She was to be hisprison?“Why do you hate him so?” Portia whispered.
Nerissa’s face became almost pinched. “I have my reasons, which brings me to my other motive. He has a letter of mine.”
“I know of it, and you should be ashamed.”
For once she had dumbfounded Nerissa. “Youknow?And I thought you such an innocent!”
“If you mean I am virtuous, of course I am.”
“How then, are you so familiar with a letter Bryght keeps by his bedside?”
Portia colored. “I know nothing of his bedchamber. I learned of it elsewhere. What has this letter to do with my marriage?”
“Who better to find a letter kept in a bedchamber than a wife?”
Portia stared. “You will trap me into a vile marriage just so I can steal a letter?”
“But of course. And to call marriage with Bryght vile is to be ridiculous.”
“Then I am ridiculous. You cannot make me marry him, Nerissa. I will walk to Dorset if necessary.”
For the first time Nerissa looked less than complacent. “If you refuse, the world will learn about Hippolyta.”
Portia shuddered but hoped she concealed it. “So be it. I am headed for a life of obscurity where it will not matter.”
“You overestimate provincial tolerance.” Nerissa looked less certain of herself, however. “And what of your brother?”
“What of him?”
“If the whole world talks of your shame, Sir Oliver will have to defend your honor.”
Portia struggled against this new loop of the noose. “He will challenge Bryght? For buying me in a brothel? Hardly.”
“It would be novel, wouldn’t it? No, I think we would conceal your wilder adventures. He would hear slander about your behavior at the Willoughbys’, learn of it in such a way that he would have no choice but to challenge the slanderer. Of course we would ensure that his opponent has far greater skill with a sword.” Nerissa leaned forward, eyes hard and cold. “You are going to marry Bryght Malloren and retrieve my letter, Portia, because if you refuse, you will condemn your brother to death.”
Portia started to tremble. “You can’t do this!”
“I assure you, I can. There are always hired swords.” Sensing victory, Nerissa lounged back, once more the contented predator. “And Bryght could be forced into duels as well. You don’t like him, but do you want his life on your conscience?”
“If I get the letter in some other way,” Portia asked desperately, “will you give up this plan?”
“Oh, no,” said Nerissa. “It is too complete a revenge.” She rose and shook out her skirts, creating a wave of Otto of Roses that made Portia feel physically sick. “You will marry Bryght on Wednesday, Hippolyta. I will give you no time to escape. Now I must go. There is so much to do if such a hasty wedding is to be worthy of us all.”
The door clicked behind her and Portia sat frozen like a stone statue. It was too much. She could endure almost anything herself, but she could not condemn Oliver and Bryght to death. The noose had finally tightened beyond all hope of escape.
Bryght ate his breakfast unsure whether matters were working out well or badly. He had decided he wanted to win the heart and hand of Portia St. Claire and now it appeared they would have to marry.
That was not, however, the same thing.
He wasn’t at all sure that such a marriage would gain him her heart for she had appeared thoroughly alarmed at the prospect. If she’d had a pistol, she doubtless would have shot him, and before witnesses, too.
He refilled his coffee cup, smiling at the thought of his intemperate Amazon. Last night had reaffirmed that she was as fiery in love as she was in anger, and he couldn’t wait to let her burn him to a cinder.
Rothgar came in and Boudicca went to join Zeno by the fire. “You are amused by the coffeepot?”
Bryght tried to straighten his face. “I am amused by fate. You may congratulate me, Bey. I am to be married.”
Rothgar was serving himself from chafing dishes, for they let no servants hover over this meal. His hand froze in the act of reaching for a spoon. “I may not, as well. To whom?”
