The place had too little light by which to read, too little air for needlework. Anyone coming here could only have one thing in mind—and sleeping did not seem likely.
Portia felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought that Pennington had planned to rendezvous here with a female companion. She quickly pushed away the thought and picked up a long, cylindrical piece of carved ivory sitting on the bedside table. Holding the smooth, strange object in her hands, she found her fingers would not encircle it completely. She tested its strength by striking the knobbed end lightly against the edge of the table. For the life of her, she couldn’t discern what anyone would use the thing for, but she thought it could certainly be wielded as a weapon. She put it back on the table and decided that she didn’t want to know what the other strange contraption on the table might be.
Portia’s mouth fell open when she looked up and saw the large oval shaped mirror attached to the ceiling above the bed.
Hearing nothing from the taproom, she leaned over the bed and stared up in horror at her own reflection. Her hair was a tangled mess, the dress was torn and disheveled, and the top of the gown was barely covering her breasts. She looked like a fallen woman, plain and simple.
She tried to adjust the fit of the corset to lessen the effect, but lost her balance and fell on the bed. Quickly trying to regain her feet, she caught the reflection of the locket around her neck—the only real thing about her tonight. It was her sole possession in this world, and Portia stared at the treasure that had started all of this.
The locket shone against her skin. She didn’t have to open it. The image of the beautiful young woman inside of it was branded in her mind. Portia wished they looked more the same. Perhaps Helena would not have been as terrified if she’d stared at her own likeness out her window.
She had gotten close enough to touch her mother tonight. No longer a possibility, no longer a dream. She had no doubt about what was truth or what was a lie. Helena was the woman inside the locket that Portia had carried her entire life. Helena Middleton was her mother.
The challenge now lay in finding a way to go back there. If Portia could just talk to her for five minutes, she would do a better job of convincing her. Then, between the two of them they could correct the circumstances that had forced them apart twenty-four years ago. Portia would simply need to be strong enough to take care of both of them.
Portia’s gaze moved from the reflection of the locket and to the woman sprawled on the bed. She almost felt that she was seeing herself for the first time. Her skin was too pale, and too much of it was sholection o. Her breasts, barely confined by the loosened bonds of the corset, were too large. Her mouth was too wide. The nose was straight but long. Her eyes were slanted and large, the only feature she’d inherited from her mother. And what of that head of dark untamed curls? She raised her hands and pushed the ringlets from her face. She was past marrying age as a means of finding a way to take care of both of them. She was hard working and tenacious. But she could not impose two people on Parson Higgins and his wife. There would be other jobs though. She knew a number of women who owned shops in Boston, in fact—the Cumings sisters, Betsy Murray, and she’d heard that the famous Mrs. Inman herself had made her fortune as a merchant here in Boston.
“What are you thinking?” she said aloud. Admiral Middleton’s wrath would not allow them to remain here. They had to go back to England or Scotland. Perhaps they could go to Wales or to Bristol where she and the Higgins had lived for the seven years prior to coming to the colonies.
As Portia was thinking of these things, the door suddenly opened. She scrambled into a sitting position.
“Stay there.” Pennington’s command, though whispered, was sharp. Seeing at least a dozen pairs of eyes leering in from beyond the door, Portia decided to obey.
*****
The image that Portia presented was exactly what he had described to the rowdy tavern revelers who were having their own celebration…in spite of the King’s Birthday. The woman was his tonight, he’d told them, and no one else would touch her.
She had been lying on her back when he’d opened the door, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. She looked ready for him to step in between them. As she sat up, he thought she might just burst out of the bodice of that gown, and desire rushed through Pierce. The tightening of his loins was more potent than he recalled happening in quite some time. Indeed, it took him a few seconds to gather his thoughts enough to remember what his plans were.
There were loud drunken chants in the room behind urging him on. A serving man, wearing a wide grin, hurried in and put a tray with a pitcher of wine and a couple of goblets on the table.
The server backed out of the room, and Pierce slowly walked toward the bed. She was like a doe, frozen in that moment just before flight.
“Lie down again,” he whispered. “Like before.”
“No.”
“You will pretend that we are about to make love, or a half dozen of those boors out there will be taking you on their laps.”
She still hesitated, but her gaze nervously went to the open doorway.
“I shan’t do anything to hurt you. This is all for show.” He slowly unbuttoned several of the buttons of his shirt.
“I shall kill you if you touch me,” she hissed under her breath.
“Lie back. Open your arms like you want me to come to you.”
The sound of clapping, chants, and lewd shouts was growing.
“Dead. Do you hear me?” Her eyes spit fire at him when she lay back stiffly and opened her arms.
Pierce turned to the door. “Sorry lads. I told you. She’s all mine tonight.”
He slammed the door shut and slid a bar lock in place.
“Well, we are stuck here for awhile.”
She couldn’t scramble off the bed fast enough. “I am shocked you would have me do such a thing, sir. Your actions in tricking me into this room, in exposing me to these people, is the most dishonorable thing I have ever heard.”
“Cease your complaining, Miss Edwards,” he said sharply. “You are in this dilemma because of your own silly actions and no one else’s. No one tricked you into stealing my chaise. No one tricked you into following me inside this tavern. And considering the situation and how many drunken men I had to face out there, I’d say you should be grateful for the results, so far.”
“Of course! Who wouldn’t be grateful for having her reputation ruined in such a manner? If I should ever see any of those faces on the street…” She took couple of steps away from the bed before whirling on him. “A true gentleman would have taken me to my destination first before coming back to…to…this…” She shook her hand irritatingly at the walls, the table, the bed, the ceiling.
“Tavern?” he asked.
“Whatever.”
“I would have taken you to your home if you had been entrusted to my care, or if you were in distress due to some unforeseen circumstances, or if you were simply a respectable young lady.”
She took a step toward him. “How dare you accuse me of not being respectable!”
Pierce stood face to face with her. “Respectable young women do not run around a garden with torn dress and a troop of servants in full pursuit. Respectable young ladies do not steal carriages, nor do they remain in them after being caught and then ride away into the night with a total stranger.”
“I was a guest in that mansion, as you were. You of all people should know how discriminating the Admiral is, with regard to those who are invited to his ball.”
“You claim you were an invited guest. The same way that you claim that Captain Turner was your escort. Now, how do I know that everything you say is not a lie? How do I know that you were not a thief who climbed over the garden wall in hope of breaking inside the mansion? Or a wench, looking for unsuspecting guests like myself. Perhaps you planned to rob me after a quick tumble beneath the rose arbors?”
Her hand came up fast, and she slapped him hard enough to make his ear ring.
When she tried to hit him a second time, Pierce grabbed her hand and twisted it behind her, pressing her body hard against him.
“Never do that again,” he drawled threateningly.
“You are a disgrace to your country, sir,” she muttered, trying to free herself. Captain Turner was too generous when he described you as a scoundrel of a Scot. You are far worse. You are a womanizer, a rogue, a devil who—”
He kissed her, stifling her words. Portia started to protest, but his mouth slanted over hers, greedily devouring her lips.
She was wild, beautiful, untamed. His growing desire to strangle her was overwhelmed by the scorching heat of the very air between them and by the hardening of his body.
Portia’s struggle was short lived. Her free hand that had initially wedged itself between their bodies inched up his chest. Her mouth softened beneath his assault. A small noise escaped her throat. Pierce knew this was madness, but the fire between them had ignited, and he deepened the kiss.
The moment he let go of her wrist, Portia realized she should move away, but she couldn’t. Objections springing up in her mind grew immediately vague, immaterial, and evaporated before she could voice them. His fingers threaded into her hair. His parted lips were demanding, his tongue plunging. He was kissing her with a passion that took her breath away. In her twenty-four years of life, she had never known this yearning that was driving her. It was a fire that made her only want to burn hotter. She had no experience with a man’s touch, and what she had imagined on other warm spring evenings held no comparison to the fever that was taking control of her now. Portia felt herself guided backward until the backs of her legs pressed against the bed.
“I cannot,” she whispered, tearing her mouth away.
“We both want this.” His mouth traced a path to her neck, and she felt a sweet tingle spread through her body with every touch of his lips. She forgot her name, never mind her next complaint as his arms brought her close against him. It seemed that every curve of her body had a home against his muscular frame. His knee pressed intimately between her skirts. She couldn’t understand the searing heat steadily building within her.
Portia tumbled backward onto the bed, and his body followed. He caught his weight and then slowly lowered himself onto her. She struggled to find within herself some desire to fight, but her body rebelled at any effort to push him away. Men did not behave like this with her. She had resigned herself long ago to a life of spinsterhood. It was a respectable life for a woman of no wealth or family. Parson Higgins’ sermons condemned this kind of behavior in no uncertain terms. She was beyond this, she thought. The parson’s wife, Mary, had long ago stopped warning her of this, for Portia was past the age of recklessness. She opened her mouth again to protest, but his mouth was there, kissing her senseless.
Wantonness it might be, but at this moment Portia found that she needed to touch and be touched. She wanted to feel the various textures of this man. His lips were gentle, his hair was like silk, his body was hard. Her fingers untied the black ribbon holding his long hair at the nape of his neck and spread it over his shoulders.
Portia was sure she would burn in hell for eternity for what she was letting him do to her.
“Look at us,” he whispered roughly. “Look how beautiful you are.”
His mouth was at her chin, then her throat. The sensation was maddening. Temptation won out over will. Portia shyly glanced upward at the reflection overhead.
Pennington’s dark hair spread over the broad expanse of white shirt. Portia shivered at the sight ohis wide shoulders, at the long, lithe body and powerfully muscled legs encased in the black buckskin breeches and silk stockings.
The woman pinned beneath him was beautiful. The skin on her face was flushed and vibrant, her eyes flashing. The woman’s lips were parted slightly as she worked to draw unsteady breaths. She seemed to be moving restlessly beneath the man’s weight. She wanted more.
“Those people up there are wicked,” she whispered.
Pierce shifted his weight to one side and met her gaze in the mirror. “Not yet,” he replied, smiling roguishly. “But they’re getting there”
The breath caught in Portia’s throat when she saw his hand push aside the locket at her neck and boldly take hold of the neckline of the dress. Without a word, he pulled at the dress and corset, freeing her breasts. Her nipples hardened immediately, and she ceased breathing entirely when his mouth closed over her flesh.
The sharp knocking on the door came like a cold slap of reality. Every nerve in Portia’s body tensed and thoughts of escape raced through her. Pierce kept one arm possessively across her, though, trapping her where she lay as his head lifted at the direction of the door.
“Who is it?” he called.
“Captain Turner of His Majesty’s Navy. In the name of the King, I order you to open this door.”
CHAPTER 4
Pierce expected the young woman to show some sign of panic, to make some struggle, some effort to hide, but Portia did not react that way at all. She turned her face away and lay still. He knew her mind was racing, though, and he had no idea what she might do next.
Pierce stared with wonder as the tears began to roll down her flawless cheeks. When he sat up, Portia moved to her side and pulled up her dress. When he stood, she drew up her knees, hugging them to her chest.
The knock on the door came again.
“In the name of the King, open this door at once.”
“One moment, Captain,” Pierce called out. He immediately gentled his tone. “’Tis not as bad as you think, Miss Edwards. We can explain our way out of this. Turner shan’t stay angry with you for long.”
She shook her head. “I hardly care about Captain Turner’s opinion of me.”
“Then what?”
“He shall tell everyone else he has found me here. The people I live with, Parson Higgins and his wife Mary, will know. Everyone in their congregation will know. He’ll tell them he found me in this tavern with you. That will bring shame on that good family’s name. The parson would be compromised. He will surely never speak to me again. Mary will be reminded of her own sister and will never allow me to see the children again. I shall be cast out as surely as you’re standing there. I shall be sent back to Wales. I can hardly bear the thought of the disappointment my benefactor Lady Primrose shall feel. Worst of all, though, in being sent from Boston I shall evesee my mother again.” The tears came faster, and she buried her face against her knees.
The knock on the door this time was heavy enough to shake the latch. “Open the door NOW, Pennington.”
Pierce had a hundred questions for the woman, but they would have to wait.
“I said I’m coming,” he shouted loud enough to make Portia cringe. He lowered his voice. “Get beneath the covers.”
She turned to him. Her eyes were red-rimmed from the tears. “Thank you, but I am not cold.”
He took the edge of the blanket and pulled it over her. “Do not say a word. Do not move from under this. Let me take care of him.”
Pierce told himself he should not feel like a cad, but he did nonetheless. With the plans for a very important business transaction ruined, he had intended that Turner find him here with Portia. On a night with half the British occupying forces engaged in the Copp’s Hill ballroom, it provided a perfect opportunity to prove to the Captain his lack of interest in the colonial cause. Pierce had even sent a stable boy from the tavern back toward the mansion to spread the word that he had come here with a young woman.
Turner had not wasted any time.
Pierce undid the front of his shirt and unfastened the top of his breeches. He snuffed the candle, opened the door, and stepped out. Captain Turner was standing a foot from the door, four armed soldiers accompanying him. The tavern patrons sat silently watching them with open hostility. Pierce spotted his groom Jack by the door.
“Captain Turner, I’m surprised to see you here. The Admiral’s party prove too dull for you?”
> “Hardly, Mr. Pennington.” The man’s look was cool, though he could not completely mask the anger in his voice. “Though I’d like to say that I am surprised to find you here as well. Admiral Middleton will be quite disappointed to hear that you left the elegance of his King’s Birthday Ball so early and in such haste for this.” Turner glanced with distaste around at the taproom and its occupants before his gaze fixed on the partially open door behind Pierce.
“Well, if the good Admiral were not so selective in his list of guests, and if there were more attractive young ladies in attendance, then I might have been induced to stay around longer.” Pierce ordered a serving lass to take another pitcher of wine into the room. “But what brings you here, Captain?”
“I am here, sir, because I was told that my escort, Miss Portia Edwards, was seen leaving the mansion in your carriage.”
“The lady you intended to introduce me to?”
“My escort,” Turner replied, his face flushing slightly.
“A very beautiful young woman, indeed. One that I would have enjoyed immensely getting to know better. In fact, I would have enjoyed spending more time in her company if she were not feeling so terribly ill.”
Turner leaned forward. He looked around him before lowering his voice confidentially. “She was fine when I left her.”
“I have nothing to say to that, sir,” Pierce whispered, giving him a doubtful look. “Though I believe you may indeed be guilty of not paying close enough attention to your charge. By the time I stumbled upon Miss Edwards in the gardens, she was sick to her stomach and quite feverish. She begged me to arrange for a carriage to take her home.”
“You should have sent for me at once,” Turner snapped. “You knew how concerned I was at not being able to find her in the ballroom.”
“I did not make any connection between you two until I was dropping her off at the parsonage of some Higgins fellow,” he replied haughtily. “The young lady I found at the mansion was far too ill for me to demand explanations. I did what any gentleman would have done. But even if I had been aware that she was your escort, sir, knowing you are a member of the Admiral’s staff and in part responsible for the ball itself, I would not have wasted time coming for you.”
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