“True.” He caged her with a hand on the wall on either side of her head. “But it makes it a lot less likely I’ll be hauled before the magistrates for my sins, doesn’t it?” His height forced her to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, and her neck hurt as she watched his lips lower toward hers. Her heart was pounding and she was beginning to turn dizzy. Damn him, damn him, damn him….
“So,mignon,”he whispered inches from her lips, “why not just allow me my wicked way?”
Portia admitted at last that she was completely outmatched. He was a lord, a rake, and a large, ruthless man intent on his purpose. She ducked away from him and he let her go, flashing her an all-too-knowing grin.
May the ten curses of Egypt fall on his head!
She gathered what remained of her dignity and gestured disdainfully at the empty hearth and plain wooden surround.
“Proceed, my lord. I cannot wait to see you produce paper out of thin air. Are you perhaps a magician?”
“Perhaps I am.” He went forward and instead of looking in the empty grate or up the sooty chimney, he inspected the place where the wood joined the plaster wall. Portia couldn’t resist going closer to see what he was doing.
He was prying at the space between the wood and the wall, but he suddenly cursed and sucked a finger.
“Oh, dear,” she said with spurious sympathy. “Have you torn a nail, my lord?”
The look he sent her made her resolve to control her saucy tongue. “Is there truly something behind there, my lord?” she asked more moderately.
“Yes, Mistress Curiosity, there truly is.” He dug in his pocket for his pen-knife and used it to work at the problem. “So, you are guests, are you? I would have thought the earl a better host. There seems to be a marked lack of servants, furniture, and heat.”
“The other rooms are normally furnished.”
“And the heat and servants? Ah, I forgot. The servants are out with your ten hefty brothers.”
“Exactly. And I prefer cool temperatures. They are healthier.” She crossed her arms, wished for her shawls, and tried not to shiver.
“You must forgive me if I don’t believe a word you say, Hippolyta. I doubt it’s any concern of mine, however. In fact, if you want to pilfer Walgrave’s property, you have my blessing.”
Portia felt as if her hair must be standing on end with fury. “Howdareyou suggest…”
But he wasn’t paying attention. “Ah,” he said, and began to slide a folded paper free. He wiggled it carefully out with the tip of the knife until he could grip it, then stood to hold it teasingly before her. “Abracadabra!”
The taunt was the final straw. Portia twitched it out of his loose hold and ran. She was snared by the back of her gown, dragged hard against his body, and the paper was plucked from her hand. “Very foolish,” he said.
Portia knew it, for now there was no humor in his voice at all. He had one arm unbreakably around her and the folded paper was in front of her face. It was heavily scented with Otto of Roses and she turned her head away from the smell.
“Do you not care for the perfume?” It was said lightly, but nothing could persuade her that he was in a good humor.
“It is a little cloying, my lord.”
“A lady of virtue and discretion, would you say?”
“Hardly.”
“But this letter could be to a friend, discussing the latest gowns.”
“Is it?”
“I fear not.” His tone was almost contemplative.
His arm was a prison as secure as iron bars, but Portia was relaxing. Again, she sensed no direct threat in him, and in fact found this strange embrace almost comforting. It was hard being small, female, and responsible for everything. What would it be like to have a strong man at one’s command?
Such foolishness. What point in trusting men when they could lose the very roof over one’s head with foolish investments, or on the turn of a card? As her father had done, then shot himself. As her half-brother had done, landing them in this predicament.
She pushed against his hold. “Let me go, my lord. You have what you came for, and I cannot stop you from taking it.”
“I’m glad you realize that at last.” He relaxed his arm and she pushed free and turned to face him.
