Page 82 of The Forbidden Lord
If all the good people were clever,
And all clever people were good,
The world would be nicer than ever
We thought that it possibly could.
— ELIZABETH WORDSWORTH, BRITISH EDUCATOR, “THE CLEVER AND THE GOOD”
Emily climbed into the Blackmore carriage and sat on the far end of the seat facing forward. Her gown was a little snug and too long—Jordan’s stepsister must be tall and slender. But at least it didn’t show as much of her as the other one.
When Jordan entered a few moments later, he sat next to her. After ordering Watkins to drive on, he took her hand in his. “You look tired. It’s been a long night for you, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.” In truth she was utterly exhausted. Seduction had its pleasures, but it was certainly draining.
He closed the curtain, casting them into nearly complete darkness. Then shifting so that he sat with his back braced against the side of the coach, he drew her onto his lap andcradled her head against his chest. “Here, why don’t you rest a bit? I’ll wake you when we arrive.”
As he wrapped his arms around her, she relaxed against him. She was tired. If she could only close her eyes for a moment … “I’m not hurting you?”
“Not at all. Besides, it might be the last time I can hold you like this.”
Sudden tears filled her eyes, and she was thankful he couldn’t see them in the darkness. Yes, the last time. Although lying in his embrace was an indulgence she could ill afford, she couldn’t bear to throw the moment away.
But she doubted she’d be able to sleep. So much had happened, so much she wanted to think about …
It seemed like only seconds later she was startled awake by a rumbling noise. A somber gray light filtered into the carriage from behind the curtains, dulling the brilliant gold of the brocade cushions.
Still, there was enough light that she could see everything in the carriage clearly, where before it had been pitch-black. They must be nearing her street, which was well lit by oil lamps.
Another low rumble sounded from behind her, and she shifted to look up at Jordan. He was snoring, of all things. That was what had awakened her. She smiled. It was an endearingly normal activity, one she wouldn’t have connected with the Earl of Blackmore.
Earls weren’t supposed to snore. Or sneeze or eat or do any of those human things the rest of the population engaged in. They were supposed to have servants to do those things for them. Who would ever have thought she’d grow so familiar with an earl that she’d be listening to him snore?
She touched his cheek, rough with its evening growth of beard, and gazed fondly at the features relaxed in sleep. A bittersweet pang made her jerk her hand away. It was tootempting to look at him like this, to think that she could see this sight every morning if she were only willing to sacrifice her self-respect.
She couldn’t believe he’d offered to marry her. She’d expected him to be delighted not to have to wed her after bedding her. Obviously, she’d misjudged his character entirely. If she’d guessed he would feel that way, would she have been so ready to offer herself to him?
Glancing up at his slightly curving mouth, she sighed. Yes. She was such a weakling. She didn’t regret a single moment of their night together. It was no wonder young women fell so easily under the spells of wicked men. If other men were half as adept at seduction as Jordan …
For a moment, she indulged herself and imagined what being his wife might be like. They could make love whenever they wanted. During the winter they would cuddle under the blankets, kissing and touching and doing all those scandalous things he’d done to her tonight. During the summer, they could make love in the garden?—
She blushed. The very idea! To make love outside where anybody might see them … What a wanton thought! It merely proved how far she’d fallen.
Yet nothing had changed from before. He was as forbidden to her as ever. Perhaps she might ignore the difference in their stations, the fact that he’d spent his entire life avoiding marriage, and even the fact that he didn’t love her, but there was still one glaring reason she couldn’t marry him.
Her masquerade. Once he found out why she’d been pretending to be Lady Emma, once he discovered that Nesfield wanted to ruin his closest friend’s plans for happiness, he would recoil from her in disgust. How could he forgive her for deceiving his friend and thus deceiving him?
With a sigh, she gingerly disentangled herself from Jordan’s limp arms, then slid off his lap and took a seat opposite him. She drew the curtain aside, fully expecting to see the lambent glow of oil lamps on wet streets.
But there were no cobbled streets, no houses looming dark in the still night like hulking beasts awaiting the dawn. Dawn was already here--overcast and gloomy, but still dawn. And all she could see through the drifts of dust raised by the coach’s wheels were miles and miles of green fields crisscrossed by hedges.
She jerked the curtains open, her heart skipping a beat. For goodness sake, they were not in London! They were in the country!
“Wake up, Jordan!” she cried, leaning forward to jerk his arm. “Your mad coachman has taken us into the country!”
Jordan’s snoring halted abruptly, and he opened his bleary eyes to stare at her. “What the devil?—”
“We’re not in London! I don’t know how far outside the city we are, but it’s morning, so we must have gone quite far! You must make your coachman turn back! If I don’t get into the house before someone discovers I’m gone …” Despair overcame her.
