Harry warded off her anger with a hand. “It’s not. Trust me. I won’t let any harm come to you.”
Her answer was to slap his hand away.
And Harry knew she had a right to be angry. He’d taken what had been only hers to give and had done so with wild abandon. But he had not been alone. She had been a willing participant and far from virginal in her desire.
Just thinking about what had been between them caused his body to stir with interest—
“The cat,” he said. “Where is the cat?” Harry rose to his feet.
“Owl? What does Owl have to do with this?”
“That is no cat,” he informed her. “The cat is Fenella.” He was certain of it. Harry buttoned his breeches as he began searching every corner and crevice of the barn. The cat had just been there. The cat was still there. He could sense it, but he could not find it.
Portia had managed to come to her feet. She leaned against the wall for support, her face still alarmingly pale. “There isnoFenella,” she said. “Fenella is the name in a book.”
“A book?” Harry crossed to her. No one had mentioned a book. “What book?”
She shook her head. “One I found. Please, leave me.”
But he couldn’t leave, not after she had shared that tidbit. He took her by the arms. “Please, you must help me. What book did you find?”
“A book,” she lashed out. “It’s nothing important.” Tears had come to her eyes.
The sight of her crying went straight to his heart. She was not the sort who broke easily. He’d hurt her and she was the innocent in all of this.
“Please, tell me about the book,” he pleaded.
Her response was to raise her knee and practically geld him.
His sex was still sensitive from their lovemaking. Her blow was doubly effective.
Harry let loose his hold, bowed over in pain. Freed, Portia tore off into the night, escaping into her house.
Meanwhile, Harry could barely breathe. He wheezed and gasped, waiting for the pain to subside, helpless to chase her.
And what if he did? She was too distraught to help him.
Slowly, Harry came to his feet. He would talk to her on the morrow. She needed to think. He needed time to think as well. He didn’t understand what had happened any more than she did.
But he did know one thing—he was coming closer to Fenella.
No one was waiting for her inside the house, and Portia didn’t stop running until she reached her room. She slammed the door behind her, afraidhewas following.
For one long moment, she leaned against the door, her heart pounding in her ears, a hundred separate thoughts all jumbled and confused in her brain.
She placed a hand over her eyes as if to erase the memory of what had just happened from her mind. She sank to the floor.
Her body still pulsed with the memory of being joined with him, of having him deep inside her, and she feared she was wanton—because she’dlikedit. There had been a moment when the pain had been unbearable, and yet, she would have not let him stop.
Portia hugged her arms around her. So that was “making love” and it had earned its reputation. She’d never felt so alive, souncontrolledbefore in her life.
She’d also ruined herself.
Fear raised its ugly head. Now what would she do?
She had thrown herself into the arms of the most notorious rake in the— Her mind froze, unable to think of how far and wide Colonel Chattan’s reputation spanned, and then decided, yes, he must be the worst in the world! How else could he have seduced her so easily?
And she had thought he’d been angry when he’d first entered the barn. There had not been anger in his kiss. No, there had been hunger, and desire, and passion, and—
