Chapter Sixteen #2
He made his way along the corridor, the music fading into the distance, and rounded the corner at the end.
Another passageway stretched into the distance, presumably spanning the width of the whole house, lined with thick-framed paintings depicting generations of Whitcombes.
About halfway along, he saw her approaching a half-open door.
“Lady Portia.”
She froze, then turned to watch him approach, her eyes bright with moisture. “Colonel Reid.”
He reached for her hand. For a moment, she began to withdraw, then she relented and let her hand go limp while he drew it to his breast.
“Will you not call me by my name?”
She blinked, and a single tear spilled onto her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb, and as his skin touched hers, a fizz of need ignited in his blood. Her lips parted and she drew in a sharp breath.
“Stephen,” she whispered, “I…” She hesitated as voices came from along the passageway. “I’ve no wish for anyone to see me like this.”
The voices drew nearer, and she slipped through the doorway. Succumbing to impulse, he followed, closing the door behind them.
“Portia, I wanted to apologize for this afternoon,” he said. “The last thing I wanted to do was distress you. I—”
“Hush!” she whispered. “Someone’s coming.”
Footsteps approached, and she leaned toward him, trembling.
“Ask Sarah to have another bedchamber made up, Simon,” a voice said in the passageway outside.
“Are you sure, Mr. Jenkins, sir? He’s unlikely to wish to stay the night.”
“Has his horse been stabled?” the first voice said.
“Sam’s said to leave him be for the moment. Lady Star’s in season.”
“Ah, quite so. The duchess won’t appreciate anything happening to her horse. Well, I’m sure Sam knows what’s…”
The voices faded, along with the footsteps, and Lady Portia exhaled. Then she stiffened, withdrew from his embrace, and moved toward the center of the room.
Stephen’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but most of the room was still in shadow, despite the light from the candle on a large mahogany desk at the far end of the room.
The flame cast a soft light that, though it failed to reach the corners of the room, illuminated a book on the desk, picking out the gold embossing on the spine.
Shadows seemed to shift about in the corner beside the curtains—a trick of the candlelight, perhaps.
“I ought to return,” she said. “Eleanor will be wondering where I am.”
“The duchess saw me leave the drawing room,” Stephen said. “Something in her eyes told me that she knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That you were distressed—and I’m the cause.”
She shook her head. “I was merely a little out of sorts. Too much sun, perhaps. Dr. McIver’s always warning me about the dangers of it.”
“What about the dangers of being in the company of a judgmental, sanctimonious arse?”
Her eyes widened, two sapphires glowing in the candlelight, and he took her hand and drew her to him once more.
“Permit me to beg forgiveness for what I said. The very last thing I want is to cause you pain.”
“Is that why you followed me here, to apologize?” She let out a bitter laugh. “There’s no need. After all, according to your moral compass, I’m the one in the wrong—you’re the paragon of honesty and integrity.”
“Honesty, perhaps, but as to integrity, you are my superior.”
“Ah, you’re here to flatter,” she said. “Have I not said that flattery is akin to an insult, for it’s based on the assumption that I’m empty-headed enough to succumb to a few meaningless words?”
“Will you not let me explain myself?” he said. “Don’t you now know why I followed you?”
“Pray tell me, colonel,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion, “why not bestow some of that honesty you value so much upon me? Why did you risk my reputation by following me here?”
“Heavens, woman, must you be so infuriating?” he said. “I followed you here because I love you!”
Her hand flew to her chest and she drew in a sharp breath.
“You…” She shook her head. “B-but what you said earlier…”
“You think I’m only capable of loving a woman who agrees with everything I say?” He reached toward her and cupped her face. She let out a low groan and closed her eyes, and another tear rolled down her cheek.
“On, Portia, my dear one, I love you not in spite of our differences of opinion, but because of them—because you trust me enough to give me your opinion, freely and openly. And dare I begin to hope that your ability to speak freely to me is due to some regard you have for me also?”
Another tear spilled onto her cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb.
“Stephen, I must tell you—”
“Hush, my love,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers. “The time for speaking is done.”
With a low whimper, she tilted her head up, offering her lips, and he claimed them, tasting, at first, the salt of her tears, before he slipped his tongue between her lips to relish the sweetness within.
A low growl resonated in his chest as his body surged with desire.
She shifted against him, and he caught his breath as his manhood strained against his breeches.
He shook with the urge to be buried inside her, and closed his eyes, drawing forth the image of her reclining on that mahogany desk, legs parted, skirts around her waist while she welcomed him into her warm, wet—
The door opened with a crash.
“I knew it!” a voice roared. “I bloody knew it!”
Stephen broke the kiss and whirled around.
Two men stood in the doorway. The first, Whitcombe, folded his arms and tilted his head to one side. The second stepped into the room, his face twisted with fury.
“Reid, you blackguard! You’ve ruined my sister! I insist on satisfaction. You will marry her.”
“Brother, I—” Portia began.
“Silence!” Foxton roared. “You’ve done enough. Let another take responsibility for your behavior, for I’ve failed at every turn to bring you to heel.”
“I’m not some dog you can train, Adam.”
“Nevertheless, sister, it’s time you were put on a leash.”
“I’ve…we’ve done nothing!” Portia said. “I merely came here because I craved solitude, and the colonel followed me. I—Oh!”
She let out a shriek and leaped back as the shadow in the corner moved.
“What the devil…” Stephen trailed off as the shadow morphed into the shape of a man. “You there! What are you doing? Come forward.”
The man stepped into the light, revealing a sharply handsome face framed by a thick head of shoulder-length hair. A shiver threaded through Stephen at the soulless expression in the man’s deep-set, dark eyes.
“Ah, Devereaux, there you are,” Whitcombe said. “My butler said you were in the library. Charles must have brought you here instead.”
The man inclined his head.
“What the devil were you doing hiding in the shadows?” Stephen said. “Why did you not speak or reveal yourself when Lady Portia and I entered?”
Foxton let out a laugh. “Is that a serious question?” He gestured toward the silent man. “Devereaux hasn’t said a word in all the years I’ve known him.”
“Had we not agreed to meet tomorrow evening, Devereaux?” Whitcombe said.
The man inclined his head almost imperceptibly.
“Well, you’re here now. Why don’t you stay the night? I can introduce you to my wife and the rest of our guests. You know Foxton, of course.”
Devereaux flinched, then shook his head.
“Ah, Devereaux, old chap,” Foxton said, “the women of our acquaintance could learn a thing or two from you—I’m a great advocate for the rule that women should be seen and not heard.”
“So you value Mrs. Scarlet for her taciturnity, do you, brother?” Portia said. “I thought you placed great worth on what she can do with her tongue.”
Foxton turned to Stephen. “I wish you luck,” he said. “You’ll not want for fortune, of course—she comes with forty thousand, which should be compensation enough.”
“I’m not some commodity you can sell,” Portia said. She turned to Devereaux. “Sir, if you possess any honor, I beg you tell my brother what you saw. The colonel and I were not behaving improperly, and I’ll not have Eleanor upset by any rumors of scandal in her home.”
Devereaux’s dark gaze shifted toward her, but he remained silent.
“There’ll be no scandal, sister,” Foxton said, “because you’ll marry this man. I’ve no qualms about putting you on a carriage to Scotland—bound and gagged, if need be. As for this fellow here…”
He turned to Stephen. “I insist on being satisfied, Reid. Do as I bid, or”—he stepped up close, his eyes cold with fury—“face me at dawn.”