instead of Lady Sophie, are you?”
Ian shot him a sideways glance. “Perhaps. I’m ready to put an end to this search for a wife.”
With a fervency that astonished him, Jordan wanted to tear his best friend into little pieces.
“Judging from your murderous expression, however,” Ian went on with decided amusement in his tone, “I’d best not try it. I’m not the sort to fight over a woman.”
Devil take the man. Ian had merely been gauging his reaction. “I don’t care if you court the chit,” Jordan grumbled, trying futilely to regain lost ground. “But don’t expect me to pick up the pieces when I prove to be right.”
Ian laughed. “Now that I think about it, I don’t believe Lady Emma will suit me after all. Two dances with her told me that. Lady Sophie meets my requirements better. I want an easy wife, not some flirtatious, unruly Scot. I have no tolerance for breaking in wild fillies.”
Jordan wouldn’t mind having a go at breaking in this particular filly. Judging from that kiss in the garden, Lady Emma could make the most devout monk forswear his vows of celibacy. And Jordan was no monk.
But even if she were Emily, he needn’t refrain from seducing her—for it would mean she was a designing, lying wench and not the innocent he’d thought. For some reason, that possibility infuriated him. He’d liked Emily Fairchild exactly as she was.
“Look at her,” Jordan bit out. She’d taken a new partner, that idiot Wilkins. “She’s an incomparable actress. Well, I will expose her little game, whatever it is.”
“Why? What does it have to do with you?”
Ian wouldn’t understand. It was like discovering that the unicorn you revered for its magical powers was really a horse with a horn attached. It made you want to tear off the horn and kick the horse. “If she’s an impostor, people ought to know,” he grumbled.
“What rot! You’re not doing this for the good of society. You want that girl, and you want her badly. You’re besotted with the very sort of woman you’ve always avoided.” Ian’s smug smile broadened. “What a sweet revenge for all those women who’ve tumbled head over heels for you and received nothing for it but a cool glance.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’m not besotted. I’m never besotted.”
“Then it should be a singular experience for you. Beware, my friend; they say it isn’t easy to dismiss love.” He added, only half-facetiously, “Protect your heart if you can.”
“No need,” Jordan retorted. “As Pollock is so fond of saying, my heart is made of granite. No one, and certainly not some pretty chit up to no good, shall change that.”
Chapter 6
In men this blunder still you find —
All think their little set mankind .
Hannah More, Florio
A n hour later, Emily still couldn’t decide what bothered her most. That she’d fooled Jordan by giving him precisely what he wanted—a reckless interlude with an experienced woman—or that she’d played the wanton with such ease. What sort of wicked person could do that, could lie to a man and tease him so…so scandalously?
“You’re awfully quiet, Lady Emma,” said a voice at her side. “Are you bored?”
She glanced at Mr. Pollock and, as she’d been doing all evening, said what she thought Lady Emma might say. “Of course I’m bored. You city folk are so sedate. In Scotland, we’d have been dancing jigs until dawn, but already this ball seems to be ending. I’m quite put out over it.”
The two coxcombs who flanked Mr. Pollock laughed. He smirked at her, his eyes brightened by too much punch. “Yes, and those Scottish lads are wild, aren’t they? Walking about with nothing under their kilts. I imagine their jigs are…enlightening for a young lady, shall we say?”
It was a shocking thing to say to a girl at her coming out, and he probably knew it. Tamping down on her urge to chastise him, Emily instead tapped him playfully with her closed fan. “I see you take my meaning
Ian shot him a sideways glance. “Perhaps. I’m ready to put an end to this search for a wife.”
With a fervency that astonished him, Jordan wanted to tear his best friend into little pieces.
“Judging from your murderous expression, however,” Ian went on with decided amusement in his tone, “I’d best not try it. I’m not the sort to fight over a woman.”
Devil take the man. Ian had merely been gauging his reaction. “I don’t care if you court the chit,” Jordan grumbled, trying futilely to regain lost ground. “But don’t expect me to pick up the pieces when I prove to be right.”
Ian laughed. “Now that I think about it, I don’t believe Lady Emma will suit me after all. Two dances with her told me that. Lady Sophie meets my requirements better. I want an easy wife, not some flirtatious, unruly Scot. I have no tolerance for breaking in wild fillies.”
Jordan wouldn’t mind having a go at breaking in this particular filly. Judging from that kiss in the garden, Lady Emma could make the most devout monk forswear his vows of celibacy. And Jordan was no monk.
But even if she were Emily, he needn’t refrain from seducing her—for it would mean she was a designing, lying wench and not the innocent he’d thought. For some reason, that possibility infuriated him. He’d liked Emily Fairchild exactly as she was.
“Look at her,” Jordan bit out. She’d taken a new partner, that idiot Wilkins. “She’s an incomparable actress. Well, I will expose her little game, whatever it is.”
“Why? What does it have to do with you?”
Ian wouldn’t understand. It was like discovering that the unicorn you revered for its magical powers was really a horse with a horn attached. It made you want to tear off the horn and kick the horse. “If she’s an impostor, people ought to know,” he grumbled.
“What rot! You’re not doing this for the good of society. You want that girl, and you want her badly. You’re besotted with the very sort of woman you’ve always avoided.” Ian’s smug smile broadened. “What a sweet revenge for all those women who’ve tumbled head over heels for you and received nothing for it but a cool glance.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’m not besotted. I’m never besotted.”
“Then it should be a singular experience for you. Beware, my friend; they say it isn’t easy to dismiss love.” He added, only half-facetiously, “Protect your heart if you can.”
“No need,” Jordan retorted. “As Pollock is so fond of saying, my heart is made of granite. No one, and certainly not some pretty chit up to no good, shall change that.”
Chapter 6
In men this blunder still you find —
All think their little set mankind .
Hannah More, Florio
A n hour later, Emily still couldn’t decide what bothered her most. That she’d fooled Jordan by giving him precisely what he wanted—a reckless interlude with an experienced woman—or that she’d played the wanton with such ease. What sort of wicked person could do that, could lie to a man and tease him so…so scandalously?
“You’re awfully quiet, Lady Emma,” said a voice at her side. “Are you bored?”
She glanced at Mr. Pollock and, as she’d been doing all evening, said what she thought Lady Emma might say. “Of course I’m bored. You city folk are so sedate. In Scotland, we’d have been dancing jigs until dawn, but already this ball seems to be ending. I’m quite put out over it.”
The two coxcombs who flanked Mr. Pollock laughed. He smirked at her, his eyes brightened by too much punch. “Yes, and those Scottish lads are wild, aren’t they? Walking about with nothing under their kilts. I imagine their jigs are…enlightening for a young lady, shall we say?”
It was a shocking thing to say to a girl at her coming out, and he probably knew it. Tamping down on her urge to chastise him, Emily instead tapped him playfully with her closed fan. “I see you take my meaning
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