Page 67 of The Forbidden Lord
“That’s enough, both of you!” Emily jerked Pollock back down. “You’re not helping matters, Mr. Pollock.” She glared at Jordan. “Nor are you. This is all your fault, you know. If you hadn’t provoked him?—”
“How was I to know he couldn’t take a joke?” Jordan said unrepentantly as he handed her the strips of rags.
She took them with a scowl. Crushing rosemary and garlic together between her fingers, she pressed the pulpy mass against the wound, then wrapped the bandage around it. “It wasn’t a joke. It was just another case of your showing contempt for anybody who doesn’t meet your high and noble standards.”
The words of rebuke brought him up short. Was that what she thought of him?
Pollock watched them both, a smile curling his lips. “Exactly, Lady Emma. You know the man well. He looks down on us mere mortals. And he certainly doesn’t understand men with sensitive tastes like me.” He covered her hand as she bound his wound, and his gaze drifted down to ogle her breasts. “Or women of kindness like you.”
Jealous fires seared Jordan. And when she went still, blushing to the roots of her hair, the fires flamed even higher.
Quickly, she finished binding the wound, then mumbled, “The servant forgot the brandy, and I know you must be in pain. I’ll fetch it.”
As soon as she had gone, Pollock leaned back and cast him a taunting glance. “I was wrong, after all. She’s very good at doctoring, isn’t she? She has a soft touch.”
Jordan could hardly see for the anger clouding his vision. “You stay away from her, do you hear me? She’s not your sort.”
Pollock smiled, examining his bandaged hand with fastidious interest. “I suppose you think she’syoursort.”
“Stay away from her. That’s all.”
“I will if she will. But as you can see, the woman can’t keep her hands off me.”
“Don’t be absurd. She amuses herself by helping idiots.”
Pollock’s resentful gaze shot to him. “Really? Is that what she was doing that night she and I were together in Lady Astramont’s garden?”
The blood drained from Jordan’s face. He told himself that Pollock was lying to pay him back for making a fool of him in front of Ian’s guests. But there’d been that blush of Emily’s every time Pollock was mentioned, and what she’d told him last night about Pollock’s advances …
“You know, Emma kisses like an angel,” Pollock remarked. “And those breasts, so ripe to the touch?—”
“You bastard!” Jordan reached Pollock in two strides and jerked him out of the chair. “You keep your filthy hands off her!”
Pollock smirked at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve taken a fancy to her. She’s more my sort than yours, you know. At leastI’dmarry her.”
The words were a shock of cold water in his face.At least I’d marry her.Would Pollock marry her? Even if he knew who she really was?
More importantly, would she marry Pollock? Why else would she have let the man touch her, if not to gain a rich husband?
No, he couldn’t believe that of her. He thrust Pollock away with an oath. “Get away from me, before I shove all your lies down your dirty throat.”
“Lies, eh?” Pollock dusted off his frock coat. “Perhaps you should ask Lady Emma what we were doing in Lady Astramont’s garden the night of the breakfast.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps you’d better not. You might not like the answer.”
With thunder in his brow, Jordan advanced on Pollock.
The scoundrel stood his ground, a cruel laugh escaping his lips. “So the man who can’t feel has finally met his match, hashe? Good. I hope she breaks your frigging heart.” Then Pollock turned on his heel and walked out.
Jordan stood there, Pollock’s nasty words careening through his brain. They were nothing but lies! She wouldn’t have let Pollock put his hands on her.
The source of his torment made the grand mistake of entering just then, bearing a bottle of brandy in her lily-white hands. She looked startled to see him alone. “Where’s Mr. Pollock? He may want this brandy for the pain.”
“Such elaborate concern for a reprobate,” he snapped. “I wonder why Mr. Pollock’s pain should disturb you so much.”
“I don’t like to seeanyonehurt. At home, I always patched people up. It’s my specialty.”
“And is letting them make free with your body your specialty, too?”
She stiffened. “If you’re talking about what happened between you and me in the museum?—”
