Page 39 of The Forbidden Lord
Jordan regarded his friend thoughtfully. “I’ll be glad to help. As long as you help me speak to her alone as well.”
Ian scowled. “See here, if you’re planning to browbeat the girl?—”
“I won’t browbeat her. I merely want to ask her some questions.”
“I can well imagine,” Ian said with a snort.
“I won’t do it any other way.”
With a sigh, Ian set his pipe aside. “You’re really interested in her, aren’t you?”
Lady Emma/Emily consumed his thoughts, bedeviled his sleep, and made him behave like a slobbering dog in a butcher shop. No woman had ever blown him off the carefully plotted course of his life before.
Jordan glanced away. “I’m interested in determining the truth, that’s all.”
“I take it your sally into the dark caves of Astramont proved pointless?”
“You could say that.”
“You couldn’t draw near your prey? Or when you did, she proved too wily for you?”
The mocking way he said “wily” made Jordan bristle. “The girl evaded my questions, if that’s what you mean. If you’re dying to know everything that happened, ask Pollock. He was there, too.”
“Pollock witnessed this great contretemps? This grows more interesting by the minute. Perhaps I’ll have Pollock help me with Lady Emma instead.”
Jordan spoke without thinking. “If you do, I swear I’ll hang that preening popinjay with one of his own ridiculous cravats!”
Ian broke into a grin. “By God, you’re jealous!”
“Jealous! Of that dandy? Don’t be absurd!”
But when Ian’s grin widened, Jordan busied himself with stubbing out his cheroot and hunting in the case for another. He wasn’t jealous. It merely disturbed him to think of an exquisite creature like Lady Emma with an idiot like Pollock. Unfortunately, thanks to his own fit of temper, she was probably strolling through the extensive Astramont gardens with Pollock at this very moment.
What if she truly were some laird’s daughter looking for a husband? Could she possibly think Pollock would suit her, a man whose idea of entertainment was to drive about town in his phaeton showing off his newest gaudy waistcoat?
And what if Pollock got her alone? What if the fop were treated to the same kind of kiss she’d given Jordan the other night?
A red haze filled his vision. To think of her standing under a cherry tree in Pollock’s arms, teasing the man to kiss her, to caress her, to?—
Devil take it, he should never have left her with that fool! Pollock could be quite smooth-tongued when he wanted to impress a woman, and judging from the leers the bastard had cast her at Lady Astramont’s, Lady Emma was exactly the sort of woman Pollock would want to impress.
Well, if she took up with Pollock, she’d regret it. Jordan snatched up his second cheroot and lit it with a snarl. He would show her how vain and pompous Pollock was.
Never mind that until two days ago, Jordan had considered Pollock a casual friend. Now Pollock was the enemy. Anyone who stood between him and Lady Emma—Emily—was the enemy.
Even Ian. “Well?” Jordan glanced at his friend. “What’s your plan? Am I in?”
“You’re in. I can’t miss the chance to watch you make a fool of yourself over a woman.” Before Jordan could retort, he continued, “Here’s what I thought we’d do …”
This was Emily’s second walk with Mr. Pollock through the gardens. During the first, he’d questioned her about her love of Scotland. She hadn’t been able to turn the conversation to Lady Sophie before Lady Dundee had joined them.
Though Emily had wanted to leave, this was the perfect time to question Mr. Pollock, especially with Jordan gone. Somehow she’d conveyed to Lady Dundee her desire to stay, but it had taken more contrivance to gain this second walk with Mr. Pollock.
At last they were alone. Everyone else had retreated into the house since the afternoon light had waned, so the gardens felt more intimate and exotic. The gazebo added to the effect, with its nymphs for columns and its ornate roof. As they approached it, the only sounds were those of their boots crunching the gravel walkway and a nightingale trilling a twilight song.
“You certainly put Blackmore in his place this afternoon,” Mr. Pollock murmured. “I wager he won’t bother you again.”
She wished that were the case, but suspected that Mr. Pollock’s remark merely revealed his hopes. Lord St. Clair was right: the young man did seem to resent Jordan. She couldn’timagine why, unless it was because Jordan had the title and status Mr. Pollock was unlikely to obtain.
