Page 45 of The Duke Says I Do
Another shaky laugh escaped. More the result of burgeoning dread than amusement. “We’ll have to make sure that nobody guesses we no longer dislike each other.”
“No kisses on the dance floor?”
She gulped back a giggle. “None.”
“How will I survive? Will you at least dance with me? A waltz?”
“I’ll look at you like Jupiter does.”
“While we’re away, you can practice looking bored to tears.”
This time the giggle escaped. “Anything else will set tongues wagging.”
Another carriage rolled into the square and stopped in front of the house that her father had rented for the season. “I have to go, Alaric. That will be Papa, which means the house will be locked up in the next hour.”
Alaric’s arms tightened. The voice rasping in her ear betrayed a frustration that might even outstrip hers. “I don’t want to let you go.”
“I don’t want to go. Ooh!”
He’d run his teeth along a nerve in her neck that until now she hadn’t known was there. Sensation whipped through her and made her toes curl. “You must, damn it.”
She struggled for breath. “Will I see you tomorrow morning?”
“Yes. I hope it’s foggy again.”
“So do I.”
It was time to go. More than time. She needed to be careful until Tuesday, just in case Papa decided to pay more attention than usual to her activities.
But it was the same as last night. She and Alaric planned sin, but the greatest sin seemed to be parting from him.
“Kiss me, then go,” he said in a gruff voice. “Or else, heaven help me, I’ll sweep you away to my bed and to the devil with propriety and papas.”
Blindly, Portia turned in his arms and pressed her mouth to his. The first time that she’d kissed him off her own initiative. Immediate heat and desire swamped her. A promise of wonders next Tuesday.
Chapter 11
Even if it hadn’t meant a chance to dance with Alaric, Portia wouldn’t miss Lady Shelburn’s ball. Not just because she and the Shelburns were now related by marriage, either.
Kate Anstey, Lady Shelburn, and she had become firm friends since the unconventional countess’s marriage and entry into society three years ago. Perhaps the fact that at heart they were both outsiders drew them together, or perhaps it was their incurable independence. The friendship had thrived, as Kate had helped her find homes for many of her rescues and had even taken in a couple herself.
This was the first time Kate had held a ball at Anstey House in Grosvenor Square. The prospect of hosting the cream of society had thrown the usually unflappable Lady Shelburn into a complete spin. But an hour into proceedings, she seemed to have accepted that despite her predictions of failure, the event proved a raging success.
Portia had just danced a quadrille with Ivor Bilson. Now she stood with her host and hostess, surveying the extravagantly dressed crowd filling the ornate ballroom. “You need to accept it, Kate. You’re about to become a famous hostess. You’ll have to hold a ball every year and fight back hordes of encroaching mushrooms, clamoring for invitations.”
“Heaven preserve us,” said Lord Shelburn, rolling his brilliant dark eyes. “They won’t call us the eccentric Ansteys anymore.”
His wife’s smile conveyed the love that Portia had always envied. The Shelburns’ teasing give-and-take had always seemed to her the best way to be married. “Face it, my darling, you’re no longer the worst lord in London. Despite marrying a peasant like me.”
He caught her hand and kissed it. “Now I’m thinking about frolics amongst the haystacks.”
It was time for Portia to roll her eyes. “Stop it, you two.”
“Yes, stop it, Leighton. You’re embarrassing our friend.” Kate’s voice betrayed her enjoyment of the flirtation.
Portia had known Lord Shelburn since her first season, and Kate and she had bonded from their first meeting. But only now after falling in love with Alaric did she sense the sexual spark between the pair. She wondered how she could have missed that crackling heat.
Shelburn smiled at her. “Perhaps our friend will give me this waltz?”
