Page 57 of The Forbidden Lord
She waited in utter fear for the countess’s reaction. Would Lady Dundee lecture her for not revealing this before? Or, God forbid, would she head straight to Lord Nesfield with the news?
When the countess said nothing, Emily couldn’t bear it any longer. She glanced up, fully expecting the woman to be wearing a look of censure. But the countess was smiling. Smiling, for goodness sake!
“This is interesting indeed. So he’s known your true identity all along? And he hasn’t said anything to anyone? How very strange.”
“Not ‘known.’ Suspected. I don’t think he would have said anything without being sure.”
“Hmmm. But today he learned he was right. You say you asked him not to tell anyone?”
“Yes. I don’t know if he will.”
“He kept quiet this afternoon, didn’t he?”
“That’s true.” Emily considered that, then shook her head. “On the other hand, he’s not the kind to make public pronouncements. If he tells Lord St. Clair, he’ll do it in private. We must watch the viscount carefully. His behavior will indicate if he knows.”
Lady Dundee straightened. “Oh, dear, I forgot—this afternoon while you and Blackmore were gone in the museum, St. Clair invited us to join him at the opera this evening. He’staken a box. I thought it might be a good idea, so I accepted. What do you think? Are you up for it?”
“Yes, of course. Then we can determine what Jordan—I-I mean, Lord Blackmore—has told Lord St. Clair. I’d rather go and learn where we stand.”
“What if Blackmore is there?”
Emily lifted her chin. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not afraid of him, you know.”
But she was afraid of him. She was afraid of the sinful urges he roused in her, afraid that she was slipping into an infatuation that would wreck her life. And terrified that he would reveal her secret. He’d said he cared, but what did that mean? He’d made it quite clear he wasn’t the sort of man influenced by something so silly as pity.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Lady Dundee said softly.
Emily’s eyes widened. “In love? Certainly not! How could I be in love with a man so far above me? He would never marry me. For goodness sake, even when he thought I was Lady Emma, he wasn’t interested in me beyond—” She stopped short, reddening.
“Beyond the physical attraction, you mean?” Lady Dundee settled her feet on the footstool. “You think not? Trust me, a man of his sort doesn’t follow a woman about town simply because he’s randy. He can fill those needs anywhere.”
“He followed me about town because he wanted to expose me,” she said bitterly.
“Did he? Seems like an awful lot of trouble merely to prove that some nobody is an impostor. What would he gain by it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself why he’s so persistent. I can only assume it offends his moral sensibilities to have me impose on his friends with this masquerade.”
“Moral sensibilities? Blackmore? From what I hear, he reserves his moral sensibilities for his reform efforts inParliament. In private, he seems no more nor less moral than his peers. No, he’s interested in you—I’d stake my honor on it.”
“Then your honor would be ruined,” Emily bit out.
“We’ll see. Tonight. And remember, if hehastold his friend, it’s not your fault.”
“I only wish your brother felt the same.” A sudden terror struck her heart. “You won’t tell Lord Nesfield all this, will you?”
“Of course not. Randolph will overreact, as he always does. And you mustn’t worry about it anymore, do you hear?” Lady Dundee regarded her intently for a moment. “Now run along, dear, and get some rest. You’ll need it for tonight. You and I will see this through, never you mind.”
A sudden surge of gratitude made Emily grab the countess’s plump hand and kiss it. “Thank you, Lady Dundee, for not revealing my secret to your brother. And for not insisting that I stop the masquerade.”
Amusement lit the countess’s eyes. “Stop the masquerade? Now that it’s become interesting? Certainly not.” Emily rose to walk off, and Lady Dundee added, “Oh, and dear? Wear the red velvet tonight.”
Emily blushed. She’d sworn never to wear that particular gown. “But it’s so … so revealing. Don’t you think it’s much too low in the front for a girl at her coming out?”
“Pish-posh. This is the opera. Everyone dresses that way. Go on now, be a good girl. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
With his hands shoved in the pockets of his greatcoat, Jordan walked briskly along the Strand. After watching Ian disappear inside the Nesfield town house, Jordan had abandoned the carriage to his friend.
Ian would think he was avoiding the inevitable discussion about “Lady Emma.” It was true, but it wasn’t his main reason for setting off on foot. Walking helped him cope with frustration and anger, and right now, the knot of both was wound so tight and large in his gut that it would take a great deal of walking to unwind it.
