Page 142 of The Duelist for the Ton
Her heart have a little pulse of hope, then she tightened her grip on her child.
“And Stephania?”
“She is my child, and I would recognize her and love her as such. Do you think I care whether she was born in wedlock or not?”
“I say…” Thorpe muttered. “Time and a place, Reid.”
“That there is, Thorpe,” Stephen said. “The time is now—and the place is here—for me to declare my love for Lady Portia and our daughter.”
“And if my sister refuses you?” Adam said. “What if there’s no dowry, if I cut her off and leave her penniless?”
Stephen let out a laugh. “Are you so foolish as to think I care for wealth and titles as much as you, Foxton? If your sister had no fortune, still I would love her. If you abandoned her and refused to consent to our marriage, still I would love her.” He tilted his head toward the sky, as if addressing the Almighty. “If Lady Portia Hawke had nothing but the clothes she stood in and the child in her arms,still I would love her!”
“And if she refused you?” Adam continued.
Stephen’s eyes narrowed, and Portia caught a glimmer of pain there. But he turned toward her brother, still clinging to her skirts.
“Still I would love her,” he said. “And I would be the champion of her happiness until the day I drew my last breath. I would fight you at every turn to ensure that she is not partedfrom our child, even if she denied me the chance to love our child—even if she denied me herself.”
His chest rose and fell as he drew in a shuddering breath, then he lifted his head and met Portia’s gaze, his eyes shining with emotion.
“That is what love is,” he said. “That is the joy of love, but the pain also. But the pain, even though it may be enough to tear a man’s heart to shreds—every ounce of that pain is worth it for even one second of the joy that love can bring. And I want nothing more than to give you that joy, Portia, my love—to love and protect you.”
“To protect me?”
The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile, though his eyes shone with moisture.
“You are brave and strong, my love,” he said, “more courageous than I could ever be. Perhaps it is I who should ask you to protect us—me, and our beloved daughter.”
Our beloved daughter…
Her heart opened toward him. “Stephen…”
He rose to his feet, then placed his hands on her arms and drew her close, and she inhaled the familiar, woody scent of him.
“Oh, Stephen!”
She leaned into his embrace, placing her head on his shoulder, drawing strength from his athletic form, the firm muscles of his arms that claimed her as his.
“What about the Bensons?” Adam said. “What have you told them?”
“What about Portia?” Stephen said. “It’s Portia I love. Her happiness is all I care about. It’s you who must make amends to those who have suffered harm—not only your sister and your niece, but those to whom you made a promise that was not yours to give. You stripped your sister of her soul, forced her to make achoice that you believed to be easy. I now beg you, Foxton, to do that which is not easy…but what isright.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you must reap the consequences,” Stephen said. He placed a soft kiss on Portia’s forehead. “I have made my decision.”
Portia lifted her head to see him looking at her, his eyes wide with entreaty, filled with love and desire and asking—as the soul asks in its moment of vulnerability—not to be hurt.
“And so have I,” she said. She tilted her head, offering her lips for a kiss, and he lowered his mouth to hers, flicking his tongue along the seam, begging entrance, which she granted, gladly. His tongue caressed her gently, curling round her own in a gentle dance, before he withdrew, his eyes shining, then whispered in her ear, his warm breath dancing on her neck.
“And there, my love, I taste the moment of joy.”
“Oh, bloody hell.”
Portia looked up to see her brother, hands on hips, resignation in his eyes.
“I suppose you really do love her,” he said, and she braced herself, anticipating his usual jibes about a man being a milksop if he admitted to having a heart.
