Whispers
Romance Books

The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries

Of all the wretched luck, Emily Fairchild thought as Jordan, the Earl of Blackmore, waltzed her deftly through the throng of fashionably dressed lords and ladies. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Or recognize her. Or waltz with her. No, definitely not.

How could he remember her after spending less than an hour in her company two months ago? She'd been masked, for goodness sake, except for a few minutes. It had been dark. He shouldn't remember her. Of course, there'd been that kiss they'd shared—

Goodness gracious, now she was turning red! Please, God, she prayed, don’t let him notice.

She might as well be howling at the moon. His dark eyes seemed to miss nothing, more was the pity. "I like making you blush, Emily."

"Why do you persist in thinking I’m this Emily person?"

"You can lie to those others, but not to me. Why are you here pretending to be some deuced Scottish lady?"

She hated deceiving him, but she had no choice. "Lord Blackmore, your little joke has grown tedious. I don’t know why you keep confusing me with this Emily Fairfax creature."

"Fairchild! Her name ... your name is Fairchild, not Fairfax, as you damned well know!"

"You needn’t curse at me," she chided automatically.

The flickering light from the candles overhead played over his gloating expression. "Seems I’ve heard you say that before—that night we were alone in a carriage."

Dear heavens, she’d slipped up already. "I have no idea what you mean."

His smug expression stayed firmly in place. "Come now, Emily, tell me what this is all about," he demanded.

He would never believe her. How could he? He saw through the ridiculous pose they’d forced on her. Deception wasn’t in her nature.

Suddenly, Lady Dundee’s words came to her—Lady Emma is your masquerade, merely an amusement. It doesn’t change Emily Fairchild.

This was a masquerade, not a deception. And why did it matter if she lied to him? That night in the carriage, he’d made it quite clear she was nothing but a fleeting diversion. He too had played a role with her, saying sweet things to her when he knew all the time he never intended to see her again.

"I grow weary of this game, Lord Blackmore." She cast him a frosty look. "Please find another."

He glowered at her, but when she said nothing more, he set his lips into a determined line. "Very well. You force me to take more drastic action."

She laughed coyly. "What shall you do to me? Torture me? Throw me in a dungeon until I say what you wish?"

For the first time that evening, he smiled, though most devilishly. Angels must cry every time he loosed that smile on unsuspecting women. "I can think of more pleasant ways to get the truth from you."

Too late, she realized they were dancing along the edge of the room, where doors of cut crystal opened onto wide, marble balconies. Somehow he had maneuvered her there without her even noticing.

He danced her onto the balcony, then stopped. She tried to wriggled away, but he merely snaked his arm more tightly about her waist and dragged her toward the steps that led down into the garden.

"I thought you wanted to dance," she bit out, though her heart was pounding loudly enough to be heard in China. "You behaved in a most rude manner to gain a waltz with me."

"I require more than a waltz from you, as you well know. And for what I intend, we need privacy."

Privacy. The last time they’d had privacy, he’d kissed her senseless. If he kissed her again, she was likely to fall apart and confess everything.

But Lady Emma wouldn’t balk at going into the garden with him. She was much too sure of herself to do such a ninny thing. Indeed, the woman would probably delight in a private assignation with an unmarried earl of Jordan’s consequence.

Centering her mind on that thought, she let him draw her down the stairs, her legs moving mechanically beside him. When they halted behind an oak that hid them from prying eyes, however, she nearly panicked. This was private.

"Now then, Emily." He released her arm and faced her with the expression of an older brother chastising a child. "What do you have to tell me?"

The condescension in his voice provided her with a jolt of courage. How dared he treat her like some simpleton?

"I’m sure I wouldn’t know what to tell you. This is your little fantasy, Lord Blackmore." Flipping open the ivory fan attached to her wrist by a slender cord, she worked it with languid motions. "A rector’s daughter? Is that who I’m supposed to be? I don’t guess you’d settle for a gypsy girl, would you? A rector’s daughter is such a tiresome role."

Her reward was the stunned look on his face. "Deuce take it, woman," he growled, grasping her shoulders roughly. "Stop this pretense! I know who you are!"

"Oh, I don’t think you do." Casting him a flirtatious smile despite the somersaults in her stomach, she walked her fingers up his silky coat lapel. "If you really knew anything about me, you’d lose interest in this Emily person at once."

He blinked, then scanned her again, as if to ascertain where he’d made his mistake. Then his face cleared, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "You won’t mind if I determine the truth in the only way I can think of."

"Oh? And how is that?"

His hands closed about her waist, drawing her hard against him. "Like this." He lowered his head to hers. "By kissing you as I kissed her."

She had no time to prepare herself before his mouth caught hers. Though she’d already half expected it, the touch of his lips came as a shock. It was exactly like that night in his carriage ... the same dizzy pleasure stampeding over her restraints, the same hot, hard thrill linking her to the man forbidden to her. She melted and sizzled against him like butter in a hot pan.

But when his mouth left hers and he murmured "my sweet Emily" in a tone that left no doubt of his certainty, her heart sank. She was doing this all wrong. Emily Fairchild melted. Emma Campbell burned.

"It’s Emma," she whispered to correct him. Then she boldly slid her arms about his neck and drew his head forcefully back for another kiss.

Copyright © 1998 by Sabrina Jeffries. All rights reserved.