Page 89 of The Forbidden Lord
A small frown creased her forehead. “Well, no, but?—”
“For God’s sake, Emily, I don’t even blame my mother for what happened in my parents’ marriage, so I certainly can’t blame you for this.”
“What do you mean? Of course you blame your mother! That’s why you avoid young virgins!”
He shifted in his seat to face her. “I avoid young virgins because I don’t want to make the same mistake my father made.”
“Exactly. A woman tricked him into marriage, and you don’t?—”
“No. Being tricked into marriage was not his mistake. Being so deeply in love that he lost his sense of perspective was.” He gazed steadily at her. “Every man with money and power knows that some women will do anything to obtain it, just as some men will do anything to obtain an heiress. We put ourselves on our guard, and we learn to spot the signs. I assure you, my father couldn’t have reached the age of twenty-six unwed without developing such instincts.”
When she looked at him uncomprehendingly, he sighed. “My mother did set a trap for my father, and yes, they were forced to marry. But she’d been taught by her parents that snagging a husband with a grand title and even grander fortune was the most noble achievement to which any young lady could aspire.She merely behaved as she’d been taught. I don’t blame her for that.”
He took Emily’s hand in his. Gazing down at the strong, capable fingers and the skin that had probably never seen an exotic lotion, he thought how utterly different she was from his vain, grasping mother. “My father, too, had been taught. He knew to be wary of such attentions. But my mother was a beauty, and my father wasn’t the most handsome or charismatic man. He was bookish and shy. So when a blazing beauty flirted with him, he forgot all his caution.”
Jordan’s voice tightened. “His lovesick mind mistook shallowness for naïveté, a frivolous nature for youthful enthusiasm. Whatever she lacked, he supplied in his mind, for the simple reason that he let a blind emotion—and a not-so-blind cock—guide him.”
Instead of looking shocked at his deliberate crudity, Emily was watching him with complete absorption. With a scowl, he released her hand. He hadn’t intended to reveal so much; it had just come out.
But it was just as well. If they were to marry, it was best she know why he didn’t cater to such frivolities. “Eventually,” he went on, “my father emerged from his fog to realize that she wasn’t what he’d made her to be in his mind. But by then it was far too late. She was with child, and he had to do the honorable thing. He woke up to find himself an intelligent, quiet man saddled with a stupid, selfish wife who didn’t share his deep feelings of love or his sensibilities.”
He sucked in a harsh breath. It all came back to him so painfully—the constant fights, his father’s refusal to indulge his mother’s whims, her heavy drinking. And amidst it all, the knowledge that if it hadn’t been for his untimely birth …
With an iron force of will, he shoved away the memories. “Marriage became a torment for him. He loved and was appalledby her at the same time, so he withdrew from the marriage to keep sane. And Mother, deprived of her fawning suitor, looked elsewhere for companionship. In a bottle.” He went on in a bitter voice. “That’s what your foolish ‘love’ did to two sadly mismatched people. In the end, Father’s dalliance with Cupid led to disaster. Can you blame me for finding the emotion dangerous?”
“But Jordan, that’s merely one instance. Your father married a second time, didn’t he? Or wasn’t he in love then?”
“Oh, he was in love, all right. Father never could learn his lesson.”
“So she wasn’t a good person either?” Emily whispered.
His expression softened as he thought of Maude. “She was an angel.” He cast Emily a half-smile. “Sometimes you remind me of her.”
She flushed, but didn’t look away. “There, you see? Love doesn’t always end in disaster.”
“You don’t understand. They had a few wonderful years together. Then she contracted a horrible illness, and Father fell apart. He put so much of himself into his love for her that losing her was more than he could bear.” His voice grew somber. “At the end he was a ghost of a man, completely devoted to her, consumed by despair that nothing could be done to save her. He died shortly after she did, because he couldn’t live without her. As far as I’m concerned, it was Cupid who shot the arrow that killed him, leaving his son and stepdaughter to grieve without either parent for comfort.”
For a long moment, they were both locked in silence, the thudding of the hooves on the muddy road the only sound. Then she sighed. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. There was pity in her face, a pity that roused his anger.
“I’m not telling you this to sadden you or make you feel sorry for me. I merely think you should know the truth. Even ifI wanted to love you, I couldn’t. I taught myself to resist such unstable emotions long ago.” When she blanched, he added, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a comfortable, contented marriage. Indeed, if it’s not clouded by emotion, it will likely be better than most.”
“You think so, do you?” She lifted her chin, her green eyes soft with regret and hurt … and some other deep emotion. “And what if I’m in love with you?”
To his disgust, his first reaction to the simple statement was sheer joy. Emily,hisEmily, in love with him?
Then his practical side reasserted itself, and he forced himself to say, “You aren’t. You’re confusing desire with something else, which is understandable under the circumstances.”
“Don’t patronize me, Jordan,” she snapped. “I may be naïve and young and all those things you despise, but I’m not stupid. I know what I feel.”
Uneasily, he realized he had no desire to argue with her on this particular point. How selfish could one man be, to be pleased that she loved him even though he didn’t feel the same?
Yet he couldn’t stop being pleased. He chose his words carefully. “If that’s true, I see no reason it should hurt our marriage. As long as you understand that I don’t … have the capacity to love.”
“Did your father understand that your mother didn’t ‘have the capacity to love’?” she retorted. “Is that what made their marriage such a success?”
She couldn’t have chosen a better weapon. He stiffened. “It’s not the same. My parents weren’t well-suited. You and I are.”
She laughed bitterly. “Oh, certainly. You’re an earl; I’m a common rector’s daughter. You take for granted your box at the opera; I count myself blessed to have attended once. You’re on speaking terms with the Prince of Wales; I’d never even seenhis portrait until my farce of a coming out. I wouldn’t know the faintest idea how to seat people at a dinner party and?—”
