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

“I know it will be a great help,” Sophie said. “Everyone swears by your nostrums.”

Not everyone. Certainly not Lord Nesfield, who would kill her if he knew she’d given this to Sophie. “If your father should find out—”

“He shan’t.” Sophie slid the vial into her reticule, and her blue eyes clouded over. “Anyway, it’s worth risking his anger, especially after tonight. I’m near to being a candidate for Bedlam already. Look.” She held out her gloved hands, which trembled like skittish foals.

Emily murmured her sympathy.

“Tonight has been a nightmare,” Sophie added, with a delicate pout that would soon be breaking hearts in London. “First, Lady Dryden introduced me to her elegant friends, which was vexing enough. I’m sure I behaved like a complete rattle-brain. And then the disaster with Lord Blackmore!”

“Surely it wasn’t a disaster until your father came along.”

“Not true! I was in a perfect terror the entire time we danced! The earl is well-known for treating respectable women with coldness and contempt.”

“Don’t be absurd.” She couldn’t reconcile Lord Blackmore’s reform efforts with this rumor. “Did your father tell you that?”

“Not just him. Lady Manning said Lord Blackmore rarely attends social events, and then refuses to dance with eligible ladies. Instead, he consorts with fancy women and scandalous widows! They say he has a heart of stone when it comes to decent women of marriageable age.”

Emily rolled her eyes. Sophie was still very young.

She couldn’t distinguish legitimate fact from politically motivated gossip.

“You shouldn’t listen to such nonsense. I’m sure Lord Blackmore is perfectly polite to every woman, or Lady Dryden wouldn’t have introduced him to you, nor would he have danced with you. ”

Sophie worried her lower lip with her perfect teeth. “Perhaps you’re right. He was quite the gentleman while we danced, though he was a bit stiff.”

“Besides, if he was indeed so cruel to young women before, he’s clearly reformed. If any sweet innocent could melt a heart of stone, it would be you, dear friend.”

Emily thought she heard something like a muffled snort nearby, but when she glanced around, no one was there. It must have been the wind coming through the open balcony door.

“It doesn’t matter, in any case,” Sophie said. “Papa will never let me dance with Lord Blackmore again. Not that I would want to after Papa’s horrible scene. I’ll never last a day in London! I’d rather run away with one of our footmen than have my coming out. At least I know our footmen.”

Emily groaned. “You can’t mean that. Imagine your father’s reaction!” As if Sophie, who thought hardship was having to peel her own oranges, could ever be a servant’s wife!

“No, I … I don’t suppose I do. But I so dread this trip to London.” Sophie’s chin quivered dangerously.

Emily changed the subject. “So you danced with the famous Earl of Blackmore. What was he like? Handsome? Charming? Or too pleased with himself to endure?”

“He was very charming and quite handsome, from what I could tell. He wore a mask, you know, like your cousin.” She colored a bit, then went on reflectively, “Come to think of it, he actually looked a great deal like Mr. Phe—” Sophie broke off, her eyes widening in terror.

“Oh, no, Papa is just over there. I’m sure he’s searching for me. ”

Emily turned around to see Lord Nesfield’s golden lorgnette aimed in their direction. Though he was obviously having trouble seeing at that distance, she groaned.

Sophie ducked down. “He mustn’t find me talking to you. You know how he is.”

She certainly did. Though she and Sophie had been close from childhood, the Marquess of Nesfield had recently discouraged their friendship. Sadly enough, Emily knew why.

“We’d best separate.” Emily squeezed Sophie’s hand. “Go on now.”

“You’re the dearest friend a girl could have,” she whispered, then fled.

Oh, dear, what if Lord Nesfield spotted her giving the elixir to Sophie? She’d best make herself scarce before he decided to waylay her. Ducking through the balcony door, she peered back into the ballroom to make sure he hadn’t seen her.

“Good evening,” said a voice behind her, and she whirled around in surprise, then relaxed when she saw it was Lawrence. She wouldn’t have recognized him in the darkness if not for the bit of candlelight from inside that glinted off his red hair.

“So you were listening in, were you? I should have known. Well, you’ll be happy to know you can finally take me home.”

He stayed oddly silent.

“You are ready to escape this tedium, aren't you?” she said.

When he answered, his voice was low and huskier than usual. “Oh, yes. I’ve been ready for hours. But aren’t you planning to bid our host and hostess good-bye?”

“Oh, I should, shouldn’t I?” she said, ashamed that she'd forgotten such an important courtesy. “Still, I don’t want Lord Nesfield to see me. Do you mind doing it without me?”

He shrugged. “Not at all.” With a bow that was strangely gentlemanly for Lawrence, he headed past her into the ballroom.

While she waited for him, she strode the balcony nervously. He was taking an awfully long time. Going to the doorway, she glanced in, but he was halfway across the room, speaking to the Worthings and gesturing to her. Quickly, she darted back onto the balcony and paced some more.

Once he returned, they didn’t speak, but merely hurried together along the shadowy gallery until they reached the last room before the foyer. Then they walked briskly through it to where the footmen awaited the guests’ leisure.

Lawrence spoke in an undertone to the servants, who then scurried about, gathering her pelisse and his greatcoat as if the two of them were very important guests.

How strange. The servants had often seen her here before and never treated her with such extravagant courtesy. What had Lawrence told them?

As a servant helped her into her velvet pelisse, she thought he regarded her oddly.

Then he darted away, making her wonder if she’d imagined it.

The carriage was brought to the door with amazing speed, undoubtedly because it was one of Lady Dryden’s.

Emily and Lawrence had been unable to take the Fairchild carriage because it was being repaired, so Lady Dryden had generously offered to send one for them.

Lawrence opened the ornate door and handed her in. She relaxed only after he’d ordered the coachman to drive on. “It was fun for a while, but I was glad to leave, weren’t you?” she said.

He leaned back against the seat, the moonlight touching on his smiling mouth. There was something odd about his smile. It seemed different. “Yes, indeed. So good of you to suggest it.”

“Suggest it? Don’t be silly, Lawrence. You’ve been wanting to leave that ball almost since we got there.”

The man across from her went very still. “Lawrence? Who the deuce is Lawrence?”

If his surprise hadn’t told her she’d made a drastic error, his language would have. Lawrence would never use such words in front of a rector’s daughter. That’s why his smile looked different and why the servants had behaved oddly when she’d left with him.

“You’re n-not Lawrence,” she whispered, her heart leaping into her throat when he frowned and quickly removed his mask.

Dear heavens. The man had Lawrence’s red hair and Lawrence’s build and Lawrence’s attire.

And a very different face.

“Of course I’m not Lawrence,” he snapped.

“What kind of game are you playing?” He tilted his head, and she glimpsed his hard male jaw and clean-shaven throat before the moon ducked behind the clouds, extinguishing what little light had filtered into the carriage.

“You know very well who I am. That’s why you said all that nonsense to Lady Sophie in my defense. ”

Removing his silk top hat, he laid it on the well-padded cushion of the brocade seat, and the very intimacy the action implied sent her into a panic.

What nonsense had she said in his defense?

Obviously he meant her conversation with Sophie, which he’d clearly overheard.

But they’d only talked of the girl’s coming out and her fears and. ..

Goodness gracious. Lord Blackmore. They’d discussed the man at length. What had Sophie started to tell her? That Lord Blackmore looked an awful lot like someone? Lawrence. That’s who his lordship resembled.

It couldn’t be. “Are you saying you’re ... you’re—”

“Blackmore, of course. But you know that quite well.”

His irritated tone drew her up short. There was no cause for alarm. This was just a silly mistake, one they could quickly correct. The entire misunderstanding was her fault anyway. She couldn’t very well blame him for taking her at her word and assuming she needed an escort home.

“No, I didn’t know. I’m afraid you look a great deal like my cousin, Lawrence, who’s my escort this evening. In the darkness on the balcony, I mistook you for him. It’s a simple error, no harm done.”

Jordan Willis, the Earl of Blackmore, gaped at the trim, attractive woman across from him. What kind of joke was this? “Your cousin?” Deuce take it. Could this situation merely be a devilish strange mistake? He’d been wearing a mask, after all, but red hair like his was rare.

He’d assumed she was a lusty widow wanting a private encounter with him, but she did seem agitated. And if she were telling the truth ... “Do you claim you actually meant all that nonsense about my reputation being undeserved?”

“Of course I meant it.” She seemed bewildered by his reaction. “Why would you think otherwise?”

He stretched an arm out along the seat back. Surely the woman couldn’t be so na?ve, given what she’d heard of him. “Because when a beautiful widow defends me in my hearing, she generally means to impress me.”

“A widow?” Flipping out her fan, she worked it in agitated motions. “Oh, dear, so that’s why you came along with me so easily. Because you thought ... I mean, you assumed—”