Page 32 of The Forbidden Lord (Lord Trilogy #2)

Chapter Twelve

“Going to the opera, like getting drunk, is a sin that carries its own punishment with it."

Emily had never attended an opera. Willow Crossing had an ancient orchestra that played at assemblies, and a traveling troupe of actors that sometimes presented Shakespeare. But no operas, to be sure.

The Marriage of Figaro by Mozart was entirely beyond her ken.

Thankfully, although it was an Italian opera, this production was in English.

Not only could she understand the story, but she was enjoying it beyond anything, drooling over the music like the country fool she truly was.

The voices rang so clear, so perfect! The orchestra actually knew all their notes, even the high ones!

Her enjoyment was enhanced by the fact that Lord St. Clair had shown no signs of having learned any dark secrets about her that afternoon. When he’d come in behaving like his usual self, she’d relaxed, especially since he’d come without Jordan.

Perhaps everything would be fine after all. Perhaps Jordan would be satisfied with proving to himself that he’d been right about her identity. For the first time since the Merrington’s ball, she felt free to enjoy herself.

The character named Cherubino, a woman playing the part of an adolescent boy, launched into an aria, and Emily strained forward.

How could such lush sounds emerge from such a tiny woman?

Emily’s musical abilities were tolerable at best, but she did love to listen.

By the end of the second act, she’d smiled so much her face hurt.

The chandelier with its hundreds of candles was lowered for the interlude, and Lady Dundee rose from her seat. “I see that Lady Merrington is here tonight. I believe I’ll go speak to her.”

“I’ll join you,” Lord St. Clair said as he also rose. “These chairs aren’t made for men with long legs.” He held out his arm to Emily. “Are you coming, Lady Emma?”

The soft, elegant strains of a violin wafted up to their box, and she sighed with pleasure. “Would you mind very much if I stayed here and listened to the music?”

Lord St. Clair chuckled. “It’s just the interlude.”

“Yes, but it’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Lady Dundee cast her an indulgent smile. “Indeed it is, my dear. Come along, St. Clair. Let her have her fun.”

Emily smiled gratefully, then returned her attention once more to the stage where the musicians were playing a duet for violin and harp.

She so loved the harp. The schoolteacher in Willow Crossing owned a harp, but it wasn’t as pure or sweet as this one.

Yes, there were advantages to living in the city. She would miss this.

Faintly, she heard the door open behind her and assumed that Lady Dundee had come back for something she’d left behind. Then a husky male voice said, “Good evening, Emily.”

She froze. Jordan. He was here.

Her pulse raced and her heart fluttered. Oh, foolish, foolish heart—to be enamored of such a man.

She heard rather than saw him advance to the front of the box. Flipping up his tails, he took the chair next to her. She sat rigidly, not daring to look at him after the intimacies they’d shared that afternoon. She wiped her clammy hands on her skirts and wished fervently he hadn’t come.

But when he said nothing, she couldn’t resist a glance at him.

As usual, his coat was impeccable, his cravat immaculate.

Why couldn’t he wear ill-fitting coats or have warty hands or something else to dislike?

No, he had to be perfect in every way. The perfect, beautiful, forbidden earl who kissed like the devil and held her fate in his hands.

He met her gaze, and she dropped hers at once, mortified to be caught staring.

Then he cleared his throat. “You’re looking lovely this evening. Though I must say that your gown is a little … snug, don’t you think?”

He sounded as if he’d been gargling nails. And what did he mean? That she was too plump for the gown?

She glared at him. “Lady Dundee said it would be acceptable for the opera.”

His gaze flickered briefly to where the gown pushed her breasts up scandalously high, much like all the other women’s gowns she’d seen this evening. He swallowed, then jerked his gaze back to her face. “For some other woman perhaps. On you, it’s deadly.”

For goodness sake, what did he mean? Now that he was certain she was a rector’s daughter, did he think she had no right to wear such beautiful clothes? The arrogant wretch. “If you’re going to insult me, you might as well leave.”

“Insult you? I wasn’t insulting you. At least, I don’t think I was.” He sighed. “Don’t throw me out yet, not after I went to so much trouble to find out where you were.”

“What trouble? I’m sure your friend told you we were attending the opera.”

“My ‘friend,’” he said with a hint of sarcasm, “didn’t tell me a thing. I’ve been to two dances, a party, and an early ball looking for you. I finally had to go to Ian’s house and badger his servants to find out where he—and therefore, you—might be.”

Her foolish heart fluttered again. “You went all those places in search of me?”

“I had to talk to you. We left things unsettled this afternoon.”

She squelched her disappointment. Of course that was why. God forbid he should wish to see her for some other reason.

Well, she needed to talk to him, too. But how to broach the subject? “You’ve missed half the opera.”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been in my own box. I keep one year-round, mainly for my sister when she’s in town.” He gestured to a box across the theater, where the curtains were half-drawn. His tone hardened. “I’ve been in there watching the men gawk at you.”

Was that jealousy she heard? She sighed. Of course not. Jordan would never be jealous of her, or of any woman for that matter. “Why didn’t you join us?”

“I didn’t know if your ‘mother’ would allow it after what happened this afternoon. I suppose she’s ready to skin me alive.”

Should she tell him that Lady Dundee knew about their previous association? No, she’d best not. Then he might feel free to badger the countess about what was going on. “She … didn’t suspect anything,” she lied.

He glanced off across the theater, drumming his fingers on his knee. He seemed agitated. “That’s a shock. Ian suspected everything. He spent half the afternoon lecturing me about toying with innocent young women.”

She froze. “And did you tell him why … I mean …what we spoke about and—”

“No.” His gaze shot to her, deeply serious. “I didn’t tell him anything. That’s why I’m here. To assure you I’ll keep your secret.”

Relief swamped her, so intense she nearly reeled with it. “Oh, thank heavens! I was so worried.”

He scowled. “You didn’t really think I’d be so callous as to expose you without knowing what was going on, did you?”

“I didn’t know what to think. Until now, you’ve been so ... so insistent about finding me out, it seemed logical you would want to let everyone know—”

“Good God, you don’t think much of me, do you?” He jumped to his feet and began to pace the small area at the front of the box. “Well, my dear, you should have trusted to your feminine tactics. Your tears and your begging were very effective, I assure you. I’m not made of stone.”

“They weren’t tactics.” Wounded by his cold words, she struck back. “Besides, Mr. Pollock says you boast of your granite heart, so I guess you are made of stone, aren’t you?”

He whirled on her, eyes narrowing. “Pollock? Is he still sniffing around after you? He only told you that because he resents me, you know.”

“Oh? So you never boasted of it to him?”

With a muttered oath, he glanced away from her. “All right, so I might have said … something like that. But I’m not as bad as he makes me sound. Just because I don’t crumble in the face of a woman’s tears doesn’t mean they don’t affect me. I’m not the unfeeling wretch you take me for.”

He seemed so insulted she took pity on him. “Apparently not,” she said, softening her tone. “At least you’re going to keep my secret.”

“Yes. But I still want to know why you feel compelled to masquerade like this. You can trust me. I swear it. Just because I tried to seduce you this afternoon—“

“I don’t want to talk about this afternoon.” Dear heavens, she couldn’t bear it if he talked about that. She was mortified enough by remembrances of her shameful behavior.

Setting her reticule on the seat beside her, she rose and hurried to the back of the box near the door. “Perhaps you should go now.”

He followed her. “Emily, I was merely trying to assure you that it won’t happen again.”

“I realize that. Now that you know who I am, you’re not likely to touch me, are you? It was Lady Emma you wanted, not me.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

Dear heavens, she’d said far too much. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

He grabbed her arm. “Obviously it isn’t ‘nothing’ or you wouldn’t have said it. Surely you don’t think I kissed you this afternoon only because I thought you were Lady Emma.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She fought to keep her tone even, unruffled, though inside she was aching.

“I … I understand. Truly, I do. You’re used to more sophisticated women.

You thought I was a wanton, so you tried to seduce me.

But now that my lack of experience is … painfully apparent, I needn’t worry about that, need I? ”

“Good God, if only that were true.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “There’s only one problem with your theory, Emily. I knew who you were this afternoon, and I still wanted you.”

She shook her head. “You thought I was Lady Emma, that wild girl from Scotland.”

“I told myself you were Lady Emma, because then I could allow myself what I really wanted—to make love to you. I have no desire to take any woman’s virginity, and I thought that Lady Emma wasn’t a virgin, so it would be all right.”