“That’s so unchristian,” he chided. “And you are a good Christian, aren’t you? Pray about it. I’m sure you can overcome the sin.”
She was still now—stiff with resentment, but still. “And when I thwart you, what do I win?”
“The freedom to hate?”
“I have that now.”
Her words hurt him, but he hoped they were mainly the product of fear. He loosed his hold on her and traced the distorted line of her cheek. “What do you want then, little warrior?”
She twitched away from his hand. “Freedom from you. Forever. Never to see you again. Never to hear your voice. Never to have you touch me in any way.”
Despite the hurt, he kept his voice calm. “High stakes indeed. I think I must raise mine. If I win, you must not refuse to see me, or hear me, or to let me touch you as a gentleman may touch a lady. So, on those terms, do we have a wager?”
She stared at him for a moment, weighing it. Then turned her head away. “Why not? Do your worst.”
He did not make the obvious comment, but said instead, “A word of advice. The greatest folly in gaming is to be sure you hold the winning cards. Especially when you don’t even know the rules of the game.”
She struggled then, more furious than afraid.
He laughed just to goad her but he wasn’t amused.
He wanted her. In this situation it seemed obscene to desire Portia, but her lithe strength, her flashing eyes behind the gilded mask, her ragingspirit,had him painfully hard already.
He concentrated on the long dark wig, the plump cheeks, and the bold face-paint, trying to see her as just a body. She was still Portia through and through. Her eyes shot fury at him, her red mouth was parted by angry gasps, and her small breasts pushed against the soft bodice, begging to be touched.
Gods.
Playing to the audience, he forced a kiss on her. She kept her mouth hard against his but he murmured, “Remember the twelve hundred guineas. Now we’ve struggled, it’s time for me to start seducing you.”
She twitched with alarm, fear and doubt in her eyes. He knew she was still not sure of her safety. “Trust me,” he said.
It was too much to expect, of course. Her expression told him that she was wishing for a weapon.
With another laugh, he rolled off the bed and began a new play for the audience. They’d be happier to see a bit of skin, and it could have a desirable effect on Portia. He took off his coat, cravat, and shirt. He pulled the ribbon out of his hair to increase the wild effect.
She knelt up on the bed, tense and watchful. “What are you doing?” The plumpers distorted her voice, which was as well, but it was still rather firm for a fourteen-year-old.
“Hoping my beauty can impress you,child.Aren’t you interested in your first man? Would you like to see more?” He put his hand to the buttons of his flap.
She scrambled backward in genuine alarm. “No!”
He undid one button to tease her, and she swung around to face in the opposite direction. He looked at her stiffly resentful back and suppressed a grin. Only Portia would have such spirit here.
He could see his destiny, and was beginning to accept it with delight, pitfalls and all.
But there were pitfalls. It wasn’t going to be easy to woo Portia, and even when he won her as wife there would still be problems. He’d tied up his fortune in Bridgewater’s scheme and if he didn’t marry wealth he could even end up as his brother’s pensioner, which wouldn’t suit him at all.
And Portia wasn’t just penniless, she was a positive sinkhole for money. If he didn’t win this wager, she’d have cost him a small fortune without trying. When they married, she’d expect him to save her home, and then keep towing her brother out of River Tick. Doubtless the rest of her family would prove to be just as expensive.
He accepted it. It was clearly fate. Cupid’s arrow. He didn’t know how these things happened, but he knew he and Portia were linked now and for evermore. Fort believed he’d trapped Bryght into a commitment, but he’d just pushed him into accepting the inevitable.
Bryght told himself to concentrate on the immediate. He had to get his future bride through this with as little embarrassment as possible, and without revealing her identity. Yet at the same time he had to stir her desire so as to win their wager.
’Struth. He felt a strong inclination to beat his head against the lewdly painted wall!
He fell on the bed and snared her around the waist, rolling her back and under him. At the feel of his half-naked body, she let out a genuine squeal of alarm and struggled.
“Want to bite me, pretty one? I don’t mind.”
