“He knows something,” she said as soon as they were alone.
“Or was astonished to be asked about a perfect stranger. Come to the fire.”
She went over and tried to warm herself, but the chill went deeper. “What do we do if they deny all knowledge? After all, if the Mallorens have done away with Oliver, they would scarcely let their servants know.”
“With the Mallorens all things are possible,” Fort said dryly, explaining, “It’s one of their favorite sayings. I have to admit, they have the best-trained servants I’ve ever come across. They favor old family retainers, of course, but they manage to hold their loyalty. It’s hard to even get them to gossip, as I have discovered.”
“I think it disgusting for you to be prying into other people’s affairs.”
He was about to make an angry retort, but the door opened. It was Brand Malloren. He stared at them with blank astonishment then shut the door. “What the devil’s going on?”
Portia decided on attack. “I’ve come to see my brother.”
“Where’smybrother?”
“Following,” she said, knowing that in one way or another it was true.
Brand lacked his brother’s dark, dramatic beauty, but his expression was all Malloren. “Forgive me for mentioning it, Lady Bryght, but it does rather leap to mind that last night was your wedding night, and you appear to have spent it with Lord Walgrave.”
Portia remained resolute. “I want to see my brother.”
“All you’ll get, if you want it, is breakfast.”
Portia looked to Fort for help, but he appeared to have chosen a passive role. He took a measured pinch of snuff.
Portia actually stamped her foot. “I demand to see my brother.Now!”
Brand opened the door. “The breakfast parlor is across the hall. You’ll find an adequate selection, I believe…”
Portia swept through and headed straight for the stairs.
Brand seized her by the arm. “No.”
Portia tested his grip, but he tightened it unhesitatingly. “Fort!” she protested.
“You were the one who thought it disgusting to be prying into other people’s affairs,” said her untrustworthy accomplice. “You wouldn’t actually want to search someone’s house, would you? They will have to take us to Oliver eventually.”
But Bryght could be here by then, Portia thought wildly. She was growing terrified of meeting her husband. “Anything could be happening,” she protested. “I can’t just sit and eat breakfast.”
Brand towed her toward the breakfast room. “Yes you can. Terribly bad form to interrupt a torture session, you know.” He relieved her of her cloak and pushed her into a chair at the well-laden table.
Portia landed with a thump and stared at him. She’d swear that comment about torture was a joke, but could one be sure of anything with a Malloren? Especially an angry Malloren?
Her dazed eyes settled on a stranger at the table, a pleasantly ordinary brown-haired man who, she noticed, lacked a hand.
He smiled, “Major Cranton Barclay, at your service, ma’am.”
“She’s not ’ma’am,’” Brand said shortly. “She’s Lady Bryght Malloren. Sit down, Walgrave. As far as I know we have no standing orders to poison brothers-in-law.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” Fort settled at the table and helped himself to ham.
Major Barclay was looking uncomfortable and confused, but all Portia’s wary attention was on Brand. It was almost impossible to believe that he was party to murder, but he was clearly furious at her adventure.
And he wasn’t her husband.
He passed her a plate of bread rolls. “We don’t have servants at the breakfast table unless there are a number of guests. If there’s anything you require, I’ll ring for it.”
Portia took a roll with unsteady fingers and made a botch of buttering it.
