Page 65 of The Forbidden Lord
His eyes narrowed. “Fair indeed. Would your niece be equally interested in seeing my house?”
“I’m sure she would—if she were in London. But my brother has sent her off somewhere to keep her safe from certain unsuitable men.”
The expression on his face was priceless. “Like me, you mean. Damn it, I knew there was something suspicious about her illness!”
“Yes, well, Randolph overreacts sometimes.” She cast him a sly glance. “But if I determine that a man isnotunsuitable after all, I might just be in a position to influence my brother. Or otherwise ensure that a wedding takes place, if you know what I mean.”
He gave her a long, assessing look. “Lady Dundee, are you blackmailing me into having dinner parties at my house?”
“Not at all. I’m merely pointing out the great advantages that you, your friend, and my daughter could derive from such parties.” When he seemed to mull that over, she added, “And that would allow me to assess Blackmore’s potential for my daughter as well, wouldn’t it?”
A reluctant smile creased his lips. “You are a sly, manipulative woman.”
“Thank you. I try very hard to arrange the lives of my family so as to ensure the most happiness for them and the least inconvenience for me.”
He chuckled. “Very well. I won’t stand in the way of your machinations. I need an ally, and Jordan clearly needs a wife, even if he won’t admit it. Since this is your idea, do you have any proposals about whom I should invite? Aside from you, Lady Emma, and Jordan, of course.”
“Mr. Pollock, for one.”
“Pollock? Why?”
“Blackmore seems jealous of his interest in my daughter, don’t you think?” That was just a guess, of course. Her real reason for including the odious man in their party was to determine once and for all if Pollock might be the one after Sophie. She prayed he wasn’t. She couldn’t stomach having that man in the family.
“I wouldn’t trust Pollock around Lady Emma if I were you,” St. Clair said with a grim look on his face.
“I don’t. But Blackmore will make sure the man treats her with respect, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.” His scowl faded. “Well, then, anything else?”
“Oh, I have a million suggestions. But come, we must return to the box before Emma wonders what has become of us. You and I will take care of the details later.”
It was high time to end this foolishness. And before it was all over, she planned to make sure that Emily got something of worth out of it.
Chapter Thirteen
“One must choose in life between boredom and torment.”
— MADAME DE STAËL, LETTER TO CLAUDE ROCHET, 1800
Adinner party, of all things. Jordan still couldn’t believe it. He climbed out of his coach at Ian’s town house, shaking his head at his friend’s recent odd behavior. Before his absence from England, Ian had kept to himself at his country estate. Jordan certainly never remembered his giving a dinner party. This sudden burst of conviviality was uncharacteristic.
But then, so was the man’s search for a wife. Jordan had never thought to see the day when Ian would be dancing attendance on the simpering girls at marriage marts. Soon Ian would be married, and there would be no more lazy afternoons fishing at Jordan’s estate or hours spent debating politics in the Subscription Room at Brook’s. Ian would be done with all that. He’d have little need for his friends, because he’d have a wife to keep him company, to share his thoughts and life.
To keep the loneliness at bay.
The thought shook Jordan. That was one thing to be said for marriage: it meant the end of loneliness.
Or did it? His mother had been lonely, painfully so. And his father, too. Marriage didn’t always end loneliness. Sometimes, it brought about a much worse loneliness, the kind that came from living side by side with a stranger.
He sighed. Pray God Ian chose his wife carefully and found someone who wouldn’t ignore him. Jordan wouldn’t wish his parents’ sort of marriage on anyone.
The door opened as he reached the top of the marble stairs, and a footman took his greatcoat and top hat. A familiar female laugh drifted down to him from the drawing room upstairs, sparking a sudden anticipation in his belly. Wasshehere? Two days had passed since he’d spoken to her, though he’d seen her at several social functions. But if she were here…
How could she be? Surely Ian, with all his protective instincts, wouldn’t have invited her. Still, his palms grew clammy as the servant led him upstairs. And when he entered the drawing room to find a knot of men gathered around Emily, drinking wine and relating stories that she laughed at with feminine delight, his throat went raw.
She was here, all right, and making the men lust after her as usual. For God’s sake, why didn’t Lady Dundee do something instead of sitting there and watching Emily with fond indulgence? Did the deuced countesswantEmily to be hounded by a lot of lecherous fools?
At least Emily’s gown was demure tonight, unlike that piece of scarlet seduction she’d worn to the opera. Rich folds of pale rose satin swathed her form, making her lips and cheeks look petal pink and soft. Sprigs of white orange blossoms encircled her golden hair like a fallen halo, and a strand of equally white pearls nestled between her breasts with a contented glow,drawing his envy. To rest between those soft mounds of flesh would bring contentment indeed.
