They couldn’t force her into it. They couldn’t.
She would go through with this evening, however, for she owed Bryght that. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him with such a scar on his reputation.
The footman returned with fresh water and the maid assisted Portia out of her crumpled clothing. What adventures she’d had since she dressed this morning.
Portia washed, then dressed in the underwear Bryght had picked out for her, feeling each item like his hand against her skin.I will give you exquisite garments of silk and lace, and love you in and out of them….
The memory rippled over Portia’s nerves like a skillful touch, both longed-for and hated. She had given him her virginity, and in honor she should marry him. But, she reminded herself, he certainly hadn’t married the first woman he’d made love to.
When she was in her gown, made elegant by the beautiful fichu, there was another knock on the door.
Portia braced herself to face Bryght, but it was the marquess in magnificent ruby satin. A quiet servant followed, carrying a box. Lord Rothgar studied Portia dispassionately, and she blushed and raised her chin. “I make no pretense to be more than I am, my lord.”
“It would be foolish to do so,” he replied, making her feel stupid for using such a trite phrase.
“I mean that I am no beauty, my lord, and no grand society lady. I have no desire to pretend to be.”
“You have charms enough to ensnare my brother, and you are about to become a Malloren. There are few higher.” He raised a finger and the servant stepped forward to place the box on a table. The man unlocked it and slid open some drawers. It was a jewel chest, each drawer glittering with precious stones.
Portia couldn’t help but gape.
“Come here,” the marquess said.
“I need no such jewels, my lord.”
“That was not a request.” Lord Rothgar’s eyes were cool and she remembered his earlier anger before he had locked her in with Bryght. “You have come close to causing disaster in this family. Tonight we will put it right and set the stage for a harmonious future. You will play your part.”
Portia glanced frantically between the two servants, but they might as well be statues. “I’m willing to play my part, but I don’t need jewels.”
“You do, in order to play your part.”
Portia found herself going forward to accept the ornaments. She told herself it was a small concession, not capitulation, but her heart beat fast with panic as he fixed a necklace about her throat, and drops in her ears. A headdress of some sort was settled in her curls.
When his fingers touched her bodice she jerked in alarm, but then saw he was only pinning an ornate brooch at the joint of the fichu. It consisted of scintillating yellow stones bordered by small, brilliant diamonds. Trailing strings of the stones fell to sway down her bodice toward her waist.
These jewels matched the engagement ring she’d returned to Bryght. She supposed she would get it back, and wished she could avoid that.
The marquess turned her to the mirror. The design of the jewels gave the impression of twining golden ribbons edged with light, and they shimmered all over her—in her bodice, her ears, and around her neck. The item in her hair was a delicate tiara that seemed to blend with the color of her hair, enhancing both.
In some way the lacy fichu and the exquisite jewels made of Portia St. Claire something entirely different, something more beautiful, more special. It would be foolish to deny it, but just as foolish to take credit for it.
“They are very beautiful,” she said flatly.
“I think so. They are not part of the estate, however, so you need not feel at all uneasy about wearing them. Are you ready?” He held out an elegant beringed hand.
Portia reminded herself that she was obeying only in order to clear Bryght’s name. She was agreeing to nothing more. She placed her hand in Lord Rothgar’s and allowed him to lead her into the corridor and toward the stairs.
At the head of the stairs he halted and directed her attention to a portrait between the long windows there. “My father and his second wife, Bryght’s mother. Their wedding portrait.”
Portia saw a charming couple seated on a bench beneath a tree while a pair of spaniels played at their feet. The gentleman was dark, but the lady’s hair was a russet-gold almost as red as her own. Both were smiling, but she gained the impression that the lady was more accustomed to smiles than the gentleman.
Nerissa had said that Rothgar’s mother had turned mad and murdered her second child. In the portrait, Portia detected the shadows of that event in the husband’s eyes. She thought that his new bride might be able to wipe away shadows, however. It was a beautiful face, but also a good one.
“I wish I had known her. She looks charming.”
“She was, and very kind-hearted. She was also high-spirited and seems to have passed that trait on to most of her offspring. They give me endless trouble.”
Then Portia saw the jewels. Except for the tiara, the marchioness was wearing the jewels the marquess had put on her. Her hand went to the necklace. “They are the same…”
