Chapter 16
When a maid brought her chocolate the next morning Portia was not well rested. Sleep had been hard to find and disturbed by dreams of rapture, grinning Trelyns, and rapacious hawks. Underlying it all had been the unnerving awareness of the power Bryght Malloren had over her.
Portia was too honest by nature to deny it, and anyway, she believed a peril faced was preferable to one ignored.
So in the sanity of daylight, she sipped the chocolate, reminding herself that it was her life at stake here not a few nights of pleasure. It would be madness to bind herself to such a man for mere pleasures of the flesh.
Wouldn’t it?
But, oh, what pleasures…
Her hand tilted and chocolate splashed onto the pristine white coverlet.
With a grimace, Portia placed the cup on a bedside stand and tried to mop the mark away with her handkerchief. It was hopeless. She feared the silk was ruined. She hoped it wasn’t a sign.
In fact, it probably was. If she weakened, her life would be ruined. All that was required was that when Bryght came to discuss marriage, she be resolute in refusing. Portia dressed plainly and awaited her summons.
After a fretful hour, she began to suspect that matters might be going ahead without her and went in search of Nerissa. To her surprise, she found her cousin not in her boudoir, but in the white drawing room in close conversation with Lord Trelyn.
“Ah, Cousin Portia,” said the earl, even producing a smile. “Come in. We are planning your wedding. You need not fear that it will be a sparse affair—”
Portia’s nerves jumped. “There will be no wedding.”
“We will have it here—”
“There will be no wedding!”
He looked at her in mild surprise. “There must be a wedding. You have no choice.”
“Of course I have a choice. I can refuse to take the vows.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that.” Nerissa’s sly smile was intended to remind Portia of the hold she had over her.
Portia stared at her cousin, projecting an equal threat. “My reputation is not at risk,” she declared.
“My dear, do not be foolish. Your reputation is in shreds. But it can be pieced together very well by a speedy wedding. Why all the heat? Your groom is a handsome man of high estate.”
“And clearly one you find pleasing,” added Lord Trelyn.
Portia raised her hands to her burning cheeks. “I admit I allowed…physical attraction to guide me astray. But nothing truly bad happened. I do not want to marry the man.”
“Why ever not?” asked Nerissa, in seemingly genuine curiosity.
“He’s a gamester.”
“All the world is,” said Trelyn.
“Are you, my lord?”
“No.” He looked at her with a touch of compassion.
“Cousin Portia, if you feel that way it is a pity you allowed your passions to exceed your good sense, but what is done is done. I do not allow scandal to touch my house. You must marry.”
Portia saw that he was completely serious. She looked to her cousin, and put a threat in it. “Nerissa?”
Nerissa appeared entirely at ease. “You must marry him, Portia. If you make your bet and lose, you must pay.”
At this echo of Bryght’s words, Portia wanted to kill somebody, preferable herself. Why on earth had she let herself be tricked into wagering?
Twice!
Nerissa was a gamester, too, and was coolly calling Portia’s bluff. Portia found she could not betray her cousin. She was not sure it would improve her own case, nor was she sure she would be believed. If he chose to, Lord Trelyn could see the story as mere spite.
Portia took a new tack. “Lord Trelyn, I am very sorry to have brought embarrassment to your house. I will, of course, leave immediately.”
The earl’s lips thinned. “I cannot possibly allow you to wander London penniless, Cousin.”
“You are too kind, my lord, but I am not penniless.”
He raised his thin brows. “You refer perhaps to some money you had in a pouch in your drawer? It is a little foolish to keep such a sum where it is temptation to the servants. I have put it in my safe.”
A flutter of panic started in Portia’s chest. “Then I must ask you to return it, my lord.”
“I will give it into your husband’s charge in a few days time.”
“That’s thievery!”
Color touched his cheeks “You are intemperate! It is my duty to take care of such matters for you.”
“You have no duty to me, my lord. I will return to my rooms in Dresden Street. We have paid for heat and food, so I can survive there until my brother returns. He is the head of my family and will speak to you on this matter.”
“Portia, you are being most ungrateful!” chided Nerissa. “Trelyn is only arranging matters for your advantage, and in return you are upbraiding him. If you leave here, people will say we threw you out because of your scandalous behavior.”
“I will tell them otherwise,” Portia protested.
Lord Trelyn said, “I fear you do not move in circles where your words would carry weight, Cousin Portia. I cannot allow such foolishness. Until your brother returns, you must stay under my protection. I will send a message to your landlady asking that she inform us as soon as Sir Oliver returns to London, and to ensure that she does not encourage you in this madness.”
Portia could have protested further—she could have threatened them with the law—but she sensed the noose of power and influence tightening around her.
Dry mouthed, she stated, “You are keeping me prisoner.”
“Cousin!” exclaimed Lord Trelyn angrily. “How can you think such a thing? It is my duty to ensure your safety, that is all. You have not been in London long enough to realize how full of hazards it is.”
Considering her few days in London, Portia thought that hilarious.
“Persist in this,” he added sharply, “and I will begin to think that the shock of your situation has turned your wits.”
Any temptation to find this funny fled. He was threatening her with the madhouse.
“Come, come,” he said more moderately. “A little thought will show you that it is not so bad. You will have as pretty a wedding as we can arrange in short-order—Lady Trelyn assures me that a beautiful gown will be ready in time—and you will soon be part of one of our greatest families. In the meantime, no more talk of imprisonment, please. You may leave the house whenever you wish. I only insist that you do so properly accompanied for your safety.”
Portia looked between her two persecutors, then turned on her heel and left. In the hall she stopped and sucked in a deep breath, fighting panic. She must keep her wits clear.
They could not force her into marriage, not in this day and age. They could not!
Seeing a footman eying her curiously, she hurried up to the sanctuary of her room. Just in case, she checked her drawers, but Lord Trelyn had been telling the truth. Her money was gone.
So, she could not return to Dresden Street, and she could not pay for a coach seat to Dorset. She wouldn’t panic. Oliver would be back soon, or if necessary she could escape and flee to Fort. He would put a stop to this.
She began to calm and settled to trying to understand the motives of the Trelyns.
Lord Trelyn was so able to appear noble and virtuous that she could almost believe he had her best interests in mind.
She could not believe that of Nerissa. Was she just humoring her husband, or had she more underhanded motives?
With the briefest tap, Nerissa came in smiling. “How clever of you to trap Bryght, my dear.”
Portia turned at bay. “I did not trap Bryght. I do not want Bryght.”
Nerissa chuckled coyly. “Your fiery protests prove the point, Portia. Everyone wants Bryght Malloren.”
“Including you?” Portia shot back. “If he’s your ideal lover, Nerissa, then take him instead of Lord Heatherington.”
The attack bounced off Nerissa. “At one time I hoped to have both,” she admitted, “but Heather suits me very well. The wedding will be on Wednesday at—”
“I will not be there.”
Nerissa’s smile became less pleasant. “I think you will.”
Portia’s belief that they could not force her to the altar was weakening. “Why? Why are you and Lord Trelyn so adamant about a match that will suit neither party?”
Nerissa subsided onto a sofa in a cloud of perfumed silk.
That perfume.
Lord Heatherington.
Portia realized that Nerissa had been the author of that disgusting letter, and that Lord Heatherington was probably Hercules. It hardly seemed to matter anymore except that it confirmed her cousin’s villainy.
And because Bryght had cared when he’d read that note. He had loved Nerissa…
“Why?” Nerissa mused. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
Nerissa shrugged. “It wont help you. Trelyn is motivated by a passionate desire to see Bryght busy with some woman other than myself. He believes in that smokescreen quite firmly.”
Portia, too, sat down, finding some relief in the fact that they appeared to be at the point of honesty. “Is that all Bryght is to you, a smokescreen?”
“If you have no interest in the man,” asked Nerissa, “why are you jealous?”
“I’m not.”
Nerissa leaned back languorously. “Then you will not mind that he wanted to marry me…”
“But you chose a richer man.”
“…and that he and I have been lovers.”
Portia looked away from those perceptive catlike eyes, aware of a pain near her heart. She didn’t know which was worse—that he had wanted to marry Nerissa, or that he might have rubbed perfumed oil into her feet. Had he told her of her beauty, and teased her skin with tongue and teeth…?
She summoned a casual tone to say, “If Bryght and I are forced to marry, won’t that blow away your smokescreen?”
“Alas, yes, but the rewards will compensate.”
Portia turned back sharply. “What rewards?”
“He won’t be able to marry Jenny Findlayson.”
Portia’s pain intensified. “You think he loves her?”