Page 35 of The Forbidden Lord (Lord Trilogy #2)
“Don’t be absurd. She amuses herself by helping idiots.”
Pollock’s resentful gaze shot to him. “Really? Is that what she was doing that night she and I were together in Lady Astramont’s garden?”
The blood drained from Jordan’s face. He told himself that Pollock was lying to pay him back for making a fool of him in front of Ian’s guests. But there’d been that blush of Emily’s every time Pollock was mentioned, and what she’d told him last night about Pollock’s advances …
“You know, Emma kisses like an angel,” Pollock remarked. “And those breasts, so ripe to the touch—”
“You bastard!” Jordan reached Pollock in two strides and jerked him out of the chair. “You keep your filthy hands off her!”
Pollock smirked at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken a fancy to her. She’s more my sort than yours, you know. At least I’d marry her.”
The words were a shock of cold water in his face. At least I’d marry her. Would Pollock marry her? Even if he knew who she really was?
More importantly, would she marry Pollock? Why else would she have let the man touch her, if not to gain a rich husband?
No, he couldn’t believe that of her. He thrust Pollock away with an oath. “Get away from me, before I shove all your lies down your dirty throat.”
“Lies, eh?” Pollock dusted off his frock coat. “Perhaps you should ask Lady Emma what we were doing in Lady Astramont’s garden the night of the breakfast.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps you’d better not. You might not like the answer.”
With thunder in his brow, Jordan advanced on Pollock.
The scoundrel stood his ground, a cruel laugh escaping his lips. “So the man who can’t feel has finally met his match, has he? Good. I hope she breaks your frigging heart.” Then Pollock turned on his heel and walked out.
Jordan stood there, Pollock’s nasty words careening through his brain. They were nothing but lies! She wouldn’t have let Pollock put his hands on her.
The source of his torment made the grand mistake of entering just then, bearing a bottle of brandy in her lily-white hands. She looked startled to see him alone. “Where’s Mr. Pollock? He may want this brandy for the pain.”
“Such elaborate concern for a reprobate,” he snapped. “I wonder why Mr. Pollock’s pain should disturb you so much.”
“I don’t like to see anyone hurt. At home, I always patched people up. It’s my specialty.”
“And is letting them make free with your body your specialty, too?”
She stiffened. “If you’re talking about what happened between you and me in the museum—”
“I’m talking about what happened between you and Pollock at Lady Astramont’s, deuce take it.”
The blood drained from her face. “He … he told you about that?”
No denials. No protests. Just guilt. He felt as if his guts were being wrenched out with a pitchfork. “Oh, yes, he was quite happy to boast of how he kissed and fondled you.”
“He didn’t!” She paused, confusion in her face. “I … I mean … well … it wasn’t like that—”
“So he told the truth.” The words tasted like ashes in his mouth. “And how many other men have put their hands on you?”
Her confusion faded, replaced by fury. “How dare you! It’s acceptable for you to put your hands all over me, even though you freely admit you never intend to marry. But no one else must touch me, is that it? Only you can ‘make free with my body’?”
“If you’re nurturing some foolish notion that Pollock will marry you, you’d best forget it. Once you tell him who you really are, he won’t come near you. You can lay money on that.”
“Thank you for reminding me yet again of my inferior class,” she said bitterly. “I’m good enough for you to maul, but not good enough for either of you to marry, is that it? Don’t worry, Jordan. I’ve no intention of forgetting my place—with you or Mr. Pollock.”
It dawned on him how his words must have sounded just as she whirled on her heel and opened the door. “Now, Emily, I didn’t mean—”
But she was already walking out the door, her head held so high it was a miracle it didn’t fall off her elegant little neck.
Cursing himself for being so blunt, he started after her, then spotted Ian and the others coming down the stairs from the second floor.
Quickly, he ducked back into the drawing room.
The last thing he wanted was to make polite conversation with them when jealousy raged through him like a wild bull.
He heard a servant in the hall announce that dinner was served. Then Ian said, “Why don’t all of you go down to dinner? I’ll just fetch the others.”
Jordan glanced about the room, looking for an escape. But there was none. Next thing he knew, Ian was sauntering into the room.
The viscount looked around, bewildered. “Where’s Pollock? And Lady Emma?”
“Who knows?” He couldn’t prevent the acid edge to his voice. “She’s probably off ‘comforting’ him the way only a woman can. You might try one of the bedrooms.”
Ian arched one eyebrow. “Your jealousy is showing, Jordan. You know quite well Lady Emma would never go off into a bedroom with Pollock.”
“Wouldn’t she?” He stared unseeing into the fireplace, feeling a sudden childish urge to kick at the embers. “Pollock seems to think otherwise. He implied he’d come close to having her.”
“Pollock will say whatever he can to provoke you. You know that. It’s just lies.”
“Then why didn’t she deny it?”
“You actually repeated Pollock’s words to her?”
At Ian’s incredulous tone, Jordan faced his friend. “Yes. Why not?”
“Bloody hell, have you no sense at all when it comes to respectable women?”
“No,” he growled. “If you’ll recall, I don’t usually deal with them.”
“Well, you don’t accuse a well-bred woman of being free with her affections, unless you deliberately want to insult her. And you especially don’t tell her you heard it from some idiot, then actually believed it.”
Jordan strained to remember the entirety of their conversation. “She admitted she’d been alone with him.”
“And she admitted that he’d touched her?”
“Not exactly. But she blushes every time his name is mentioned.”
“I see. And this is your evidence. I wish you could hear yourself. If any other man had told you such a tale, you would have laughed him out of countenance.” He shook his head. “Why do you care, anyway? If you’ve no interest in marrying the girl, what does it matter if Pollock courts her?”
Jordan shoved his hands in his pockets. Emily had said much the same thing. “He’s no good for her. He’ll take advantage of her, then refuse to marry her.” When he finds out who she really is. “Why did you invite the bastard anyway?”
Ian hesitated before answering. “Actually, inviting Pollock was Lady Dundee’s idea. I wouldn’t have, but she insisted upon it.”
Good God. What if Lady Dundee and Lord Nesfield had some strange idea of marrying Emily off to Pollock? “What does Lady Dundee have to do with this?”
“The dinner party was her idea. She promised to press my courtship of Sophie with Nesfield. But first she wanted some idea of my potential as a husband.”
Ian’s words caught Jordan by surprise. “What do you mean? Have things advanced so far with Lady Sophie? Why, you haven’t even seen the girl in weeks!”
“That doesn’t change anything. I still have very serious intentions toward her.”
Jordan remembered what his butler had told him that morning. “I think there’s something you should be aware of, my friend. When Hargraves was asking Nesfield’s servants about Lady Emma, he discovered that Lady Sophie isn’t in town. She hasn’t been for some time. I’m not even sure she’s ill.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You know?”
“Lady Dundee told me. Apparently Nesfield whisked his daughter away to the country to protect her from ‘scoundrels’ like me.” He smiled. “But the countess has decided that her brother is a fool. She says that if I prove acceptable, she’ll find a way for me to get around Nesfield’s objections.”
“Ah.” That made perfect sense. It was just like Nesfield to do something so dramatic, and just like Lady Dundee to do as she pleased.
So Sophie’s absence apparently had nothing to do with Emily’s masquerade.
Or else the countess and the marquess hadn’t wanted Sophie around mucking up things while they finished their plot.
But what was their plot?
Inviting Pollock was Lady Dundee’s idea. Devil take it, this had something to do with Pollock. Otherwise, why would Emily ever have gone near the man? And now that he thought about it, she’d spent a great deal of time with Pollock at that first ball as well.
The thought of Pollock and Emily together made his skin crawl.
“Are you all right?” Ian asked. “You’re looking pale.”
“I’m fine. Just a little hungry.”
“Then I guess we’d best go down to dinner.”
Jordan followed Ian out of the room. He was hungry, all right. Hungry to know what was going on.
At least now he had a way to make Emily tell him the truth. He had a little surprise to spring on Emily once he could get her alone. And no amount of tears and begging would put him off this time.
Emily glanced across the dining room table to where Jordan sat beside an attractive and decidedly well-endowed young widow.
Thank heaven his attention was drawn to his companion.
Perhaps the wretched woman would even convince him to leave the party early.
Emily would be quite happy if she did. Truly.
“You want to scratch her eyes out, don’t you?” Mr. Pollock whispered in her ear.
A curse on Lord St. Clair for seating her next to Mr. Pollock.
The daughter of an earl was not supposed to be taken in to dinner by a mere mister.
Perhaps Lord St. Clair, being a bachelor, didn’t know such things.
He had said this was his first time to give a dinner party.
Still, Lady Dundee should have set him straight in the drawing room.
Of course, the viscount hadn’t erred in the least with the rest of the seating. Oh, no. That’s why Jordan was seated between Lady Dundee and the beautiful countess. The countess whose eyes Emily indeed wanted to scratch out, although she’d never admit it to anyone.