“Stop!” Genova exclaimed, then said, “I’m sorry….”
Portia laughed. “No matter. I lack patience with tasks like this. I surrender that Gordian section to you.” She chose another loose end. “Ashart is quite fascinating, isn’t he?”
So they were back to that. Safer, no doubt, than other subjects. “To every woman?” Genova asked, concentrating on loosening red from green.
“He has rank and charm and knows how to use it.”
“Then he’d make the devil of a husband.”
“Doubts already?”
“A million of them.” No harm in admitting that. A woman would have to be feather witted not to worry about marrying a man like the Marquess of Ashart.
Portia cocked her head. “But a man like that is a very rewarding husband if he is a true one.”
“Faithful, you mean? I doubt—”
“More than faithful. A friend. A friend of the heart. Sharer of strength and secrets, even in winter. Especially,” Portia added, “in winter.”
Genova responded to that deep within, but was it another pointed message? If the Mallorens wanted the betrothal to become real, she doubted it was for her benefit.
“Ashart and I have nothing like that,” she said.
“I believe you only met two days ago. Within two days of meeting Bryght I had no idea of what we could be.”
Genova hesitated, but she was tired of fighting tangles and the simplest way to cut through this was with truth.
“This is different,” she said. “The betrothal is false. Ashart and I argued. Some people interrupted….” Too late she realized that the telling might be embarrassing. “It appeared that we were behaving improperly. Then Thalia arrived and said we were betrothed, in order to save my reputation. We intend to break it soon.”
Portia’s main reaction seemed to be fascination. “How improperly?”
“Portia!”
“It’s a salient point.”
“We fell to the floor. In the argument. Then he kissed me. On his bed.”
Portia’s eyes went wide. “You were in hisbedroom?”
“No!” Genova knew her cheeks were flaming. “We were in the parlor, but he was sleeping there. On a mattress on the floor.”
She looked to the sages on the painted ceiling for help, but they frowned severely back at her. “It wasn’t so very bad. But we were both in our nightwear.”
Portia broke into laughter. “Oh, my. It is quite in the family tradition!”
“I just wanted to get my needlework.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Portia waved a hand. “But it’s delightful. Bryght broke into the house where I was staying and I tried to shoot him.”
“Broke in?” The Mallorens were as mad as the Trayces.
“There was something hidden there that Rothgar wanted, and they thought the house was empty.” Portia seemed to think that was explanation enough. “Who saw you?”
“What?”
“You said someone interrupted. Who was it?”
“A man called Brokesby and his sister.”
