“You being so advanced in years?”
“My being so hounded by rascals.”
He raised a brow. “Miss St. Claire, I find you absurd, and suspect you are begging for compliments.”
“I am not!” But Portia was aware that she was beginning to enjoy this. She glanced cautiously at him and caught a glint of teasing humor in his eyes.
It was extremely hard not to respond to it.
“Then I won’t give you any compliments,” he said, eyes still smiling. “I agree. You are short and scrawny and have rust-colored hair. I must warn you as well that some of the rust has flaked onto your nose.” He reached out and touched her nose, then looked at his finger. “And does not easily come off.”
Portia would not smile, she would not. “I know I have freckles, my lord. You do not have to point them out.”
“And your nose is too short,” he continued. “I have to admit that your mouth is unfortunately charming, but I suspect you could rectify that by pursing your lips together very tightly…. That’s it exactly!”
Conquered, Portia burst out laughing. “You are the most infuriating man I have ever met.”
“Excellent. You will not soon forget me, then.” As Portia struggled for a witty riposte, he added, “We should move on.”
Portia became aware that they had stopped for their debate, and thereby become the cynosure of many more eyes. She gladly walked on, face burning. “You are making a spectacle of me, my lord!”
“Do you not want to be famous?”
“Not at all.”
“What, then, do you want, Miss St. Claire?”
His tone was so gentle that Portia was strangely tempted to tell him, to pour out all her secret hopes and dreams, but she was—as she had said—past the age of being foolish. She stated firmly, “My desires are none of your concern, my lord.” Then she wished she had not used that particular word.
He let it pass, and she knew it was deliberate. “So you make your home in the country, Miss St. Claire.”
“Yes, my lord.” Portia was both relieved and disappointed to have moved onto such safe ground.
“And do you have family other than your half-brother?”
“A half sister. Prudence is sixteen and very pretty. She would love to be here,” she added wistfully.
“I would not recommend it, however, unless you have a formidable protector. Pretty sixteen-year-olds from the country are such tempting morsels.”
“Then all London should be ashamed.”
“Undoubtedly,” he said dryly. “Your sister is with your mother, I assume. And you are the support of them all.”
Portia glanced at him in surprise. “I, my lord? Oliver is the head of the family.”
“But is he the support?”
He was far too close to the bone. “My family affairs are none of your concern, my lord.”
“You are undoubtedly correct. But having been somewhat discourteous at our first meeting…”
“Somewhat?”
“…I am making your present well-being my concern. If this is your first visit to London, Miss St. Claire, we must seduce you.”
She turned sharply to look at him.“What?”
He was all innocence. “Seduce you to the pleasures of London, of course.”
