The Forbidden Lord

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “I tried that, milord. She won’t take it. I told her you didn’t want to be disturbed, but she insists. Says her name is Emily, and you’d want to see her.”

  He sat up straight. Emily? Here? Was the woman insane?

  In an instant, he was at the door and flinging it open. “Why didn’t you say so, for God’s sake? Show her up here at once!”

  The servant nodded and hurried off, wearing a look of complete bewilderment. Jordan glanced down at his stocking feet, then over to where he’d tossed his cravat, cutaway, and waistcoat across a chair. Should he put them back on? Should he at least pretend this wasn’t the most improper situation she’d ever put him in?

  What was the point? If she were fool enough to come here alone and risk her reputation just to beg him to relent, then she deserved to be shocked.

  “Miss Emily,” announced the servant.

  Jordan turned to the door as the servant ushered her into the room, and his jaw dropped. She wasn’t likely to be shocked by his attire, for God’s sake. Look at what she was wearing.

  The scarlet gown from the opera, the one he’d wanted to tear off her. Only this time it was worse, for he’d swear she wore nothing under it—no petticoats, no corset, perhaps even no chemise. As she entered the room, the shimmering velvet clung to her legs and her delicious curves like gilt wrapping paper encasing every man’s dream of a birthday gift.

  Except that he couldn’t open it, wasn’t allowed to open it, damn it. He sucked in air, futilely trying to catch his breath as she approached. Her lavender scent surrounded him like a cloud of temptation, yet all he could do was gape at her.

  “Milord?” said the servant. “Will that be all?”

  “Yes,” he said in a strangled voice. “And this time I truly do not wish to be disturbed.”

  Emily colored but said nothing as the servant left, closing the door behind him.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” he exploded. “How did you get here?”

  She swallowed. “I climbed out a window and took a hackney coach. I found one who knew where you lived.”

  “You took a hackney? In that? It’s a wonder you weren’t mauled!”

  “I wore a cloak until I got here, but your footman insisted upon taking it from me.”

  “I’ll kill him tomorrow,” he muttered. No one should ever be allowed to see her like this. No one but him.

  Sternly, he reminded himself of why she had probably come. Crossing to the chaise longue, he picked up his brandy snifter and took a great gulp of the fiery liquor. If only it could smother the greater fire in his loins. But that wasn’t likely. Only one thing would smother that fire, and although she stood before him wearing the most enticing of gowns, she wasn’t available.

  He refused to look at her. If he did, he couldn’t be responsible for his actions. “I suppose you’ve come here dressed like that because you think it’ll distract me from my purpose.”

  “No.”

  The softly spoken answer took him by surprise. He whirled to stare at her. “You’re not hoping to make me give up my plans?”

  “Actually, I’ve come to…offer you a bargain.” Her chin was trembling and her hands, too, but she held herself as proudly straight as if she were dressed in a Quaker’s prudish woolen dress. “You said at the opera that you want me. Well—” She hesitated a moment, as if gathering her courage. Then she swept her hands downward to indicate her body. “You can have me.”

  For the first time in his life, he found himself utterly speechless. Surely she didn’t mean what he thought she meant. Not his virginal rector’s daughter.

  At his silence, she went on more nervously. “I’ll give you my body freely for one night. In exchange, you must promise not to speak to Lord Nesfield or Mr. Pollock.” She took a deep breath, then went on in a rush. “I won’t expect anything of you other than that. I don’t want you to marry me. I merely want you to keep quiet.”

  And for that, she would do this? For a moment, he actually considered the offer and all it would mean. He could strip off her gown and caress each golden curve. He could fondle those sweet breasts, part those slender legs, and bury himself deep inside her with impunity. He could find release. Finally.

  After all, he’d never really intended to go to Nesfield. It had all been a bluff.

  But if he gave in, accepted her offer, he’d lose his only method of convincing her to tell him the truth—he couldn’t give that up. She offered him this because she was desperate, not because she wished to share his bed. She was as skittish as a filly at her first mating. She couldn’t seem to stop fiddling with the deuced gown, and her eyes swept his study as if searching for the monsters sure to be lurking behind his bookshelves.

  Devil take her for this. “Your scheme means so much to you that you’d prostitute yourself to save it?”

  She flinched at the word “prostitute,” but it didn’t seem to halt her in her purpose. “Yes. The purpose of my masquerade is more noble than you think, and if you end it before—” Anger flashed in her eyes, then was gone. “You must believe me. Many people will be ruined if you speak to Lord Nesfield. And yes, I’ll do anything to keep that from happening.” Reaching up, she removed the pins from her hair, sending the rope of golden silk cascading down about her shoulders. “Anything you want.”

  A jolt of desire turned his knees to rubber. The scent of lavender teased him, and when she shook out her long hair, he thought he’d gone to a rake’s heaven.

  Or a rake’s hell. “What kind of man do you think I am?” he choked out, as much to convince himself as her. “Do you really think I’d take your innocence for any reason?”

  “You needn’t…worry about that.” She tilted her chin up. “It’s not a concern.”

  His blood ran cold. He couldn’t have heard her right. “What do you mean?”

  She drew a shaky breath. “There’s no ‘innocence’ for you to take. I’m not as pure as you think.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why not? How do you think I could play Lady Emma so convincingly? Even you weren’t sure who I was. Do you know any virgins who behave as I did?” She thrust out her chest, taunting him to look at the breasts that fairly burst to be free of the velvet. “Would they wear a gown like this to an unmarried man’s home?”

  She was playing Lady Emma now, wasn’t she? The experienced Lady Emma. The tempting Lady Emma. It was all a role. Wasn’t it?

  Sidling up to him, she removed the brandy snifter from his numb fingers and set it down on the nearby desk. Then she laid her perfect little hand on his chest and began to unbutton his shirt. “Come now, Jordan, surely you’ve wondered if I might be…less than pure. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have believed Mr. Pollock’s tales.”

  “I didn’t…believe them,” he murmured, though his throat had suddenly shrunk to a tiny passageway that barely allowed air in or out of his body. If she didn’t step away from him soon…

  Another button. Another. “Yes, you did. And with good reason.”

  Jealousy exploded behind his eyes. “So you did let him kiss you?”

  She wouldn’t look at him. “He kissed me, yes. And…and touched me.”

  “Is he the one who—”

  “No, of course not.” Her hand went still on his shirt front. “It happened before I came to London. You don’t know the man.”

  That roused his suspicions, though she didn’t seem to notice. Oh, no, she merely went on unbuttoning his shirt, edging so close that he could only watch in utter fascination as her breasts lifted and fell more quickly with each breath.

  At least she could breathe. He’d given up on it altogether.

  “Who was he then?” he rasped. She was lying. She had to be. When she shrugged, he goaded her. “Your cousin perhaps. The one with you at the Drydens’ ball.”

  “Certainly not!”

  Her outrage confirmed his suspicions. She’s only acting a role, he told himself. He’d rather believe that than believe he’d misjudged her character.<
br />
  Glancing up, she caught the suspicion in his gaze, then added stubbornly, “Lawrence is a prude. He would never touch me.” With a half smile, she slid her hand inside his shirt to caress his chest. The feel of her fingers on his bare skin was incredible, like being stroked by an angel. “It doesn’t matter who it was. I don’t care about him. I want you. I’ve always wanted only you.”

  She bent her head to press a kiss to his chest, and he jerked beneath her touch. If she was acting, it was certainly a convincing performance. “It can’t be true. I know you are—”

  “Innocent? Do you? As you said before, what do you really know about me?”

  Devil take her, she was muddling his brain. Her hand swept lightly over his ribs, and he sucked in a breath. If she were what she claimed, then he could have her. Here. Tonight. For her willingness to share his bed, he would give her whatever she wanted.

  But she wasn’t willing. She was only pretending to be willing, the way she had at the museum. And doing a damned good job of it, too. Her fingers were skimming down his waist now, light, sensuous. He wanted them lower, much lower.

  She cast him a seductive smile. “Let’s enjoy each other as you always wanted. Then you can give up this nonsense about going to Lord Nesfield and causing trouble.”

  That reminded him of why she really was here. He caught her hand, squeezing it hard. “I won’t agree to your bargain. I don’t believe you’re not an innocent. I won’t believe it.”

  For a moment, he thought he saw worry flicker in her face. But it was gone so fast, he wasn’t sure. In its place was a look of frightening determination…the look of a woman bent on seduction.

  “Then I shall have to convince you.” Taking him by surprise, she laid her hand on the bulge in his trousers. The traitorous thing leapt at her touch. He groaned as a purely feminine look of satisfaction covered her face. This role of hers was becoming far too real.

  Her fingers explored him through his trousers, caressing and intimate, stroking him with a surety that gave him pause even as he went hard as iron. Cursing under his breath, he caught her hand and shoved it away. Deuce take the teasing wench! How could she know just how to tempt a man?

  Grabbing her by the shoulders, he looked for some sign of uncertainty in her eyes, but there was none. A slow smile touched her lips as she curved her hands around his waist and then had the audacity to slide both hands down to cup his buttocks. She squeezed, and he nearly erupted right there.

  “Well? Shall we go on?” she asked in the silken tones of a lover.

  His body declared mutiny. It was needy and hungry and ready to take her on the floor. She was offering herself, and God help him, he would accept her offer. Now.

  He caught her in his arms, kissing her with all the desire that had built in him since the day he first saw her. Her soft response, the way her body melted and her mouth opened beneath his, filled him with such possessive, damnable gladness that it frightened him. Good God, the taste of her…the scent of her, luscious and beguiling…it would make any man forget himself. Wildly he stabbed his tongue inside her warm mouth, now almost mad to join himself with her.

  Her body undulated against his as fluidly as a cat’s. He could almost imagine her purring as she twined her arms about his neck, threading her fingers through his hair to clutch him close.

  Then the clock struck midnight, startling them both.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he glanced at the clock, then around the room at his somber study. He didn’t know if he could wait another second to have her, but she deserved better than this.

  “Come on,” he said as he dragged her toward the door.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To my bedchamber. I won’t take you here on the floor like some savage.”

  She halted short of the door. “Does this mean you agree to my bargain? You’ll keep silent?”

  Her words reminded him uncomfortably of why she was doing this. He glanced at her, wishing he had the will to refuse her and knowing he didn’t. One look at her tumbled hair, reddened lips, and eyes glazed with need was enough to make him abandon any scruples. “Keep silent? I’d bind my tongue forever just to have you in my bed tonight.”

  Triumph briefly glinted in her eyes. Then she touched her finger to his mouth, tracing the outline of his lips with a sensual gesture that made lust rage through his body. “I can think of other, better uses for your tongue.”

  He caught her finger in his teeth, sucking on it until a sigh escaped her lips. When he released it, he was harder than before, if that were possible. “So can I. Come with me, and I’ll demonstrate just how many.”

  Chapter 15

  Vice is detestable; I banish all its appearances from my coteries; and I would banish its reality, too, were I sure I should then have any thing but empty chairs in my drawing room.

  Fanny Burney, English novelist

  and diarist, Camilla

  Jordan’s bedchamber wasn’t what Emily had expected. To be sure, it had a massive canopied bed perfect for seduction, with lush damask hangings of midnight blue dripping down from an ornate mahogany cornice.

  But where were the lewd paintings, the erotic sculptures meant to excite one’s lust? For a man who spent his nights in the arms of tarts and merry widows, his bedchamber was oddly sober and sparsely furnished, with only a neat dressing table and writing desk to accompany the bed.

  “Here we are.” He shot the bolt, and the sound echoed loudly in her ears.

  “Yes.” Dear heavens, she really was here. In his bedchamber. Alone with him.

  “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?” He approached her from behind and pushed her hair aside so he could unbutton her gown. She felt the cloth parting, exposing her back a little at a time to the chilly air. She shivered, partly from the cold, partly from apprehension. When he was kissing her senseless, she forgot the enormity of what she was about to do. But having him undress her—that was a reality she could hardly ignore. After this was all over, she would be thoroughly and truly ruined.

  By a man who would rather eat nails than marry.

  Not that she could imagine being married to him anyway. One thing this visit had accomplished was to remind her of the vast difference in their stations. This room alone was twice the size of all the bedchambers at the rectory put together, and this was only his town house. He probably had more than one estate. His wife would have to be a consummate hostess, a woman with skills Emily had never dreamed of.

  A woman like Emily could only be suitable as a mistress. Yet she would fail at even that. The very way he unlaced and unbuttoned and untied the many fastenings of her gown showed that he had experience she lacked. He’d obviously done this many times before.

  She hadn’t even done it once. If she made it through this without his guessing the full extent of her inexperience, it would be a miracle.

  Of course, once he took her he would discover the truth. She’d been told that losing one’s virginity involved blood and some pain—she could hardly disguise that. But by then, it wouldn’t matter. His only reason for not wanting a virgin was his dislike of inexperienced women…and his fear of being forced into marriage. The latter she would reassure him wasn’t a concern.

  But the former—

  She must have stiffened or made some unconscious movement that revealed her fears, for he paused as he finished unhooking her gown. “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean? N-nothing is wrong.”

  He turned her around, his gaze searching her face. “One would think to look at you that you’d never been undressed by a man before.”

  She swallowed. “Don’t be silly,” she said with a brittle laugh. “How could I have experienced the delights of love without being undressed? I’m just…concerned that I might not please you. After all, you’ve known a great many women, or so they say.”

  Like a fiery torch, his gaze drifted down over her loosened gown. “None like you. Trust me, Emily, it would be impossible for you not to please me toni
ght.”

  Then she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers, making her forget everything but him. He tasted so good, the brandied heat of his lips driving out the chill of her fears. He shoved her gown off her shoulders, and it whispered to the floor, leaving her in only her knee-length chemise.

  “Mine,” he whispered in a guttural tone, like a starving man marking his possession of the single loaf of bread fallen from the baker’s wagon. “All mine.” And his dark, probing kiss was a blatant repetition of the word.

  His. She wanted to be his, if only for tonight. From the moment he’d first stepped into that carriage with her, he’d roused a strange restlessness in her that had lain dormant until then. His first kiss had cut her free of a lifetime’s moorings, setting her adrift in a wildly unfamiliar sea of unfathomed temptations. Now she never wanted to go back. This might be all she’d have of him, but it would be enough. One delightful night to cherish in her heart and last forever.

  As his mouth mated with hers, she burrowed her hands inside his shirt to mold the warm skin. It was so different from hers, so rough with hair, the muscles beneath it taut and firm. They bunched into fine ropes beneath her touch.

  He groaned, tearing his lips away. His fingers tangled in the straps of her chemise, drawing it down until it pooled in the center of her scarlet gown like a camellia surrounded by roses. She was completely naked.

  Unable to mask her shyness, she reached for him, but he swept her hands aside. “I want to look at you. Let me look at you.”

  Color crept over her skin from her face down. No one, not even a maidservant, had ever seen her like this. She’d been taught it was wrong to bare one’s body except for the length of time it took to bathe or dress. Her parents had often recited the passage in the Bible where Noah placed a curse on his youngest son for having seen his nakedness.

  Yet as Jordan continued to stare at her with unabashed admiration, all those strictures, all her shame at violating them, slipped away.

  “You’re exquisite,” he said in a voice hoarse with need. “If you only knew how many times I’ve imagined you like this. And how far short my imagination fell of the reality.”