Page 4 of The Forbidden Lord (Lord Trilogy #2)

Chapter Two

“I met a lady in the meads

Full beautiful, a faery’s child

Her hair was long, her foot was light

And her eyes were wild.”

— JOHN KEATS, “LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI”

Emily stared at Lord Blackmore blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

“You have me at a disadvantage—you’re masked and I’m not.” His voice was husky and deep within the close confines of the carriage. “I’d like to see you without your mask. Do you mind?”

She hesitated only briefly before lifting her hands to the ties. “No, of course not.” It was a small enough thing to give him, and he had been a perfect gentleman once they’d sorted everything out.

Besides, simple logic told her he’d had every reason to misunderstand the situation. No doubt he was often pursued by silly girls eager to snag a rich earl. How could she blame a man as wealthy and powerful as he for being cautious? The least she could do was show him her face.

If she could release the ties. Goodness gracious, they were knotted.

She couldn’t even pull the blessed thing over her head.

It would dislodge her coiffure. If she entered the ball with her hair in complete disarray, people would suspect something had happened.

“I’m sorry, but it won’t come loose. It’s knotted. ”

“Allow me.” Despite his long legs, he moved easily from his seat opposite her to the one at her side. “Lean forward.”

She hesitated. He’d have to touch her to unknot the mask, and the thought of his fingers against her hair sent little frissons of alarm dancing up and down her spine. Some feminine instinct warned her that letting this man close was dangerous.

Then again, he clearly wasn’t interested in her as a woman. He’d practically recoiled from her once he’d learned she was a virgin. So why not let him do this?

“All right,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

He rested his large fingers on her scalp, then gingerly began to work loose the knot. She went completely still, as if making herself into a perfect statue could keep her from noticing the male body a few inches away.

What a joke. Never had she been this close to a man, and his every movement awakened her senses …

his forearms resting against her back, the muscles flexing as he worked on the knot .

.. his breath, warm and measured, tickling the fine hairs on the back of her bare neck .

.. his firm thigh plastered against her backside.

Her foolish blood rampaged through her body.

She’d had few men in her life. The long years of her mother’s illness and then her year of mourning had prevented her from having suitors.

Hardly any eligible men lived in Willow Crossing anyway, but she might have found someone if she hadn’t been so concerned with keeping her mother alive.

Now Mama was dead, she was twenty-two, and she had only Papa for company. These days, with him so distant and her activities so restricted, even Papa couldn’t keep the loneliness at bay. Still, she’d taken her mind off it by keeping busy at home.

Until tonight. The man beside her would make even a nun crave male companionship.

Nervously, she glanced out the window of the carriage, but that only heightened her awareness of their intimate surroundings.

Out here it was so deserted that crickets whined undisturbed and owls hooted their night cries without fear of repercussion.

And it was dark. Very, very dark. A dangerous environment indeed.

Suddenly the mask came free. “There you are,” he murmured as he let the scrap of starched silk float down into her lap.

“Thank you.” She quickly slid to the other end of the seat.

He was too close, too ... too male. Her presence might not affect him, but his presence certainly affected her.

Here in this cave-like retreat, he loomed larger than life.

She must escape this mess before she began to behave exactly like those girls he despised.

Trying to squeeze herself into the smallest space of the seat possible, she shifted to look at him.

Dear heavens. That was a mistake. The capricious moon now flooded him with light, allowing her to get a good long look at him for the first time all evening.

Handsome? Had Sophie really used that innocuous term to describe the Earl of Blackmore?

Arresting ... intimidating ... overwhelming. He was all that and more. And handsome was only a small part.

Amazing how much a mask and a little darkness could disguise.

He and Lawrence had the same hair color and build, but there the resemblance ended.

Lawrence’s eyes were wide-set and an indeterminate brown.

Lord Blackmore’s were deep-set and so dark they were almost black, particularly in this light.

Lawrence’s cheeks tended to be pale, except when he blushed, brightening them to pink.

Lord Blackmore would never blush. She was sure of that.

But the way he was running his gaze over her face, as if trying to make out her features, did bring a blush to her own cheeks. Instantly she regretted removing her mask. It left her so ... so exposed.

“It’s hard to see well in this light, but you don’t look like a rector’s daughter.” When she frowned, sure he was doubting her word again, he hastened to add, “You act like a rector’s daughter, mind you. You just don’t look like one.”

She relaxed against the seat. “And what does a rector’s daughter look like?”

“I don’t know. Tight-lipped. Pinch-faced. Holier-than-thou.”

“You haven’t had much experience with people of my situation, have you, my lord?” she said tartly. “I assure you, rector’s daughters have all sorts of faces. And attitudes.”

He smiled. “Thank God for that.”

With those words, he expressed fully his approval of her appearance.

A delicious shiver whispered down her spine.

Goodness gracious. No wonder women climbed over themselves trying to “trap” him into marriage.

What woman wouldn’t desire a man who could make her weak in the knees with just a few words?

A pity he was forbidden to her.

As he continued to stare, she grew hot. Quickly she lifted the mask to her face and retied it. “I ... I must have it on when we reach the gardens, you know.”

“I suppose you must.”

Did she imagine the edge of disappointment in his voice? Of course she did. He’d merely been curious about her, that’s all. It was perfectly natural.

She twisted away to look out the window again, but that only made her more aware of him. She could feel him watching her, interested, controlled. She only wished she could be so controlled.

“Oh, look,” she said brightly as the carriage made a sudden turn. “We’ve reached the gardens.”

“Have we?”

Why must the man have such a ... a rakish voice? He probably didn’t even know he sounded like that. It made her very eyelashes tingle.

“Yes, we have,” she said inanely. The carriage shuddered to a halt as she continued to peer out the window.

But once everything was silent, she heard it. Voices. In the garden and quite near. “Oh, no, I think there’s someone out there.”

He edged toward her, peering over her shoulder out the window. “I see them. They’re passing the apple tree now.”

The couple was a man and a woman of indeterminate age, talking and laughing as they strolled arm in arm. Suddenly, one of them looked up and spotted the carriage.

Emily jumped back from the window so quickly, she found herself practically in the earl’s lap. When she turned toward him, his face was mere inches from hers. “I can’t get out now,” she whispered.

He rapped his fist on the ceiling. “Another turn around the drive, coachman.”

“Yes, milord,” the coachman answered and prodded the horses into a trot.

For a moment she sat frozen, plastered to him for fear that the moonlight would reveal her face. But when they cleared the garden, the earl said in choked tones, “You can remove your hand from my leg now, Miss Fairchild.”

Only then did she realize her fingers had a vise-like grip on his thigh. Mortified beyond belief, she snatched her hand back, but not before an impression of the hard muscle beneath his superfine breeches burned itself into her palm.

He was too close, too ... too ... there. She tried to slide down the seat from him, but there was no more space. Nor did he move away. When she glanced up in alarm, it was to find him staring at her, his eyes fathomless and mysterious in the moonlight.

“Fate seems to be conspiring to throw us together,” he said in a rumbling voice.

“Oh, don’t say that! Our plan may still work!”

“And if it doesn’t?” He was so close she could feel the ragged cadence of his warm breath on her lips.

“Then I’ll deal with the consequences. Though I would prefer not to have been caught riding in a carriage unchaperoned with a man, it is mostly my fault it happened. You mustn’t concern yourself with it, my lord.”

“But I must. To be honest, the thought of a continued association with you isn’t as ... unappealing as it was at first.” His gaze drifted down to her lips, intimate and interested.

Her pulse raced wildly. “You needn’t say that to spare my feelings.”

“Believe me, sparing your feelings has nothing to do with it.” He lowered his head until his mouth hovered inches from hers. “The truth is, I’m having a devil of a time resisting the urge to kiss you.”

“Oh, but you must!” she protested feebly as her head swam.

“Yes, I must.”

Yet he didn’t. Before she could protest or even move away, he covered her mouth with his.

It was the most sublime shock she’d ever had in her life.

Who would have guessed a man’s lips could be so soft .

.. or so fiendishly tempting? His breath mingled with hers, spiked with brandy, though he didn’t seem the least bit drunk.

His mouth caressed hers in such a leisurely fashion that it seduced her into stillness.