Page 18 of The Forbidden Lord (Lord Trilogy #2)

“In any case,” Randolph blustered on, “what Sophie wants is immaterial. I know what is best for the girl. Neither Pollock nor St. Clair is acceptable. We must focus our attention on those two, since both are likely candidates. But was there no one else? No one who paid particular attention to you even if he said nothing of Sophie?”

When Emily colored, Ophelia waited for her to mention Blackmore. But the girl only murmured, “No one,” as she cast Ophelia a pleading look.

Ophelia debated keeping the girl’s secret. But that was pointless. Randolph would find out one way or the other about Blackmore’s interest in her, and there would be hell to pay if they had kept it from him. Besides, Ophelia wanted to see how Emily would react to mention of the rapscallion.

“What about the Earl of Blackmore?” she said, acting as if she misunderstood Emily’s look. “He spoke to you at length before we left.”

As the color crept across Emily’s face until even her ears were red, Randolph pivoted to face the young woman.

“Blackmore?” Randolph punctuated the word with a loud rap of his cane. “That scoundrel approached you? How could you forget to mention him after what happened at the Drydens’ ball?”

Very interesting. “What happened at the Drydens’ ball? Do tell.”

“The blackguard danced with my Sophie, that’s what. Him with his reputation, presuming to touch a pure girl like Sophie! It was an outrage, and I told him so when I wrested her away from him!"

Ophelia could easily imagine the awful scene her brother had made.

“Lord Blackmore spoke to me only briefly last night,” Emily protested. “And he didn’t even mention Sophie.”

“He wouldn’t,” Randolph growled. “That one is a fox, too clever by half. But he is a more likely candidate than the other two, I promise you.”

“Don’t be absurd. Why would Blackmore try to elope with Sophie?

” Blackmore most certainly had his eye on a particular young woman, but Ophelia would wager a king’s ransom it wasn’t her insipid niece.

“The man’s no fortune hunter. Besides, he can have any heiress he wants merely by crooking his finger, so he needn’t endure your wrath for Sophie. ”

Randolph leaned forward on his cane, his eyes lit with malevolence. “I’m not saying he had any intention of marrying her, mind you. His sort delights in debauching women as an amusement.”

“Oh, really, Randolph—” Ophelia began.

“You think I exaggerate. But he and I are enemies, and I humiliated him in front of all those people at the Drydens’ ball. He might have decided to humiliate me by ruining my daughter. It is exactly the sort of thing a scoundrel like him would do.”

Ophelia tried to imagine Blackmore being humiliated by her brother’s making an ass of himself at a ball.

More likely, Blackmore had laughed his head off.

“You really are insane, you know. If Blackmore had carried Sophie off, then refused to marry her, he would have blackened his name in good society for the rest of his life. No one would countenance such behavior. He’s never done anything of that sort, and I see no reason for him to begin it now. ”

Randolph grew sullen at her appeal to logic. Ophelia marveled at his amazing irrationality regarding Sophie. Any fool knew Blackmore wouldn’t stoop to such petty vengeance.

Emily listened to the discussion with growing trepidation.

She’d never considered Jordan a candidate for Sophie’s lover, but certain niggling memories now assailed her.

His kisses when they were out in the carriage.

His behavior toward Lady Emma in the garden.

He claimed not to care for young innocents, but there were essentially three to whom he’d made advances, if she considered both her personas and Sophie.

And yet … those had all been instances of impulse, and in the case of Lady Emma, most assuredly provoked. Would he truly set out to defame a young woman? He hadn’t seemed the least concerned about Lord Nesfield’s behavior toward him at the Drydens’ ball.

She couldn’t believe he would ruin Sophie for such poor reasons. Still, he might have tried to elope with her. After Lord Nesfield had shown his disapproval, Jordan might have thought elopement the only way to ensure his success with Sophie.

Even Jordan’s treatment of her last night could be interpreted that way.

He’d been suspicious of her—perhaps because he feared a trap.

Otherwise, why would he be so determined to unmask her?

Why care if she was an impostor? And he had attended a marriage mart, which was certainly out of character. Had he been looking for Sophie?

Then again, he’d always protested violently that he didn’t want a wife.

And why had he kissed Emily and Lady Emma with such passion if he loved Sophie?

The very thought of him caring for Sophie made jealousy explode in her brain.

No, she wouldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t make advances to her if he wanted Sophie.

Unless his advances were an attempt to trick her into telling him what was going on! She scowled and rubbed her temples. Trying to guess Jordan’s motives was giving her the most awful headache.

Suddenly, she realized both Lady Dundee and Lord Nesfield were staring at her.

“Do you feel all right?” Lady Dundee asked.

Emily dropped her hands from her temples to paste a smile to her face. “Yes, of course. I’m tired, that’s all.”

“You listen to me, young woman,” Lord Nesfield growled. “Blackmore is as suspect as the others. Keep your eye on him, you hear me? And tell me everything he does, every word he speaks to you. You can begin by telling me what he said last night.”

Her headache immediately worsened. Now she had to invent more stories—she certainly couldn’t tell him the truth.

When this was over, she would never get herself into such a fix again. It would be truth and honesty from then on out. Lying was much too taxing.

Lady Astramont proved to be a little hummingbird of a woman, giddy and silly and prone to exaggeration. As soon as her butler ushered Emily and Lady Dundee into her wide marble foyer, she fluttered toward them, all smiles.

“I’m so glad you could come, Ophelia!” The woman had a trilling voice to match her hummingbird figure. “How many years has it been? Fifteen? Twenty? I swear, you don’t look a day over twenty-five! That Scottish air must be good for the skin.”

“It’s not the air, Hortense, but good Scottish food that keeps me young.” Lady Dundee tapped her plump cheek. “It fills out all the wrinkles.”

Looking flustered by Lady Dundee’s forthright allusion to her amplitude, Lady Astramont quickly turned to Emily. “And this must be your daughter. My, my, she is a pretty one. She takes after you, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yes.” Lady Dundee’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “She’s a veritable copy of her mother.”

“I can see that,” Lady Astramont said earnestly.

Emily had to stifle her laughter as Lady Astramont led them toward the parlor.

Emily did her best not to stare, but it was hard to ignore the ostentation of Lady Astramont’s house.

Lady Dundee had said Lady Astramont had more money than sense, and that was certainly evident in the vulgar display of wealth that surrounded her.

Gilt vases, marble statues, lavish curtains of gold silk … it was bright enough to blind a person.

And all Emily could think was how much food for the poor such wealth could buy.

“Everyone’s in the garden,” Lady Astramont explained as they crossed the parlor to a set of French doors of cut crystal. “The weather was so nice, we set up the tables out there. But you won’t believe the excitement. It’s all anyone can talk about.”

“What’s that?” Lady Dundee asked.

Lady Astramont stopped, peeking over her shoulder before she lowered her voice.

“You’ll never guess who accepted my invitation.

” She paused for effect. “Lord Blackmore. The great earl himself. At my breakfast! Oh, I shall never have to worry about acceptances again after this. He rarely attends anything, and then only the most fashionable affairs.”

Emily’s blood thundered in her ears. Jordan. Coming here. Dear heavens, she wasn’t ready for this. It was all she could do to keep her eyes focused straight ahead when she felt Lady Dundee’s questioning gaze on her. Jordan had said they weren’t finished. Obviously, he’d meant it.

“It’s the most exciting thing to happen in years!” Lady Astramont blathered on. “And you, my dear friend, here to see it! Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Yes, wonderful,” the countess said dryly. “Is Blackmore already here?”

“Oh, dear me, no. That would be too much to ask. I’m sure he’ll arrive late, which is his prerogative, of course. He is Blackmore, after all. But he sent his acceptance this very morning, so I believe he truly intends on coming.”

As it happened, it was another hour before the earl made his appearance.

Though Emily tried not to notice when he arrived, it was impossible to ignore.

His entrance into the garden with Lady Astramont on his arm was like a stone thrown into a lake, producing ever-widening ripples of gossip and speculation.

Apparently, no one had believed Lady Astramont’s assertions that the earl was planning to attend. They’d assumed Lady Astramont was lying in a futile effort to enhance her social standing.

Now that he was here, everyone had to offer a whispered opinion to their neighbors on why he’d condescended to come. And since nearly everyone had heard about his dancing with Lady Emma at the ball, most of the speculation focused on her.