Page 141 of The Duelist for the Ton
“No!” Portia stepped toward her brother, but Stephen leaped in front of her, shielding her with his body.
“Shoot me if you like,Your Grace,” he snarled, “but you’ll not harm a hair on Portia’s head—or our daughter’s.”
Adam drew in a sharp breath, and his companions exchanged glances.
“Reid, you’ve lost your wits. That child is not—”
“Yes, she is!” Stephen cried. “Portia’s a mother, and you separated her from her child! What sort of man does that to his sister?”
“What aboutyou?” Adam said. “You ruined her, abandoned her, then shot her, leaving her for dead, while she carried your child! What sort of a brother would I be if I let that pass?”
“Adam, please!” Portia said. “Put the gun down—you know how Stephen fears…” She hesitated. “F-forgive me, Stephen. I didn’t mean to—”
“No, say it,” Stephen said. “I care not if your brother knows that I have relived the war every night, such that the sound of gunfire returns me to the nightmare of the battlefield, the cries of pain, the stench of bodies of the men I failed to save. But I would willingly endure a thousand gunshots to protect the woman I love—and the child she bore me.”
“Well, stap me,” Earl Thorpe said, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “When you insisted we accompany you after you received your message, Foxton, you didn’t say it would lead us to such an interesting experience.”
“Speak one word about this and I’ll shoot you down,” Adam said, swiveling round and aiming the shotgun at Thorpe. “I asked you to come with me to rid my land of vermin. At least there are those among my staff are loyal to their master.” He glared at Nerissa. “Unlike some. I suppose you’ve been encouraging my sister to fraternize with the child after I expressly forbade you.”
“You never forbade me outright,” Portia said.
“But I did tell you that if you continued to visit the child, it would end in heartbreak.”
“She’s notthe child, Adam. She’s your niece—my daughter!”
Adam turned to Stephen. “Did you come to expose my sister? Not content with shooting her, are you here to spread gossip about her ruination?”
“No, Your Grace,” Stephen said. “I come to claim the woman I love—and the daughter she bore me.”
Adam gritted his teeth, his eyes darkening until they were almost black. “You’ll have to tear me down first.”
“With pleasure.”
Stephen strode toward Adam, into the line of fire.
“No!” Portia cried. “Stephen, don’t!Please!”
He curled his hand around the barrel and wrenched the gun from Adam’s grip. He uncocked it and expelled the cartridge, then dropped the gun on the ground.
“How’s your eye, Foxton?” he said. “Care for a matching pair?” He gestured toward Thorpe and Devereaux. “Or have you brought your friends to throw me off your land as you threatened to do in London? Well, I’ll not be thrown off your estate so easily this time—not now I’ve found your sister.”
“Y-you came her before, looking for me?” Portia said.
“Aye, I did.”
“And again, in London?”
“Aye.” Stephen turned toward her. “I would walk to the far ends of the earth to find you, Portia. I cannot live without you.” He wiped his eyes and shook his head. “I cannot begin to describe how much I hate myself for hurting you—and for placing judgment on you when it is I who ought to be judged. I was angry, aye, when I discovered that you were the Farthing—angry because I believe you’d deceived me. But I never stopped loving you, Portia. And though you’ve every right to hate me for bringing you to harm and for abandoning you, I know, in here”—he placed his hand over his heart—“that our child was conceived from an act of love between us.”
“Ahem,” Thorpe said, and Portia glanced up to see him shuffling from one foot to another. Undeterred, Stephen stepped toward her, arms outstretched, palms upward in supplication.
Then he lowered himself to his knees.
Thorpe drew in a sharp breath and shook his head. Adam’s lip curled in a sneer, while Devereaux’s eyebrows lifted a fraction—the only sign of reaction in his otherwise emotionless expression.
Undeterred, Stephen reached toward her and caught her skirts. Then he dipped his head and kissed the fabric.
“As undeserving a creature as I am, Portia, I offer myself to you now—my body, heart, and soul, which are, and have always been, yours. I offer everything I have, and everything I ever will be, and though you may rightfully deem me unworthy even to kiss your skirts, I ask, with hope and no expectation, that you consent to be my wife.”
