Chapter Twelve
Chapter
TWELVE
Despite her unexpected collision with the horrid peer who had plunged her and her mother into poverty all those years ago, and despite the miserable first two hours of the ball, Portia had actually had a rather lovely evening by the end of it.
And all thanks to a duke too! Because they had spent the last hour chatting, laughing, and (unbelievably) enjoying one another’s company.
Which she never would have thought possible just a few short weeks ago when she had still been convinced that she despised all dukes purely on principle.
But the Duke of Debden was not like all dukes. In truth, she could not imagine him being like any other duke on the planet, so she was prepared to cut herself some slack for liking him so much.
She—Portia Kendall, cynic extraordinaire and passionate reformer—liked a duke!
And a great deal more than was prudent.
An irony that was not lost on her as she found herself smiling ever-so-slightly soppily at him as he helped her out of the carriage.
“Thank you for tonight.” His big hand enveloped hers as his sisters disappeared inside the house. “I am indebted to you.”
“You are very welcome, your grace.” He was still holding her hand, and it was playing havoc with her senses.
Proof that she more than liked him—she was attracted to him too.
Enough that her flesh was heating and her pulse felt erratic.
“But I can assure you, no debt is owed. You did save me from all those books, after all.”
Was it wrong that she did not feel inclined to remove her fingers from his? Or that she was in no hurry either to follow his sisters up the porch steps and into the house because something about this moment excited her?
He excited her.
His gaze briefly flicked to her lips and that was when she realized that she wasn’t the only one affected by the peculiarly charged atmosphere that suddenly engulfed them. To further confirm it, they both seemed content to linger.
His blue eyes darkened with what she sincerely hoped was evidence of his matching desire for her before they dropped to where their hands joined.
“I…” His sigh was soft and so close that his warm breath whispered over her face.
“I … um…” He leaned closer, his gaze dropping to her lips and the wayward, wanton, reckless part of her willed him to just kiss her and put them both out of their misery.
“I would appreciate you passing on my apologies to your mother for stealing you this evening when I am aware that she likely needed you more.”
Nothing killed a wholly futile, totally inappropriate romantic moment quite like guilt. “Of course.” But for some inexplicable reason, and despite all the shocking lies she had told him about her robust mother’s health, she still did not step away.
“At least she has you for the whole day tomorrow instead.” His eyes flicked briefly to her mouth again before he smiled, and his dratted dimples appeared. But while they still made her inwardly sigh, they also served to make her feel more wretched.
He had generously offered her the Saturday off as well as Sunday for the inconvenience of this evening.
She had so much work to do at Equitas before the next edition imminently went to print, she had grabbed his offer with both hands.
At the time, she had seen the extra day off as a godsend.
A chance to focus on the important work that she had come to Bath to do.
But now the duke’s generosity only served to make her feel awful about her decision.
It was all well and good doing something for the greater good, but it no longer sat right with her that she was, technically, taking advantage of a very decent man while doing it.
And lying to him too. Not to mention that she was also technically lying to her mother, who, thanks to Portia’s weekly letters sent by route of Kitty back in London, still thought that she was a governess in Mayfair.
As a lover of the written word, one particularly apt literary quote that she had read somewhere pricked at her conscience in warning.
Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.
A stark reminder of all the good reasons why she should have kept him at arm’s length.
Worse, rather than thinking of new ways to put some distance between them, she had not moments ago been open to stepping into those arms. Irrespective of the irrefutable fact that those arms not only belonged to a duke—but also to a magistrate.
She was, as the terminal doomsayer Edgar had warned, playing with fire, and it was time that she reinstated some of the barriers that had become blurred.
She should probably go straight to her room and write an essay debating all the reasons why she couldn’t allow herself to get waylaid by a charming, dimpled duke and keep it constantly on her person as a reminder whenever she felt herself slipping again.
And she would get cracking on it just as soon as she found the wherewithal to tug her fingers from his.
“Leo!” It was the duke who severed the contact by jumping back at the unfamiliar feminine shout, then he winced as an older woman bounded down the front steps, her arms outstretched.
“I came back as soon as I heard about your terrible accident!” She smothered him in a hug.
“You might not be my favorite person at the moment, and I might still want to wring your stubborn, supercilious neck—but you are still my son!” Then she wagged an irritated finger in his face.
“I shouldn’t have had to rely on Abigail to tell me about your accident via letter.
You jolly well should have told me yourself that you were injured! And by express!”
“It is just a sprain, Mother. There was no reason to bother you.”
“No reason?” She shook him by the shoulders.
“You might well be thirty, Leo, and think that you always know best, but to me you will always be my baby!” She smothered him with some more love that he did not seem to appreciate.
“If you were a parent, which of course you would need to find time in your busy schedule to marry to achieve becoming, then you would know that when one’s child is seriously hurt, any good parent would move heaven and earth to get to them.
So obviously that is what I did, darling.
” She threw up her palms, then used them to squish his cheeks.
“I’ll soon have you back on your feet again. ”
“I am on my feet.” He pointed to them. “One just limps a bit.”
“A limp almost killed your sister!” His mother was about to shake him again when she suddenly noticed Portia doing her best to melt into night. “And who is this lovely young lady, Leo?” She gave Portia a thorough, smiling appraisal. “And why the blazes haven’t you yet thought to introduce us?”
“Yes … um…” He shuffled slightly, like a naughty schoolboy. His eyes lifted awkwardly to Portia’s. “This is obviously my mother, the Duchess of Debden. Mother—this is Miss Kendall.”
The older woman’s eyes widened. “You are the chaperone?” Her gaze swept Portia again, somewhat incredulous. “You?”
“Yes, your grace.” She dipped into a proper curtsy this time, hideously aware of the woman’s stare the whole time because she had just witnessed one of the help apparently hand in hand with her titled son.
“Well,” said his mother. “Well … you are a surprise.” Then her eyes skewered the duke. “Interesting. Wholly unexpected but very … very … interesting.”
The next morning, she was so early that she was the first person to arrive at Equitas and that suited Portia just fine. After a fitful night of self-recrimination, irrational regret, and reevaluation, she had decided that she had to trust that fate had stepped in yesterday for good reason.
She had allowed herself to get too close to the duke and, for the sake of Equitas and herself, it was undoubtedly for the best that her time in his employ had come to its natural conclusion now that his mother had returned.
She would soon find another job to pay her bills; she would also find another place to live where she would never have to run the risk of ever colliding with the constable, and she would channel all her focus back on the newspaper where it belonged.
It was sad but it had always been inevitable.
Her position as a chaperone in his house had only ever been temporary and, despite the odd ache in her heart, she had never been foolish enough to believe that there could be anything between her and the duke beyond passion.
She was not, and never had been, mistress material and she certainly wasn’t wife material, let alone duchess material, so whatever that odd moment had been between them last night, she was grateful that it had been nipped firmly in the bud.
Supremely grateful.
Perhaps if she told herself that often enough then the odd ache in her heart would disappear. While she waited for that to happen, she decided that some tea was the answer and set about making it before the rest of their merry crew arrived.
“Good morning!” William was next through the door. “Were you followed?”
“Of course not! In fact, I walked at least a mile out of my way en route here.”
“Excellent. We can’t be too careful with the constable after our blood.” He finished his customary doomsaying lecture with a beaming smile when he saw that she was already preparing the cups. “Thank goodness you have your priorities right.”
“I know that you do not function without at least three pints of Darjeeling in your system.” She handed him a steaming mug. “Did I miss anything important last night?”
“Only Bessie having another conniption.” He rolled his eyes. “And Edgar sent his apologies that he will not be joining us here today and tomorrow as he feels a little under the weather.”