Chapter 24
Like most coach journeys it was tedious and gave too much time to think. Portia sat looking out at the moon-silvered landscape wondering when Bryght would realize she was missing, and what he would do.
Any and all prospects terrified her.
The best possibility was that he might chase after her to Overstead, which would give them plenty of time to investigate matters at the Abbey. If everything turned out to be innocent, she would simply await her fate.
If not, and if Oliver was still alive, she would have to rescue him and take him to safety. But where? Could she hide from Bryght if he chose to seek her?
He would have to seek her. What would the world say if his possibly-mistreated bride disappeared within hours of the ceremony?
Perhaps the best hope was that he would never want to see her again. Then she could return to Overstead and look after it for Oliver. If Bryght didn’t tell the world their marriage was an empty shell, she wouldn’t, and their living apart might not surprise the cynical world of the aristocracy.
Unless he wanted children.
Unless she was carrying his child.
She imagined bearing a child only to have it torn from her and taken to be raised by its father. The law would allow it, and perhaps Bryght would think it a just revenge. If she were pregnant, perhaps she would flee the country…
“What’s the matter?” Fort said. “It’s too late for second thoughts now.”
“I know. It’s other thoughts that torment me.”
“Of Bryght Malloren? You’re not as cool to him as you try to pretend, are you?”
She turned to him. “Would you be willing to kiss me?”
In the shadowy coach she could not see his expression, but she sensed wariness. “Why?”
“Perhaps I need comfort.”
“Then you should have stayed with your husband.”
“Even if he has killed my brother?”
After a moment, he said, “You’re not seeking comfort.”
“No,” she sighed, “not exactly. I need to know…. Bryght is the only man who has really kissed me. I need to know.”
After a moment he laughed. “Well, I’m likely to get skewered for what they think I’ve done, so why not?” He took her hand, tugged her against him, cradled her head and kissed her.
It was the same business of lips and hot breath, and it was not unpleasant. It was Fort, and Portia liked Fort. But there was something missing, the something that excited her senses and drove her wild. She wouldn’t be carried beyond wisdom by this.
When he tilted her further back and his hand traveled to cover her breast, she broke free. “No, Fort.”
His hand moved over her breast in gentle suggestion. “Perhaps I could persuade you…”
“No,” she said again, firmly but calmly, though her heart was speeding.
Still he didn’t let her go. “It would quite please me to cuckold a Malloren. Especially if I were the first.”
Portia shuddered and pushed at him. “Stop it, Fort. I won’t be part of your feud.”
“You already are. Has he had you yet?”
Portia realized she’d leapt into a deeper pit than she’d imagined. “That’s none of your business. Think what you’re doing.”
He jerked as if she’d hit him, but his hand still rested on her bodice. She was grateful it was high and modest, but still felt soiled.
“I’m causing problems for the Mallorens. My life’s cause.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because they killed my father.”
Portia gently removed his hand from her bodice. “What happened?”
She thought he wouldn’t speak, but then he said, “He wasn’t entirely sane.
He was brilliant, but unbalanced. It was through the Mallorens that I discovered what was wrong…
. When Cynric Malloren decided he wanted to marry Chastity, it became a cause for Rothgar, and nothing and no one was allowed to stand in his way. ”
“Bryght said that your father created that scandal over Chastity.”
“That’s true. But there was no need to destroy Father. And,” he added bleakly, “there was no need to make me their tool.”
Portia took his hand and looked him in the eye. “What happened, Fort? I heard that your father died of a seizure.”
“It was cleverly hushed up. He died of a pistol ball while trying to kill the king’s mother.
I fired the pistol…” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the squabs.
“He was raving by then, driven mad by Rothgar, and by the destruction of his plans. I couldn’t let him kill Princess Augusta.
She was innocent, and it would have ruined the family entirely… .”
Portia squeezed his hand. “You can’t entirely blame the Mallorens.”
He opened his eyes then. “I can blame them enough. And I rather begrudge you to Bryght. I gather my kisses don’t have the potency of his.”
“Bryght has never been intent on rape.”
“I wonder. If you don’t give in to him, he’ll force you one day. How else is he to get children? And he needs children. That way, since Rothgar will not marry, he controls the marquessate from the grave.”
Portia thought of children, children taken from her, and wanted to weep for all of them. “Don’t impose your own twisted thinking on Bryght. Don’t hate so much. You’ll hurt yourself more than you could possibly hurt them.”
He turned away. “I have no choice. Don’t worry, though,” he added lightly. “Tempting though it is, I won’t rape you in the cause.”
Portia huddled away and looked out the window again. Bryght had warned her that the enmity between the Wares and the Mallorens ran deep, but she hadn’t realized the truth of it.
That Fort could even contemplate raping her for vengeance terrified her.
She watched moon-touched fields and trees roll by and prayed for safety, prayed too that Oliver was safe. Not only would it ease her fears about Bryght, but it would not further fuel this inferno.
They didn’t stop, but they hit a patch of bad road where recent rains had created axle-deep mud.
They had to wait for extra horses to be brought from a nearby farm before the coach could be freed.
That added hours to their journey. Matters became worse when the moon clouded over again in the dim pre-dawn and they had to slow to a crawl.
The wintry sun was high by the time they arrived at the drive up to the Abbey, and shone bright on the handsome white house on the rise.
The park was not gated, so there was no hindrance to their arrival at the doors. Fort helped Portia down and she shivered. It was partly tiredness, and partly the chill air, but it was largely fear as to what she would find here.
Bryght found it hard to concentrate on balance sheets and profit calculations, but he forced his mind to discipline. Portia had already turned his life upside down and shattered his ability to think. He would not let her rule him entirely.
As midnight struck he stretched wearily and decided he could cease work with honor.
The problem now was being able to sleep.
He tended the fire, extinguished the candles and went into his bedroom, where he had expected to enjoy Portia as his wife.
He laughed bitterly. He should have known that with Portia nothing would go as expected.
He’d had very pleasant plans, however, plans of a relaxed, leisurely loving with no strains or guilt between them. Plans of introducing a very eager student to some of the finer points of sensual love.
The memory of her mouth hot upon him had him hard. He sucked in a deep breath. The damn witch was not going to rule him with his cock.
He prepared for bed burningly aware of the object of his desire lying in a bed only two doors away. And his. By laws of God and man, his to take when and where he wished.
But he had no wish to take Portia. He’d had enough of fighting and was ready for peace. He wanted her to come to him in joyous wanting, without compulsion or wager.
Sly temptations crept upon him. Perhaps she was as eager as he, just not sure how to break this stalemate without losing face. If he went to her, would she smile with relief and drop her unreasonable demands?
He had his hand on the knob of her bedroom door before he found the control to stop. No, she must see that she could not rule him or he was a hopeless case.
He retreated to his bed to toss and turn until he got up to drink a few glasses of brandy. Not enough to lose all restraint, for God knows what he would do then, but enough to blunt awareness and eventually to bring him sleep.
He was woken by daylight and rang for his valet. He stretched, not feeling his best by any means, but proud of the fact he’d survived the night without groveling or violence. They had a lifetime. He could wait.
“We’ll breakfast in my study,” he told his man when he arrived. “Have word sent to milady.”
The man bowed out and Bryght rose to look out the window.
Misty, but it promised to be clear. Good traveling weather.
Once they were on their way north Portia would have to see that he was adamant.
That still left the problem of Upcott to be faced, but once she was his body and soul that would be easier.
“Milord…”
Bryght turned, detecting a strange note in his valet’s voice.
“Yes?”
The man was red-faced and bewildered. “Milord, her ladyship is not in her bedchamber.” The man’s eyes flicked around as if seeking her here.
A chill went through Bryght. Damn it to Hades! “Has her bed been slept in?”
“Er…no, milord…”
He’d wring her beautiful neck. He made instant decisions. “Who knows? Just you and her maid?”
The man nodded.
“Then no one else is to. Is the maid tall or short?”
“Quite short, milord.”
“Good. Have my coach ready in twenty minutes and tell the maid to put on a cloak like my wife’s. She will enter the coach with me. I’ll let her off nearby. As far as anyone is concerned, my wife and I have left on our journey north.”
The valet’s eyes were widening despite his training. “Yes, milord.”
While the man arranged matters, Bryght dressed and ran through options. He had seriously misjudged matters.