Chapter 14
“Relax, Hippolyta,” he said softly. “You are surely safe in my company here.”
She turned sharply, intending to reproach him, but found herself silenced by something almost gentle in his expression.
“So,” he said, easily covering the moment, “Nerissa has taken you up. You are very fortunate.”
Portia hastily walked after her cousin. “After my shame, you mean.”
“No, I do not mean that,” he said with an edge. “I mean that her standing and respectability are just what you need.”
“If you want thanks for having introduced me to my cousin, you may have them, my lord.”
“Your happiness is thanks enough, I assure you.” He was keeping pace with her without difficulty.
Portia knew good manners dictated that she make light conversation, but her mind was blank. How could she talk of the weather to a man with whom she had been so outrageously intimate?
“I hope you are not too much distressed by your adventure,” he said.
The gall of the man! “We will forget it, if you please, my lord.”
“You are always telling me to forget our encounters,” he said somewhat plaintively. “I find myself quite unable to do so.”
“Please, my lord….”
“As you wish,” he said lightly. “Then perhaps I should admit that I have skipped some important lessons during our encounters, and should now teach you how to flirt.”
Portia was dreadfully off-balance, teetering between the attraction she always felt for this man and her fear of its power. She speeded her pace, wanting to be closer to the others. “I do not think so, my lord.”
“Nerissa commands, and we should obey the Queen of Society.”
“I do not think it is your habit to obey.”
He captured her hand and slowed her pace. “You cannot totally repulse me, you know. Remember the terms of our wager.”
Portia knew her cheeks were scarlet. “My lord, I wish you would not speak of it.”
“Then humor me, and let us flirt and become acquainted.”
She looked at him then. “There is no purpose in it.”
“Why not?”
“Our tastes differ too far.”
“Do they?” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “I’m not well acquainted with your tastes, Miss St. Claire. Do you like roast lamb?” She snapped an exasperated look at him, and was trapped by a beguiling smile. “I wish you nothing but good, you know.”
“No.” It was rejection of both him and his statement. And a rejection of the effect he could still have on her.
He frowned slightly. “Then do you like chicken?”
Portia found herself alarmingly tempted to laugh. “My lord, cease this!”
“You do not care for food at all?”
“Of course I do.”
“I thought so. I remember that you eat like a horse.”
Portia spoke between her teeth. “I simply do not care to discuss food with you.”
“Then let us talk sex.”
Portia came to a frozen halt, staring at him, her mouth half open.
“Food or sex,” he said pleasantly. “Which shall it be?”
“Is that a threat?”
He appeared genuinely startled. “’Struth, no. You can trust my discretion. It is, however, a topic of mutual interest, you will agree.”
Portia dragged her hand from his arm. “You are disgusting.”
“Devil a bit. I am just seeking a topic of conversation in which we both have an interest.”
“The Bible,” said Portia icily and hurried to catch up to Nerissa and Lord Andover.
She thought that would be the end of it, but he kept pace with her. “‘How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince’s daughter,’” he quoted. Then added, sotto voce, “Or without.”
Portia refused to rise to his tormenting. “Is that from the Bible, my lord? I don’t recognize it.”
“Perhaps your Bible was carefully edited.”
“What nonsense. All I know is that my feet are not particularly beautiful, and I am not a prince’s daughter.”
“But you are wearing shoes.”
She shook her head in exasperation. “That, my lord, I must admit.”
“Shall I go on?” In his deep, beautiful voice he said, “’The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman. Thy navel is like a round goblet—’”
“Stop it!” Portia swung to face him. “That is not from the Bible, my lord, and I am appalled that you would link such lewdness with the Holy Book.”
Unfortunately, her raised voice attracted Nerissa’s attention, and the other couple turned back to join them.
“Are you fighting, Portia?” asked Nerissa playfully. “I thought you were taking lessons in flirtation.” Her eyes flickered avidly between them, seeking secrets.
Portia kept her gaze fixed on the green-flecked eyes of her tormentor. “I do not care for lies.”
There was a silence and then Nerissa said, “It is not wise, Portia, to accuse a gentleman of lying.”
Portia knew she had gone farther than she should, but she raised her chin. “If I’m wrong, I will apologize.”
Perhaps there was anger in him, but he smiled. “If you are wrong, Miss St. Claire, you will have to do more than apologize. You will have to pay a forfeit, won’t she, Lady Trelyn?”
“That does seem fair, my lord,” said Nerissa, dimpling at him, and enjoying every minute of this.
Portia wished she could tell them both to go to Hades. “That would not be proper, my lord.”
“It is not proper to accuse a gentleman of lying,” he pointed out. “Do you withdraw your accusation?”
Portia felt cornered. She had once again allowed her impulsive nature to throw her into an awkward situation. She had studied her Bible long and well, however, and was confident that there was no such lewdness in the Holy Book.
She called his bluff. “I do not withdraw, my lord. So, what forfeit will you pay when you admit your wickedness?”
His eyes sparkled and she suddenly remembered their last wager. He had warned her then of the folly of believing she bet on a certainty. On the other hand, though she knew little about sexual intimacy, she knew her Bible very well.
“What forfeit do you require, dear lady?” he asked. “A kiss, perhaps.”
Portia hissed in a breath. “I require freedom from you, my lord. Forever. Never to see you again. Never to hear your voice. Never to have you touch me in any way.”
Nerissa gasped, and Bryght’s eyes widened in recognition.
The amusement drained out of his features.
“How rash you are,” he murmured. “So be it. You will be hearing from me, Miss St. Claire, about our challenge, and about the settling of debts.” His bow was somewhat abrupt, then he and Lord Andover moved away.
Nerissa stared at Portia. “Whatever are you up to, you foolish creature? To avoid a Malloren is perhaps wise. To challenge one in public…”
“He lied,” said Portia, frowning after Bryght Malloren. Lud, but even angry he had a grace and style that made other men look clumsy.
“I rather doubt it. What did he lie about?”
Portia dragged her wanton mind away from the wretch and concentrated on deflecting Nerissa’s curiosity.
She did not even want to recall the words he had quoted, or the memories they stirred of the previous night.
They could not possibly be in the Bible.
“A foolish matter,” she said briskly. “One thing is sure. Lord Bryght will not now be able to pester me.”
Nerissa just shook her head and led the way back to the carriage.
As soon as Portia was home, she flicked through her well-worn copy of the Bible, paying particular attention to the sections she read less often. After a while she relaxed. The shocking words were not there.
She had won at last, and was safe from Bryght Malloren forever.
That evening the Trelyns dined at home. Though Portia’s best blue silk gown could not possibly compete with Nerissa’s confection of cream brocade and lace, it seemed adequate for the occasion.
Nerissa’s maid had dressed Portia’s hair in an elaborately attractive style and set some white roses in it. Portia felt she had no need to blush.
In fact, she was feeling in good spirits. Her encounter with Bryght Malloren had settled matters once and for all. In addition, even if he were wicked enough to break the terms of their wager, she was as safe at Trelyn House as if in the Tower.
After dinner, however, as they drank tea in the drawing room, Nerissa pleaded prettily that they attend the Willoughby soiree.
“My dear,” said Lord Trelyn, “I do not wish you to exhaust yourself.”
“Trelyn, I am likely to exhaust myself with tedium!”
“That is not very polite to your guest.”
Nerissa flushed, but said prettily, “But it is Portia I am thinking of, Trelyn. You know I want to introduce her to Society. How are we to do that if we stay at home?”
Portia protested that she was happy to live quietly, but Nerissa over-rode her with pouting pleas. A flutter of panic began in Portia’s stomach. She did not want to go anywhere where she might meet a certain man, and she was terrified that someone might recognize Hippolyta.
She pinned her hopes on Lord Trelyn, but in the end he said, “As you wish, my dear.”
Portia wished he had more resolution.
“And if we are to go out,” Nerissa said happily, “we really should pass through the Debenhams’ rout.”
“Perhaps I should stay at home,” Portia said. “My gown—”
“Is charming.” Nerissa’s tone allowed no argument. “I will lend you my pearls.”
“I would not mind remaining at home,” Portia said desperately.
Nerissa’s smile was sweetly implacable. “But you are my companion, Cousin.”
And so Portia allowed the maid to arrange glowing pearls around her neck and wrist, in a brooch, and in an aigrette for her hair. The mirror assured her that the jewelry raised the quality of her gown a good few notches. Nerissa even lent her a fan—a precious item of mother-of-pearl and gold.
Portia rippled it open and shielded her worried face. If she had to do this, she was pleased to be doing it in style.
When the maid suggested paint and plumpers, however, Portia refused with a shudder.
“You are rather pale,” said Nerissa doubtfully.
“I am as I am.”
Nerissa laughed. “How strange you are!”
As they turned to leave the room, Portia said, “Nerissa, what sort of events are these? Whom shall we meet there?”