Page 37 of The Duke Says I Do
Portia noted, now that she wasn’t likely to end up on her bottom in the mud, that all of him looked stylish in a silvery graycoat and darker gray breeches. Had he taken similar trouble over his appearance? She’d like to think that he had.
Her heart giving a happy skip, she smiled down at him with a sunniness that shamed the gloomy weather. “Thank you.”
When he caught her waist, his eyes widened. For a blazing instant, the social mask slipped. She saw that he hungered like she did.
The breath jammed in her lungs. His hands tightened, and she automatically reached for those impressive shoulders.
After a charged instant, he lifted her to the ground. Thank heavens, he kept hold of her a fraction too long. Her legs were too wobbly to support her.
She still stared into Granville’s face when Rankin cleared his throat. “Shall I take Cleo, my lady?”
The real world rushed in with painful force. Portia stepped back, bumping into Cleo’s warm flank. “Yes. Yes, please.”
She sounded flustered. She couldn’t help it.
“Very good, ma’am,” Rankin said in a stoical voice, coming forward and taking Cleo’s reins.
The horse had settled. Most creatures felt safe in Granville’s company. Dear Lord, even Portia did, when safety was the last thing that His Grace offered.
“Shall we proceed?” While the duke did a better job of hiding his agitation, she was close enough to hear unaccustomed huskiness in his voice and see a muscle dancing in his lean cheek.
“Yes.” When he extended his arm, she clung as if she was drowning and he’d flung her a rope. Except she feared that they were both lost in a strange ocean and likely to sink beneath the waves.
Granville let Jupiter off the lead before they began to stroll along the path. Behind them, she heard the horses’ hooves clopping on the gravel. Rankin, bless him, hung back to granther and the duke a moment’s privacy. It might make her groom a terrible chaperone, but it did make him a dear friend.
“Did you have any trouble getting back into the house last night?” the duke asked in a low voice. The question wasn’t suggestive, yet a ripple of forbidden awareness warmed Portia. The murmur was a powerful reminder of how he’d sounded when she was in his arms.
“Portia?”
By now, she should be used to blushing. She’d drifted off into enthralling memories of his kisses. “No. It was fine in the end. Rankin smuggled me into the stables, where I keep a few dresses in case I need to change. Rescuing dogs can be dirty work.”
“I know,” Granville said with such feeling that she laughed.
“Papa ended up dining at his club and has no idea how late I was out.”
“Rankin was the only one to see you in trousers?”
“Yes.” She paused. “And you.”
“The world missed a treat. The sight of you dressed as a man was rather…piquant.”
She was back to thinking about kisses. Her voice shook when she replied. “I need to return your clothes. At the moment, they’re bundled up under the window seat in my bedroom.”
“Yours are in the bottom drawer of the desk in the library. And there’s a very pretty little pistol in there as well. You left it in the pocket of your pelisse.”
“Oh, I forgot my gun. Shall I send Rankin over?”
“I’d rather you came yourself.”
She stumbled slightly, and it was nothing to do with the mist. “For Jupiter?”
“For me.”
“Granville…”
“Alaric.”
Stupid to feel that using his Christian name was a step too far, when he’d already kissed her as if he wanted to devour her. Nevertheless her voice stumbled as her feet did when she answered. “Alaric, are we…are we going to pursue this?”
