Page 35 of The Forbidden Lord
“It’s the most exciting thing to happen in years!” Lady Astramont blathered on. “And you, my dear friend, here to see it! Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes, wonderful,” the countess said dryly. “Is Blackmore already here?”
“Oh, dear me, no. That would be too much to ask. I’m sure he’ll arrive late, which is his prerogative, of course. Heis Blackmore, after all. But he sent his acceptance this very morning, so I believe he truly intends on coming.”
As it happened, it was another hour before the earl made his appearance. Though Emily tried not to notice when he arrived, it was impossible to ignore. His entrance into the garden with Lady Astramont on his arm was like a stone thrown into a lake, producing ever-widening ripples of gossip and speculation.
Apparently, no one had believed Lady Astramont’s assertions that the earl was planning to attend. They’d assumed Lady Astramont was lying in a futile effort to enhance her social standing.
Now that he was here, everyone had to offer a whispered opinion to their neighbors on why he’d condescended to come. And since nearly everyone had heard about his dancing with Lady Emma at the ball, most of the speculation focused on her.
Oh, why couldn’t they all hush? She’d never imagined that such a lot of gossips and frivolous rumormongers ruled London society. Clearly, nobody had enough to do. For goodness sake, how could they move about a city like London every day and not notice all that needed to be changed and all the people who needed help? If they’d only channel their energies into something useful instead of repeating mindless tales, the world would be vastly improved.
Lady Astramont’s chirping voice carried across the lawn. “Lord Blackmore, I hope you find everything to your satisfaction. Do try the roast duck. It’s your favorite, is it not? And there’s an apple tart and …”
As she babbled on inanely, Emily cast a quick glance at Jordan. Although he had a faintly pained look on his face, like that of a man wearing shoes a size too small, he responded to the woman’s gushes with a charming smile and some murmured words about how glad he was to attend.
It took Emily by surprise. After the way everybody had spoken of him—as if he were the Deity Himself—she’d half-expected him to be cold and barely civil to their fawning hostess. Although she didn’t like Lady Astramont any more than he probably did, she felt kindly enough toward the woman not to wish her to be treated with condescension in her own home. It warmed her that he felt the same.
Still, Emily could hardly blame him when he extricated himself from Lady Astramont’s clinging arm as soon as possible. He spared Emily a long glance that told her exactly why he’d come, then took his time making the rounds of the other guests, like a tiger toying with his prey.
He waited until Lady Astramont carried off Lady Dundee, the second most important guest at the breakfast, for a tour of her house. Then he sauntered to where Emily sat on a garden chair beneath an oak.
Thankfully, she wasn’t alone. Mr. Pollock, who’d apparently also decided to attend at the last minute, had been at her side throughout the breakfast. Until then, his plaintive complaints about the bright sun and “ghastly” poached salmon had begun to wear on her. Mr. Pollock had the tendency to act as if their acquaintance was more intimate than she recognized. Still, she was grateful to have him nearby now that Jordan was here.
Pollock scowled as Jordan reached them. “Afternoon, Blackmore.”
“Good afternoon, Pollock. Lady Emma.”
She nodded coolly. “Where’s your friend Lord St. Clair?” Was he even now falling into their trap?
“Ian doesn’t attend many social occasions.”
“Can’t say I blame him for missing this one,” Pollock retorted. “I’m surprised to seeyouhere, Blackmore. It’s not like you to socialize with Lady Astramont.”
“Nor you. But I daresay you’re here for the same reason I am.” Jordan’s gaze drifted to Emily. “I came to see Lady Astramont’s garden, of course. I’ve been told it contains some trulyoriginalflowers.”
When hot color flooded her cheeks, Pollock positively glowered at Jordan. “Yes, I forgot—you like trampling flowers underfoot, don’t you?”
“Not at all. The perfect flower needs the perfect setting, however, and I’m here to ensure it gets one.”
“Oh? What do you consider the perfect setting?” Pollock said sourly. “In your buttonhole?”
“No. In the country.” He cast Emily a lazy smile. “That’s where flowers belong, don’t you think?”
Emily met his gaze, every nerve ending screaming with the urge to tell him to go away and leave her alone. In the country, indeed. How could any man look so … so handsome and be such a beast? She’d never seen him in anything but evening dress, and his casual attire today only enhanced his attractions by making him look accessible, even to a rector’s daughter.
And younger, too. He leaned against the oak’s trunk like a youthful swain in a pastoral poem, the afternoon sun glinting off his auburn hair and setting it ablaze. His expression was anything but pastoral, however. It challenged her to engage in his battle of words.
He thought he was so clever.Say what you think,Lady Dundee had advised. That would be perfectly easy with Jordan. “I’m not sure I understand your trite metaphor of the flower correctly, Lord Blackmore. Do you mean I should return to Scotland?”
“Not at all. I don’t think Scotland would suit you. The English countryside seems more appropriate for a girl with your … attributes.”
Pollock glanced from her to Jordan in bewilderment. “Are you insulting the lady, Blackmore? Because if you are?—”
“Insulting her? Of course not. I’m paying her a compliment. Scotland is too barren and cold for a woman as lovely as she. Our English countryside is much warmer and better suited for such beauty.”
“Not all of Scotland is barren and cold,” she retorted, determined not to let him have the last word. “Parts of it are quite lush and green.”
