He abruptly released her. “I’m amazed you’ve survived to your current advanced age, Miss St. Claire.”
Portia sidled away from the madman. “I am only twenty-five.”
“I took you for younger, both by your looks and your behavior.” The razor’s edge of danger had gone, though, and he seemed largely bemused. “Tell Desiree when you report to her that Bryght Malloren has her letter, and will contact her about payment.”
She straightened her spine and glared at him. “I tell you, I know no Desiree. You are mad, my lord!”
He just raised a brow and turned to leave, swooping to gather up his cloak as he passed. Portia offered no further protests, but just prayed earnestly that nothing would interfere with his departure.
Something did.
Her young brother Oliver walked in, candle in hand. The wavering golden light was shocking after the time of silver and shadow. “Portia? What are you doing in here in the dark?” He stopped. “Who are you, sir?”
“A housebreaker,” said Bryght Malloren curtly. He glanced back at Portia. “Your otherheftybrothers and the three servants?”
“Just leave, my lord,” Portia replied. Oliver was only half a foot taller than she and no match for this Malloren man.
Oliver, however, did not seem aware of his danger. “Housebreaker?” he queried. “My lord? Servants? What the devil’s going on? I’ll have an explanation of you, sir.” His free hand reached for his sword.
“Oh, ’struth.” Bryght Malloren plucked the candle from Oliver’s hand and knocked him unconscious.
Portia cried out and ran forward. She stopped when the intruder turned on her, his features now demonic in the flaring candlelight.
“When the bantam cock comes round, tell him who I am. As a Malloren I could crush him like a cockroach. As a swordsman, I suspect I could kill him with one hand tied behind my back. And my conscience wouldn’t trouble me much over killing a St. Claire.”
Her hands became fists. “Get out of here, you arrogant bully!”
He made no move to go, but looked her over coldly. “You improve with lighting, Hippolyta, but you need to learn discretion. Do you really want another battle with me?”
“I wish I still had a pistol. This time I would not hesitate.Get out!”
He moved toward her, then halted. “Amazon tears,” he said softly. “Now there’s a weapon to defeat any man.” With an ironic inclination of his head he turned and swept out of the room.
Portia had not been aware until then that she was crying.
Tears of rage, she assured herself, scrubbing the evidence from her cheeks. By heaven, but she meant what she said. If she still had a loaded pistol she would shoot the bully now.
She glanced at her brother, who was stirring, then ran out to the landing to make sure the intruder really did leave. She reached there as the door slammed behind him.
“And good riddance,” she muttered. Pray heaven she never set eyes on the man again.
Chapter 2
She heard a groan and ran back to Oliver, who was carefully feeling his jaw. “Plague take it. Who was that? And what on earth were you doing entertaining a man here?”
“Entertaining? The devil broke in.”
Oliver scrambled shakily to his feet and straightened his powdered wig. “Broke in? Why? There’s nothing of value here. Not for a man like that, at least.” Then he reached for his sword again. “By gad, but I’ll have satisfaction of him if I can but find out who he is.”
“Lord Arcenbryght Malloren is the name he gave.”
Oliver’s hand dropped from his sword, and he stared at her as if she’d announced the plague was in Maidenhead. “AMalloren!”
“You know him?”
“A Malloren? Of course not.” He was looking around dazedly, still feeling the effects of that cruel blow.
Portia took his arm and steered him toward the stairs. “He merely came to retrieve a letter that had been left here. Why don’t we go down to the kitchen? It’s warm there, and I think there’s some coffee left on the hob.”
