Chapter Thirty-One #3
“Aye.” Stephen turned toward her. “I would walk to the far ends of the earth to find you, Portia. I cannot live without you.” He wiped his eyes and shook his head.
“I cannot begin to describe how much I hate myself for hurting you—and for placing judgment on you when it is I who ought to be judged. I was angry, aye, when I discovered that you were the Farthing—angry because I believe you’d deceived me.
But I never stopped loving you, Portia. And though you’ve every right to hate me for bringing you to harm and for abandoning you, I know, in here”—he placed his hand over his heart—“that our child was conceived from an act of love between us.”
“Ahem,” Thorpe said, and Portia glanced up to see him shuffling from one foot to another. Undeterred, Stephen stepped toward her, arms outstretched, palms upward in supplication.
Then he lowered himself to his knees.
Thorpe drew in a sharp breath and shook his head. Adam’s lip curled in a sneer, while Devereaux’s eyebrows lifted a fraction—the only sign of reaction in his otherwise emotionless expression.
Undeterred, Stephen reached toward her and caught her skirts. Then he dipped his head and kissed the fabric.
“As undeserving a creature as I am, Portia, I offer myself to you now—my body, heart, and soul, which are, and have always been, yours. I offer everything I have, and everything I ever will be, and though you may rightfully deem me unworthy even to kiss your skirts, I ask, with hope and no expectation, that you consent to be my wife.”
Her heart have a little pulse of hope, then she tightened her grip on her child.
“And Stephania?”
“She is my child, and I would recognize her and love her as such. Do you think I care whether she was born in wedlock or not?”
“I say…” Thorpe muttered. “Time and a place, Reid.”
“That there is, Thorpe,” Stephen said. “The time is now—and the place is here—for me to declare my love for Lady Portia and our daughter.”
“And if my sister refuses you?” Adam said. “What if there’s no dowry, if I cut her off and leave her penniless?”
Stephen let out a laugh. “Are you so foolish as to think I care for wealth and titles as much as you, Foxton? If your sister had no fortune, still I would love her. If you abandoned her and refused to consent to our marriage, still I would love her.” He tilted his head toward the sky, as if addressing the Almighty.
“If Lady Portia Hawke had nothing but the clothes she stood in and the child in her arms, still I would love her!”
“And if she refused you?” Adam continued.
Stephen’s eyes narrowed, and Portia caught a glimmer of pain there. But he turned toward her brother, still clinging to her skirts.
“Still I would love her,” he said. “And I would be the champion of her happiness until the day I drew my last breath. I would fight you at every turn to ensure that she is not parted from our child, even if she denied me the chance to love our child—even if she denied me herself.”
His chest rose and fell as he drew in a shuddering breath, then he lifted his head and met Portia’s gaze, his eyes shining with emotion.
“That is what love is,” he said. “That is the joy of love, but the pain also. But the pain, even though it may be enough to tear a man’s heart to shreds—every ounce of that pain is worth it for even one second of the joy that love can bring.
And I want nothing more than to give you that joy, Portia, my love—to love and protect you. ”
“To protect me?”
The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile, though his eyes shone with moisture.
“You are brave and strong, my love,” he said, “more courageous than I could ever be. Perhaps it is I who should ask you to protect us—me, and our beloved daughter.”
Our beloved daughter…
Her heart opened toward him. “Stephen…”
He rose to his feet, then placed his hands on her arms and drew her close, and she inhaled the familiar, woody scent of him.
“Oh, Stephen!”
She leaned into his embrace, placing her head on his shoulder, drawing strength from his athletic form, the firm muscles of his arms that claimed her as his.
“What about the Bensons?” Adam said. “What have you told them?”
“What about Portia?” Stephen said. “It’s Portia I love.
Her happiness is all I care about. It’s you who must make amends to those who have suffered harm—not only your sister and your niece, but those to whom you made a promise that was not yours to give.
You stripped your sister of her soul, forced her to make a choice that you believed to be easy.
I now beg you, Foxton, to do that which is not easy… but what is right.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you must reap the consequences,” Stephen said. He placed a soft kiss on Portia’s forehead. “I have made my decision.”
Portia lifted her head to see him looking at her, his eyes wide with entreaty, filled with love and desire and asking—as the soul asks in its moment of vulnerability—not to be hurt.
“And so have I,” she said. She tilted her head, offering her lips for a kiss, and he lowered his mouth to hers, flicking his tongue along the seam, begging entrance, which she granted, gladly.
His tongue caressed her gently, curling round her own in a gentle dance, before he withdrew, his eyes shining, then whispered in her ear, his warm breath dancing on her neck.
“And there, my love, I taste the moment of joy.”
“Oh, bloody hell.”
Portia looked up to see her brother, hands on hips, resignation in his eyes.
“I suppose you really do love her,” he said, and she braced herself, anticipating his usual jibes about a man being a milksop if he admitted to having a heart.
Instead, the corners of his eyes creased into a smile.
“And do you love him, puss?”
She nodded against Stephen’s broad chest.
“Then I suppose I’ve no choice but to give my consent,” Adam said. “But mark my words, Reid—you harm a single hair on my sister’s head, aversion to gunfire or not, I’ll shoot you down.”
Stephen placed his hand on the back of Portia’s head and caressed her hair. “I would not have it any other way.”
“Then come shake my hand.”
Stephen released Portia from his embrace and approached Adam’s outstretched hand. Then he took it, and the two men stared at each other for several heartbeats before they released their grips.
“I’ll make the arrangements,” Adam said. “It will be my gift. The archbishop can have no objection to your being married at St George’s. We can have the banns read on Sunday.”
“No!” Portia said. “Please, Adam.”
“Don’t you want a Society wedding?” he said. “I thought every young woman—”
“I thought you’d already admitted that I’m not every young woman,” she said. “I’d prefer a quiet ceremony, with the people I love—with Eleanor and Juliette, and Angela of course, if she wishes it.”
“My sister would never forgive me if we didn’t invite her,” Stephen said. “And she most certainly would never have forgiven me had I not reconciled with you.”
“And…” Portia hesitated. “I want Stephania to be there, at the ceremony. I’ll not have her hidden away.”
Her brother raised his eyebrows, then, at length, he nodded.
“Of course,” he said. “I can arrange a special license and you can be married privately here, if you like.” He turned to Portia’s maid.
“Nerissa, could you speak to Mrs. Platt about making up a chamber for Colonel Reid?” He met Portia’s gaze and smiled.
“And for the chamber next to my sister’s to be prepared for my niece, now she has come home. ”
Portia smiled at her brother.
Thank you…
“And now, I think it’s time we rejoined the other gentlemen,” he said. “Thorpe, Devereaux, I thank you for your service, but it seems you’re not needed after all. Nerissa, perhaps you could take my niece back to the house—young Tilly can help, and I’ll speak to the Bensons.”
“But my mistress…”
“Is, I think, eager to be reunited with the colonel,” Adam said, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Is that not right, Portia?”
A low growl reverberated from the broad-chested man next to her, and Portia nodded, her cheeks warming.
Nerissa approached, arms outstretched. “Let me take you, precious one,” she cooed, and the baby gave a satisfied little grunt as the maid took her in her arms. “I’ll take care of her for you, Lady Portia—for as long as you need.”
“Shouldn’t we stay for—” Tilly began, but Stephen interrupted.
“Your mistress will be quite well with me.”
A ripple of desire threaded through Portia as he took her hand, linking his fingers through hers, and lifted it to his lips. Then she blushed as her brother’s knowing gaze settled on her, a glint of wickedness in his eyes.
Tilly bobbed a curtsey, then linked her arm through Nerissa’s as the two maids set off toward the house. Adam turned and retreated toward the woods, his companions in his wake.
As she watched them disappear, Stephen’s warm, solid arms drew her close. Then he steered her toward the picnic blanket and sat, pulling her down beside him.
“Now, my love,” he said, his voice low and hungry. “What shall we do?”
“There’s apple pie,” she said. “I was about to cut a slice when…”
She paused, biting back tears.
He touched her chin, then tilted her face up with his fingertip. “When…?”
“When you appeared out of nowhere, like an angel come to deliver me from sorrow into joy.”
He dipped his head and claimed a kiss.
“W-would you like a slice of pie?” she said.
“I can think of something far more delicious to satisfy my hunger,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Your brother tasked me with taking care of you. I would not wish to disappoint him.”
Oh heavens!
Desire swelled and throbbed inside her body, and she lay back, relishing the sharpening scent of her own need. He lifted her skirts, and she caught her breath as the cool air caressed her skin.
“May I take care of the woman I love?” he whispered.
“Yes, Stephen,” she breathed, “you most certainly may.”
He entered her swiftly, and she gave a soft moan as pleasure flared at the feel of him inside her—pleasure that grew as he began to move in and out of her, slowly at first.
“Is it not most terribly wicked of us?” she whispered. “Out in the country?”
He grew still. “Perhaps we should wait until we’re married.”
“Would you torment me?” she said, arching her back to chase the pleasure.
“No, my love, I would worship you. I intend to spend the rest of my days worshipping you, if you would permit me.”
“You have my permission,” she said, and he moved once more, letting the pleasure build, slowly, “as you have everything of me, including my heart. Stephen, I—”
He silenced her with a kiss and quickened the pace, until she could speak no more. Their twin cries of pleasure filled the air as they sealed their forgiveness, their reunion, and their love.