Page 100 of The Forbidden Lord
Damn her! This was what happened when a man let frivolous emotions control his destiny instead of reason. She thought to wrap him about her finger by speaking a few words of affection to him. She thought to use the enticing appeal of love to make him want her so badly he would do anything for her. Father had made that mistake?—
He sat up straight. That wasn’t true. Father had never heard words of love from Mother. She’d treated her husband with nothing but contempt. She’d ignored the incredibly valuable gift he was offering, taking it for granted and never offering it herself.
It’s not love that destroys. It’s the lack of it.
A sudden chilling realization gripped him. All this time he’d considered himself a wiser version of his father, a man who’d learned from his father’s example that emotions were dangerous. But it wasn’t Father he resembled. It was Mother.
No matter what he’d told himself, he’d been as starved for love as Emily had claimed. He’d reveled in her admissions that she loved him. He’d soaked up the affection like a greedy sponge. Like his mother, he’d wanted it all, without giving it back. All the fun, and none of the responsibility.
Yes, he’d offered Emily marriage, but that was a trifling thing. The way he’d envisioned it, she would give him her body and her heart and yes, her love, and he would give her … what? His name? Money? She didn’t want either one. Children? He didn’t even know if she liked children. His companionship? A woman like her would never lack for companionship.
What she wanted, amazing as it seemed, was a real marriage. To him. But giving her that was a great deal harder than giving her his name or his companionship. He knew what a real marriage was like—his father and stepmother had shared one. Real marriage was difficult. It meant an exchange, an equal union. It meant sometimes compromising one’s wishes for the other person.
It meant letting a person know you so intimately that he—or she—could destroy you if she chose. Trust. It meant trust.
If you can’t do something as simple as that …
“Milord?” came Watkins’s voice wafting down from the perch. “You said you’d tell me where to go once we reached the city.”
Jordan hesitated only a moment. Then he took the first leap of faith he’d ever taken in his life. “Home, Watkins,” he called out. “Take me home.”
Clutching Blackmore’s note in her hand, Ophelia called for her carriage, then paced impatiently while it was fetched. The summons to Blackmore Hall didn’t surprise her in the least. She’d guessed almost from the beginning that Emily was with him. Of course, she’d told Randolph that the girl had taken off for home and would return in a few days. It was the only thing she could think of to prevent him from taking drastic action. She’d even prayed it wasn’t a bald-faced lie. But in her heart, she’d known that the girl had gone to Blackmore. And he, damn his hide, had kept her.
Where, she didn’t know. She’d been to Blackmore’s house countless times in the past three days. His servants had protested that he’d left the city, and they’d not said where he’d gone. But wherever he was, Blackmore had Emily. Of that, Ophelia was certain.
Now the blackguard had returned, destroying Ophelia’s faint hope that he’d taken Emily to Gretna Green. She should have known better. Why marry the girl when he thought he could have her without benefit of clergy? After all, since he knew her true identity, he held all the cards. He knew only too well that neither Ophelia nor Randolph was in any position to publicly protest his actions.
That didn’t mean, however, that Ophelia intended to let him get away with it. Oh, no. She’d make him marry the girl if she had to hold a pistol on him to do it.
The carriage arrived, and she climbed in, her voice shrill with impatience as she gave the order to drive on. As it clattered off, she opened the card with its terse message and read it again. The only thing she didn’t understand was Blackmore’s insistence that she come alone and not tell Randolph where she was going. That was curious. And for heaven’s sakes, where had Blackmore been for the past three days?
By the time her carriage reached Blackmore Hall, Ophelia was in high dudgeon. She ignored the footman who handed her out of the carriage and brushed right past the servant who held the massive oak door open for her. “Where is the scoundrel?” she demanded as the man took her cloak.
He quaked beneath the look she gave him, but he didn’t need to direct her, for she heard voices coming through an open door upstairs. Recognizing one of them as Blackmore’s, she hurried up the stairs toward them.
Just as she reached the door, she heard him say, “Where the devil is Hargraves? He should have been here before me. I fully expected him to be waiting here?—”
When she burst through the entranceway, effectively cutting him off, she was startled by the sight that greeted her. Blackmore was there, pacing before the fireplace in what appeared to be his study. He looked most unkempt and certainly weary.
But St. Clair was present as well, and Emily was nowhere in sight.
Ignoring St. Clair’s frigid gaze, she fixed all her attention on Blackmore. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”
The man seemed to have a maddening calm. With a quick glance in his friend's direction, he circled behind his massive desk, no doubt intending to intimidate her. “Good afternoon,Lady Dundee,” Blackmore said coolly as he took his seat. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“A pox on you, young man! Where is Emily?”
“‘Emily’? You’re giving up the pretense so easily?” There was real surprise in his voice.
What had he thought? That she’d hem and haw in front of St. Clair when Emily’s welfare was at stake? The blackguard!
“I don’t care about all that! I want to know what you’ve done with the poor girl!”
His eyes narrowed. “The ‘poor girl’ is in Willow Crossing with her father, where she belongs. I took her there.”
She gaped at him. Emily was at home? With her father?
Then the last part of his sentence registered. “Do you mean to tell me that you traveled with Emily for two days unchaperoned? You awful man. You know better! When I get through with you?—”
