Page 64 of The Forbidden Lord

“Don’t you dare!”

He gaped at her. “What do you mean? After this morning, I thought?—”

“Well, you thought wrong. I like Blackmore. I think he’s interested in my daughter.”

“You could call it that,” St. Clair muttered.

“I distinctly detect sarcasm in your voice. Are you saying I’m wrong?”

“Not in the least. God knows I’ve never seen a man more interested in a woman. But …”

“His interest is merely physical. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

He looked taken aback by her candor. “I’m not sure. It’s what he claims.”

“Pish-posh. Men always claim they’re only interested in the physical. It keeps their pride intact. They don’t want anybody thinking they might be enamored of a mere woman. Blackmore is a very proud man, after all.”

St. Clair smiled. “Yes. And ‘enamored’ is a good word for what Jordan seems to feel for Lady Emma. But being enamored of a woman and doing something about it—something honorable, that is—are two different things.”

“Are you saying he would debauch my daughter, then walk away?” She held her breath. If so, this couldn’t go any further. Emily wasn’t prepared to fend off the full seductive power of a man like Blackmore, and Ophelia didn’t intend to send the girl home ruined.

“I don’t think so. He’s always steered clear of innocents.”

“Well, he’s not steering clear of her, is he?”

St. Clair looked thoughtful. “No, he’s not.” He cocked his head to stare at her. “Lady Dundee, are you trying to catch Jordan for your daughter?”

“Of course! Emma is in love with him. And if my daughter wants a man, I’ll do what I can to get him.” It was the least she could do for Emily after involving her in Sophie’s mess.

“In love with him? She told you that?”

“No. She denied it violently. The girl doesn’t know her own mind. But I know young women, and I’d wager my husband’s fortune that she loves the scoundrel.”

St. Clair rubbed his chin. “I must trust your maternal instincts on that one. And it’s conceivable he’s in love with her as well.”

Ophelia’s eyes lit up. “Do you think so?”

“He denies it, too. But I’ve never seen him act this way around a woman. He can’t let her out of his sight or stop talking about her.”

“Aha! Well then, we must do something about this.”

“What do you have in mind?”

She paused to look St. Clair over. Even in the poorly lit hallway, he looked arresting, if a little rakish. He was tall—Ophelia had a partiality for tall men—and he had quite good bone structure. What was more important, he had all the qualities of a fine gentleman—courtesy, tact, a sense of humor. True, sometimes he was a trifle somber, as if the weight of the world lay on his shoulders. But she suspected St. Clair would make a good husband for any woman, even a silly girl like Sophie.

As for Randolph’s fears about his character … Well, she couldn’t believe them. Yes, there were times when St. Clair seemed a bit … well … dangerous, but so had her Edward, and he’d turned out fine.

But before she took the monumental step of telling him where Sophie was, she wanted to be more sure of her decision. And there was a way to do that while at the same time giving Blackmore the chance to court Emily properly.

With a glance at the crowd of people swirling around them, she pulled St. Clair into a nearby empty box. “Do you like entertaining, Lord St. Clair?”

“What kind of entertaining?”

“Dinner parties. Picnics. Diversions. You do have a house in town, don’t you? It would be no trouble at all for you to entertain. I’d do it myself, but it might look suspicious. And iftwo people who might not otherwise take the initiative to meet should happen to be invited, no one could blame you, could they?”

“Yes, but?—”

“I should very much like to see your house, you know. If you’re as serious about Sophie as you seem, I think it only fair that I assess your potential.”