Portia had briefly forgotten their perilous situation, but now she stiffened. “That is none of your concern, my lord.”
“How excessively private you are, Hippolyta. One might almost think you had secrets to hide….”
“Doesn’t everyone?” But then she remembered wanting to advertise the fact that Oliver had nothing left to lose. This was an excellent time. “One secret is that Oliver lost his estate at play. He is as good as penniless, my lord.”
He accepted the news without surprise. “In that case, if you will take some well-meant advice, Miss St. Claire, you will stop your brother from gaming further.”
“How?” she asked bleakly.
His expression was surprisingly understanding. “Ah. As bad as that, is it? Then get him away from London.”
“You played with him last night, my lord,” she said frostily, “so why the pious sermon?”
“Because I played with him last night.”
She glared at him. “At least he won. You lost, but I suspect you will be back at play tonight.”
“Almost certainly, but I have not yet lost my all, nor do I have dependents to consider.”
Gracious heaven, for all his poise and power this man, too, was helplessly entangled in the vice. Portia wanted to plead with him to abandon gaming, plead just as strongly as she had with Oliver.
Then she reminded herself that Bryght Malloren was no concern of hers. If he lost every penny and shot himself as her father had shot himself—
Her mind balked at the image, and the words escaped. “I wishyouwouldn’t play.” When he turned to her, mildly surprised, she hastily added, “I wish no one would.”
His lips turned up. “What then would we do with our long evenings? Ah yes, sit by the fire with our faithful spouses….”
Portia knew she was an awkward red. “You mock, my lord, but it would be better.”
“Undoubtedly.” The amusement faded. “You frighten me, Miss St. Claire.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“I mean, I am frightened for you. You have something of the Joan of Arc about you.”
“I’m no religious zealot, my lord.”
He frowned slightly and looked alarmingly serious. “But you are fierce, brave, and have high ideals. That is dangerous in this cynical age. In a just cause you wouldn’t hesitate to take appalling risks. I would not want to see you go up in flames.”
“There is no danger of that.” But his words struck a chord of uneasiness in Portia. She lived these days with a sense of hovering disaster.
“Is there not? You would have shot me that day, wouldn’t you?”
She colored at the memory, but said, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was supposed to allow an intruder to break into the house without objection?”
“A pistol ball in the gut is rather more than an objection, dear Amazon. What would you have done with me writhing to eternity at your feet?”
It was a disturbing picture but Portia would not let him see that. “Called for the Watch,” she said crisply.
He laughed out loud. “You would, wouldn’t you?” He touched her hot cheek with his knuckle. “You are refreshing.”
Portia felt caught in a moment of eternity, and fought it. “Like an ice-cold bath, perhaps?”
His eyes seemed truly warm as he said, “Not quite so harsh, I think. Like a cool fountain on an arid summer’s day.”
