Page 2 of The Duke Says I Do
He’d buy her a whole bloody kennel, if he could just get her to safety and go back to ignoring everyone named Frain.
“This one’s being taken to a fight that he won’t survive.”
Her crispness surprised Granville. Not quite as much as the heat radiating from where he touched Lady Portia. Perhaps he was coming down with something. The East End was mired in filth and disease.
He had gloves on. She wore a woolen pelisse, and he assumed a long-sleeved dress beneath that. The day was cold. Yet even through all the layers, the contact had an extraordinary effect. His blood rushed, and his heart crashed against his ribs. The reaction was unprecedented. On previous occasions when he’d danced with her, he’d suffered nothing stronger than a vague annoyance. “It’s still none of your business.”
“That’s right, flower.” The man’s smugness was meant to goad, but Granville had no trouble keeping his temper. “Go along, and we’ll all pretend this never happened.”
“It is my business,” Portia retorted. “Dogfighting is an abomination.”
“Harmless fun,” the bruiser said.
“Not harmless for the dogs. How much do you want for him?”
“I’m not interested in a few extra shillings. He’s a good fighting dog.”
“I’ll give you five pounds,” Portia said.
The man eyed her with sudden interest. Granville couldn’t blame him. To most people, five pounds was a fortune.
Granville was desperate to get out of there. Not least because he wanted to stop touching Portia. He should let her go, but his hand didn’t heed his mind’s command. His mind dismissed this woman as a troublesome baggage. His hand enjoyed holding onto her more than it should. “If you’ll give over the dog this minute, I’ll give you ten.”
Greed lit the man’s eyes. “Let’s see the color of your money.”
Granville made himself step back from Portia, astounded at the effort it took. “Pass the dog to the lady and let her go. Then we can deal.”
“How do I know you’ll stick to it?”
Granville was unused to anyone questioning his integrity. He was renowned as a man of unshakable principle. To the pointwhere wilder elements of the ton considered him a dull fellow indeed.
“You have my word,” he said coldly.
“Your word is fine and good, but it won’t buy me the froth on a tankard of beer. Pay the money now and I’ll hand Jupiter over.”
Despite the building tension, Granville couldn’t help casting another glance at the dog. Anything less like the king of the gods was hard to imagine. “You’ve heard my offer. Take it or leave it.”
The man made an unconvincing effort to look thoughtful before placing two fingers in his mouth and blowing a shrill whistle. The noise had the dog tugging at the leash and howling.
Portia lurched forward. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Nothing’s wrong.”
Knowing it was a mistake to touch her again but unable to avoid it, Granville caught her arm. He wasn’t letting her get within the villain’s reach.
This time, the surge of heat didn’t startle him, although it remained a puzzle. He was a man of sober habits – too sober, he sometimes admitted – and he didn’t in general find unsuitable women alluring. But the urge to touch Lady Portia Frain and keep touching her was unmistakable. It was dashed inconvenient, but she wielded a power over him as unexpected as it was powerful.
More reason than ever to eschew her company. But first he had to get her out of this mess. A mess totally of her own making, blast her.
The dog kept howling. Perhaps that was why Portia trembled under Granville’s hold. He glanced at the unappealing animal. “Quiet,” he snapped in the voice that always gained instant obedience.
This occasion proved no exception. The cur stopped making a din and sat, gaze fixed on Granville. The stubby tail moved in a tentative wag.
Unfortunately, that was the only good news. Now the dog was silent, Granville heard the sound of running feet.
“Wotcha, Jim?” a coarse voice shouted from a side alley. “Trouble?”
Hell, now they had two ruffians to deal with. Granville’s grip on Portia’s arm tightened, as he backed toward the wall behind them. Danger had always loomed, but the arrival of Jim’s ally tipped the balance.
“Not for me, Alf. But these two downy birds are where they shouldn’t be and sticking their long noses into stuff that don’t concern ‘em. I’m going to do some plucking. Thought you might like to share the pickings, my lad.”
