Page 40 of The Duke Says I Do
“That’s something.” He didn’t sound convinced.
She couldn’t blame him. Right now, her plans sounded dismal to her, too. Blast Alaric. Before she’d tumbled into love with him, her independence had always seemed rather dashing. Yet again, she told herself to perk up.
“But my unusual circumstances offer some advantages.” She hoped that he didn’t hear the false brightness in her tone.
He cast her a wry glance. “That you can do as you like?”
“As you must know, I try not to scandalize society. That would upset Papa. Especially now. He’s had a difficult year.”
“Very good of you.”
She hadn’t mistaken his grumpiness. She supposed like most men, he didn’t appreciate women striking out on their own and choosing a path that didn’t rely on male endorsement. “You’re not following me.”
“Yes, I am. You’ve decided on a future without husband or children or company, beyond a menagerie of stray animals.”
She couldn’t help laughing, when her intentions should have her hanging her head in shame. In fact, any right-thinking woman would get back on Cleo and gallop home to Lorimer Square to scour the library for a book of improving sermons. “You make it sound so eccentric. Plenty of women don’t marry. Plenty of women have pets.”
He didn’t smile. “Not women like you. Not women capable of passion like you.”
Portia delayed before answering. Once she set this course, the path that she’d imagined her life taking would diverge into an unfamiliar and precarious wilderness. She waited for conscience or cowardice or even good old common sense to speak up. All maintained a deathly silence. Instead, her imprudent heart cavorted with drunken joy at knowing that she would at least have this much of Alaric.
She licked her lips, straightened her spine, and spoke the fatal words. “I’m hoping you can supply the passion.”
He stopped as if he’d slammed into a pane of glass. Which meant that Portia stopped, too. After a charged moment, he stepped in front of her. His eyes blazed in his face, and that muscle danced in his cheek once more. “Are you saying what I think you are, Portia?”
She very much feared that she was. Not sure if she was intrepid or unforgivably rash, she raised her chin and met that intense gaze. “I’m saying that I don’t need to be a virginal bride for some unknown gentleman. I’m saying that if we can arrange things, I’d like to be your lover, Alaric.”
***
Granville stared at Portia as if she’d appeared out of nowhere. In so many ways, she had. Despite being in plain sight for years.
He caught her gloved hand in a firm grip. Inside his chest, his heart sang with elation – and primitive anticipation. “It’s torture not being able to kiss you.”
She tugged her hand free. “We have to be careful. More than ever now.”
Now that they were about to start an affair, she meant. “I swear you won’t be sorry.”
“We need to make plans.”
“Yes.”
Portia looked troubled and ruffled. And glowing, as if someone had lit a candle inside her. Her gaze sought his. “Not now.”
Slow hoofbeats approached. Rankin was nearly upon them. Not to mention that the morning advanced. For the moment, they were unobserved. Granville would prefer not to be seen with Portia, despite a walk in the park with a chaperone being acceptable. He was the famous – and famously unattached – Duke of Granville. People were always too quick to speculate about his marriage plans. Portia’s connection to Juliet would only add to the interest.
“I’d ask you for a drive, but—”
“But we don’t want to attract notice.”
“Can you meet me in the square tonight? It needs to be late. I’ve committed to a box at the opera with the Lumsdens.”
“I’m dining with the Tyrrells. Shall we say midnight?”
He caught her hand and squeezed it. “Midnight.”
Staring down into her face, he reminded himself once more that he couldn’t kiss her. How he longed to get her to himself, somewhere he needn’t worry about wagging tongues and curious eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said in a tormented tone.
