Page 71 of The Forbidden Lord
His jaw tightened. “Don’t be so melodramatic. Any connection between you and Pollock would be far more ruinous to you than my mild interference.”
Mild interference? Oh, if only he knew. “It’s not … this awful thing you’re imagining, I assure you. You know I could never engage in something truly distasteful.”
“Do I? What do I really know about you? You’re adept at masquerades and you can quote scripture when it suits you.” His gaze flickered over her body. “And you have a talent for making men want you. That’s all I know. You’ve toyed with Pollock, and God knows you’ve toyed with me. And for what? Tell me that.”
“You make it sound so sordid.”
“From where I’m standing, it certainly looks that way.”
Curse him! He had a right to be suspicious, but what more could she tell him? How was she to escape this thorny mess?
Suddenly a voice called to them down the hall. “Blackmore, is that you?”
It was Lord St. Clair. She cast Jordan a pleading look.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Ian. But tomorrow, I will reveal your identity to whomever I wish.” He strolled past her toward his friend, as casually as if he’d been carrying on the most insipid conversation with her. “I was just coming to see you, Ian. Sorry, but I have to leave.”
“So early? Don’t you wish to stay for the dancing?”
“You’re having dancing? Good God, that isn’t like you.”
The viscount shrugged. “Perhaps I’ve been too long away from society.”
Jordan looked grim. “Or perhaps you’re letting certain people influence you.” When Lord St. Clair scowled at him, he added, “In any case, I can’t stay. Business and all that. You understand.”
Lord St. Clair’s gaze shot past Jordan to her. “Not really. But you’ll do exactly as you please as usual.”
Jordan glanced back at her, a taunting smile on his lips. “Good night, Lady Emma. I’ll be at your town house at ten tomorrow. Don’t forget.”
She glared at him. Forget! He knew quite well she wouldn’t forget. She would never forgive him for this!
Lord St. Clair showed his friend out, then came back to where she was still standing, her hands working her shawl into knots.
“Lady Emma, are you all right?” Gently, he took the corner of her shawl from her clenched fingers. “My friend seems to have distressed you.”
“Your friendalwaysdistresses me! At the moment, I’d like to see his head on a platter.”
He laughed. “A bloodthirsty sentiment for a lady.”
But I’m not a lady.That’s the trouble.
Too bad she couldn’t tell him that. Donning her best Lady Emma persona, she cast him a haughty look. “We Scots are a bloodthirsty lot. And we don’t take kindly to arrogant English lords who meddle in other people’s affairs.”
“I hope he wasn’t discussing Pollock with you again.”
Her eyes widened. “Jordan told you about that? Never mind about his head on a platter. It belongs on a spike!”
“Calm down, Lady Emma. I came upon him when he was angry, and he spoke out of turn. But I defended your honor to him, I assure you, and reminded him of what an idiot Pollock is. Jordan would normally ignore the man’s lies, but he’s rather prone to jealousy where you’re concerned. You should beflattered. No other woman has ever succeeded in making him jealous.”
“Yes, I’m quite flattered,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “What woman wouldn’t want the attentions of a man who has no desire to marry, yet has the audacity to be jealous of every man who smiles at her?” Tears welled in her eyes, and she cursed them, turning away from Lord St. Clair to hide her face. She shouldn’t have said so much. He would guess the true nature of her feelings.
“What do you mean—‘has no desire to marry’?”
She blotted her eyes with the end of her shawl. “You know what I mean. Everyone knows about Jor— About Lord Blackmore. How he only consorts with ‘experienced’ women like that … that widowed countess, how he has a heart of stone.” Her voice sounded overwrought, yet she couldn’t calm herself. “He’s proud of his immunity to normal human emotions, for goodness sake. He boasts of it.”
Lord St. Clair was quiet a long moment. Then he laid his hand on her arm. “That’s true. But I think he boasts of it precisely because he fears those emotions. He’s not as impervious as you think.”
“Yes, he is,” she whispered, remembering his cold refusal to consider her pleas.
