“There’s Nerissa, I suppose.”
He looked a question.
“Nerissa Trelyn. She is apparently my cousin.” Portia laughed. “I was supposed to dine there tonight.”
A strange flash of humor touched his eyes. “But that is the perfect solution. Explain your plight—say Oliver was called out of town on urgent business. Lady Trelyn will be bound to take you in.”
“Oh, I couldn’t…”
“She will insist. Trelyn—dull dog that he is—is a stickler for family responsibilities. You will be secure in the highest levels of Society.”
Secure. It was a delicious word. Portia remembered how charming Nerissa had been and the decorum that had surrounded the Trelyns in the park. In that circle there would be no risk of being importuned by a rakish gamester. “Do you really think it the thing to do?”
“Assuredly.” And yet something in his tone made Portia’s instinct twitch a warning.
“I don’t like to impose.”
“It will not be an imposition. Now, do you have ready funds? You should travel by chair.”
“I have been used to walking about the town.”
“I don’t recommend it. I would take you, but Trelyn looks askance at any sort of wild living and I’ve done my share. My escort wouldn’t add to your consequence. If we truly were cousins, it would be different.” He smiled with genuine affection. “I do feel a family connection, Portia, and I will look out for your welfare.”
“Thank you, Fort.” She went into his arms. “It means so much to have someone to help me.”
He hugged her. “Everything is going to work out well for you, I promise. But please stop fighting every battle. I know you too well for my sanity. The thought of you loose on London will turn me gray.”
She laughed. “You weren’t used to be so cautious. I’ll try to act a decorous lady, but I do hate to give in without a struggle.”
“I know it. Give in on this little thing, though. Promise you will take a chair wherever you go.”
She smiled up at him. “Very well.”
“And send word to me when you’re settled. If Lady Trelyn fails you, I’ll arrange something else. We really can’t have you here like this.”
She impulsively rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
He kissed her back, lightly on the lips. “I thought you past the age of being so foolish by now.”
“So did I,” she said wistfully, her thoughts all of Bryght Malloren.
Portia admitted then that it was not just her rooms that were insecure, but her heart. Bryght had invaded, and with very little effort could conquer. She needed stronger defenses.
So, as soon as Fort had left, she put on her hat and prepared to set out to visit the Trelyns. She found Mrs. Pinney hovering.
“A fine gentleman, your cousin,” the woman said in a blend of awe and suspicion.
“The Earl of Walgrave?” Portia queried, smoothing her leather gloves.
The woman’s eyes went wide. “The one they call the Incorruptible?”
“No, his son,” said Portia crisply. “I am about to visit a relative to see if I can stay with her during my brother’s absence. Please call me a chair.”
“Very wise.” Mrs. Pinney was almost groveling now. “A young woman can never be too careful of her reputation, my dear.”
This struck Portia as funny, but she managed not to laugh.
She waited while Simon ran to a nearby stand for a chair, and fretted about Bryght. Why on earth would such a man be creeping about Clerkenwell in the middle of the night? Perhaps the gin-sodden neighbor had imagined the whole.
