“My point exactly.”
When Portia made some rather unintelligible apologies to the others, Millicent came to her rescue, asking Helena questions about the weather during their crossing. Pierce looped her arm through his and escorted her through one of the open doors to a terrace. Portia held her tongue, but when they were safely down the steps and on the grassy lawn, she gave him a piece of her mind.
“I have been trying so hard to behave all afternoon. I have been extremely careful of not doing—”
He pulled her into his arms and silenced her with a kiss. As always, she was out of breath and lightheaded when he finally drew back.
“I am very happy to hear that you have been struggling to keep your hands off of me, too.” He smiled devilishly, pulling her down the hill and through an arched entrance, into an extensive garden enclosed by boxwood.
Portia had to run to keep up, laughing in spite of herself. She took a step away from him, though, as soon as they were hidden by the high green hedges.
“Pierce, I want you to know I have already developed a great deal of respect for your sister-in-law.”
“I have, too.”
Portia took a step back as he moved toward her. “She is a lovely woman.”
“I agree. I have never seen Lyon hapier.”
She took another step back. “We need to remember, this place is their home, and quite respectable. The last thing I wish for is to have any hint of scandal touch—”
“I agree,” he said with a laugh, catching her by the wrist and pulled her against him.
She was helpless when it came to his power of persuasion. Her mouth answered his demands, and her body strained against his as one large hand kneaded her breast and their hips rocked and ground together. She tore her mouth free.
“Everyone must know that we came here for this.”
“They’d be dolts not to know.”
“You’re mad.”
“Indeed, my love,” he replied, pulling her onto a nearby stone bench. “Mad for you.”
He might be out of his mind, but so was she. At this moment, nothing could overcome the power of their passion. She was clumsy in undoing the front of his breeches. He was impatient in pushing up the skirts around her waist. Somehow, though, they succeeded. Kneeling astride him on the bench, Portia lowered herself onto him and gasped for air when he lifted his hips to meet her, embedding himself deep within her.
Pierce held her upright with his strong hands while her body stretched and wrapped even more tightly around him, drawing him in. The need to move, to rock, to bring them to satisfaction surged through her, but Pierce wrapped his arms around her, holding her captive. She heard herself moan, and he took possession of her mouth with his. By the time he broke off the kiss, she was about to lose her mind.
“Do you feel me?” he whispered, his voice husky and raw.
Portia nodded, her body aflame.
He shifted her slightly and lowered her even farther onto him. “How deep do you feel me?”
“In the very center of me,” she whispered back.
When he moved again, ever so slightly, she had the sensation of teetering on the edge of a cliff, ready to plunge head first into the abyss.
“I feel you all around me. Here.” His hand slid down past her buttocks to where their bodies were joined. Excitement jolted through her when his fingers touched her so intimately. In a moment he moved his hand, taking one of her wrists from his shoulder hand and placing her palm against his heart. “But I also feel you here. You, Portia Edwards, have become part of me.”
Tears flooded her eyes. How could it be that this beautiful man could feel this way about her? Her hands were trembling when they cupped his face. She kissed his lips and tasted her own tears. “I love you, Pierce. God, how I love you.”
Portia marveled how in that exact moment he lost his control. His body strained and he lifted her before driving again into her. And again. His hands pulled at the neckline of her dress and his lips suckled mercilessly on her breast. Higher and higher they rose, driving together, losing themselves as they found love’s rhythm, until they criedout in unison to the stars, and burst into a heavenly sphere as one.
****
Pierce waited until their hearts slowed after their wild race, and she lifted her head off his shoulder.
She was so stunningly beautiful. She was wild and untamed. She was selfless and giving. She was his, and she would remain his. Then and there, under the stars that shone like diamonds around her, he whispered the words that he’d grown so impatient to say.
“Portia, my love. Will you marry me?”
She stared at him, her face filling with such confusion that he thought for a moment he had spoken in some unknown tongue.
“Will you marry me? Will you become my wife?” he repeated.
Silence was again his answer, and he saw her grow almost frantic searching for words.
Suddenly, she squirmed on top of him, working herself off his lap. He watched her back away from him, clumsily trying to straighten her skirts. He quickly straightened his own clothes as he moved to block her path when he realized she was about to run.
“Do you have no answer for me? Do I not at least deserve some word?”
Tears glistened in the moonlight when she looked up. “The answer is no. I cannot marry you.”
The fires of his temper flared up, but only momentarily. He knew her so well. Deep within him, he had expected this response from her.
“I want a reason,” he demanded, keeping his anger out of his voice.
She brought her hand to her face and turned away. Pierce moved around her until they were face-to-face again.
“I cannot marry you. That should be answer enough for you.”
“But ‘tis not enough.” He took her wrist when she tried to walk away again. “I know you. I know what you are thinking. You cry at this declaration of my love because you feel the same for me. But in your mind, an offer of marriage brings us back to who we are and what we are worth and where in society we rank.”
“And what I have to offer you,” she cried. “Nothing! Your offer brings us exactly to that. You and I are not…”
Portia stopped and waved her hand in the direction of the castle. “Look around you at all of this, Pierce. Look at where you come from…and then look at me.”
“I am looking at you. And I am telling you what I see.” He lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I see a beautiful and intelligent woman who stirs my blood and challenges my thinking. I see the woman I love. The woman who has become my life. The woman who has captured my dreams and holds them in her fist. The woman who might even be carrying my child.”
She became flustered and tried to pull her wrist free. He didn’t let her go.
“You cannot run away from the truth, my love. And what if it turns out I am right? Do you wish for this child a life like your own? Do you think your pride is more important than the joy that we could share as a family?”
“Please let me go, Pierce,” she pleaded tearfully, pulling away. “Please.”
He let her go. He watched Portia run away, knowing that he was not about to give up. She was stubborn, but so was he.
*****
Portia came into the house through a side entryway and ran up to her bedchamber without being discovered by others. She didn’t bother to light any tapers, but threw herself onto the bed.
The tears wouldn’t stop. The sadness clutching at her heart wouldn’t go away. Pierce’s words continued to play again and again in her mind. He loved her. She loved him. So why couldn’t that be enough? Why couldn’t they just leave things as they were? Why must they marry?
She couldn’t get it through his head, and she didn’t know how to say it any clearer. How could she enter into a marriage knowing that the scale was so skewed? She could give him nothing. She would bring nothing into that union. Her concerns might seem to be nothing today or tomorrow, but she knew they would create a division in their life
soon enough. The tears continued to fall.
Sometime later, there was a soft knock on her bedroom door. Portia didn’t know what the hour was. She had been crying in the dark. She sat up on the bed and hoped whoever it was would think she was sleeping and go away. But the knock sounded again.
Resigned, she went to the door and opened it a little. Helena, already changed into her night dress, was waiting in the hall.
“May I come in?”
“I…I was getting ready for bed myself.” Portia couldn’t fight the choking sensation.
Her mother didn’t wait for an invitation and pushed her way into the room. “Well, then I am here to help you.”
Portia closed the door, then quickly moved a small table out of her mother’s way so she wouldn’t stumble over it.
“Really, Mother. I…I can manage.”
“No, I think not,” the older woman stated firmly. She found the bed and sat on the edge. “Come here.”
Portia bit her lip when she saw her mother’s serious expression. “Helena, I am not in the mood for a lecture.”
“Good, since I am horrible at giving them.” She patted the bed next to her. “I said come here.”
Portia obediently moved to her and sat down. Helena’s hands reached up until they touched Portia’s tearstained face. “I thought so.”
“You thought what?”
“That you two quarreled again.”
“We did not.”
“You might think you can fool others, but I am not so blind…well, figuratively speaking. Pierce stormed back into the house like a wounded bear. Now, tell me what is wrong.”
“Nothing.”
“Portia!” she scolded. “The truth.”
A moment passed, and then she gave up. She choked on the words, though, as she spoke them. “He told me he loved me.”
“Ah, that is horrible.” Helena pulled her daughter’s head against her chest and caressed her hair. “I always knew he was an unfeeling young man. How could he say such a thing?”
“You are making fun of me.” Portia cried and laughed at the same time.
“I am not. But that cannot be the only reason for all these tears.”
Portia blew her nose in a kerchief that Helena handed her. “He also asked me…asked me to marry him.”
“The nerve of the rogue!” she said more dramatically.
Portia sat up straight. “You are making fun of me. But I am serious. He is upset because I rejected his offer. I love him, but there is no way I can marry him when we are from worlds so far apart, when there is nothing I could bring to such a match.”
“Do you think you are not enough?”
Portia shook her head and blew her nose again. “Please, Mother.”
“So am I.” Helena said more forcefully. She lifted Portia’s cheeks. “You, Portia are the one he wants. You are what is important to him. The person, who you are, all that is inside of you.”
“Mother look around this place, where he was raised, the level of society that he belongs to.”
“Now, you are the one who should be looking, and not with your eyes, but with your heart…and then add that to your thinking. Forget about the world for a moment, and think about just the two of you. Do you believe Pierce could love you more if your family’s wealth was equal to his? Do you believe he would treat you differently as his wife even if you were a king’s daughter?”
“Of course not,” she cried, blurting out her answer.
Helena fell silent, and Portia realized what she had said—what she had admitted.
“If that is so, then everything else,” her mother said finally, “the bonds you forge in marriage, your entire future together, rests in your own hands.”
CHAPTER 26
" widthht="0" width="29"> Standing stiffly at the window of the regimental offices of the West Yorkshire 24th Foot, Turner thought it was appallingly undignified that someone of his rank and record of service was being treated with no more respect than some lowly infantryman. He looked at his watch, furious that he had yet to be given an audience with Colonel Kilmaine, the commander of the regiment.
Stationed in the colonies for so many years now, Turner had not realized that a wedge was growing between those serving His Majesty King George here and in America. It was obvious from the talk he had heard in even the few days that he had been back on England’s soil that those in the military here felt that the troops in the colonies were not strong enough. They were not using a firm enough hand to quell the troublemakers growing acts of rebellion.
As if to affirm that, Turner had heard just yesterday that the King had issued a far stronger proclamation than the one Governor Wanton of Rhode Island had delivered regarding the Gaspee. The bounty on the head of the person who had shot Lieutenant Dudingston was raised to one thousand pounds, an amount that was probably twice the value of the ship itself.
In some ways, though he had never consciously considered it before, Turner agreed with these views. But he was an exception. He believed that stronger action was needed against the rabble in Boston and Philadelphia, in particular. Clearly, though, these armchair soldiers had lumped him in with those they considered weak and were treating him that way.
His temper was ready to boil over, and he knew it. Still, he needed to get this Colonel Kilmaine to realize that he was in possession of evidence that would make them both heroes to their nation.
He was only one step away, but it was proving to be an extremely slow step. An hour ago, Turner had reluctantly given the letter—a copy he had written out earlier himself—to a member of Colonel Kilmaine’s staff. Since then, waiting in an outer room, he had seen two junior officers called in to speak with the regimental commander. Neither of them had left, yet, and this was at least promising.
A quarter of an hour later, he was ushered into the office.
Colonel Kilmaine was a stocky man of advanced years and a brusque manner. His eyes of watery blue looked Turner over appraisingly, but gave away nothing of his assessment. After a curt introduction, he sat down again behind his desk and gestured to Turner to sit. The two young lieutenants, Cobham and Huske, remained standing on either side of their commander.
“I assume you have the original of this letter, Captain?”
“Of course. Because of its importance, I felt the need to safeguard the document.”
“Indeed. Well, we have spent great deal of time going over the information you have given us, Captain, as well as this letter.”
He could hear the tone of indifference in the voice and stared at the copy lying on the colonel’s desk. He thought to himself that they had certainly not spent a great deal of time, as they’d only had it for an hour.
“Then you understand the urgency and the importance of my request.”
“Frankly, there is nothing we see in thehat tells us this correspondence is from Bonnie Prince Charlie.”
Turner felt his temper again begin to rise. He was clearly dealing with an imbecile.
“Then allow me to explain to you—as I wished to do an hour ago—the context of this letter so that you can understand its importance, Colonel.”
As he explained in detail the connection of the Young Pretender to Lady Primrose, the pale blue eyes remained fixed on his face. Turner told him of her importance in the web of Jacobite traitors still operating in England. He impressed upon him the momentous opportunity to crush this movement which threatened their English way of life.
“I know about crushing Jacobites, Captain,” the colonel cut in. “I was at Culloden.”
“As was my father, sir. He died a heroes death there.”
“As did many. Still, I do not see any evidence—”
“Wait.” Turner knew his only chance of convincing this man lay in revealing the secret he’d promised to keep for Admiral Middleton. That, and telling what he believed must have occurred, piecing together all the information he’d learned. “There is more, but ‘tis information that must not leave this room. Some of what I am abo
ut to tell you was spoken to me in confidence by Admiral Middleton himself.”
The two young officers exchanged a quick look over the colonel’s head. Ignoring them, Turner took a deep breath and began.
“During the year preceding October in 1748, my commander, Admiral Middleton was assigned to the delegation meeting with officials in France. Their negotiations resulted in the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle. That pact, as you know, effectively ended French support of Prince Charles Edward and the Stewart court in exile. During that period, the many of the members of the delegation brought their families to France, and Admiral Middleton was no different. Somehow, while in France, Middleton’s own daughter Helena commenced to have an affair with the Stewart prince himself. I believe that Lady Primrose herself may have served as liaison between the lovers, though I cannot prove that.” Though he was stating as facts, things that he could only guess may have been true, Turner knew it was essential that he sound entirely convincing. Looking at his audience, he was pleased to see he now had the three men’s undivided attention. “When Middleton learned of his daughter’s scandalous behavior, he acted to protect himself from such a politically disastrous secret. He sent the girl home with his wife. But the damage was done. His daughter was in a family way. While he concluded his work in France, a baby girl was born and she was spirited away and grew up in the care of Lady Primrose in Wales The daughter, Helena, has led a reclusive life since then. This is how the situation stood until last month when the daughter and mother were united in Boston and escaped to England.”
Turner looked haughtily down at the end of his nose at his audience. It was sheer genius that he had been able to connect the pieces of the puzzle.
“This letter, gentlemen, is the answer to Lady Primrose’s request that Charles Edward see his daughter. The two women left the colonies on a ship owned by Pierce Pennington, the brother of the Earl of Aytoun. From my spies, I know that Lady Primrose is going to Baronsford, the family seat of Lord Aytoun i the Borders. From this letter, we know she is going to meet Charles Edward there. We cannot ignore the evidence we have in hand. We cannot let the Stewart Pretender slip through our fingers.”
01 - Captured Dreams Page 31