Pray God he would come soon, and would help them. She had to escape.
Portia gave the note to the servant, then headed directly home, blocking all thought of a certain man from her head.
She entered their rooms to find only silence. Suddenly anxious, for it was the middle of the afternoon, she knocked on Oliver’s door.
“Go away. I’ve the devil of a head.”
Portia almost charged in anyway, but he couldn’t skulk there forever. “Would you like something for it, Oliver?”
“No. No thank you, Portia.”
Portia sighed and sat to read some Milton, but her mind kept wandering.
It kept returning to the subject of Bryght Malloren. She tried to focus on his brutality in Maidenhead, and on his crude offer and insults today. Instead, her wanton memory threw up Bryght Malloren teasing her in the park, and comforting a grubby child.
He couldn’t be all bad….
She was jerked out of her maudlin musings by a knock on the door. Thank heavens. It must be a message from Fort!
She swung the door open to find two strange men there, neither of whom had the look of servants. One was tall and swarthy, the other shorter and wearing an ornate powdered Cadogan wig. They had the appearance of gentlemen except that their clothes were grubby and their eyes were not gentle at all. On instinct alone, Portia began to close the door, but the taller one put out a hand and blocked it.
“We’ve come to see Sir Oliver Upcott.” The accent was that of a well-bred man, but it didn’t reassure her.
“He is not at home.”
“No? You surprise me.”
“Why, pray?”
The man smiled, showing crooked stained teeth. “You had much better let us in, Miss Upcott.”
Portia did not move. “My name is not Miss Upcott.”
The man’s pale eyes sharpened. “You his doxy?”
Portia flushed with anger. “No, sir. I am his half-sister.” She tried again to shut the door. “You will have to come back later.”
He grinned and pushed the other way. Portia could not hold out against his strength, and in a moment the bullies were in.
“How dare you!” she protested, but it was hollow. If she truly believed they had no business here she would be screaming the house down.
Disaster had finally arrived.
The dark man simply said, “Fetch your brother.”
Portia moved toward Oliver’s room, but the door opened and he came out in his nightshirt. “What’s the commotion…?” Then he saw the intruders and turned pasty as uncooked dough. “Cuthbertson.”
Cuthbertson smiled and bowed. “Sir Oliver, my dear friend.” He walked toward Oliver, his companion strolling after like a well-trained dog. Despite the fine suit and powdered wig, Portia was sure the second man had no pretentions to gentility at all. To confirm her opinion, he leered at Portia in a way that made her want to empty a chamber pot over him.
She knew that the worst had happened. Oliver had lost more than he had started with. How much? If she paid the debt, would they be left penniless without even coach fare away from here?
Oliver was trying for his normal manner. “Good day to you, sirs. But you are here at an awkward time. I’m only just out of my bed.”
“So we see, Sir Oliver. Please, take time to dress if you wish.”
Oliver’s eyes flickered uncertainly between the three people. “Not at all. Our business will not take long.”
“Excellent. You have the money, then?”
