Page 48 of Modern Romance January 2025 1-4

‘You thought I deserted you that night, didn’t you?’

He stilled so completely it was hard to believe he breathed. ‘You made it clear you’d changed your mind about us.’

Portia shook her head. ‘I didn’t. I was planning to come to you but he stopped me.’

Over the years she’d seen many expressions in Lex’s eyes. Laughter, sympathy, desire, even rapture. She’d seen him angry but never with her. She saw it now, a cold fury that was more daunting for the way he controlled it. Only the tick of his pulse and that searing fire in his eyes betrayed him.

‘You don’t believe me.’

Those straight shoulders shrugged with such insouciance she could almost believe it no longer mattered to him. Except she’d read the ire he held in check.

‘You mean your father? You told me yourself he had no idea about us. What are you saying he did to you?’ Lex drawled. ‘Locked you up in a tower? This is the twenty-first century, Portia, not the Middle Ages.’

Portia slammed her drink down on the low table between them and shot to her feet. She’d expected anger yet his sneering disbelief caught her on the raw.

‘You know Cropley Hall doesn’t have a tower. He used the dungeon.’

CHAPTER THREE

LEXSAWHERwrap her arms around her middle, shoulders curving protectively.

Even then it was impossible to believe. The very idea was pure fantasy. It had to be, because if what she’d said were true... That didn’t bear thinking about.

Portia turned away. ‘Whatever you were told wasn’t right, Lex. Iwantedto come to you that night but I couldn’t.’

He put down his glass carefully. It was easier to concentrate on that than the riot of emotions her declaration unleashed.

‘You’re seriously saying your father locked you away in a dungeon?’ The man was bombastic and prejudiced but he was too fond of his own reputation to do anything so outrageous. ‘Apart from anything else, Cropley Hall is a house, not a castle with a handy dungeon.’

Portia let out a shuddering sigh, dropping her arms and pushing her shoulders back. Then she walked to the end of the chesterfield and scooped up her coat.

‘Forget it. It doesn’t matter now. It was a mistake to come here.’

Already she was walking away from him. Only this time, instead of saying goodbye by text she simply turned her back, dismissing him.

Lex wasn’t aware of moving, but the next instant his hand was on her upper arm as he turned her to face him.

What he saw hit him like a physical blow.

He’d only seen Portia cry once, the day her mother died. Even then she’d pulled free of his arms, not wanting to wallow in tears, and concentrated on grooming the horses and mucking out stables until hours later, exhausted, she let him lead her away.

Now he looked down into eyes glazed with unshed tears. Eyes shadowed by hurt. She blinked and looked away, shaking her hand free.

Leaving him with a sharp ache slicing from his chest to his gut.

Then he remembered. Whatever her faults, Portia wasn’t a liar. That last text from her had been brutal. It had devastated him, spurring him to leave not only Cropley but Britain too. But it had at least been honest. She’d left him in no doubt about their relationship ending.

Lex looked at her averted face, the tight downward crimp of her mouth, and felt a tiny sliver of doubt puncture over a decade of resentment.

‘Talk to me, Portia.’

‘There’s no point. It was so long ago. A whole lifetime ago.’ Those lush lips crumpled for a second and then she turned back to him.

Her pale face was composed now. Her eyes were still bright but no longer brimming. Her gaze met his but it was unreadable, as if she’d blanked out all emotion.

That made him more than ever determined to get to the bottom of this. He’d always been able to read her but now she shut him out as if he were a total stranger.

Let her. You are strangers. You lost your chance for a future years ago. You’re different people now.

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