Jo Beverley - [Malloren 02] (48 page)

When Bryght finally escaped, Portia was nowhere to be seen. He scanned the room swiftly and was relieved to see Fort talking to some men. But where was his bride? Damnation, the woman was quite capable of setting off on some wild adventure, even in her wedding finery.

He was headed for the entrance to query the servants when he was halted by Rothgar. "There's no need to start a hue and cry. She is in that room over there. Alone."

Bryght walked in on her without knocking, but found Portia sitting innocently in a chair by the fireplace. She leapt to her feet almost guiltily, and yet he could see nothing wrong here except her lack of happiness.

He decided to attack their problem head-on. "I had no idea until recently that Barclay was your brother's debt-holder."

"Even though you are such close friends?"

"Men don't talk of everything. He had no desire to spread word of Oliver's ruin. He hoped, in fact, that your brother could find the money and redeem the place."

"But he wanted the money."

He held onto his thinning patience. "He won the money, Portia. Play and pay. To refuse to play would be an insult."

That sparked anger in her at least. "Better to insult than to ruin!"

"Perhaps. Since I'm not going to play anymore, it hardly matters, does it?"

"If I can trust your word."

"Portia," he said, "be careful how far you push me."

"Why?" She began to pace the room with an angry swish of silk. "Are you threatening to beat me if I cross you?"

"Damnation, Portia, what the devil is the matter with you? If you will but consider, none of this is my fault. Your brother gamed away his estate. Barclay won it. Your brother lost you to Cuthbertson—"

She stopped to point at him. "And you teased me into that kiss in the library, which led to this."

"And in the whole list that counts the highest?"

She turned away. "It is what has trapped me for life."

"And me," he said. "Don't forget we are in this trap together."

"I don't." After a moment, she turned back to him, superficially calm. "Where is Oliver?"

The question caught him unawares. "Why do you ask me?"

Her eyes were cool but keen. "Because two days ago you promised to find him for me, to see if he could come to our wedding."

Bryght had honestly forgotten, having since found out exactly where her brother was. He tried to put together some sort of truth. "I did send a man to Dorset, but as your brother isn't here, he can't have been found in time."

"Ah well," she said with ominous sweetness. "Since we are to go to Overstead on our wedding trip, I will doubtless see him then."

Oh no. Bryght remembered speaking of traveling to Dorset, but he had no intention of dealing with the problem of Oliver Upcott until he had thoroughly won his bride.

"I do have some news from Dorset," he said. "Apparently your mother and sister have gone to visit relatives in Manchester. We had best go there for our wedding journey."

She looked so distressed at that news that he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. There were a number of dangerous weapons close to her hand, however, including a heavy statuette and a poker, so he desisted.

Then she raised her chin in the fighting gesture so typical of her. "We can send my mother a letter. I prefer to go to Overstead on the chance that Oliver is there."

"We can send
him
a letter," he countered.

"I want to go to Overstead."

Just as firmly, he said, "No."

When she drew in breath to object, he said, "Remember those vows to obey? We are going north, wife. And," he added, seeing rebellion flash in her eyes, "if you try to go alone, I will drag you back by the hair."

She hissed with rage and tried to sweep past him, but he caught her arm and when she struggled he tightened his grip. "We will send a message to Dorset. There is absolutely no reason for you to go there." He could feel dangerous anger licking at his control.

"Perhaps I simply want to and am used to doing as I want."

"The name for that, madam wife, is spoiled."

Her eyes flashed fire. "Then you, my lord, are spoiled beyond redemption."

He dragged her into his arms. "Am I? Then perhaps I should take what I want. We've made love on the floor in front of a fire before, haven't we?"

She fought for a moment then went rigid. "I suppose you think you have the right now, regardless of my wishes."

It was like a shower of icy water and he took a steadying breath. He forced her chin up, but gently, so she had to look at him. "Why are we fighting, Portia? What do you want?"

He saw his own bewildered pain reflected in her eyes. "I want to go to Overstead."

Pain was swamped by furious incomprehension. He'd never seen any sign in her before of this sort of mulishness. He knew she wasn't always sensible in her rage, but was reminded that he didn't know her very well.

She was high-spirited, rash, and brave. Was she also irrationally stubborn and demanding? He couldn't take her to Overstead where she might learn that her brother had been kidnapped by the Mallorens.

He couldn't let Oliver go until he'd decided what to do about the situation.

He made a conscious effort to relax and to soothe her. "Portia, your brother might be anywhere. It makes more sense to send a messenger to find him and for us to go north to see your mother. I also have business near Manchester with the Duke of Bridgewater."

"But Fort has promised to save the estate. As soon as my mother and sister have the happy news, they will return home. If we go north, we could cross them on the way. And I'm sure your business can wait."

Damn. He wasn't surprised to hear what Fort had done, but he'd wanted to be the knight in shining armor. And her reasoning made altogether too much sense. "I'm afraid my business cannot wait. But we can go to Overstead immediately on our return south."

She pulled sharply against his hold and he had to hurt her or let her go. He let her go.

"I see you are determined," she said icily, "and you now have the right to order me as you will. We should return to our guests, my lord. They might begin to think we are up to no good."

She marched toward the door but waited for him to open it for her. He was tempted to keep her here and try to talk sense into her but, as she said, their absence might have been noted.

There would be time enough later. Time enough tonight, and during a long, leisurely journey to Lancashire to wear down her sense of ill-usage, teach her to trust, and make her completely his.

He opened the door, and as she swept through it to rejoin the reception he noted that she was wearing a serene smile. His courageous Amazon. There were times, however, when he'd rather she were a timid mouse.

He steered her toward some safe family members then passed by Rothgar. "Keep an eye on her, Bey. I'm not at all sure she won't try to bolt."

"If she has reason, I'm likely to abet her."

"'Struth, I don't need you snarling at me, too." He quickly explained about Barclay and the debt. "I have Oliver Upcott held in secure comfort at the Abbey and Barclay's gone down there to make sure all is well. Portia is hell-bent on setting out for Dorset to find him. I can't permit that until I decide what to do about him, and I do need to go north to inform Bridgewater of the new circumstances. The fact that the rest of her family are there makes a convenient excuse."

"What do you intend to do with the brother?"

"If I knew, matters would be somewhat simpler."

"Murder is so messy," said Rothgar, "but few other methods cure an inveterate gamester."

"Somehow I don't think fratricide would enhance my marital bliss."

"Nor would refusing to pay his debts next time he sinks deep."

"Do you think I don't know that? I need to woo Portia before we confront that problem. Hence the leisurely journey north."

Rothgar looked over to where Portia stood conversing with a group of ladies. Despite the smile, she looked as stiff as an iron rod, and as cold. "I think your reputation as a mythic lover is about to be tested. Meanwhile, perhaps Brand should return to the Abbey. Having had the late Earl of Walgrave come to a messy end there not long ago, another death might raise questions."

"You are fixed in town?" Bryght asked.

"For a little while." Rothgar took a pinch of snuff. "I didn't want to add to your concerns, but Fort has wind of your involvement with Bridgewater—I smell an unholy collusion with Nerissa Trelyn there—and is supporting Brooke in the opposition to the canal bill. With such weight behind them, it becomes interesting."

"Christ! But he has no interest in the matter."

"He has an interest in all things Malloren. I will handle it. Don't worry."

"I didn't think you were much concerned about the canal."

"I let no one act with spite against my family. Which reminds me, I really should have a word with Lady Trelyn."

"You can't harm her," Bryght said with some alarm.

"I don't suppose I can at the moment. But I can warn her."

Bryght hoped Nerissa took the warning.

"This does mean," said Rothgar, "that you have no pressing need to seek out Bridgewater. I'll make sure he doesn't founder in the next few weeks."

"I still intend to go north. If Portia doesn't come around, we'll keep going up to the Highlands, perhaps even to the Arctic. It would suit the current state of our marriage." Then he saw that the king and queen were finally preparing to take their leave and muttered, "Thank God."

Bryght headed toward his icy bride. The sooner he had her out of here, the sooner he could start thawing her.

Despite everything, he felt a lightning of his spirit. The situation was not ideal, but he knew Portia and he were bound at the deepest levels, and he had her.

Possession, so they said, is eleven points in the law.

When he spoke her name and she turned, however, his optimism faded. She did not look hostile as much as despairing. In God's name, what had happened to distress her so?

Should he insist on knowing about that letter?

He almost laughed aloud. If Portia didn't want him to know, he'd need a fully-equipped torture chamber to squeeze the information out of her.

He led her to say farewell to the monarchs and stood by while the plain-faced queen kissed her cheek and wished her all joy and happiness in her marriage.

Bryght wondered wryly if such royal wishes had any mystical effect. After all, the king's touch was supposed to heal the illness called the King's Evil.

Then they were in the coach and he wanted very much to gather her into his arms. She looked so brittle, though, he feared she'd break.

He'd swear she was afraid, but of what? He couldn't imagine that she was scared of the marriage bed, but if she was, didn't she know he'd never force her?

He sought a neutral topic. "Your family will be staying with relatives in Manchester?"

She was looking down at her rings. "Yes. An uncle."

"What kind of man is he?"

"A tradesman. A stocking-maker. Far below your touch."

He wished she'd look at him. "You'd be surprised. Is he involved with the new manufactories?"

"I don't know."

"You've never been there?"

"I've visited."

"Then you must know something of it," Bryght said, fighting an alarming desire to shake her.

"No. I had no interest in such things."

"Such manufactories are the way of the future."

She faced him then, but with hostility. "The strength of England will always be in the land."

At last he had a spirited reaction. "Or under the land." At her look, he said, "Coal."

"Nasty stuff!"

"But valuable," he countered. "So, if you believe in the land, what do you know of it?"

He expected her to have to admit ignorance, but being Portia she surprised him.

"I am a believer in the intensive use of manure on the land, and the rotation of crops. At Overstead we have used many of the improvements recommended by Mr. Tull and by Viscount Townsend, with excellent results."

"How excellent?"

"Our yield per acre has risen from twelve to eighteen bushels, and should continue to increase. Our breeding program increased our production of quality meat by twenty percent per carcass."

He almost laughed. He did admire a woman who knew her subject. "It's as well I've bought us an estate, then."

She stared at him. "You've
bought
one?"

"Didn't you think I had the money? It's called Candleford Park. You can have a free hand in the managing of it. I know little of such things." Talk of money had reminded him of something. He dug in his pocket, brought out a pouch of guineas, and tossed it in her lap. "Trelyn gave that to me as your mighty lord and master."

She clutched it. "Thank you, but you are not my master."

He decided he would not leave her untouched tonight. Unless she fought and screamed he was going to seduce her, break through this icy shell, and find Hippolyta.