Page 31 of The Forbidden Lord (Lord Trilogy #2)

“Pish-posh. This is the opera. Everyone dresses that way. Go on now, be a good girl. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

With his hands shoved in the pockets of his greatcoat, Jordan walked briskly along the Strand. After watching Ian disappear inside the Nesfield town house, Jordan had abandoned the carriage to his friend.

Ian would think he was avoiding the inevitable discussion about “Lady Emma.” It was true, but it wasn’t his main reason for setting off on foot.

Walking helped him cope with frustration and anger, and right now, the knot of both was wound so tight and large in his gut that it would take a great deal of walking to unwind it.

What to do about Emily? He couldn’t expose her, not after how she’d begged him not to. Good God, she’d looked so desperate, so terrified. He’d bet a fortune she’d been trapped into this masquerade against her will.

And for what? What could Nesfield and Lady Dundee possibly gain by it?

How had they even convinced her to cooperate?

The Emily Fairchild he’d met in Derbyshire had been honest to a fault.

She’d been the most open, artless … genuine woman he’d ever met.

This masquerade wasn’t in her character.

Her reason for doing it must be compelling—she wouldn’t relinquish her will easily.

Except when it came to lovemaking. Good God. Guilt lashed at him, making him feel like the lowest cur. The look on her face when he’d made that comment about her virtue … it had driven a knife in his gut. She’d been so deuced innocent that she hadn’t even known whether she’d lost her virginity!

In that respect, he’d been a blind idiot about her. Any fool could have seen that Lady Emma’s flirtations were desperate attempts to hide her identity. The truth of who she was had been obvious—her looks, her evasion of him from the beginning.

She’d even called him Jordan in that damned room at the museum. He’d never given Lady Emma leave to call him by his Christian name, but he’d urged Emily to do so. Yet even though her use of it had registered somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d ignored it.

Why? Because he’d wanted to believe she was Lady Emma. Emily Fairchild was inaccessible, but Lady Emma was fair game. He’d desired Emily so badly that he’d been willing to believe she was somebody else so he could have her.

And he’d almost taken her virginity! He’d almost ruined her, because he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the truth.

A carriage rumbled up beside him, but he ignored it until it halted and a voice said, “I thought I might find you on the street. Get in, Jordan.”

He glanced over to see Ian holding the door to the Blackmore carriage open. “Go away. I’m not in the mood for lectures right now.”

When he walked off, Ian stepped out of the carriage and caught him by the arm. “I don’t care what you’re in the mood for. Get in the carriage, or I’ll throw you in.”

“How dare you!” Jordan whirled on him, his hands clenching into fists. He was spoiling for a fight, and at the moment didn’t much care whom he fought.

Ian’s determined expression altered at the sight of Jordan’s fighting stance. “Don’t be a fool. This should be settled in private, not in a public brawl.”

The itch to hit something, anything, seized Jordan with almost overwhelming power. But Ian was right. A public brawl would make the papers and provoke unwanted speculation about why they were fighting so soon after being seen with Emily and Lady Dundee. He dared not draw undue attention to Emily.

Without a word, he lowered his fists, then climbed into the carriage, throwing himself into the seat.

Ian got in and told Watkins to drive to his town house, then turned to Jordan. “What happened between you and Lady Emma?”

“It’s none of your concern,” Jordan ground out.

“I’m the one who invited her. I’m responsible if something happened—”

“Nothing happened.”

“Are you saying she dislodged her bonnet and got marble dust on the back of her skirts purely by accident?” When Jordan’s gaze shot to his, he added, “Oh, yes, I noticed. That and other things. Like her missing scarf. It’s a wonder Lady Dundee didn’t notice it herself.

I swear, if you compromised that young woman—”

“I didn’t compromise her!” But he nearly had. And he’d wanted to. Jordan’s gut twisted into an even tighter knot. Had it been so obvious as all that? “Why are you so concerned about the good Lady Emma anyway?” he retorted. “I thought it was Lady Sophie you wanted.”

“It is. But I like Lady Emma, and don’t want to see her harmed.”

“Neither do I, believe me.”

Ian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I see. Do you still think she’s a rector’s daughter masquerading as a lady?”

The impulse to tell his friend the truth was almost more than he could bear. But Emily had begged him not to, tears filling her eyes. Good God, he couldn’t make her cry again. “Of course not. It was a stupid notion, nothing more.”

“So, you’re no longer interested in her.”

“I didn’t say that,” he retorted.

Of course he was still interested in her.

He wouldn’t expose her, but nothing prevented him from trying to find out what hold Nesfield had over her.

He’d be discreet and careful, but he would learn the truth.

Someone must rescue her from this madness, for God’s sake, before she was found out.

Obviously her father wasn’t trying to do so.

“Let me see if I have this right,” Ian said dryly. “You’re interested in a woman of marriageable age and station.”

The word “marriageable” caught his attention. He scowled at Ian. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I enjoy her company. She’s an intriguing acquaintance, that’s all.”

“Liar. Thanks to this mere acquaintance, you’ve—” Lifting his hand, he ticked them off one by one.

“Arrived late for an appointment. Attended the breakfast of a woman you despise. Tried to seduce said acquaintance in the midst of a crowded museum where being caught would mean public censure for you and humiliation for her. Threatened to trounce your closest friend.” He paused. “Am I missing anything?”

“My fist in your jaw,” Jordan ground out.

“Make that ‘twice threatened to trounce your closest friend.’ Do tell me what you’ve done with the real Earl of Blackmore.”

“Very amusing. As for trying to seduce her, any man with eyes would attempt it.”

“I haven’t.” Ian leaned forward. “Are you in love with her?”

“Good God, what a question.” He forced a cynical smile to his lips. “You can ask that of me? The man with the granite heart, as Pollock calls me?”

“Pollock is a mercenary masquerading as a romantic. You, however, are a romantic masquerading as a mercenary. You’re not invincible where women are concerned. Unless I miss my guess, you’re particularly vulnerable to Lady Emma.”

“Horrible thought. No, you’re wrong. This is lust, nothing more. It’ll pass.”

A voice played suddenly in his head. You desire me, that’s all … Yet you want me to trust you with my entire future! How dare you? You have no right to ask that of me, you … you bastard!

Devil take her! One thing had nothing to do with the other! He was an honorable man; he would help her if she’d only tell him the truth. He could be trusted. After their night in the carriage, she should know that.

Yes, of course—after you practically seduced her in the museum without stopping to think what it would do to her. And her so innocent that she didn’t even know she was still a virgin when you were done mauling her, for God’s sake! I’m about as trustworthy as a snake.

All the same, he must help her. She was unhappy with this situation—any fool could see that. Somehow he must help her out of it.

“Merely lust, is it?” Ian said, breaking into his thoughts. “Then it must be difficult for you to be around this ‘acquaintance,’ since you’re too honorable to seduce an innocent without marrying her, and you have no interest in marriage.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered under his breath. That was precisely why he should keep his distance from her. Yet that was impossible under the circumstances.

He glanced out the window, relieved to see Ian’s town house up ahead. “Looks like we’re here, old friend. Will you be making the rounds of the balls tonight?”

Ian thankfully didn’t comment on Jordan’s abrupt change of subject. “I don’t know. What about you?”

“Perhaps.” If he asked Ian if he knew where Emily would be, the man would torment him mercilessly. “I haven’t made any plans.”

The carriage halted. “One word of advice. If you’re truly only interested in Lady Emma for her physical attractions, you should probably stay away from her.”

“Advice? That sounds more like a command to me.”

Ian climbed out and slammed the door. “Take it however you want, my friend.”

“I will.” Jordan pounded on the ceiling. “Home, Watkins!”

Stay away from her? The devil he would. As Watkins drove off, Jordan scowled blackly. Ian had always been gallant toward women, but this time he was treading dangerous ground. Emily was not Ian’s concern. She was his, and his alone. And he would find out what the woman was up to if it killed him.

After several minutes of contemplation, Jordan concocted a plan. As soon as he arrived home, he strode inside, bellowing for Hargraves.

The butler appeared in a flash, running after him as Jordan hurried up two flights of stairs and into his study. “Yes, milord? What do you need?”

“Pack your bags, man. You’re taking a trip.” Jordan opened his safe and removed a fistful of pound notes.

Hargraves blinked a couple of times. “Now?”

“As soon as you can be ready.”

“Where am I going?”

“To Willow Crossing.”

The butler coughed discreetly as Jordan counted out the notes. “Er … isn’t that where Emily is from? The woman you think is masquerading as Lady Emma?”

“Not think. Know. She told me the truth herself today.”

“You don’t say!”

“Yes. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t tell me why.” He stopped counting. “You haven’t discovered anything more, have you? Other than what you told me this morning about when Lady Dundee and her daughter arrived in London?”

“Actually, I have. It’s not much, but perhaps you’ll know what to make of it. It seems Lady Sophie is not in residence. She hasn’t been for some weeks. They say she’s ill and had to go home, but they’re not supposed to tell people where she is.”

“That’s curious.” Did Emily’s masquerade have to do with Sophie and her illness? But how?

“Something else, milord. When I asked about Miss Emily Fairchild, they said she’s coming for a visit soon.

They’ve been told that she’s traveling and can’t receive mail, which is why they’re holding her mail for her, but they all think it a mite odd that her father would write her so many letters when she can’t yet answer. ”

“That is helpful, Hargraves. I’ll wager that her father doesn’t know about this masquerade. I can use that.” He didn’t want to threaten to tell Emily’s father yet—she’d never forgive him. But he would if he must. Somebody had to look out for her.

“Nesfield has a hold over her,” he mused aloud. “I don’t know what it is, but I want you to find out. That’s why I’m sending you to Willow Crossing. You haven’t found anything here, so you might as well see what you can find there. You don’t mind a trip to the country, do you?”

“Indeed not. I’ve been itching to escape the city, milord.”

“Good. I want you to leave today. Spend a few days there, ask questions. But be discreet. Don’t tell anyone you’re working for me, all right? Just find out what you can about the Fairchilds and Nesfield. It shouldn’t take long in a small town like that.”

“I’ll take care of it, milord. You can count on me.”

“I always do.”

And while Hargraves was in Willow Crossing, Jordan would find some way to discover the truth here. No matter how much she protested, he wouldn’t let Emily go on like this alone. Not any longer.