Page 61 of The Forbidden Lord
She heard rather than saw him advance to the front of the box. Flipping up his tails, he took the chair next to her. She sat rigidly, not daring to look at him after the intimacies they’d shared that afternoon. She wiped her clammy hands on her skirts and wished fervently he hadn’t come.
But when he said nothing, she couldn’t resist a glance at him. As usual, his coat was impeccable, his cravat immaculate. Why couldn’t he wear ill-fitting coats or have warty hands or something else to dislike? No, he had to be perfect in every way. The perfect, beautiful, forbidden earl who kissed like the devil and held her fate in his hands.
He met her gaze, and she dropped hers at once, mortified to be caught staring.
Then he cleared his throat. “You’re looking lovely this evening. Though I must say that your gown is a little … snug, don’t you think?”
He sounded as if he’d been gargling nails. And what did he mean? That she was too plump for the gown?
She glared at him. “Lady Dundee said it would be acceptable for the opera.”
His gaze flickered briefly to where the gown pushed her breasts up scandalously high, much like all the other women’s gowns she’d seen this evening. He swallowed, then jerked his gaze back to her face. “For some other woman perhaps. On you, it’s deadly.”
For goodness sake, what did he mean? Now that he was certain she was a rector’s daughter, did he think she had no right to wear such beautiful clothes? The arrogant wretch. “If you’re going to insult me, you might as well leave.”
“Insult you? I wasn’t insulting you. At least, I don’t think I was.” He sighed. “Don’t throw me out yet, not after I went to so much trouble to find out where you were.”
“What trouble? I’m sure your friend told you we were attending the opera.”
“My ‘friend,’” he said with a hint of sarcasm, “didn’t tell me a thing. I’ve been to two dances, a party, and an early ball looking for you. I finally had to go to Ian’s house and badger his servants to find out where he—and therefore, you—might be.”
Her foolish heart fluttered again. “You went all those places in search of me?”
“I had to talk to you. We left things unsettled this afternoon.”
She squelched her disappointment. Of course that was why. God forbid he should wish to see her for some other reason.
Well, she needed to talk to him, too. But how to broach the subject? “You’ve missed half the opera.”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been in my own box. I keep one year-round, mainly for my sister when she’s in town.” He gestured to a box across the theater, where the curtains were half-drawn. His tone hardened. “I’ve been in there watching the men gawk at you.”
Was that jealousy she heard? She sighed. Of course not. Jordan would never be jealous of her, or of any woman for that matter. “Why didn’t you join us?”
“I didn’t know if your ‘mother’ would allow it after what happened this afternoon. I suppose she’s ready to skin me alive.”
Should she tell him that Lady Dundee knew about their previous association? No, she’d best not. Then he might feel free to badger the countess about what was going on. “She … didn’t suspect anything,” she lied.
He glanced off across the theater, drumming his fingers on his knee. He seemed agitated. “That’s a shock. Ian suspectedeverything. He spent half the afternoon lecturing me about toying with innocent young women.”
She froze. “And did you tell him why … I mean …what we spoke about and?—”
“No.” His gaze shot to her, deeply serious. “I didn’t tell him anything. That’s why I’m here. To assure you I’ll keep your secret.”
Relief swamped her, so intense she nearly reeled with it. “Oh, thank heavens! I was so worried.”
He scowled. “You didn’t really think I’d be so callous as to expose you without knowing what was going on, did you?”
“I didn’t know what to think. Until now, you’ve been so ... so insistent about finding me out, it seemed logical you would want to let everyone know?—”
“Good God, you don’t think much of me, do you?” He jumped to his feet and began to pace the small area at the front of the box. “Well, my dear, you should have trusted to your feminine tactics. Your tears and your begging were very effective, I assure you. I’m not made of stone.”
“They weren’t tactics.” Wounded by his cold words, she struck back. “Besides, Mr. Pollock says you boast of your granite heart, so I guess youaremade of stone, aren’t you?”
He whirled on her, eyes narrowing. “Pollock? Is he still sniffing around after you? He only told you that because he resents me, you know.”
“Oh? So you never boasted of it to him?”
With a muttered oath, he glanced away from her. “All right, so I might have said … something like that. But I’m not as bad as he makes me sound. Just because I don’t crumble in the face of a woman’s tears doesn’t mean they don’t affect me. I’m not the unfeeling wretch you take me for.”
