Page 43 of The Forbidden Lord (Lord Trilogy #2)

Chapter Sixteen

If all the good people were clever,

And all clever people were good,

The world would be nicer than ever

We thought that it possibly could.

— ELIZABETH WORDSWORTH, brITISH EDUCATOR, “THE CLEVER AND THE GOOD”

Emily climbed into the Blackmore carriage and sat on the far end of the seat facing forward. Her gown was a little snug and too long—Jordan’s stepsister must be tall and slender. But at least it didn’t show as much of her as the other one.

When Jordan entered a few moments later, he sat next to her. After ordering Watkins to drive on, he took her hand in his. “You look tired. It’s been a long night for you, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.” In truth she was utterly exhausted. Seduction had its pleasures, but it was certainly draining.

He closed the curtain, casting them into nearly complete darkness. Then shifting so that he sat with his back braced against the side of the coach, he drew her onto his lap and cradled her head against his chest. “Here, why don’t you rest a bit? I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

As he wrapped his arms around her, she relaxed against him. She was tired. If she could only close her eyes for a moment … “I’m not hurting you?”

“Not at all. Besides, it might be the last time I can hold you like this.”

Sudden tears filled her eyes, and she was thankful he couldn’t see them in the darkness. Yes, the last time. Although lying in his embrace was an indulgence she could ill afford, she couldn’t bear to throw the moment away.

But she doubted she’d be able to sleep. So much had happened, so much she wanted to think about …

It seemed like only seconds later she was startled awake by a rumbling noise. A somber gray light filtered into the carriage from behind the curtains, dulling the brilliant gold of the brocade cushions.

Still, there was enough light that she could see everything in the carriage clearly, where before it had been pitch-black. They must be nearing her street, which was well lit by oil lamps.

Another low rumble sounded from behind her, and she shifted to look up at Jordan. He was snoring, of all things. That was what had awakened her. She smiled. It was an endearingly normal activity, one she wouldn’t have connected with the Earl of Blackmore.

Earls weren’t supposed to snore. Or sneeze or eat or do any of those human things the rest of the population engaged in. They were supposed to have servants to do those things for them. Who would ever have thought she’d grow so familiar with an earl that she’d be listening to him snore?

She touched his cheek, rough with its evening growth of beard, and gazed fondly at the features relaxed in sleep.

A bittersweet pang made her jerk her hand away.

It was too tempting to look at him like this, to think that she could see this sight every morning if she were only willing to sacrifice her self-respect.

She couldn’t believe he’d offered to marry her. She’d expected him to be delighted not to have to wed her after bedding her. Obviously, she’d misjudged his character entirely. If she’d guessed he would feel that way, would she have been so ready to offer herself to him?

Glancing up at his slightly curving mouth, she sighed. Yes. She was such a weakling. She didn’t regret a single moment of their night together. It was no wonder young women fell so easily under the spells of wicked men. If other men were half as adept at seduction as Jordan …

For a moment, she indulged herself and imagined what being his wife might be like.

They could make love whenever they wanted.

During the winter they would cuddle under the blankets, kissing and touching and doing all those scandalous things he’d done to her tonight.

During the summer, they could make love in the garden—

She blushed. The very idea! To make love outside where anybody might see them … What a wanton thought! It merely proved how far she’d fallen.

Yet nothing had changed from before. He was as forbidden to her as ever. Perhaps she might ignore the difference in their stations, the fact that he’d spent his entire life avoiding marriage, and even the fact that he didn’t love her, but there was still one glaring reason she couldn’t marry him.

Her masquerade. Once he found out why she’d been pretending to be Lady Emma, once he discovered that Nesfield wanted to ruin his closest friend’s plans for happiness, he would recoil from her in disgust. How could he forgive her for deceiving his friend and thus deceiving him?

With a sigh, she gingerly disentangled herself from Jordan’s limp arms, then slid off his lap and took a seat opposite him. She drew the curtain aside, fully expecting to see the lambent glow of oil lamps on wet streets.

But there were no cobbled streets, no houses looming dark in the still night like hulking beasts awaiting the dawn.

Dawn was already here--overcast and gloomy, but still dawn.

And all she could see through the drifts of dust raised by the coach’s wheels were miles and miles of green fields crisscrossed by hedges.

She jerked the curtains open, her heart skipping a beat. For goodness sake, they were not in London! They were in the country!

“Wake up, Jordan!” she cried, leaning forward to jerk his arm. “Your mad coachman has taken us into the country!”

Jordan’s snoring halted abruptly, and he opened his bleary eyes to stare at her. “What the devil—”

“We’re not in London! I don’t know how far outside the city we are, but it’s morning, so we must have gone quite far! You must make your coachman turn back! If I don’t get into the house before someone discovers I’m gone …” Despair overcame her.

Jordan sat up, then groaned. “Deuce take it, my leg’s gone to sleep.” He rubbed it with both hands.

“All of you went to sleep, curse you!” She grabbed one of his arms. “Stop that! There’s no time to waste! Make him halt and turn back!”

“Who?”

If she’d had a reticule, she would have hit him over the head with it. “Watkins, of course! Your fool coachman has taken us into the country!”

As if finally comprehending what she’d been trying to tell him for the last few minutes, he glanced out the window. “I think you’re right.”

Exasperation made her voice strident. “Then stop him, for goodness sake! Make him turn back!”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? Of course you can!”

“When Watkins gets it in his head to go for a drive in the country, there’s no stopping him. We’ll just have to settle back and enjoy the ride.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t have to—” She broke off, eyes narrowing. He looked entirely too nonchalant. Obviously, the wretch had planned this. “Where are we going, Jordan?”

“I have no idea.”

“Curse you, this is no joking matter. Answer me! Where are we going?”

His eyes met hers, steady and clear. “You’re right, of course. This is not a joking matter.”

“Where are we going?”

“North.”

That stymied her. “North?”

“As I said earlier, we are going to be married.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. But when it did, she stiffened in outrage. “You’re taking me to Gretna Green? Against my will? You … you wretch! You despicable, deceitful—”

“Watch it, my dear, you’re talking to your future husband,” he said with a bit of a smirk.

She pounded on the ceiling with her fist. “Stop the coach, Watkins!” she shouted. “Stop it now!”

The coach rumbled on.

“He won’t stop unless I command it,” Jordan said. “Besides, what good would it do if he set you down here in the middle of the road? Will you walk back to London?”

“If I have to!”

“You might as well stop fighting it. You know marrying me is the only solution.”

“You can’t force me to say the vows. You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming into the church.”

Her vehemence seemed to startle him. Then his eyes narrowed. “If I have to,” he echoed her earlier words.

A howl of rage tore from her as she looked for something, anything to throw at him. His hat sailed across the carriage and then his leather gloves. He dodged them both, alarm crowding his features.

She’d just lifted one of the cushions when he grabbed her hands. “Pax, Emily! Good God, you’d think I was taking you to your execution.”

The fight drained out of her all of a sudden, and she slumped against the seat with a groan. What would Lord Nesfield say when he found out she was gone? How long would it be before he assumed she had simply run off? Then how long before he took it upon himself to act?

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” she whispered mournfully.

He squeezed her hands. “Then tell me, darling. I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to free you from Nesfield’s control.”

She lifted her gaze to his, torn unbearably between the urge to unburden herself and the sure knowledge that she couldn’t. If she told him about Lord Nesfield’s threats, he’d no doubt race back to London in a rage and threaten the marquess with bodily harm.

A lot of good that would accomplish. Lord Nesfield had an ironclad case against her, and no blustering or threats on Jordan’s part could change that. Indeed, Jordan’s interference would certainly prompt the marquess to act on his threats. And there was nothing Jordan could do to stop it.

No matter how much influence Jordan had, he couldn’t undo the events leading to her mother’s death. Or to the strange quirk of fate that had given Lord Nesfield power over her.

No, much as she longed to tell him, she mustn’t.

Her only recourse was either to convince him to turn back …

or find some way to escape him between here and Gretna Green.

The journey was long, after all, and they’d have to stop periodically.

That was when she would make her escape.

And if she did it soon, she might even reach London before too much damage had been done.

She glanced at his expectant face. In the meantime, she had to put him off.

“Emily?” he prodded. “Why don’t you tell me all of it?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”