The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries Read Free Book Online

else could have brought him here and prompted him to call for her?
    Her father apparently misinterpreted her uneasy silence. “I know you don’t like the man, but it would be wise for you to go, my child. He is my patron, after all.”
    “Yes, of course. I’ll go at once.” Untying her apron, she set it on the table. She had no choice but to leap when Lord Nesfield snapped his fingers.
    While Papa spoke with the footman, she took a few minutes to change into her sky-blue sprigged muslin, the only one of her day gowns suitable for an audience with the haughty marquess.
    When she descended the stairs, Papa was pacing the hall, the lines in his face etched more deeply than usual. “Don’t let Lord Nesfield’s ill humor rouse you to harsh words, Emily.” He bent as she lifted her head to kiss his cheek. “We owe him a great deal. He may be troublesome, but he’s still one of God’s creatures. Try to remember that.”
    “I will, Papa. Don’t worry. I’m sure this is nothing at all.”
    Later, however, as the Nesfield carriage rumbled up in front of the ancient mansion set amidst acres of tenant farms and forest, she found it increasingly hard to be nonchalant. The imposing facade of stone and brick with its myriad windows emanated an awesome power. The Marquess of Nesfield held complete sway in Willow Crossing. If he wanted to ruin her and Papa, he could do so with a snap of his cruel fingers. And unfortunately, she’d given him the wherewithal to do it.
    A shudder passed through her. When she descended from the carriage and entered the gilt-edged foyer to find Lord Nesfield himself waiting for her, the shudder grew to a raging alarm. Something was amiss, to be sure. But what? How could it possibly concern her?
    It must be terribly important. His lordship’s attire, usually extravagant and self-important, was casual, mussed, and grimy. He looked as if he’d just now arrived from London. He was treading a circle around the foyer like some great vulture surveying a dead carcass, and his ivory cane beat a choppy rhythm on the marble floor.
    As soon as he caught sight of her, his frown added more wrinkles to his aging brow. “At last! You took your sweet time, didn’t you, Miss Fairchild? Come with me. We have much to discuss.”
    She bit back a hot retort. She would never getused to Lord Nesfield’s utter lack of courtesy toward anyone beneath him. He barely allowed the butler time to take her pelisse before he clasped her by the arm, dragging her to the drawing room as if she were a recalcitrant child. Dear heavens, what was going on? She’d never seen Lord Nesfield so agitated, and he made a profession out of peevishness and agitation.
    As soon as they entered the lavishly appointed room, he released her. She surveyed her surroundings, discovering to her surprise that someone awaited them there. A woman of substantial proportions filled up a large wing-backed chair like a great stuffed peacock.
    And with such brilliant feathers! Emily couldn’t help but stare. The woman’s expensive-looking satin gown was so vividly purple it made her pink-cheeked face look like a peony floating in a sea of violets. Emily judged her to be about fifty, though it was hard to tell since she wore a turban of golden satin over her hair, and the plumpness of her skin smoothed out any wrinkle that would dare to crease its surface.
    One thing was for certain. Only a woman with utter confidence in herself could effectively wear such an outrageous ensemble.
    Lord Nesfield broke the silence. “Ophelia, I present to you Miss Fairchild, my rector’s daughter. Miss Fairchild, this is Ophelia Campbell, the Countess of Dundee. Lady Dundee is my sister.”
    Emily gave a deep curtsy, her curiosity thoroughly roused. So this was the formidable Lady Dundee. According to local gossip, the woman had turned down offers of marriage from an English duke and a marquess to marry her Scottish earl. Some said she’d married for love, and others said