Chapter 19
Portia could feel her face turn red. It was such an extraordinary situation in which to find herself. “I…I need to speak to Bryght, my lord.”
“Do you? Did he refuse to see you?”
Portia went redder. “No. I…I didn’t try the front door.”
He smiled. “How enterprising! I’m charmed.” He reached past her to open the door she had been checking. “Please, come in where we can be more comfortable.”
He ushered her in before she could collect her wits, but Portia froze when she saw she was in his bedroom.
He looked at her rather quizzically. “I have no designs on your virtue. My private rooms are downstairs. Up here I have only this room and my dressing room.”
Portia stayed where she was, close to the door. “I came to see Lord Bryght.”
“Why? And, why in this manner? Forgive me for mentioning it, but your involvement with my brother has caused him some difficulty.”
“My involvement with him?” gasped Portia. “He has turned my life upside down!”
“Has he indeed? Then perhaps you are well rid of him. So what is your purpose here?”
Portia realized with a shiver that despite his courteous manner, the marquess was not best pleased with her. It was hardly surprising when she was the cause of a duel. “It isn’t my fault,” she said. “I only just found out about the duel and—”
“What duel?”
Portia took a step backward. “The one between Lord Bryght and the Earl of Walgrave. It is all a mistake though, or rather—”
“It most certainly is,” he said icily. “What is the cause?”
Portia swallowed. Logic told her this man would not really harm her, but her nerves were carrying another message. “Me,” she whispered.
He raised a brow. “The earl has an interest in you, too? What a remarkable woman you appear to be.”
Portia was red again, but this time with mortification. “I know I’m no beauty, my lord. The earl regards me as a sister.”
“And he feels his sister has need of defense? What have you been telling him?”
“Nothing. I haven’t been able to speak to him. The Trelyns have kept me prisoner and spread the most malicious lies.”
“Ah,” he said softly. “Do I detect the touch of the beauteous Nerissa?”
“She seems to hate Bryght. She wants him dead.”
“Then she should have chosen an opponent other than Walgrave.”
“I don’t think she chose him,” Portia admitted. “I think Fort chose himself. He’s somewhat hot-headed.”
“My dear Miss St. Claire, you appear to be two of a kind.” But the icy disdain had thawed. “Come, tell me what tales have been racing around Town. I’ve been engaged.”
Portia relaxed enough to move a little closer to the fire.
She flinched, however, when a pale shape there stirred. Then she saw it was a dog.
“That is Boudicca.” The dog waved a lazy tail. “Well, Miss St. Claire? The whole tale, please. I will not have this kind of debacle in my family.”
“Dueling is not so uncommon, I gather,” she said, trying to match his tone.
“It is within the family. Are you not aware that Lord Walgrave is our brother-in-law?”
Portia shook her head. “I had forgotten. He does not seem to feel warmly about you.”
“That has nothing to do with it. The cause of the duel, Miss St. Claire. The brothel?”
It was snapped at her like an accusation, and Portia’s gaze flew to his. “How did you know…?”
“Bryght told me. Miss St. Claire, may we get to the issue?”
“Yes…. No, not the brothel…” Portia gathered herself. “Someone has spread stories about the Willoughbys’. False stories, but close enough, I gather, that even Lady Willoughby is not denying them….”
“And the stories say?”
Portia swallowed, for though she was not at fault in this, he might not believe it. “That Bryght attempted to seduce me,” she whispered, “and when I refused, he tried to rape me.”
She looked up at him, and what she saw there made her shiver.
“I see. Presumably you were discovered not just disheveled from your fun, but distressed, half-clothed, bruised…?”
Portia nodded. “I wanted to go out so that everyone could see that I was well, but they locked me in.”
He was standing by a chair and a finger tapped on the back. “It appears to me that you should be at Walgrave’s house with this story.”
“I tried. They wouldn’t let me in. That’s why I broke in here. And because I was afraid to be out in the dark….”
“How did you get in? As the householder, I am curious.”
Portia wondered how he would take her unladylike exploits. “I climbed the gate into the lane, and found an unlocked door.”
He suddenly smiled. “I delight in resourceful women. You are correct. You should discuss this with Bryght.” He went to open the door.
Portia wanted to hold him back. “You cannot deal with this, my lord?”
“Of course I can, but if I don’t take you to my brother, I fear we would have another duel in the family. Come. Of what are you afraid?”
Bryght. Herself. That she would end up tying a man in a marriage he did not want.
Surely not a fate worse than death, however.
She let the marquess guide her back to the part of the house she had first explored. After a brief tap, he opened a door to reveal Bryght in shirtsleeves at a desk piled with papers.
“Is that your last will and testament?” Rothgar asked caustically.
Bryght rose and stared at Portia. Then he looked at his brother. “You have been unavailable.”
“True. You cannot duel with Fort.”
“Tell him that.”
“I intend to. There is apparently no cause, but I think you and Miss St. Claire have matters to discuss.”
Portia was aware of Bryght staring at her, even though she had her eyes fixed on the fire.
“Miss St. Claire!”
At the marquess’s sharp tone, she looked up at him. “Yes, my lord?”
“Your gowns are presumably at the Trelyns.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He looked at Bryght. “I’ll take Zeno.”
At a word from Bryght the dog rose and went to the marquess’s side.
“Talk to each other,” Rothgar said, and then left.
At a click Portia whirled to the door.
“He’s locked it,” Bryght confirmed. “He’s not best pleased with us, I fear. We had better do as we are told and talk to each other.”
Portia turned. He was coming toward her, smiling. “Don’t!” she exclaimed, backing away.
He stopped. “What’s the matter?”
“Don’t touch me.” She meant it as much as a warning as a protest, for she knew she was vulnerable to his slightest touch and she did not want to entangle them any more than they already were. She saw him take it as outright rejection.
With distant courtesy, he asked, “Do you have any objection to sitting by the fire where it is warm? May I pour you some wine? I’m afraid I have no food here.”
Portia stared at him. “Of course I don’t want wine. The marquess has locked us in, time is flying, and in the morning there will be a duel. We must do something!”
“I doubt there will be a duel, Portia. Relax a little and talk to me. Do you realize how little we have actually talked?”
Portia was fixed against the door as if glued there. “Of course I do. That’s why this whole thing is so absurd. No one marries a person they have met only a handful of times.”
“But such very interesting meetings.” He poured the wine and came over to offer her a glass.
After a moment, Portia took it and drank, hoping to steady her nerves.
She was trapped here with Bryght, but at least it was a study not a bedroom.
The only furniture was two upholstered chairs by the fire, some small tables, a desk, and many bookshelves.
The shelves were not filled with elegant leather-bound philosophers, however, but with ledgers, bundles of papers, and almanacs.
It seemed businesslike and that was a safe thing to focus on rather than his casual attire, his smile, and his overwhelming presence. How could her wretched body be shivering with excitement just to be in a room with this man?
Seeking a commonplace topic of conversation, she walked over to the desk. “What were you doing here?”
“Putting my affairs in order.”
Her hand flinched in the act of touching a paper. “This doesn’t look like a will.”
“No. It’s actually details of some investigations to do with guano.” At her questioning look, he said, “Bird droppings.”
Portia turned away sharply. “There’s no need to make fun of me, my lord. I apologize for my vulgar curiosity.”
“I am not making fun.” He was behind her then, taking her cloak. She turned, but it was gone and in truth it had been too hot for this room.
“Portia,” he said gently, “we do need to talk. Come sit by the fire. I promise, I have no evil intentions.”
She allowed herself to be placed in a chair by the fire and sipped the wine. The lightest touch of his hand on her arm had been like fire, but she must remember that he didn’t want to marry her. He had withdrawn his offer, even at danger to his life.
“Perhaps I should apologize,” she said. “Your brother implied that I am the cause of your troubles, my lord, and he is right.” She looked up seriously. “That’s why I had to do something. Neither you nor Fort are to blame for this. It would not be fair for you to fight.”
He had taken the opposite chair and lounged there, far too beautiful in the firelight for her composure. “You are not blameless. But your brother takes the greater share. And if Fort and I fight, it will be little to do with you. The quarrel goes deeper than that.”
“What quarrel?”
“Our families have been at odds for years. The old earl hated Rothgar. Of course, Rothgar is the sort of man the old earl despised—despite everything he was a genuine prude—but they clashed on other matters. Rothgar was one of the few willing to take on Walgrave, the Incorruptible.”
Portia sipped her wine, the commonplace nature of this conversation soothing her. “But Fort isn’t like his father. He’s hardly a prude and I doubt he even shared his politics. Why would the feud continue?”
“Perhaps there’s a tendency to offer reverence for the dead by continuing their causes….” After a moment, he added, “The trouble was exacerbated by matters to do with my youngest brother and his bride, Lady Chastity Ware. You must know Chastity.”