Page 21 of The Forbidden Lord
The woman faced him, a startled expression on her face. Recognition flashed in those emerald eyes before it disappeared completely, replaced by a cold look of censure. “I beg your pardon, sir. Do I know you?”
Jordan couldn’t have been more stunned if she’d hit him in the face with her reticule.
“My God, Jordan,” Ian cut in. “At least wait until I introduce you before you call the lady by her Christian name.” He lookedfrom Jordan to the woman, both of whom were staring at each other. “You two don’t know each other, do you?”
“We do,” Jordan asserted at the same time she said hotly, “Certainly not.”
Jordan gaped at her. How could she pretend not to recognize him?
Ian said with distinct amusement in his voice, “Since there seems to be some confusion on the matter, I’d better perform the introductions. Lady Emma, may I present Jordan Willis, the Earl of Blackmore. Jordan, this is Lady Emma Campbell, the Earl of Dundee’s daughter and Lord Nesfield’s niece.” In an aside to the woman, he added, “Don’t let his rudeness give you the wrong impression. When he puts his mind to it, he can charm the moon out of the sky.”
Ian’s humor was lost on Jordan, especially when the mention of his full name and title didn’t produce a reaction with her. Who the devil was Lady Emma? It had to be a mistake. This wasn’t the Earl of Dundee’s daughter; this was Emily Fairchild, the rector’s daughter. He was sure of it.
But it had been dark that night in the carriage, and hehadseen her face only briefly in the moonlight. Could he be wrong?
Either way, he couldn’t just stand here gawking at her. He gave a sketchy bow, then said, “I’m sorry, Lady Emma, for accosting you so boldly.” He forced a contrition he didn’t feel into his voice. “My only excuse is that I mistook you for someone else. Please forgive my error.”
The woman arched her eyebrows in wary disapproval. “Someone else? Pray tell me who this Emily woman is.” Her tone grew coy. “Don’t disappoint me, Lord Blackmore, or I swear I’ll never forgive you. Please tell me she’s an exotic princess from the South Seas. Or even an opera singer. I’ll be insulted if it’s anyone less interesting.”
It was Emily’s voice, Emily’s lips … Emily’s blond hair. But not Emily’s manner. And yet … “Then I’m doomed to remain unforgiven. She’s a rector’s daughter.” He added, very deliberately, “Her name is Emily Fairchild.”
He watched for any reaction and fancied he saw a faint tinge of a blush spread over her cheeks.
If so, it was quickly gone, for she smiled archly and said in a haughty voice, “A rector’s daughter? Indeed, youaredoomed. I could never countenance being mistaken for a common rector’s daughter. Oh, no, I can’t forgive you after all.”
Ian was watching Jordan with narrowed eyes, but Jordan paid no attention whatsoever to his friend. “Then I must make amends. May I have this dance, Lady Emma? I can think of no other way to atone for my horrible error.”
Her smile slipped. Good, he’d flustered her.
But she recovered her composure with amazing speed. Tucking her hand in the crook of Ian’s elbow, she said, “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Lord Blackmore. I promised the next waltz to Lord St. Clair, and they’re playing the waltz now.”
For the love of God, she was refusing to dance with him. The brazen chit! What had happened to her? He flashed Ian a quelling glance. “You don’t mind crying off, do you, old friend?”
With a chuckle, Ian quickly disentangled himself from the woman. “I absolve you of your commitment, Lady Emma. Even another dance in your delightful company can’t compare to watching my friend dance the waltz at a marriage mart for probably the first time in his life.”
A look of outrage spread over her face as Jordan held out his hand. She glowered at Ian, then Jordan. “But we have barely been introduced! You can’t do this! It’s not at all proper!”
Emily had protested his lack of propriety that night in the carriage, too. Jordan smiled, feeling more sure of himself now. He ignored her protest and cupped his hand about the slenderwaist that felt so painfully familiar. Surely he’d held this waist before and seen those same tender lips quiver as they were doing now.
Taking her small hand, he placed it on his shoulder and repeated the words he’d said that night, in a voice meant only for her ears, “As if I care about propriety.”
If she remembered, she showed no sign. “Oh, butIcare,” she spat, “especially when a rude man attempts to forgo it.”
He tightened his hold on her when she tried to wriggle out of his embrace. “Sorry, my dear, but this rude man shall have his waltz, and youwillfollow along. Everyone’s watching, and if you refuse me, your name will be on every gossip’s tongue tomorrow.”
Her name would be on every gossip’s tongue regardless. Already he could feel the hush that had fallen on the crowd the moment he’d taken her in his arms. Ian wasn’t the only person keenly interested in observing the Earl of Blackmore break his own rules about dancing with innocents. It had been this very effect Ian had been hoping for with Sophie. And with any luck it would prod Emily into telling him the truth.
He could tell when she became aware of the eyes on them. Her hand in his trembled, though her shoulders remained stubbornly set.
“I see we understand each other,” he said smoothly.
He just had time to see her pretty eyes narrow in mutinous resentment before the music began and he whirled her off into the waltz. Casting her a grim, triumphant smile, he tugged her almost indecently close.
When her response was to step forcefully on his foot in the next turn, he had to laugh. If she thought she could brazen this out with him, she was mad. One way or another, he would find out what was going on. And no amount of petty attacks and dissembling on her part would prevent it.
Chapter Five
Foolish eyes, thy streams give over,
