A Touch of Passion: A Rouge Regency Romance: (Disgraced Lords #3)

by Bronwen Evans

  Portia nodded. “The female sex can be just as deadly as any man.”

  He knew that well enough. Christian had been pinned under a wagon, and a woman had calmly set fire to it and watched him burn.

  “Taking Weston back to England is not a good idea.”

  “It’s one boat ride.”

  “And then what? We have to go overland, and with our enemy still out to kill you, I can’t watch him too.”

  Clapping interrupted their argument. “You’re such the hero, Blackwood. In case you hadn’t noticed, Lady Portia doesn’t need your handholding. She got my gun from me.”

  Grayson snapped back, “And I’d love to know exactly what you were doing that made you so careless.” Portia’s face turned red, and Grayson felt his blood boil. He had a very good idea of what Weston had been trying to do. He made a move toward Weston, but Portia’s tiny hand pressed squarely into his chest, holding him back.

  “Not now. There are more important things to do than avenge my honor. I think my kick to his groin went a long way toward doing that, anyway.”

  Fuming, Grayson used his eyes to send a message to Weston over the top of Portia’s head: This is not over. Weston’s smug smile indicated he’d received it loud and clear.

  “Blackwood, if I get my money, you get a name. Don’t screw up her plan. It suits all concerned, does it not?”

  The bastard was right. Grayson turned to call for Seaton’s men. He would have plenty of time to thrash Weston once he had the villainess’s name. Portia might have agreed to a deal with this scoundrel, but he certainly hadn’t.

  Chapter 11

  The rest of the voyage to England was uneventful, yet Grayson couldn’t relax. Weston was confined in the hold, and Portia seemed to be under the impression that she could handle a man like him, but Grayson didn’t trust him. Weston was like a large python, he thought. Pythons typically remained motionless in a camouflaged position and then struck suddenly at passing prey.

  Portia had no idea whom she was dealing with. Weston would double-cross them if it meant more money, and he’d not hesitate to hurt or kill Portia if he had to. Grayson would prefer to tangle with the devil.

  When they reached Deal, in Kent, their party settled in at the Sea Dog Inn in the center of town, far enough back from the rough waterfront but still not the most salubrious of accommodations. Their rooms occupied the entire top floor, and it would be almost impossible for an attacker to climb up to reach them. And Grayson made sure that Weston was chained securely in a small, windowless, locked, and guarded room at the rear. Though if Weston wanted to jump out a window to escape, Grayson thought wryly, he’d love to give him a helping hand. His landing would be very messy.

  Grayson took what was intended to be the maid’s room off Portia’s bedroom. Seaton took the room at the head of the stairs, and his men occupied a room on the other side of the corridor. A private dining and sitting room completed the accommodations.

  There was no way Grayson was letting Portia out of his sight until the enemy was caught. But he was already dreading the night, knowing she would be sleeping so near and that this would likely be the last chance to make love to her before they married. Once he delivered her to her family, proprieties would need to be observed. Desire sharp enough to whet the bluntest blade had his body on edge, but he had a point to prove to Portia, and he’d be damned before he let her learn how easy it would be for her to ensure he did her bidding.

  A sudden cry followed by a commotion at the top of the stairs saw him draw his pistol. “Portia, stay in your room, and don’t come out until I call.” He barely waited for her nod of agreement before he flung open the door and eased his head out. Seaton was arguing with a very large black-haired gentleman at the top of the stairs. Grayson recognized the accent: refined, English, with a trace of French. It was Arend Aubury, Baron Labourd, one of his fellow Libertine Scholars. Arend had obviously got the letter Grayson sent him from Gibraltar.

  The Libertine Scholars were a group of friends from school, six young bucks who had taken their carousing as seriously as their schooling. It had earned them the nickname “Libertine Scholars.” Grayson hadn’t expected Arend to meet him in Deal; he’d asked for him to gather the England-based Libertine Scholars, Hadley Fullerton and Maitland Spencer, Duke of Lyttleton, and meet him at his townhouse in London. Christian Trent and Sebastian Hawkestone were still overseas.

  “Let me pass, my good man, before I take off your head,” boomed a second voice, Maitland’s.

  “Let them pass, Seaton. They’re friends of mine.”

  Arend preceded Maitland toward the door Grayson held open, giving access into the private dining room. Arend slapped him on the back as he passed. “Good to see you in one piece, my friend.” Maitland merely nodded at him.

  “You got my note, then?” Grayson asked as he poured the men a drink. “I didn’t expect to see you until I reached London, although I’m pleased you are here.” He stopped pouring and looked at Arend. “Why are you here?”

  “I think you should sit down and bring the decanter with you,” said Maitland. “It beggars belief, the tale we have to share.” Arend nodded at Maitland’s words, his face darker and broodier than normal.

  Grayson put the decanter in the middle of the table and took one of the wooden chairs across from his two friends. “I think what I have to say is more important. Lady Portia was kidnapped to discredit me. I also think that the person responsible for it is the one who framed Christian.”

  Arend simply sighed and sat back, shaking his head. “We already know that. We have also learned that the person who has come after you, and who is after all of the Libertine Scholars, is actually a woman.”

  “I too have learned it is a woman trying to kill Portia in order to frame me, but I had no clue that she had targeted all of us.”

  Arend sighed. “We believe that as a young girl, she was abused by our fathers. She’s out for revenge, and since our fathers are dead, it would appear the sons will pay for their sins.”

  “You’ve been busy while I’ve been gone. How did you learn of the conspiracy?”

  “Sebastian didn’t kill Doogie Hennessey in that duel,” said Maitland. “An assassin, paid by this woman, shot Doogie in the back to frame Sebastian. We have managed to clear Sebastian’s name, and he is back in England.”

  “You have the assassin?”

  “No. The assassin was killed before we could learn his employer’s identity. The villainess’s identity still evades us.”

  Grayson stretched his legs out and couldn’t help but smile. “Well, luckily I have one of these assassins locked in a room just down the corridor.”

  Arend was on his feet, the chair flying back with a crash, but before he could utter a sound, Portia walked through the door, a frown upon her beautiful face.

  “I waited for you to tell me it was safe to leave my room, only to find there never was any danger and that you are in here entertaining guests. I have been worried.”

  God, she looked gorgeous with a flush of anger on her face. Her hazel eyes flashed, and her pouty lips made him think of kissing her until they were both senseless from desire. It would be at least a week until they wed. He hoped he could hold out that long. Each night his dreams were both torment and pleasure. He could taste her in those dreams, and he woke each morning engorged and throbbing with want.

  Grayson suddenly realized that his two friends were on their feet, and he noted Maitland’s curious gaze. Portia graced the two new arrivals with a tantalizing smile, quickly turning it into a scowl as she faced him.

  “Gentlemen, may I introduce my fiancée, Lady Portia Flagstaff. Portia, Lord Arend Aubury, Baron Labourd, and His Grace the Duke of Lyttleton, Maitland Spencer.”

  Arend took her hand and bowed over it in the way only a Frenchman could. His light kiss to her gloveless knuckles lasted a tad too long for Grayson’s liking, and he gritted his teeth. As Arend murmured his polite greeting, his accent suddenly became more French than usual.
It was Arend’s favorite seduction technique.

  Maitland, on the other hand, merely bowed and looked Portia over as if he were studying one of his horses.

  Grayson only just managed to keep everything he was feeling hidden below the surface. He would not let his fellow Libertine Scholars know how he felt about his upcoming marriage, or about Portia.

  “Excuse my interruption, gentlemen, but I had no idea we had visitors, because Lord Blackwood left me several minutes ago with the impression we were under attack. Somehow he forgot to mention it was a false alarm.”

  They waited for her to take her seat, and Grayson stuck his head out the door and suggested to one of the men on watch that they summon a maid to bring Portia tea. He returned in time to hear Arend say, “I’m pleased to see that you appear to have survived your ordeal well, Lady Portia.”

  “Under the circumstances, please, call me Portia. Appearances can be deceiving, as I am sure you are aware, Lord Labourd.” She helped herself to a glass and poured herself a small amount of brandy before adding, “I survived because I was not going to let any man turn my life into something I did not desire.” She turned to face Grayson as she spoke.

  There was a brief silence before Maitland stood. “Bravo, Lady Portia. Bravo. We shall not let our enemies win. Let us drink to that.” Arend and Grayson stood too, and the men drank.

  As the men retook their seats, Arend said, “I believe we are in a strong position. If I can question your captive, I’ll get the name from him.”

  Grayson waited for Portia to respond, inwardly amused. Let someone else feel her sharp tongue for once, he thought. He was not disappointed.

  “And how would you go about that, Lord Labourd?”

  “Arend has very effective methods,” Grayson put in.

  Portia looked Arend over and gave a small shudder. “I’m sure he does, but would that not make us sink to her level?” At that moment the maid entered, and Portia fell silent while the maid poured the tea, as if they were at a ladies’ soirée and not discussing torturing a man. “Money makes men talk far more willingly than torture,” she resumed after the maid had left. “A man like Weston—”

  “Weston!” Maitland and Arend said at the same time.

  Arend made for the door. “That bastard! Let me speak with him. If he knows anything, I’ll get it out of him.”

  “I doubt that. He’s a man with nothing to lose. I’ve dangled an incentive that is far more attractive—money. He will give us her name once I show him the money.”

  “I don’t trust him. He could give you any name.”

  Grayson sighed. “I don’t trust him either, Arend. We will only give him half the money, holding back the rest until we verify his information. He needs all the money to survive. He’ll give her up, but I wouldn’t put it past him to play both parties.” Portia looked surprised at his defense of her plan.

  Arend gave a slight nod, and Maitland asked, “So what is the plan from here?”

  Portia said, “If you gentlemen could escort me to London, I will gather the money to give to Weston. He will be free to go once he gives us a name, but he won’t go far—as Grayson has noted, he needs the rest of the money.” She looked at Arend. “I’ll leave it up to you to follow him. I trust your men will not lose him.”

  Arend and Grayson shared a look. Though he would never tell Portia, Grayson knew that Arend would capture Weston as soon as Portia released him with the money. Arend’s upbringing meant the Frenchman trusted no one.

  “I won’t lose him,” Arend vowed. He reached for the decanter and poured a large brandy.

  “I’d love to know how you apprehended the culprit, Grayson,” Maitland said. “And is Philip with you? We heard the earl went with you to rescue Portia.”

  Portia gave a stifled cry. “My brother broke his leg during my rescue. We have no word yet on his fate.”

  Grayson patted Portia’s hand. “I have already sent a missive to the Home Office to ask after your brother.”

  She put her hand over his as tears welled. “Thank you.” She rose, and as the men started to stand she added, “Please, stay seated. I need some fresh air.” She halted Grayson’s coming warning with her hand. “And yes, I’ll take Seaton with me and promise to stay in the yard.” With that she swept from the room.

  “Your betrothed seems an eminently sensible woman,” observed Maitland.

  Arend added slyly, “And very beautiful. However, I suspect you’ll have your hands full, from what I know of her. Let me know if you require assistance of any kind,” he added with a laugh.

  Grayson refused to rise to the bait. “Do you wish to talk about my upcoming nuptials, or would you rather catch a villainess?”

  Arend laughed while Maitland said, “I’m still waiting to learn how you captured Weston.”

  Thank God for Maitland, Grayson thought. “I didn’t, really. It was Portia. That is why we will do this her way.” Looking directly at Arend, he added, “To begin with.” He then told them about the plan, how it had gone wrong, and how Portia managed to disarm Weston and capture him all by herself.

  “Impressive. You and Robert taught her well.”

  At Maitland’s mention of Robert, Grayson’s heart clenched. He missed his friend, and the knowledge that if he’d not been late to the battle Robert might still live burned his soul like the fires of hell.

  “I’m not sure he’d be happy to see me marry Portia. Robert did not think we were well suited.”

  Maitland waved a hand in the air. “What has that to do with anything? You two were like brothers. It would have united the two families for life.”

  “Besides, she’s been infatuated with you since that ball on her sixteenth birthday,” Arend added. “She must be pleased with the match.”

  He wasn’t about to admit Portia wasn’t pleased at all. They would ask why, and he didn’t wish to talk about her requirement that he give her his heart. Men did not talk of feelings. Besides, he did not know how he felt about her. His body craved her; he even admired her, but was she a suitable bride for him? For what the Blackwood name needed, given his wish to fulfill Robert’s dreams and take a leading role in Parliament?

  “Let’s drop this conversation. It’s unseemly. I have no choice now but to marry her. Her reputation is in tatters because she was lured in my name. We have traveled home without a chaperone, and I will not have my honor questioned by leaving her to the wolves within the ton.”

  Maitland leaned back in his chair, tipping the front legs off the floor. “Then let her marry someone else.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, it seems obvious. Her reputation is ruined, but any good marriage will restore her standing. If you don’t want to marry her, find someone who does.”

  Arend looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “He has a point. Unless, of course, you’ve already compromised her.” At Grayson’s silence he shrugged and added, “Is there anyone she is enamored with, or a man who would welcome a rich woman from a fine family?”

  Grayson was speechless. He watched Arend’s shrewd eyes and realized the trap his friend had set for him. If he refused to contemplate her marrying anyone else, it would look possessive. He wasn’t about to give Arend that satisfaction. “She is not being courted by anyone. Not that I am aware of. I haven’t really discussed other options with her.”

  “I wonder why,” Arend said under his breath.

  Maitland set his chair back on all four feet with a thud and said, “I’m in the market for a wife. Lady Portia would be an ideal candidate, beautiful, intelligent, and from a fine family.” Grayson hoped he wasn’t about to offer, but Maitland immediately dashed his hopes. “I could marry her and save her reputation.”

  Grayson pinched the bridge of his nose. “She is not a horse to be bought and sold, Maitland. Intelligent women tend to hold their own opinions. Why would she marry you?”

  Maitland looked startled. “I’m a duke, and extremely wealthy. What intelligent woman would turn down an offer from
me?”

  Arend burst out laughing, and Grayson gritted his teeth for patience. “Women are not as logical as you, Maitland. In fact, very few people are as logical as you. A woman who has her own money tends to want a bit of romance. Surprisingly, ‘I’m a duke, so marry me’ is not that flattering.”

  “Well said,” Arend added, wiping tears of laughter off his face.

  Maitland didn’t take offense. “Well, I shall test your theory and ask her. If, as you say, the two of you are not suited, then perhaps she’d appreciate an alternative.”

  Grayson inwardly sighed. Trying to get a man like Maitland to understand emotion was like trying to explain crop rotation to a child. “I’m marrying her, Maitland. However, I would have no problem standing aside if I felt you truly loved her and she truly loved you. If you think you can win her heart, I won’t stand in your way.” He was smug in the knowledge that Portia loved him. Still, a part of him wondered if he was wise to give Maitland the chance to win her heart. He was handsome as sin, and, as he’d said, he was wealthy beyond measure and a duke.

  Portia stood at the door knowing she should not be listening to the men’s private conversation. She’d gone for a walk in order to let them talk freely, and once she’d had some fresh air, she thought she’d join them for a drink before dinner. She’d just been about to enter when she heard the men discussing her situation. What she overheard made her angry. Grayson was open to another man courting her? He was probably hoping she did fall in love with Maitland. That sent pain lancing through her, as if a knife had sliced open her chest and laid bare her heart.

  Grayson was obviously looking for any excuse not to have to marry her. He was too honorable to accept Maitland’s cold and calculating offer, but if Maitland made her fall in love with him, Grayson could walk away with a clear conscience.

  She backed away from the door, struggling to breathe. All this time she’d assumed there was at least an attraction and a sort of friendship between them, but it was now obvious that Grayson really did not want to marry her and was doing so only out of honor.