A Touch of Passion (20 page)

“Be patient, Portia. I know what you want from me. I just don’t know if I’m capable of giving you what you desire.”

She drew back out of his arms, and he felt the loss as if an arm was missing. “Then maybe you should let me go. Perhaps you’re right. I should simply find a man who wants a suitable bride.”

His stomach plummeted. She’d overheard them. He wished he’d stopped their stupid conversation. “But you want love in your marriage.”

She cupped his face and in a soft voice said, “There is only one man I will ever love. I know that now. If you can’t give me your heart, then let me go.”

His pulse raced and his skin became clammy. “You’re serious.” He was on the point of losing her. If she married another, she would be out of his life forever. He’d have no further ties to her, as the privilege of her safekeeping would move to her husband.

She sighed and flopped back on the bed. “I don’t want to pressure you, but once we reach London my family will insist on marriage. They will assume I’ll be happy to marry you. However, I’d like to spend the remainder of our journey with His Grace. If he is serious about taking a bride, then I want to see if we could have a cordial marriage.”

He felt sick. This couldn’t be happening. Just when he was beginning to feel more than just desire for her, she was giving him an ultimatum. He balked at being told what he should feel or do. “I need more time.”

“I’m running out of time. You have until we reach London. If you don’t know your heart by then, I doubt you ever will.” With that she turned on her side, facing away from him. “Goodnight, my lord. I would appreciate being left to ride with His Grace tomorrow. I would like time with him in privacy.”

He rose and stood looking at Portia as if she were a stranger. How could she be seriously considering this option? “You could be carrying my child.”

Portia didn’t turn to look at him. She merely said, “That is something I will make very clear to His Grace. I don’t have time to wait and see if I am with child. He would have to want me as his wife regardless.”

Grayson clenched his fists by his sides to stop himself from rolling her over to face him. “If I object to this, Maitland won’t marry you.”

This time she turned and threw him a look that would ice the fires of hell. “Then you would see me ruined. I will not marry you without claiming your heart. My fate, it seems, is in your hands.” Then she turned away once more.

Back in his room he fell into an angry and desperate sleep and dreamed of her—an erotic dream that saw him waking near dawn with his cock stiff and aching, the image of her succumbing to pleasure beneath him, her breast in his mouth, her red hair a mass on his pillow, her legs wrapped firmly around his waist as he stroked her tight heat. He’d almost come in his dream. But with the daylight came the fear once again—fear of loving her, fear of losing her.

Since the rescue, she’d caused the dormant emotions and desires within him to surge to life. The ravages and losses of war had seen him turn inward. He’d changed from a fun-loving rake to a man whose life revolved purely around duty. Part of him knew that one didn’t preclude the other. It was simply his way of protecting himself from further loss. Or perhaps he was simply punishing himself for surviving.

Portia’s grasp on life was a vivid contrast to the way he’d withdrawn from his true self. True, he felt guilty being alive when those around him had died. But Portia had almost died when she was younger, and she embraced life with everything she had. Her smile lit any room, her presence demanded attention, and when she giggled, the sound stirred something inside him. He almost hated her for it.

He had less than a few days to put his ghosts to rest or lose her forever. What scared him was the fact a madwoman was out to destroy him, and the villainess knew how. All she had to do was take Portia from him.

Grayson could not believe the jealousy he felt at the sight of Maitland handing Portia into the other coach. Her smile and temperament already seemed to have captivated Maitland, and Grayson wanted to box the smile off his friend’s face.

Arend gave him a shove. “Get in the coach before your jaw snaps. I can hear you grinding your teeth.”

“It seems Blackwood has a rival for the lady’s affections.”

“Shut up, Weston,” Arend and Grayson responded together, but it was Arend who smacked Weston across the head for good measure.

Weston sat sullenly next to Arend as the coach made its way out of Deal heading toward London. All Grayson could focus on was the idea of Maitland being alone with Portia. Was she already discussing her situation with his friend?

“I wish you’d stop jiggling about. Maitland is a gentleman. He won’t force himself on her.” Arend’s shrewdness rattled him.

“What makes you so sure I’m thinking of Portia?”

“If you were thinking of the villainess, you would be hounding Weston for answers. What is it that concerns you, given that Portia has no choice but to marry you?”

He turned away before Arend could see just how gut-wrenching the situation was. “She does have a choice.”

“I can’t see how. Her family will insist on marriage. Even Portia must see that her cider business would suffer should it become known she turned down your proposal. And I doubt you’d want society to think you didn’t do the honorable thing and offer for her.”

Weston couldn’t help but goad Grayson. “Is it that she doesn’t want you? Gosh, a woman facing ruin and she doesn’t want to marry you. How humiliating.”

Grayson clenched his fists, wanting to smash Weston’s face, but he couldn’t—he’d promised Portia. As if reading Grayson’s mind, Arend jabbed Weston in the ribs.

“Is that true?” Arend asked Grayson. “I thought she was infatuated with you. The rumor circulating within the
ton
is that she refused all offers for her hand, and there have been plenty, because she was waiting for you. She was lured to meet you, but it wasn’t you who had written to her to come.”

Grayson swallowed hard. “She doesn’t wish to marry any man who does not lay his heart at her feet.”

Arend smiled. “I still do not see the problem. Can’t you simply profess love and be done with it?”

Grayson had forgotten how ruthless Arend could be. Arend had had to fight all his life, and then some, for everything he had. He had earned the Libertine Scholars’ respect by his tenacity and ability to always see that the right thing was accomplished, even if his methods were sometimes questionable.

“Are you suggesting I lie?”

“No. I’m suggesting you give her your heart. You know you want to.”

Grayson was at a loss for words.

Arend continued, “The night you returned to England from the war, you were raving about what you’d done to Christian, and we all got roaring drunk. You told me you wanted to fulfill his dream of finding the perfect woman, falling in love, and having a large family. You wanted to celebrate life for a change.”

He shook his head. “There’s the rub. Portia’s not the perfect woman.”

“Isn’t she?”

“No. Even Robert said we weren’t suited. He told me he’d once hoped I’d marry Portia but had come to understand that we were too different.”

Arend adjusted the squab behind his head and then leaned back against the pleated cushion. “That’s not what Robert told me,” he said. “He hoped that by telling you not to pursue her, you’d do the exact opposite.”

“Rubbish. He wouldn’t have played games with me.”

Arend closed his eyes and chuckled. “When he caught you and Portia in the corridor at the Cyprians’ Ball just before you left for war, he hoped that everything was on track. I suspect that is why as he lay dying he made you swear to look after Portia. He had four brothers—why would he hand her care to you?” He looked Grayson in the eye. “There is only one reason I can think of.”

Grayson was stunned. He thought back on his time in the Flagstaff family. He’d been teased by both Robert and Philip about his little “shadow,” as they had called their sister. He’d been embarrassed at first by her obvious infatuation, then flattered, then annoyed. Then he had started to have feelings for her—feelings of the non-brotherly kind.

However, when she fell ill and almost died, he’d panicked. He couldn’t lose another person he cared for. He withdrew and concentrated on learning to run his estates and on sowing his wild oats, trying to drive her from his mind. When Robert had suggested it was just as well, as they were not suited, he’d grasped that excuse to hide from his feelings.

“I’ll have a hard time convincing her of my change of heart. She overheard me suggesting that Maitland try to woo her. She thinks I don’t want to marry her.”

“And here I thought this journey would be boring,” sneered Weston. This time it was Grayson who gave him a cuff on the head.

“Weston, if you insist on talking, then tell us how our villainess recruited you.” From the expression on Weston’s face, it was clear that he didn’t recognize the seriousness in Arend’s voice. Grayson thought Weston was just about to respond with sarcasm when Arend added in a soft but deadly tone, “
I
never promised to keep you in one piece.”

Weston’s face paled, and he looked to Grayson. Grayson simply leaned back against the squab and shrugged. “I promised Portia no blood would be shed. However, I’m sure Arend knows how to inflict pain without blood.”

“You bastards,” Weston snarled. “I’ve a mind not to tell you anything.”

Grayson leaned forward until he was in Weston’s face. “Then your deal with Portia is off and I can hand you to Arend with a clear conscience. He doesn’t mind blood.”

“You can torture me all you like, but I won’t give you her name. I’ll only give it to Lady Portia, and only when the money is in my hands.”

Arend sighed and took off his gloves, then he removed a black sack from under the seat.

Weston licked his lips. “Fine. I can tell you that she bought up all my debts, so she must be a very rich woman.”

That caught both the men’s attention. “Must be?” expostulated Grayson. “You don’t know who she is at all, do you? I
knew
you were playing—”

“I don’t know who she is now, but I know who she was. When a person starts buying up all your debts, you make a point of finding out as much as you can. I tracked a man to a brothel where I ascertained, through a bit of persuasion, a name, but I’ve found out it’s years old. Why do you think that in the end I had to accept her offer? It’s impossible to find and outwit a ghost.”

The first thing that struck Portia when Maitland Spencer, Duke of Lyttleton, handed her into the carriage was that he was a large man with a serious disposition. She’d never had a chance to study him unabashedly up close before. His close-cropped hair made him look stern and unyielding, yet she knew from their previous encounter that he was an approachable man.

She’d always considered him handsome, with a prominent forehead, chiseled jaw, and eyes the color of spring grass framed by dark lashes. His nose was in perfect proportion to his high cheekbones, the only flaw being thin lips that gave him a stoic air. His breeding showed for all to see. He carried himself with the arrogance and swagger of his rank. However, he seemed kind too. She had seen him from a distance on several occasions—balls and garden parties, for instance—and she knew that he always made those standing on the outside of the
ton’s
popularity feel included. He’d usually dance first with a wallflower, he’d take time to speak to the elderly dames the
ton
shunned as being too old and unimportant, and he’d never forget the ladies everyone else considered spinsters.

Handsome, kind, rich, and a duke—every young lady’s dream suitor. Why couldn’t her heart race when Maitland smiled at her as it did for Grayson?

“You have had quite the adventure, Lady Portia.”

“I love adventures as long as I come out in one piece. And please, call me Portia.”

“As long as you call me Maitland.”

She inclined her head. “I fear my family has not enjoyed this adventure at all. They will be greeting me with scolds and proclamations.”

“Nonsense. They will be thrilled to see you safely home. We should also have news of how Philip has fared when we reach London.”

She gave him a warm smile. “You’re very kind. I’ve no doubt the rumors surrounding my disappearance have been anything but complimentary, and I’m indeed facing social ruin.”

He chuckled. “You don’t appear to be too worried about the situation you find yourself in.”

“I’m not. It’s been such an adventure. Besides, I have money and I’ve never cared what society thinks of me. When I die I certainly don’t want to look back on my life and say, ‘Gosh, I was a good girl but boring, and I wish I had done something different.’”

He stared at her for several moments. Then a smile spread over his face. “Bravo.”

“It’s my family I’m more concerned with. I used to cry about not having a sister, but thank goodness I don’t have one or she’d pay for my supposed sins. My brothers are big enough and ugly enough to weather any scandal their sister brings.”

“Your brothers must be worried about you. I have three half siblings who are much younger than I, and I worry about them constantly now that Father is dead.”

Portia knew all about his family and the scandal surrounding him. Around ten years ago, shortly after his father died, his relationship with his stepmother, Priscilla, was the talk of the
ton
, as she was two years younger than Maitland. Rumors began circulating that she became Maitland’s mistress. Portia had no idea if that was true and didn’t care. However, Maitland remained very protective of Priscilla and her children, his half siblings. Given he remained a bachelor, Priscilla still acted as his hostess when the occasion called for it.

“I suspect you’d advise me to marry Lord Blackwood, as Philip and Mother surely will insist upon.” Would he offer the alternative he’d discussed with Grayson?

He didn’t hesitate. “That would seem an ideal solution. However, it is not your only option.”

“I should warn you that I overheard your conversation with Grayson. You are looking for a wife?”

He showed no emotion at having been caught out discussing her. “I am.”