Page 17 of The Duelist for the Ton
“You wouldn’t, seeing as you’re aman,” Portia said. “He’s known to have bedded half the married women in the ballroom tonight.”
“I’ve always found him an amiable fellow.”
“Of course you do, given that each time you see him, it must be like looking in a mirror.”
She lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip, while his eyes darkened in anger. Most likely she’d pay for her defiance, but if she’d already earned her punishment, she might as well indulge in the crime a little further.
“I wonder, brother, if the two of you compare notes on the innocents you’ve ruined? Do you keep a tally in the bet book at White’s? The first man to lift the skirts of twenty maidens wins half a crown?”
“Don’t be so crude. It’s unbecoming in a woman of your station.”
“So is ruining myself with a footman,” she retorted, “but I’ll do just that if you persist in partnering me with Sir Heath.”
“Then you’dhaveto marry him,” he replied. “If you ruin yourself, I shall walk you down the aisle, in chains if need be, to the man of my choosing. There are plenty who’d be prepared to take a titled lady for a wife even if she’d been soiled by another.”
“Why, you—”
She raised her hand to strike him, but he caught her wrist. His grip firm and unyielding, he lowered her hand with measured slowness.
“Sister dear, we cannot have you insulting our hosts with your behavior.”
“I hate you,” she spat, snatching her hand free, and he let out a sigh.
“You may hate me, Portia, but I only act out of love for you,” he said. “You’ve no income, save that which I provide, and the trustees will only release your fortune on your marriage. Therefore, you have no means with which to support yourself without a loving brother or husband to take care of you.”
“But it’s not—”
“Not fair?” he said. “I know that. But it’s the world in which we live. Find yourself a kind and generous husband and your position will be considerably better than mine.”
“I have no need for a husband.”
He let out a laugh. “You have some secret income that I know nothing of?”
A ripple of apprehension threaded through her. “Of course not,” she said, averting her gaze to prevent him from seeing the falsehood in her eyes.
“Then what are you speaking of?” he asked. “Is there something on your mind?”
“My mind is my own, brother,” she replied. “But I’ll tell you this for free: I despise men who boast of their prowess—men who seem to think a woman will be tempted by his tales of his virility.”
“Then perhaps I ought to partner you with Lord Devereaux. He’ll never regale you with tales of his virility. In fact, he won’t speak at all.”
He gestured toward a corner where a man stood apart from the rest of the company, clutching a glass in his hand. His whole form exuded hostility. His attention, which was fixed for the most part on his drink, occasionally was diverted to the rest of the company, when his dark gaze swept across the ballroom before returning to his glass. The only acknowledgment he gaveof the presence of another creature was a polite nod to their hostess.
“His disinclination to speak is an advantage,” Portia said.
Almost as if he’d heard, Lord Devereaux lifted his gaze to hers, then he frowned and looked away.
“Sadly,” she added, “it comes with a permanent state of sour-temperedness.”
“Then the two of you have much in common.” Almost as soon as her brother spoke the words, regret glimmered in his eyes. “Forgive me, sister,” he said. “I only speak out of my love for you.”
“So you have said, at least twice. But I judge a man by his actions, not his words.”
“Then let me act and make amends for being such an overbearing brother,” he said, offering his arm. “It’s almost time for the entertainment. I hear Countess Thorpe has employed a fireworker.”
“Awhat?”
“Come and see,” he said, leading her toward the terrace. “It’s all the fashion this year.”
