Page 38 of The Forbidden Lord (Lord Trilogy #2)

Emily blushed at the countess’s frankness. Lady Dundee was wrong. Jordan wanted only one thing from Emily. If she were to give it to him, he’d go away at once and leave her alone.

She straightened. That’s exactly what he’d do. Leave her alone!

He professed to be concerned for her, but she knew better. He only wanted to find out the truth because he was jealous. And his jealousy came from a lack of having his desires satisfied. He wanted her in his bed, but he wouldn’t take her if it meant having to marry her.

So what if she offered him what he wanted, making it clear she didn’t expect anything in return? Perhaps after his appetites were appeased, he’d give up this foolish obsession with knowing everything. Then his interest in her would wane, and with it, his interest in her masquerade.

“Emily, have you heard a word I said?” Lady Dundee remarked.

In sudden fear that the countess might guess the direction of her thoughts, she lowered her gaze to the paved street, pretending to watch her step in the darkness. “Yes.”

“I said even if you gave him what he wanted, he would still be unfulfilled.”

“I know what you said.” She just didn’t believe it. For too many years, Jordan had hardened himself against feeling anything but lust. After a lifetime of merely satisfying his carnal appetites, he wasn’t likely to change now. No, if she gave him what he wanted, she would be free of him.

But at what a cost!

As they reached the house, she entered behind Lady Dundee, her thoughts in a turmoil. If she offered him her body in exchange for his silence, she would save Papa. And ruin her future. She might even find herself with child like Jordan’s mother.

Well, she could only pray that wouldn’t happen. And if it did, it was a small price to pay to keep from going to the gallows. Compared to Lord Nesfield’s plans for her, one night with Jordan would be no risk at all. And it must be tonight, before Jordan could make good on his threats.

A sudden dreadful thought popped into her mind. What if he refused to accept her bargain?

Carter helped her remove her pelisse, and she glanced down despairingly at her satin gown with its modest cut and girlish color that made her look like the virginal rector’s daughter she truly was.

Jordan would never agree to this. He’d restrained himself from touching or kissing her at the opera, even when he’d wanted to, and all because of his aversion to innocent young women and the complications they could bring to his life.

She stiffened. All right then, it wouldn’t be the pure Emily Fairchild who went to him: it would be Lady Emma.

His words this evening proved that he already doubted her character; she’d use that to her advantage.

Tonight she would strike a bargain with him, even if she had to seduce him, and yes, lie to him about her virginity.

Or was she considering this only because she desired him? Because she wished to experience lovemaking with the only man she’d ever truly wanted?

Surely she couldn’t be that wicked. No, this was her best course of action. Her only course of action.

Carter shot the lock to in the massive oak doors behind them, and the sound reverberated through her brain. How could she sneak out of this fortress and find her way to Jordan’s town house? Dear heavens, she didn’t even know where he lived.

The slurred voices of drunken hackney coachmen drifted inside from the street.

Hackney coachmen, Emily thought with a smile. Perfect.

“You go on to bed now, my dear,” said Lady Dundee. “Try to get some rest.”

Emily’s smile faded. That was one thing she was unlikely to get this evening. Rest. Of any kind.

Jordan lay comfortably stretched out on the chaise longue in his study.

He was in his shirtsleeves with his boots off and a brandy snifter cradled in one hand as he tried to read through a proposal for workhouse reform.

He couldn’t concentrate, however. He finally laid the proposal down and stared off into space.

Tomorrow he would know everything. She would tell him for certain.

The fear in her face had made that clear.

He didn’t like frightening her, especially when he had no intention of making good on his threats.

He wished he could get the truth from her some other way, but he couldn’t.

He must put an end to the men preying on her.

Even if Pollock had been lying or had only kissed her once, the bastard would take more if he had the chance—and he might get that chance if Emily continued to associate with him.

No, this couldn’t go on. Jordan would force her to end it before disaster struck.

A knock came at the closed door, startling him. “Go away! I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed!”

“But there’s a female here to see you,” the servant replied.

A female. He laid his snifter aside with a groan. That was how his servants referred to his soiled doves, but surely no tart would dare to come here without a summons. He hadn’t even brought so much as a randy widow home with him in months. Not since he’d met Emily.

Emily. As if any other woman could even hope to capture his attention now.

“Give her some money and send her away,” he ordered.

“I tried that, milord. She won’t take it. I told her you didn’t want to be disturbed, but she insists. Says her name is Emily, and you’d want to see her.”

He sat up straight. Emily? Here? Was the woman insane?

In an instant, he was at the door and flinging it open. “Why didn’t you say so, for God’s sake? Show her up here at once!”

The servant nodded and hurried off, wearing a look of complete bewilderment.

Jordan glanced down at his stocking feet, then over to where he’d tossed his cravat, cutaway, and waistcoat across a chair.

Should he put them back on? Should he at least pretend this wasn’t the most improper situation she’d ever put him in?

What was the point? If she were fool enough to come here alone and risk her reputation just to beg him to relent, then she deserved to be shocked.

“Miss Emily,” announced the servant.

Jordan turned to the door as the servant ushered her into the room, and his jaw dropped. She wasn’t likely to be shocked by his attire, for God’s sake. Look at what she was wearing.

The scarlet gown from the opera, the one he’d wanted to tear off her.

Only this time it was worse, for he’d swear she wore nothing under it—no petticoats, no corset, perhaps even no chemise.

As she entered the room, the shimmering velvet clung to her legs and her delicious curves like gilt wrapping paper encasing every man’s dream of a birthday gift.

Except that he couldn’t open it, wasn’t allowed to open it, damn it. He sucked in air, futilely trying to catch his breath as she approached. Her lavender scent surrounded him like a cloud of temptation, yet all he could do was gape at her.

“Milord?” said the servant. “Will that be all?”

“Yes,” he said in a strangled voice. “And this time I truly do not wish to be disturbed.”

Emily colored but said nothing as the servant left, closing the door behind him.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he exploded. “How did you get here?”

She swallowed. “I climbed out a window and took a hackney coach. I found one who knew where you lived.”

“You took a hackney? In that? It’s a wonder you weren’t mauled!”

“I wore a cloak until I got here, but your footman insisted upon taking it from me.”

“I’ll kill him tomorrow,” he muttered, only half-facetiously. No one should ever be allowed to see her like this. No one but him.

Sternly, he reminded himself of why she had probably come.

Crossing to the chaise longue, he picked up his brandy snifter and took a great gulp of the fiery liquor.

If only it could smother the greater fire in his loins.

But that wasn’t likely. Only one thing would smother that fire, and although she stood before him wearing the most enticing of gowns, she wasn’t available.

He refused to look at her. If he did, he couldn’t be responsible for his actions. “I suppose you’ve come here dressed like that because you think it’ll distract me from my purpose.”

“No.”

The softly spoken answer took him by surprise. He whirled to stare at her. “You’re not hoping to make me give up my plans?”

“Actually, I’ve come to … offer you a bargain.

” Her chin was trembling and her hands, too, but she held herself as proudly straight as if she were dressed in a Quaker’s prudish woolen dress.

“You said at the opera that you want me. Well—” She hesitated a moment, as if gathering her courage.

Then she swept her hands downward to indicate her body. “You can have me.”

For the first time in his life, he found himself utterly speechless. Surely she didn’t mean what he thought she meant. Not his virginal rector’s daughter.

At his silence, she went on more nervously.

“I’ll give you my body freely for one night.

In exchange, you must promise not to speak to Lord Nesfield or Mr. Pollock.

” She took a deep breath, then went on in a rush.

“I won’t expect anything of you other than that.

I don’t want you to marry me. I merely want you to keep quiet. ”

And for that, she would do this? For a moment, he actually considered the offer and all it would mean.

He could strip off her gown and caress each golden curve.

He could fondle those sweet breasts, part those slender legs and bury himself deep inside her with impunity. He could find release. Finally.

After all, he’d never really intended to go to Nesfield. It had all been a bluff.