t speaking the most blatant lie in Christendom. “The shape of her brows, the elegant nose … it all came from my line, though she resembles her father, too. The Campbell mouth, you know.”
Emily barely smothered a laugh when Jordan actually searched her features as if to confirm Lady Dundee’s words.
“I must say, Blackmore,” Lady Dundee continued, “that you’ve given the lie to what I heard about you. I was told you never flattered young women and their mamas. I was even told that you preferred a more experienced sort of woman.”
He shook his head in mock disappointment. “All these unfounded rumors. As someone once told me, it’s not right for people to malign a man when he’s not there to defend himself.” He cast her a taunting smile. “Don’t you agree, Lady Emma?”
Dear heavens, she’d said those very words to him when they were in the carriage together!
“Besides,” he went on smugly, “I wouldn’t think of treating you and your lovely daughter so abominably, Lady Dundee. Lady Emma is the most original woman I’ve met in a long time.”
So original she’s invented, his gloating smile said. Emily pretended not to catch his meaning.
Lady Dundee evidently missed it entirely. “Yes, my daughter is quite original. All the men think so. Even before her coming out, I had to send several unsuitable young men in Scotland packing.”
Her unwitting reference to the very suitors Emily had mentioned earlier wiped the smile off Jordan’s mouth. “Did you really? I’m not surprised. Lady Emma has a talent for attracting unsuitable men.”
Lady Dundee tapped her foot with impatience. “My brother would say that you’re unsuitable, Lord Blackmore. I believe he disapproves of your politics.”
“Your brother disapproves of everything about me. But your brother is a fool.”
The blatant insult astonished Emily. She glanced at Lady Dundee, who surprised her by laughing. “Indeed he is. Always has been. How good of you to notice.”
Just then, the footman announced that their carriage had come.
Lady Dundee drew her cloak more closely about her. “A pity I can’t stay and hear more of your intriguing opinions, but we really must leave. Come, Emma.”
She headed off for the entrance, but before Emily could follow, Jordan caught her arm. Bending his head, he whispered, “We’ll continue our discussion when your protector is not around.”
Protector, not mother. She glared at him, then regretted it. Looking at him was always a mistake. A man that handsome should be locked away from virgins.
Fixing his gaze on her, he lifted her gloved hand to his lips. When he pressed a kiss to the back of it, a shock of awareness sizzled up her arm and exploded over her like Chinese fireworks.
“You and I aren’t finished,” he whispered meaningfully.
“Dear me, I’m all aquiver with anticipation,” she snapped as she jerked her hand free, then whirled away to follow Lady Dundee.
Jordan watched her go, every muscle straining to keep from rushing after her and shaking her senseless. She had to be Emily Fairchild. No matter what any of them said, she could not be this Lady Emma creature.
This alluring, infuriating, Lady Emma creature.
As Emily Fairchild, she’d tempted him with sweetness.
As Lady Emma, however ... What would taking her to bed be like?
He imagined tracing each line and curve of her shapely limbs with his mouth, taking down her hair with its cloud of lavender scent and rubbing the gossamer strands between his fingers, filling his palms with her lovely ripe breasts--
Sweet God in heaven, he was hard again. No woman had ever made him lose control like this, and he’d made love to the best courtesans—the most famous, the most beautiful.
Those women had satisfied his needs, but he’d never burned for them this intensely, not before, not after.
He was sweating buckets merely thinking about having Emily’s body beneath his, her legs spread in welcome, her skin hot to the touch as she cried his name at the height of her release.
With a curse, he strode up to the footman and ordered that his carriage be brought. Devil take her lovely face and quick mind and this strange masquerade. Was she Emily or not?
She had to be Emily—no other woman had ever affected him like this. She was Emily and she was lying, and he would prove it somehow.
His carriage arrived and he leapt in, his mind already awhirl with strategies as Watkins began the short drive home.
As soon as he arrived at his town house, he commanded a footman to fetch Hargraves to his study at once.
When the butler entered a few minutes later, Jordan was crouched on the floor, searching through the papers piled under his desk.
“My lord?” Hargraves exclaimed, peering around the desk with alarm in his expression. “Is something amiss?”
“Didn’t I receive an invitation to the Astramont breakfast a few weeks ago?” Jordan tossed aside a gilded envelope and picked up another.
“Of course. It’s in the pile with the rest of the discards. Lady Astramont always invites you. And you always refuse. This year was no exception.”
“I’ve changed my mind.” At Hargraves’s silence, Jordan glanced up to find his butler gawking at him. “Well? Surely the flighty creature won’t mind if I accept at the last minute.”
“Mind? After she receives your acceptance, her ladyship will probably spend the intervening hours in joyful contemplation of the good chance that led you to decide to grace her home for the first time in a decade.”
Jordan laughed. Hargraves always managed to cheer him.
Hargraves cleared his throat. “May I ask why your lordship has decided to attend the viscountess’s affair?”
The Astramont invitation suddenly surfaced, its chicken-scratch script reminding him of how very much Lady Astramont irritated him. She was an effusive, bird-witted twit with the dullest guests imaginable.
But he would be at her breakfast. Jordan rose and brushed off his dusty hands, then threw the invitation atop his desk.
“Someone I met tonight is planning to attend.” He had Ian to thank for that piece of information.
“I suspect she’ll not be as glad to see me as Lady Astramont, however.
” Until he discovered the truth about this Emily/Lady Emma woman, he would dog her steps, unsettling her at every opportunity.
He studied the invitation, then groaned. “Two p.m.? Whoever heard of serving breakfast at that ridiculous hour?”
“If I may interject, my lord, that isn’t unusual for these breakfast affairs.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But I can accomplish mounds of work by the time these women begin breakfast. Very well. Two p.m. it is. Send a message over in the morning.”
Now that the matter was settled, he leaned against the desk and surveyed his servant.
Hargraves’ duties extended far beyond those of the average butler.
It was Hargraves who’d kept an eye on Jordan’s stepsister when she’d still lived with him, and Hargraves who’d found someone to protect her on her disastrous trip to New South Wales.
The man also had a knack for using the servants’ gossip network to find out information useful to Jordan at Parliament and elsewhere.
“Hargraves, do you ever speak with any of Lord Nesfield’s servants?”
“No, my lord; that lot keeps pretty much to themselves. But that’s not to say I couldn’t. I believe their coachman is courting the parlor maid at Langley House, and she’s the sister of our own Mary’s husband.”
Jordan squelched a smile. “I see. And does all of that mean you could get an introduction to the Nesfield coachman if needed?”
“I believe so. Yes.”
“Good. I want you to find something out for me.”
“Certainly, milord. If the coachman will not tell me what you need to know, I’ll find another avenue.”
That was what Jordan liked about his stalwart butler—the man was determined and devious.
His small frame and servile manner took everyone off their guard, and his surprising ability to drink anyone under the table had resulted in more than one valuable piece of information for Jordan.
Even better, he never asked questions of his employer.
He took his orders, then set out to do the job with a thorough attention to detail.
The man should have been a Bow Street runner.
But Hargraves was better than any Bow Street runner, because his best quality was discretion. In this instance, discretion was something Jordan valued highly.
“Here’s the situation, Hargraves.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s this young woman …”