Jo Beverley - [Malloren 02] (45 page)

"I should have remembered her trick that other time."

"You have enough on your mind. It's a shame Zeno was in Rothgar's rooms—he'd have set up the alarm. On the other hand, he might have bitten her and died of poisoning."

A laugh startled Portia, and she looked at him, wanting to surrender to the optimistic view of the future. But then she saw Fort watching them with grim satisfaction, and was reminded that for him and the Trelyns, she was a millstone to tie around Bryght's neck.

Marriage would be a prison cell for both of them, and surely the mighty Mallorens could avoid the minor scandal she had created.

"It will be all right," he assured her. "I suspect Nerissa will be content to see us married."

Having confirmed her bleak thoughts, he wrapped a cloak around her—not her own serviceable garment, but one of rich blue velvet lined with fur—and kissed her cheek before escorting her out.

The ladies traveled by sedan chair, the men walking alongside. Portia was grateful not to have to chatter, especially to Nerissa, and she needed some time of cool thought. She needed time. She needed time.

A child was a disastrous possibility, but it was only that. The main thing was to avoid being married on Wednesday.

That meant she must speak with Fort.

Chapter 21

The Willoughbys' house was exactly as it had been, but the haughty lady was almost avid as she greeted the new party of guests. Portia suspected that despite her cool dignity, Lady Willoughby was ecstatic to be the center of such a notorious affair.

She grasped both Portia's hands, her hooded eyes taking in the betrothal ring. "Miss St. Claire. How happy I am to see you in such fine state. You look amazingly well."

Portia kept her chin up and a slight smile on her lips. "I am completely well."

"And of course," added Bryght at her shoulder, "completely happy."

"I do not doubt it," Lady Willoughby said with a cynical edge which told Portia that she, too, thought the match unequal. "And dear Lady Rothgar's jewels. I remember her wearing them. They suit you almost as well, my dear."

She led them into her principal saloon and Portia was immediately the focus of inspection. She froze.

Bryght took her hand and stepped in front of her. "Talk to me and ignore everyone else."

"I don't like this," she said, but managed a smile. "I hate London."

"You will grow accustomed." He was smiling, too, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Tell me how much you love me."

She raised her hand, her fingers a scant inch apart. "That much."

He suddenly laughed, and the chill fled. "Something to build upon, at least. Come and talk to the Chivenhams. They are not given to low gossip."

Indeed, the older couple gave no indication of knowing any scandal at all, and Lady Chivenham commented favorably on the jewels. Other people were not so discreet. Some reassured Bryght that they had been sure it was all gossip, going on to complain of the wicked stories that flew around London like the wind.

Some even mentioned the case of Lady Chastity Ware, now Lady Cynric Malloren, which had all turned out to be malice and speculation.

"Gossips should be horse-whipped," one man said sternly. "Whipped at the cart then put in the stocks."

Portia glanced over at Nerissa and silently agreed.

She soon gathered that the current story was that Lady Willoughby had interrupted a betrothal kiss, and that servants' gossip had made it out to be something more. The fact that the wedding was to take place in only two days time was explained by the ardor of the groom and the approach of Christmas. Most people would be leaving London soon for their estates.

Bryght stayed by Portia's side, frustrating her need to have a few moments alone with Fort. But when he stepped aside to speak to an elderly gentleman Portia caught Fort's eye moved in the other direction.

Fort came to her side.

She waved her fan and tried to look as if she spoke only idle words. "I assume there's no longer any notion of you challenging Bryght? As you can see, it was all an unfortunate misunderstanding."

"Mirabelle's wasn't."

"Bryght wasn't responsible for what happened there."

"But he was intimate enough with you to require marriage."

"That's another thing. I don't want to marry him."

"Then you shouldn't have become so entangled." Before she could protest, he said, "Don't be missish, Portia. It's a brilliant match for you, and though I'm no admirer of Mallorens, Bryght's not vicious."

The block-headed wretch actually seemed to think he was doing her a favor.

"I'm going to refuse to go through with this, and you are
not
to interfere."

His gray eyes turned cold and resolute. "If you aren't married within the week, Portia, Bryght and I will cross swords over it. I give you my word. And I will do my best to kill him."

"Fort, you can't!"

"I'm the mighty Earl of Walgrave now. You'll be astonished at what I can do." With that, he bowed and moved away, leaving Portia in sick despair.

If she remained resolute, not only would she risk bearing a bastard, but she would condemn either Bryght or Fort to death.

The unbearable pain of that forced honesty upon her. She loved Fort like a brother, but if it came to the terrible choice she would see him dead rather than Bryght. She loved Bryght with a depth and intensity that approached madness.

That was the root of her wild emotions and dark desperation, but she truly did have no escape. Disastrous though it threatened to be, she was going to have to marry Bryght on Wednesday.

Lady Willoughby announced that there would be dancing before the recital. Somehow—and Portia thought she detected Lord Rothgar's hand—it was arranged that Bryght and Portia start the dancing with a minuet.

"I don't have much practice at this," she warned him.

"I do. Trust me."

And in this, at least, she did.

The music started and he executed a perfect bow. Portia curtsied and concentrated on remembering the delicate, swaying steps that wove them together.

He was a beautiful dancer, adapting his steps to hers with ease, touching her only gently on hand or waist, but managing to guide her if she faltered.

Soon Portia relaxed and had no difficulty in keeping her eyes on him as correct posture dictated. She was entranced by the slight smile on his lips and in his eyes, a smile that seemed created for her alone.

Though they danced with complete propriety, she began to remember another dance—the dance of love. Her skin longed for a naked touch, her mouth for the taste of him. It became hot in the room, and yet she felt shivery, as if with a fever....

The music stopped. Portia came to herself with a jolt and looked around, wondering what she had revealed. But they no longer danced alone. Elf was partnered by Fort, Nerissa by her husband, and other couples had taken to the floor, too.

Bryght raised Portia's hand and kissed it, most improperly, in the palm. "I knew there would be occasions for ducking behind an arras. I don't suppose...?"

She snatched her hand away as Elf came over with Fort close behind, hilarity sparkling in her eyes. "Lud, that was becoming so interesting I thought we had best provide distraction. I dragged poor Fort into the dance, even though he would have preferred to stand apart looking dark and mysterious."

Fort would have objected to this, but Portia exclaimed, "I was just acting a part!"

"Yes, but what part?" demanded the mischievous Elf.

"Elf," said Bryght, "behave yourself. We are here to cast decency and decorum over scandal and a hasty marriage."

"Phoo to that. We are here to cast a romantic glow over it."

"Then," said Fort coldly, "you should not contribute suggestive remarks, Lady Elfled."

"Lud, you are beginning to sound just like your father."

Elf moved away to greet a friend, leaving Portia and Bryght with a seething earl.

"She needs a firm hand," said Fort between his teeth.

"Try it," said Bryght, "and learn to live one-handed."

Fort took a precise pinch of snuff. "I wouldn't dream of it. I'm only interested in gentle, well-behaved young ladies."

Bryght's hand went to his dress-sword. "If you're suggesting my sister isn't—"

"Bryght." Portia put her hand over his. "I'm sure Fort meant no such thing."

"Of course not," said Fort, dusting his fingers with a silk handkerchief. "I was referring to age. A young bride has so many advantages."

Bryght's hand didn't leave his sword. "Are you insulting my bride now? She is of an age with my sister."

Fort reddened. "Devil take it! I've no desire to insult Portia. I'm talking about
my
preferences. Portia is fortunate to be making such a fine marriage at her age."

Portia would have liked to skewer him herself. "I regard a fine marriage as more than rank, Fort."

"So do I," Fort said cynically. "Rank
and
money. Which allows me to hope that you and Oliver will make life hell for the Mallorens."

With that he stalked off, and in minutes left the affair entirely. Portia could only be glad of it.

Other than that small contretemps, the evening progressed as planned. Portia danced with a number of men, then sat by Bryght to listen to excellent music, then sat with him and the Trelyns to eat supper. There could be no doubt in anyone's mind that she was well and happy, that all was harmony, and that the strange stories circulating had been malicious rumors.

At the end, however, she found she was to return to Trelyn House.

"No!" She turned instinctively to Bryght.

"There's no help for it," he said quietly. "They are sponsoring your wedding, and as far as the world is concerned you have never left their protection. Nerissa cannot harm you."

"She's vicious and spiteful."

"Only with words. Ignore her. "I'll send over a pistol if you'd like."

Portia refused to smile at his teasing. "After all this effort, I don't want to end up a murderess."

He kissed her quickly on the lips. "Good. I'll sleep easier beside you."

The mere thought had Portia's face flaming.

Bryght escorted her down to her chair and she remembered something else. She turned to him. "I know we must marry, Bryght, but can we not delay matters? I would like my family at my wedding."

"Portia, truly, it wouldn't be wise. After Nerissa's meddling and Fort's rashness any delay would start new speculation. We can travel to your home for our wedding trip."

"Perhaps if the fastest messenger were sent, Oliver might be able to be here in time."

"Do we know where he is?"

"I suppose he might be on the road, but if a messenger rode to Dorset and asked along the way..."

"You think he went to your home and is now returning?"

There was something strange in his tone that she could not interpret, but the chairs were ready and she had to go. "Please," she said. "I would like someone from my family at my wedding."

He settled her in the chair. "Then of course I will send the messenger. Good night, my bride."

As Portia traveled to Trelyn House, she achieved a state of balanced resignation. She had burned her bridges when she surrendered to Bryght. She had lost her virtue, she could be carrying his child, but more importantly she had let down some barrier in her mind and soul.

She could no more put him out of her mind and life than she could Oliver or Fort, but her feelings towards him were not those of a sister.

Her battle now must be to make their marriage work despite the gap between their ranks and his mad taste for speculation.

* * *

The next morning, having committed Portia to marriage, Bryght found himself able to attend efficiently to business at last. As he read through the reports and documents, his conscience occasionally pricked him for trapping Portia but he suppressed it. He could make her happy, but left to herself she would probably have run off into more danger to escape him.