A Touch of Passion_A Rouge Regency Romance

by Bronwen Evans

  Portia’s grasp on life was a vivid contrast to the way he’d withdrawn from his true self. True, he felt guilty being alive when those around him had died. But Portia had almost died when she was younger, and she embraced life with everything she had. Her smile lit any room, her presence demanded attention, and when she giggled, the sound stirred something inside him. He almost hated her for it.

  He had less than a few days to put his ghosts to rest or lose her forever. What scared him was the fact a madwoman was out to destroy him, and the villainess knew how. All she had to do was take Portia from him.

  Chapter 12

  Grayson could not believe the jealousy he felt at the sight of Maitland handing Portia into the other coach. Her smile and temperament already seemed to have captivated Maitland, and Grayson wanted to box the smile off his friend’s face.

  Arend gave him a shove. “Get in the coach before your jaw snaps. I can hear you grinding your teeth.”

  “It seems Blackwood has a rival for the lady’s affections.”

  “Shut up, Weston,” Arend and Grayson responded together, but it was Arend who smacked Weston across the head for good measure.

  Weston sat sullenly next to Arend as the coach made its way out of Deal heading toward London. All Grayson could focus on was the idea of Maitland being alone with Portia. Was she already discussing her situation with his friend?

  “I wish you’d stop jiggling about. Maitland is a gentleman. He won’t force himself on her.” Arend’s shrewdness rattled him.

  “What makes you so sure I’m thinking of Portia?”

  “If you were thinking of the villainess, you would be hounding Weston for answers. What is it that concerns you, given that Portia has no choice but to marry you?”

  He turned away before Arend could see just how gut-wrenching the situation was. “She does have a choice.”

  “I can’t see how. Her family will insist on marriage. Even Portia must see that her cider business would suffer should it become known she turned down your proposal. And I doubt you’d want society to think you didn’t do the honorable thing and offer for her.”

  Weston couldn’t help but goad Grayson. “Is it that she doesn’t want you? Gosh, a woman facing ruin and she doesn’t want to marry you. How humiliating.”

  Grayson clenched his fists, wanting to smash Weston’s face, but he couldn’t—he’d promised Portia. As if reading Grayson’s mind, Arend jabbed Weston in the ribs.

  “Is that true?” Arend asked Grayson. “I thought she was infatuated with you. The rumor circulating within the ton is that she refused all offers for her hand, and there have been plenty, because she was waiting for you. She was lured to meet you, but it wasn’t you who had written to her to come.”

  Grayson swallowed hard. “She doesn’t wish to marry any man who does not lay his heart at her feet.”

  Arend smiled. “I still do not see the problem. Can’t you simply profess love and be done with it?”

  Grayson had forgotten how ruthless Arend could be. Arend had had to fight all his life, and then some, for everything he had. He had earned the Libertine Scholars’ respect by his tenacity and ability to always see that the right thing was accomplished, even if his methods were sometimes questionable.

  “Are you suggesting I lie?”

  “No. I’m suggesting you give her your heart. You know you want to.”

  Grayson was at a loss for words.

  Arend continued, “The night you returned to England from the war, you were raving about what you’d done to Christian, and we all got roaring drunk. You told me you wanted to fulfill his dream of finding the perfect woman, falling in love, and having a large family. You wanted to celebrate life for a change.”

  He shook his head. “There’s the rub. Portia’s not the perfect woman.”

  “Isn’t she?”

  “No. Even Robert said we weren’t suited. He told me he’d once hoped I’d marry Portia but had come to understand that we were too different.”

  Arend adjusted the squab behind his head and then leaned back against the pleated cushion. “That’s not what Robert told me,” he said. “He hoped that by telling you not to pursue her, you’d do the exact opposite.”

  “Rubbish. He wouldn’t have played games with me.”

  Arend closed his eyes and chuckled. “When he caught you and Portia in the corridor at the Cyprians’ Ball just before you left for war, he hoped that everything was on track. I suspect that is why as he lay dying he made you swear to look after Portia. He had four brothers—why would he hand her care to you?” He looked Grayson in the eye. “There is only one reason I can think of.”

  Grayson was stunned. He thought back on his time in the Flagstaff family. He’d been teased by both Robert and Philip about his little “shadow,” as they had called their sister. He’d been embarrassed at first by her obvious infatuation, then flattered, then annoyed. Then he had started to have feelings for her—feelings of the non-brotherly kind.

  However, when she fell ill and almost died, he’d panicked. He couldn’t lose another person he cared for. He withdrew and concentrated on learning to run his estates and on sowing his wild oats, trying to drive her from his mind. When Robert had suggested it was just as well, as they were not suited, he’d grasped that excuse to hide from his feelings.

  “I’ll have a hard time convincing her of my change of heart. She overheard me suggesting that Maitland try to woo her. She thinks I don’t want to marry her.”

  “And here I thought this journey would be boring,” sneered Weston. This time it was Grayson who gave him a cuff on the head.

  “Weston, if you insist on talking, then tell us how our villainess recruited you.” From the expression on Weston’s face, it was clear that he didn’t recognize the seriousness in Arend’s voice. Grayson thought Weston was just about to respond with sarcasm when Arend added in a soft but deadly tone, “I never promised to keep you in one piece.”

  Weston’s face paled, and he looked to Grayson. Grayson simply leaned back against the squab and shrugged. “I promised Portia no blood would be shed. However, I’m sure Arend knows how to inflict pain without blood.”

  “You bastards,” Weston snarled. “I’ve a mind not to tell you anything.”

  Grayson leaned forward until he was in Weston’s face. “Then your deal with Portia is off and I can hand you to Arend with a clear conscience. He doesn’t mind blood.”

  “You can torture me all you like, but I won’t give you her name. I’ll only give it to Lady Portia, and only when the money is in my hands.”

  Arend sighed and took off his gloves, then he removed a black sack from under the seat.

  Weston licked his lips. “Fine. I can tell you that she bought up all my debts, so she must be a very rich woman.”

  That caught both the men’s attention. “Must be?” expostulated Grayson. “You don’t know who she is at all, do you? I knew you were playing—”

  “I don’t know who she is now, but I know who she was. When a person starts buying up all your debts, you make a point of finding out as much as you can. I tracked a man to a brothel where I ascertained, through a bit of persuasion, a name, but I’ve found out it’s years old. Why do you think that in the end I had to accept her offer? It’s impossible to find and outwit a ghost.”

  The first thing that struck Portia when Maitland Spencer, Duke of Lyttleton, handed her into the carriage was that he was a large man with a serious disposition. She’d never had a chance to study him unabashedly up close before. His close-cropped hair made him look stern and unyielding, yet she knew from their previous encounter that he was an approachable man.

  She’d always considered him handsome, with a prominent forehead, chiseled jaw, and eyes the color of spring grass framed by dark lashes. His nose was in perfect proportion to his high cheekbones, the only flaw being thin lips that gave him a stoic air. His breeding showed for all to see. He carried himself with the arrogance and swagger of his rank. However, he seemed kind to
o. She had seen him from a distance on several occasions—balls and garden parties, for instance—and she knew that he always made those standing on the outside of the ton’s popularity feel included. He’d usually dance first with a wallflower, he’d take time to speak to the elderly dames the ton shunned as being too old and unimportant, and he’d never forget the ladies everyone else considered spinsters.

  Handsome, kind, rich, and a duke—every young lady’s dream suitor. Why couldn’t her heart race when Maitland smiled at her as it did for Grayson?

  “You have had quite the adventure, Lady Portia.”

  “I love adventures as long as I come out in one piece. And please, call me Portia.”

  “As long as you call me Maitland.”

  She inclined her head. “I fear my family has not enjoyed this adventure at all. They will be greeting me with scolds and proclamations.”

  “Nonsense. They will be thrilled to see you safely home. We should also have news of how Philip has fared when we reach London.”

  She gave him a warm smile. “You’re very kind. I’ve no doubt the rumors surrounding my disappearance have been anything but complimentary, and I’m indeed facing social ruin.”

  He chuckled. “You don’t appear to be too worried about the situation you find yourself in.”

  “I’m not. It’s been such an adventure. Besides, I have money and I’ve never cared what society thinks of me. When I die I certainly don’t want to look back on my life and say, ‘Gosh, I was a good girl but boring, and I wish I had done something different.’”

  He stared at her for several moments. Then a smile spread over his face. “Bravo.”

  “It’s my family I’m more concerned with. I used to cry about not having a sister, but thank goodness I don’t have one or she’d pay for my supposed sins. My brothers are big enough and ugly enough to weather any scandal their sister brings.”

  “Your brothers must be worried about you. I have three half siblings who are much younger than I, and I worry about them constantly now that Father is dead.”

  Portia knew all about his family and the scandal surrounding him. Around ten years ago, shortly after his father died, his relationship with his stepmother, Priscilla, was the talk of the ton, as she was two years younger than Maitland. Rumors began circulating that she became Maitland’s mistress. Portia had no idea if that was true and didn’t care. However, Maitland remained very protective of Priscilla and her children, his half siblings. Given he remained a bachelor, Priscilla still acted as his hostess when the occasion called for it.

  “I suspect you’d advise me to marry Lord Blackwood, as Philip and Mother surely will insist upon.” Would he offer the alternative he’d discussed with Grayson?

  He didn’t hesitate. “That would seem an ideal solution. However, it is not your only option.”

  “I should warn you that I overheard your conversation with Grayson. You are looking for a wife?”

  He showed no emotion at having been caught out discussing her. “I am.”

  “I’m sure there are many women who would be eager to take on that role.”

  “Of course. Too much choice, actually.”

  “What about a woman you love? Is there someone you are in love with, a woman totally inappropriate, and that is why you are looking for any woman to fill the role of wife?”

  He didn’t even look uncomfortable when he answered. Here was a man secure in his own thoughts. “I don’t believe in love. It’s not a rational emotion. What others experience and think is love is actually a fleeting rush of weak-willed feelings brought on by lust or desire or passion. It’s the same surreal experience as if they were on opium. Love is a mind distortion that soon wears off.”

  “I see.” And she did—either he had never been in love or he had been and had ended up hurt. He was shutting himself off from ever experiencing Cupid’s arrow. “Is that why you told Grayson you were prepared to save my reputation by offering for a woman like me? A woman surrounded by scandal and—”

  He reached out, his large hand swallowing her tiny one. “I admire you all the more for how you have come through your ordeal with no hysterics and head held high. Besides, you’ve aptly demonstrated your intelligence and courage by capturing Weston. What better attributes could I want in a wife?”

  She knew her next words would make or break her only other option than Grayson. “Purity.” At his lack of reaction she added, “I could be with child.”

  “The purity is not a problem, but a child—a boy child—would be. If the child is a boy it would become my heir.”

  Maitland didn’t even ask who or how. For all he knew she could have been raped by the sultan or the men who kidnapped her. He might wonder if it was Grayson’s, but he’d likely surmise she would marry Grayson if that were the case. Since he did not believe in love, Maitland would not understand her reasons for not doing so.

  “I’ll know in a few days.”

  He merely nodded. “I take it you would be open to my suit. May I inquire as to why?”

  “Grayson doesn’t love me.”

  “That’s the first ridiculous thing I have ever heard you utter. Whether he loves you or not, it makes sense to accept his offer. You are friends, he has been a part of your family for many years, they like and respect him, and society would have no cause to speculate and gossip.”

  Men. They would never understand unless love smacked them in the face with a shovel. “I’m in love with him. I have been since I was sixteen years old. You might not believe in love, but I do.”

  “I still don’t see the problem.”

  She sighed and withdrew her hand from his. “Grayson may never come to return my love, and I would spend my life pining for something that will never be. I couldn’t imagine anything so painful. What if he found a woman, a mistress, he did love? If I marry a man I don’t love, I can never be hurt. I can continue on with my life without love, because every single day I won’t have to face the fact my love is not returned.”

  “Perhaps if you gave him time—”

  “I haven’t got time to wait for him to know his heart. Besides, as you pointed out, he has known me long enough to come to a decision regarding his feelings for me. If I hadn’t been kidnapped, he would not be proposing marriage. That says it all.”

  “A logical deduction,” Maitland said as he sat back in his seat. He sat silently, looking out of the carriage window for a few minutes. Finally he turned to her. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  She nodded, knowing what he’d ask.

  “Were you raped during your abduction?”

  “No.”

  “Then I take it you have been intimate with Grayson.” His manner indicated that it was the only deduction he could make. “That changes things.”

  “I thought it would. You won’t offer for me now, I suppose.”

  “No,” he stated, “that’s not what I mean. I’m merely thinking back to my conversation with him yesterday. His manner was somewhat possessive when we discussed my suggestion of becoming an alternative prospect. In fact, he seemed very sure you would refuse me; he was even smug about it. I think Grayson is hiding his feelings. If he knew you wouldn’t marry him without love, yet he still slept with you … well, perhaps his feelings are more complicated than you imagine.” He gave her a cunning smile. “I believe we should put his feelings for you to the test.”

  Could Maitland be right? If Grayson harbored any romantic feelings for her, then there was still a chance she could win his heart. She smiled back. “I like how you think, Your Grace.”

  “Then let me outline a plan of attack. A robust campaign should allow you to have your answer by the time we reach London.”

  Portia smiled at the idea Maitland suggested. She was going to enjoy their little game. She just hoped the outcome would be the one she wanted and needed—winning Grayson’s love.

  Portia had to wait until they stopped at an inn for lunch to see if Maitland’s hunch was correct.

  The pai
r waited in the carriage until the second carriage arrived, and only then disembarked. Maitland helped her down, bowing over her hand and placing a lingering kiss on her glove before linking arms with her and walking inside.

  “If it had been colder, I suspect we would have seen steam coming out of Grayson’s ears,” Maitland whispered as he held the chair out for her. They had been shown into a private dining room. “We have several minutes before Grayson appears, as they will be seeing to Weston. They are locking him in the stables.”

  Maitland left to order lunch for them all, and Portia excused herself to use the necessary and freshen up. When she returned, the other two men had arrived.

  Maitland held out her chair for her, and she graced him with what she hoped was a seductive smile.

  “Thank you, Maitland,” she said as she sat down.

  “My pleasure, sweeting. Thank you for a most enjoyable morning. The carriage ride flew by.”

  Portia didn’t look at Grayson, but she heard him move in his chair.

  “I thought you’d be more interested in what Arend learned from Weston than in flirting with Lady Portia.”

  Portia hid her smile at Grayson’s peeved tone. Well, well, well …

  “Of course I am,” Maitland replied to Grayson. “However, there is no reason to abandon one’s manners, especially with a beautiful woman in the room.”

  She inclined her head at Maitland’s kind words and noted a tic in Grayson’s jaw.

  Arend coughed into his hand before saying, “Weston has no idea who the villainess is, only who she was.”

  That made Portia forget about Grayson. “I beg your pardon? He lied to me?” Her temper began to soar. “He was going to take my money!”

  “Not exactly. He only knows the name she used to go by. He’ll give you the name he obtained, but that person no longer exists, and he said the trail went cold when he tried to dig deeper.”