Chapter 12 #2
When she put her hands in his, he carried them to his lips and kissed each. “You look a little tired, which is hardly surprising given this dismal place. We must see what we can do.”
He shut the door on the gawking Pinneys and released her hands. Portia remembered then that Fort had been at Mirabelle’s, had bid on her, diced for her, and according to Bryght, would not have been able to get her completely free.
She had absolutely no idea what to say to him.
He was as tall as Bryght and a little heavier in build. He made the small room shrink even further, but he was Fort with whom she’d run wild in Dorset years ago and his slanted smile was familiar. “I thought you’d given up madcap adventures, Portia.”
“I thought so too. Oh, Fort, thank you for helping us.”
“It was nothing,” he said and eyed her warily. “I rather thought you’d ring a peal over me about the military.”
“I might have done, but I see now it may be for the best. But I do hope Oliver doesn’t see much action.”
“Don’t be foolish. The only way to keep him out of trouble is to keep him in the thick of things. It’s a damned shame the war’s about over. You have almost mothered him to disaster.”
“Are you going to put it all at my door, then? That seems unfair.”
“Not all of it. Your mother and pouting Pru have done their part. Let him go.”
She pulled a face. “It seems I have no choice. At least I am able to manage Overstead while he’s gone. I assure you you will be repaid in full in not too many years.”
“It is nothing,” he said again, and Portia found it rather irritating. It was doubtless true that five thousand guineas was nothing to the Earl of Walgrave. It had nearly ruined her.
“In fact,” she said, “we can pay off a good part of it immediately, for Bryght Malloren gave me the proceeds of his wager last night.” There. She was rather proud of the cool way she had referred to it.
“Did he, by gad? Twelve hundred? I suppose he owed you something since you must have helped him win.” His lip curled. “Rather a dishonorable bet, if one thinks about it.”
“No more dishonorable than auctioning children!”
He shrugged carelessly. “The main thing is to see what can be done with you until Oliver returns.”
“I can stay here now your visit has covered me with glittering respectability.” But then she remembered that Bryght Malloren might have been here and shuddered.
“You see it is not proper,” Fort said. “I could offer you refuge at my house, but it’s a bachelor establishment at the moment and you are not a relative….”
“I don’t expect you to house me, Fort.”
“Do you not have any acquaintance or connection in Town?”
“No. We have only been here for a few days. Oliver has friends, but…”
“But, no,” he completed with a raised brow.
“There’s Nerissa, I suppose.”
He looked a question.
“Nerissa Trelyn. She is apparently my cousin.” Portia laughed. “I was supposed to dine there tonight.”
A strange flash of humor touched his eyes. “But that is the perfect solution. Explain your plight—say Oliver was called out of town on urgent business. Lady Trelyn will be bound to take you in.”
“Oh, I couldn’t…”
“She will insist. Trelyn—dull dog that he is—is a stickler for family responsibilities. You will be secure in the highest levels of Society.”
Secure. It was a delicious word. Portia remembered how charming Nerissa had been and the decorum that had surrounded the Trelyns in the park. In that circle there would be no risk of being importuned by a rakish gamester. “Do you really think it the thing to do?”
“Assuredly.” And yet something in his tone made Portia’s instinct twitch a warning.
“I don’t like to impose.”
“It will not be an imposition. Now, do you have ready funds? You should travel by chair.”
“I have been used to walking about the town.”
“I don’t recommend it. I would take you, but Trelyn looks askance at any sort of wild living and I’ve done my share.
My escort wouldn’t add to your consequence.
If we truly were cousins, it would be different.
” He smiled with genuine affection. “I do feel a family connection, Portia, and I will look out for your welfare.”
“Thank you, Fort.” She went into his arms. “It means so much to have someone to help me.”
He hugged her. “Everything is going to work out well for you, I promise. But please stop fighting every battle. I know you too well for my sanity. The thought of you loose on London will turn me gray.”
She laughed. “You weren’t used to be so cautious. I’ll try to act a decorous lady, but I do hate to give in without a struggle.”
“I know it. Give in on this little thing, though. Promise you will take a chair wherever you go.”
She smiled up at him. “Very well.”
“And send word to me when you’re settled. If Lady Trelyn fails you, I’ll arrange something else. We really can’t have you here like this.”
She impulsively rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
He kissed her back, lightly on the lips. “I thought you past the age of being so foolish by now.”
“So did I,” she said wistfully, her thoughts all of Bryght Malloren.
Portia admitted then that it was not just her rooms that were insecure, but her heart. Bryght had invaded, and with very little effort could conquer. She needed stronger defenses.
So, as soon as Fort had left, she put on her hat and prepared to set out to visit the Trelyns. She found Mrs. Pinney hovering.
“A fine gentleman, your cousin,” the woman said in a blend of awe and suspicion.
“The Earl of Walgrave?” Portia queried, smoothing her leather gloves.
The woman’s eyes went wide. “The one they call the Incorruptible?”
“No, his son,” said Portia crisply. “I am about to visit a relative to see if I can stay with her during my brother’s absence. Please call me a chair.”
“Very wise.” Mrs. Pinney was almost groveling now. “A young woman can never be too careful of her reputation, my dear.”
This struck Portia as funny, but she managed not to laugh.
She waited while Simon ran to a nearby stand for a chair, and fretted about Bryght. Why on earth would such a man be creeping about Clerkenwell in the middle of the night? Perhaps the gin-sodden neighbor had imagined the whole.
She pressed her hands to her head, fighting to remember something of last night after she had drifted off to sleep.
Nothing. There was nothing, except that dream of a tall man carrying her, and kissing her brow. Fort. She had dreamed of Fort. But Portia suspected that when Bryght Malloren took off his shoes, he put them neatly side by side beneath the bed.
She shivered at the thought, but held onto sanity. Clearly nothing terrible had happened. Whatever Bryght had been up to—if his presence wasn’t all a construct of gin and fear—nothing too terrible had happened.
But she couldn’t stay here. She’d never sleep in peace again. She needed refuge, and surely Nerissa Trelyn would offer it.
Two men trotted up the street between the poles of a sedan chair, and put it down so Portia could enter. In moments, she was swaying on her way to Trelyn House.