She wanted to believe him.
He picked up her cloak. With caring reverence he placed it around her. It was then she realized her dress hung down to her waist. Her breasts were completely exposed to him. She started to pull her bodice up. He caught her hands.
“No, not yet.”
Portia looked askance. She didn’t understand.
“You are so beautiful,” he answered.
Beautiful. No one had ever called her beautiful before. Minnie was the beauty. Portia was the less-than-attractive older sister, the one who would never marry without a dowry ... and yet, in this moment, she felt beautiful.
He smiled as he touched the bridge of her spectacles, pushing them up her nose. “I like your glasses. I like you.”
A warmth filled her that was more potent than even his lovemaking.
“I like you as well,” she said.
He smiled, the expression transforming his face. He looked relaxed, younger, carefree. But then he turned serious. “The book?”
Of course, the book.
She had been a momentary diversion. One he enjoyed before he focused on what he truly wanted.
He looked past her to where the book had dropped to the ground when they had embraced. The money bag was there as well, and Portia was stunned to realize that she’d been so embroiled with him she could have forgotten something as important as money.
The colonel left her, tucking in his shirt as he went outside, and picked up both the book and her money. He left the basket where it lay.
Portia began straightening her wardrobe. Her hair was a mess. Her curls sprang every which way. Her body was still full of him. She tried not to think on it as she started searching the ground for stray pins.
He leaned against the door and opened the book, blocking her way to escape.
Portia waited a few moments, watching him turning the pages, a frown marring his forehead.
All was silent save for the sounds of his horse grazing outside and the fragile brittleness of the pages as he flipped them.
“I should be leaving,” she said.
He raised his gaze, his eyes saying he hadn’t comprehended her words.
“I should leave,” she repeated. She did need to go now, while she had the good common sense to do so—and she would never cross his path again. Never, never,never.
The colonel might act as if this sort of explosive mating was normal for him, but it wasn’t for her. She was developing a habit around him that was quite disturbing.
He held the book out. “I don’t understand this,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. “What is it? And where did you see the name Fenella?”
“It’s a book of recipes,” she explained. Seeing he didn’t understand, she said, “Women write down recipes for curing bacon and remedies for healing a fever or setting a bone. They pass these books down from one generation to the next. This one is a bit unusual because it has chants and spells. Magic, you could say, although I doubt if any of the spells work.” She took the book from him and turned the pages to show him what she meant. “I found Fenella’s name in the front. In this book, I’m assuming that when it was passed from one woman to the next, the woman wrote her name in it. That’s a common practice for such books, much the same as what you see in family Bibles.”
The colonel stared at the list of faded namesending with Fenella’s. “It’s an unusual name. It must be her. Why else would the cat be here? Tell me how you found the book.”
Again, with the cat.
He could make a woman question his sanity. “I need to be going,” Portia said, and would have slipped past him out the door except he placed an arm up to block her way.
“Please,” he said. “This is important.”
“My family will wonder where I am.” She shouldn’t stay here. Not alone with him.
“Where did you tell them you were going?”
