Free The Forbidden Lord by Sabrina Jeffries Page A

enjoy life.”
    “Yes, I’m a dull fellow, aren’t I?”
    “If the shoe fits…” When Jordan scowled at him, Pollock tugged on his impossibly high cravat, then went on in a mulish tone. “You must admit you can be a blasted machine sometimes. Your life is consumed with running your estates efficiently and running things in Parliament. Everything’s orderly; everything’s part of some plan.”
    “That’s not true.” But it was. He did like an orderly life. God knows he’d put up with enough disorder as a child without having to endure it as an adult. So yes, he hated it when things went wrong simply because some fool didn’t behave in a logical or timely manner.
    But that wasn’t what had Pollock miffed. The man was merely peeved at being called a dandy.
    “Then there’s the way you treat your women,” Pollock went on bitterly. “I’ve never seen a man who can take a mistress, then cut her off without a thought because she erred by falling in love with him. And they all fall in love with you, blast you. They don’t realize your charm is merely a means to an end. They think you care. You always make them pant for you, then toss them out into the cold when they want more than sex from the arrangement.”
    Now Pollock was hitting a little too close for comfort. “You’re still angry at me about Julia, aren’t you?”
    “She’s my friend.”
    “Your mistress, you mean. If I hadn’t ‘cut her off without a thought,’ you wouldn’t have the benefit of her company now.”
    Pollock glanced away. “Actually, she and I have parted ways.”
    That caught Jordan by surprise. “Already?”
    “I grew tired of competing with you for her affections.”
    Jordan winced. His parting from Julia had been particularly messy. “That isn’t my fault. She and I had a very clear arrangement: mutual satisfaction of each other’s physical needs and no more. I can’t help it if she changed her expectations. I never did.”
    For a moment, the air was thick with Pollock’s irritatingly sullen silence, punctuated only by the rattling of the carriage wheels on stone. Ever since Julia, their friendship had been a bit strained, though Jordan didn’t know what he could do about it. He wasn’t the one suffering from romantic whims.
    Pollock sighed. “I don’t understand you. Love isn’t something you turn off and on like a damnedspigot. You can’t control it as you control your financial affairs. Haven’t you ever wanted to lose yourself to love?”
    “Now that’s a dreadful thought. Relinquish everything for a fickle emotion? Not a chance. What kind of fool abandons reason, good sense, and, yes, control, for the dubious pleasure of being in love?”
    Only once in his life had he come even close to losing control because of a woman. Strange how he still remembered that night in the carriage with a certain Miss Emily Fairchild. What kind of madness had possessed him? It must have been the full moon, as she’d said. That was the only possible explanation for why he’d nearly seduced the wrong sort of woman.
    He’d paid for it later, too. His stepsister Sara had plagued him relentlessly with questions until he’d deliberately picked a fight with her devil of a husband to take her mind off matchmaking. A pity it hadn’t taken his mind off Emily’s lavender-scented hair and lithe, enticing body. Or her fascinating way of making statements that took him completely by surprise. Women rarely took him by surprise.
    At least their encounter had been brief, and the illusion that he’d found the only female in England who could totally bewitch him had finally passed. No doubt if he met Miss Emily Fairchild again during the light of day—and he wouldn’t—he’d find her ordinary and distinctly unbewitching.
    “I’ll never understand your cynical view of marriage, Blackmore,” Pollock said, “but obviously St. Clair chose you well for his scheme. Any other man might be tempted to steal a winsome little thing like