Chapter 20
Portia came back to reality lying in his arms, sweaty and sticky, nerves still humming and twitching from his onslaught. She ached in places, burned a little between her legs, and suddenly her whole body shuddered with an after-tremor of that passion.
He threaded his hand into her hair and turned her to face him.
“Too much for you?” His expression reminded her of the first time—when he’d tackled her to the floor in Maidenhead and seemed so concerned.
She realized that all along, even at their worst times, that concern had formed a reassurance in her mind.
She shook her head. “But I didn’t expect…”
He smiled ruefully, “I’d have been a little more restrained if you’d not tried to drain the River Thames.”
She felt herself flame. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do and I don’t mind,” he said, stroking her gently. “I liked it. But it broke my control. If you play with fire you will be burned. Or at least, get singed. As long as you understand that.”
Portia snuggled against him, needing him in so many ways that it bewildered her. And now they would have to marry. All escape was gone. At least she could soothe her conscience with the knowledge that it was his doing, and that she’d tried to save him from himself.
She couldn’t help it. She smiled with delight.
Those who dice with the devil must indeed burn. They were not supposed to find the flames so pleasant, though. Portia snuggled closer to his sweat-damp body and played with fire. He captured her hand. “You do like living dangerously, don’t you?”
“Alas,” she murmured into his chest, “I fear I do.”
He chuckled. “I look forward to the future with great anticipation but for now, love, I’m going to protect you from yourself.” He disentangled them and helped her to her feet. “Assess your hurts and be cautious.”
Portia did so and winced. “Rather more in some muscles than from the attack on Maidenhead.” She glanced at him mischievously. “Well, my lord, was it worth six hundred guineas?”
He immediately swung her up, sat in the chair, and laid her across his knees for spanking. Shocked, Portia writhed madly. “Don’t you dare!”
His hand rested on her buttocks. “Then stop calling me my lord.”
She twisted to glare at him. He raised his brows and hand. The wretch would do it, too. “Well, Bryght,” she bit out, “was it worth six hundred guineas?”
“Every penny,” he said and turned her to sit on his lap.
Portia glared at him. “If you ever spank me, I’ll tie you down and flog you!”
“That sounds like fun.”
She gasped and pulled away from him.
“I said we would be wicked,” he reminded her.
“I will not be beaten!” she protested.
He shook his head. “Hush, love, I’m teasing. If we ever do that sort of thing it will be for fun, and you will be able to stop whenever you want.”
“For fun?”
He waggled his brows. “Confess. Before today, would you ever have thought to have such fun playing with the River Thames?”
And Portia hid her flaming face against his chest.
He laughed but separated them again. “It’s quite possible that Rothgar will be back soon, perhaps even with Fort in tow. I don’t insist on it, but perhaps we should have some clothes on.”
Portia leaped from his arms and began to scramble into her garments, half an eye on the door. He watched her, grinning, but at her entreaties he laced up her stays and then began to dress himself.
Portia was struggling with the fastenings of her gown when she detected footsteps. “Someone’s coming,” she hissed.
He laughed again and came to close the last two hooks.
“Your shirt!” Portia grabbed for him and was fastening the buttons at his neck as the lock turned. He detached her fingers so they were facing the door when it opened.
Rothgar came in and closed the door behind him. He glanced around. Portia saw her stockings and garters strewn across the floor and could have died. She looked despairingly at Bryght and he put his arm around her and held her close.
The marquess merely said, “I suspected it would be better to leave Walgrave downstairs. He merely wishes to know that the wedding will go forward as planned. I assume that is the case.”
Bryght said, “Of course, though it doesn’t please me to marry under the Trelyns’ auspices.”
“It will silence gossip, however.”
“But people will still believe those horrible lies,” Portia protested. “It isn’t fair.”
“Life is rarely fair,” said Rothgar, “but sometimes it can be adjusted. After tonight, most voices will be silenced.”
Portia wondered how their passionate love-making could silence gossip.
The marquess must be able to read her like a book. “I was thinking more of your public adventures, Miss St. Claire. We are going to dine in twenty minutes, then we are going to the Willoughbys’, where the lady is having yet another of her delightful entertainments.”
“But—”
He ignored her. “Bryght will be by your side. Walgrave and the Trelyns will also accompany us. Lady Willoughby will gush over you. The whole world will see it has been the victim of at least an error.”
It sounded like an evening of torture. Portia grasped at an excuse. “I have nothing suitable to wear.”
“Lady Trelyn has sent one of your gowns. I believe my sister’s rooms should provide anything else you need and it would be quite in order for you to wear some of the lesser family jewels.”
Portia looked between Bryght and his brother. It seemed indecent to go from such passion to a public appearance, and she hated the thought of being the focus of speculation.
Bryght kissed her. “When Rothgar takes the reins there’s nothing for it but to go where he directs. Nothing and no one will harm you. I’ll take you to Elf’s suite.”
He led her through the house to another corridor. The cool of the house brought cool to Portia’s head. She realized with dismay that she really had burned her bridges. She was going to have to marry Bryght and though he was wonderful in many ways, he was still a gamester.
Bryght took her into a bedroom hung with pale green silk. Portia saw her second-best dress, a cream silk with a quilted petticoat, lying on the bed.
Would the passion in bed compensate for the constant worry and inevitable crises? Portia began to try to build bridges for retreat. “Surely if everyone is willing to retract their stories, I don’t have to be there.”
“Of course you do. They’ll need proof that you are in one piece. More or less,” he added with a wink that had her flaming.
He was investigating the various drawers and cupboards, which all seemed to be fuller than one would expect when the owner was not in residence.
“Elf should stop buying every item that catches her fancy,” he commented pulling out a black stomacher trimmed with red and gold. He shook his head and replaced it.
“We shouldn’t be going through her things,” Portia protested.
“Elf won’t mind.” He tossed a lace fichu on the bed. “She’s your age, by the way. She’ll welcome you into the family.”
Portia picked up the neckerchief and found that it was of gossamer silk trimmed with the most beautiful silk lace she had ever seen. The lace contained a spider-web of fine gold threads that made it glimmer magically in the candlelight.
“This is too precious.”
“Nonsense.” He riffled through a small chest that seemed to be full of stockings. “Elfled,” he said, as if the bemused Portia had asked. “We’re all named after Anglo-Saxon rulers and heroes. Ah.”
He pulled out a pair of stockings that seemed to be made entirely of lace, and a pair of ornately frilled garters. He frowned at them. “We really must find Elf a husband.”
“Why?”
He laid the stockings and garters by her dress. “No woman buys such things unless she hopes a man will see them.”
Portia suspected he was right. “Then perhaps she wouldn’t want you to know she has them.”
He nodded. “Wise Portia.” He carefully replaced the items in the depth of the chest and took out a plain but pretty pair of stockings clocked with roses, and plain garters to hold them up.
He put them on the bed and came to kiss her.
“You see, we need you. Elf will like a sister and you can matchmake for her.”
“I know no one suitable to marry the daughter of a marquess.”
“You soon will. You will be Lady Bryght, a leading light of Society….”
“I can’t—”
He kissed her again. “You can do anything. You’ll be good for Elf.
She’s as spirited as you inside—lord, you should have seen some of the things she and Cyn got up to as children.
They’re twins. Practically turned us gray.
But she’s too kind to take risks now she’s a woman for fear of what Rothgar might do.
Like most rakes he’s not reasonable when it comes to men and his sisters. ”
Portia found this rush into family life alarming. “Bryght, I’m not sure—”
He sealed her lips with his fingers. “There’s no going back now.”
It was the gleam of triumph in his eyes that chilled her. “You seduced me deliberately.”
“You didn’t protest.”
“Yes I did, and you over-rode me!”
“Are you going to accuse me of rape in truth?”
Portia whirled away, hands to cheeks. “No, but you kissed me out of my senses.” She turned back to confront him. “You wanted this marriage and I didn’t, so you made sure I would have to agree.”
“I don’t think you have much to complain about.”
At his complacency, his smugness, Portia felt the fury rising in her like a pillar of flame. “Oh, don’t you? Well, I tell you this, Bryght Malloren. Your scheme has failed. I will never marry you.”
“Not even if you’re with child?”
“Unlikely, after just one…”
“But possible.”
“Then I’ll raise it a bastard.”
“No, you damn well won’t. You will marry me, Portia. You have no choice.”