What would it be like skin to skin?
She shook her head. No.
Bryght was now dressed, though not nearly as neatly as he had been. He looked at her, then suddenly went to the bed and ripped off the sheet. He handed it to her and she gratefully wrapped it around herself.
But she didn’t want to be grateful to him.
He opened the door for her with courtly grace and she walked through expecting to have to face those evil, avid eyes again. The entertainment was over, however, and the room had settled to other matters. Drinking and gaming were going on, whilst on the dais, semi-naked women were striking lewd attitudes.
Portia turned quickly away. They, too, were acting sexual abandon just as she had done.
Except that in her case it hadn’t been acting, whereas in Bryght’s case it had. Portia realized she hated him for that.
A few people looked at her and grinned, but generally nothing was made of their emergence. A very fat, sour-faced man sat nearby. “I give you your victory, my lord,” said the man, handing over a slip of paper and eying Portia. “But it was a tame show. Damme if it wasn’t.”
Portia clutched the sheet closer, feeling fouled by the look in his eye.
Bryght merely said, “I recommend subtlety to you, Mr. Prestonly, next time you attempt a virgin,” and steered Portia past the man and into the corridor.
Mirabelle came forward. “Come along, my dear, and we will settle accounts.”
Bryght followed and Portia turned on him. “I want nothing more of you.”
“You need my help, Hippolyta.”
“I do not. If you had the sensitivity of a…asnail,you’d go away!”
“Toads? Snails?” He grinned lightly. “My dear, you need help with your money. If you take it home your brother will dispose of it almost immediately.” He turned to the madam. “I’ll handle it all. I’ll send you your cut, and pay hers into a bank. I’ll take care of Cuthbertson, too.”
Mirabelle’s brows rose. “You are going to ruin a very profitable little business, my lord.”
“I doubt you’ll starve. You will see her safely home?”
“Very well.”
Bryght took out a gold and enamel snuff box and delicately took a pinch. “And you would not care to spend time in the pillory, would you, Mirabelle, or be whipped at the cart’s tail?”
The madam’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Threats, my lord?”
“Promises. You must take great care of her, and no one must ever suspect who Hippolyta is.”
“I do not know, and have no wish to.”
“One day, you will.”
Portia looked between them in bewilderment. Why did Mirabelle look maliciously amused? “Far be it from me,” said the madam, “to sully such perfect bliss.”
“What are you talking about?” Portia demanded.
Bryght replied. “We’re talking about keeping your identity concealed.”
“No one would recognize me like this,” she protested, but then Portia remembered that he obviously had and so had Fort. She clutched the sheet tighter.
“No one will identify you,” said Bryght, “unless suspicions are raised.”
Portia shivered. “You knew.”
“It was the name.”
